Category Archives: Poem

Why I Love America

I will tell you why I love America?
Give me a moment and I’ll explain.
Have you seen a Utah sunset
or a Montana rain?

Have you been fishing on a bayou
down Louisiana way?
Have you walked on the Bridge called
Golden Gate
Over San Francisco Bay?

Have you seen an eagle soaring
high above the Virginia pines,
Or heard the New York City traffic
where Time Square shines?

Does the call of Bryce Canyon thrill you
with all the red rocks galore?

Do you look with awesome wonder
at the Massachusetts shore,
Where men were brave in a big new world
first walked on Plymouth’s rock.

Do you also think of the great men
that lead and never mock
Have you seen a drifting snowflake
in the Tetons way up high?

Have you seen the bright sun come blazing
from a blue Nevada sky?

Do you rejoice when you see the Columbia
rush to the sea, or say a prayer at Gettysburg
knowing freedom isn’t free?

Have you honored the men at
Mount Rushmore?
Have you seen the mighty Mississippi
flow along Missouri’s shore?

Have you seen a Wyoming snow drift
on a cold winter’s day?
Or watch a storm unfold
her thunderous display?

When you say, “Aloha” it makes you warm.
When you see a surf come roaring in
along Maui’s reef
do you stare in disbelief?

From Alaska’s gold to the Everglades
From the Rio Grande to Maine,
My heart rejoices, my spirit soars,
at the greatness of her domain.

I will tell you why I love America?
there are a million reasons why:
My magnificent America,
beneath God’s big blue sky.

By Leonard Fish

Inspired by the poem by John Mitchem America why I Love Her

Vanilla’s Fragrant Song

In jungles verdant, a vine does entwine,
Vanilla planifolia, a beauty so fine.
An orchid by nature, with blossoms so rare,
Fragrance intoxicating, a sweetness to share. 

Hand-pollination’s touch, a delicate art,
Only by Melipona bees, can it play its part.
Fragile white blooms, fleeting their display,
Transforming to pods, where secrets they lay.

 Sun-kissed and cured, a rich, dark embrace,
Vanillin whispers, a flavor to chase.
Baked goods and desserts, it elevates the scene,
A touch of sweet magic, a culinary queen.

 Beyond the kitchen, a history untold,
Aztecs used its essence, a story of old.
Chocolate’s best friend, a marriage divine,
A symphony of flavors, forever entwined. 

Yet threatened by others, a future unclear,
Synthetic substitutes, a taste and a fear.
But true vanilla’s essence, no copy can claim,
A labor of love, whispered by its name. 

So cherish its sweetness, this orchid so grand,
A reminder of nature, held close in your hand.
A taste of the tropics, a history long,
Vanilla’s allure, in its fragrant song.

A Taste of the Sun

From sun-drenched Mediterranean shores,
Thyme, a tiny shrub, forever endures.
Thymus vulgaris, its botanical name,
Aromatic leaves, whispering of its fame.

 Grey-green and slender, its branches do sprawl,
Part of the mint family, standing proud and tall.
Essential oils, a treasure they hold,
Thymol and carvacrol, stories yet untold. 

Culinary hero, a chef’s delight,
Adding peppery warmth, both day and night.
Soups and stews, it finds its place,
With meats and vegetables, a flavor embrace. 

Beyond the kitchen, a history grand,
Egyptians in embalming, used its helping hand.
Greeks in their temples, its fragrance did rise,
Antiseptic whispers, beneath clear blue skies.

 Modern research, with cautious acclaim,
Antibacterial whispers, a message to claim.
Boosting the immune system, a potential friend,
Nature’s tiny wonder, that knows no end. 

So next time you see it, this herb so adored,
Remember its journey, from garden to board.
A taste of the sunshine, a history deep,
Thyme’s tiny leaves, a treasure to keep.

More Precious than Gold

From Himalayan heights, a treasure so rare,
Spikenard, the nard, with a fragrance to share.
Not honeysuckle’s kin, though its name may mislead,
In valerian’s family, a secret it seeds.

Roots like hairy spikes, a hidden delight,
Crushed and distilled, an essence takes flight.
Amber and earthy, a musky embrace,
In temples of old, a sacred space.

Legends whisper of Mary’s anointing deed,
A precious perfume, a love-filled seed.
Cleopatra’s baths, it surely did grace,
A symbol of wealth, a queen’s treasured embrace.

Modern science, a cautious decree,
Anti-inflammatory whispers, a glimpse you can see.
Calming and soothing, for nerves frayed and sore,
A promise of comfort, what could we ask for?

So next time you see it, this essence so grand,
Remember its journey, from mountain to hand.
A gift from the earth, a history untold,
Spikenard’s rich fragrance, more precious than gold.

Whispers of the North

A titan of taiga, the Siberian fir,
Through boreal blasts it rises ever higher.
Reaching for sunlight, a hardy embrace,
Three thousand meters, its towering chase. 

Emerald needles, cloaking its sturdy frame,
Resin-kissed fragrance, a whisper of its name.
Balsamic comfort, in needles it hides,
Essential oils, where healing resides. 

Cone-shaped perfection, a crown reaching high,
Upright and proud, against the frozen sky.
Seeds with tiny wings, carried by the breeze,
Spreading life’s promise, through whispering trees. 

Sun-dappled shadows dance on its ancient bark,
A haven for creatures, leaving their mark.
From Siberian squirrel to majestic lynx,
A sheltering giant, where life interlinks. 

Through the harsh winter, its needles hold fast,
A symbol of resilience, a future that will last.
Siberian fir, a testament to time,
Whispers of the North, in its evergreen climb.

The Essence of Rose

In petals pressed, a fragrance rare,
Rose oil essence, beauty’s snare.
From Rosa damascene’s heart, it flows,
A single drop, a thousand blooms it owes.

Steam’s caress unlocks the scent divine,
A golden liquid, almost sunshine.
Rich in compounds, a complex blend,
Citronellol, geraniol, their stories lend. 

A queen of flowers, her essence soothes,
Calms the spirit, anxieties uncouths.
Inhale the peace, a balm for weary minds,
Lavender’s gentle touch, with courage it entwines. 

On skin it works its magic spell,
Hydration’s kiss, a youthful well.
Antiseptic whispers, a healing grace,
For troubled patches, a gentle embrace. 

So precious each drop, a gift so dear,
From thorny rose, a treasure held so near.
Aromatic whispers, a heart’s delight,
The essence of spring, a fragrant night.

Cowboy’s Reincarnation

Cowboy's Reincarnation“What is reincarnation?” A cowboy asked his friend.

“Well it starts” His old pal told him, “when your life comes to an end.”

They wash your face, and comb your hair, and clean your finger nails.

Then they stick you in a padded box, away for life’s travails.

Next, the box and you go in a hole that’s been dug in the ground.

It’s then that reincarnation starts, when your planted neath that mound.

The clods melt down, as does the box, and you who are inside.

And now you’re well into your transformation ride.

In a while the grass will grow upon that rendered mound,

and then one day upon that spot a lone  flower will be found. 

And maybe a horse will wander by and graze upon that flower,

that once was you and has now become your vegatative bower.

Well, the flower eaten by the horse along with other feed

makes bone, and fat and muscle essential to the steed.

But there’s a part that he can’t use, and so it passes through,

and lies there on the ground, this thing that once was you.

And if by chance, I happen by and see this on the ground,

i’ll pause a while and ponder on this object I have found.

I’ll think of reincarnation and life and death and such, 

and go away concluding, heck, you haven’t changed that much.

By Wallace McRae

Edited by Leon Ripplinger

As A Man Thinketh

believe
As A Man Thinketh
If you think you’re beaten you are.
If you think you dare not, you don’t.
If you’d like to win but you think you can’t
it’s almost a cinch you won’t.
If you think you’ll lose, you’re lost,
For out in the world we find,
Success begins with a fellows will
it’s all in the state of mind.
If you think you are outclassed you are.
You’ve got to think high to rise,
You’ve got to be sure of yourself,
Before you can ever win a prize.
Life’s battles don’t always go
to the stronger or faster man.
But sooner or later the man who wins,
is the man who thinks he can.
Author Unknown