The Masters

These are my masters, I chose them.
          We all have the privilege to choose.
But, whoever you choose to guide you
          Will control where you go, what you do.

You have a choice in the matter
          So, be sure your choosing is well.
The masters you choose will lead you
          To wherever they want you to dwell!

The only freedom we really enjoy,
          Is to choose who our masters will be.
But, after each choosing they take us
          Wherever they choose to lead.

Be careful my friend in your choosing,
          For your masters will master your mind.
They will ever so carefully mold you
          Till you become like the rest of their kind.

You'll be subject to all of their power
          Whatever that power might be.
So please, I beg you; Be Careful!
          Choose masters who set people free.

                                                                          Copyright 2000 by Layne S. Porter

The Old Wooden Post

Just an old wooden post,
          That's all that is left,
A lonesome reminder
          Of what was once just a fence.

A monument true
          To simpler times,
When fathers and sons,
          Worked side by side.

Now the old wooden post
          Struggles in pain,
To stand up proud
          Against the wind and the rain.

The wires are rusted.
          The staples are loose.
Temptation to fall,
          Still sternly refused.

For the old wooden post
          Witnessed the day
When he and the others
          Stood tall and straight.

Perfectly lined!
          Perfectly true!
They held their position!
          They let nothing through!

True to his purpose!
          True to his name!
The old wooden post
          Has not struggled in vain!

                                               Copyright 1998 by Layne S. Porter

My Yoke Is Easy

"Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me; for I am meek

and lowly in heart: and ye shall find rest unto your souls."  Matthew 11:29

 

My yoke is easy,

My burden is light,

I'll be there to sustain you,

Each day and night.

 

I'll be there by your side,

If you just simply try,

To be the best you can be.

 

If ye seek, ye shall find me,

I'm not far away.

If you just simply call me,

I'll come and I'll stay.

 

I'll bring peace to your mind,

Love to your heart,

And hope to lead the way.

 

Please!  Open your heart to me!

Please! Open your mind and see!

Please let me be your friend,

And I'll stand by your side till the end.

 

I'm waiting to hear you,

Call my name,

So I can sustain you,

Through sorrow and pain.

 

I'll light up the night,

Calm stormy seas,

And you will walk with me.

 

Copyright 1983 by Layne S. Porter

 



Arms And Lullabies

Once long ago, a faraway time, I cuddled in my mother's arms.

The softness of her pillowed breasts cradled my wee head and I drifted

in serenity and peace, scarcely feeling any need to twitch or even cry.

 

Her gentle fingers caressed my wee small hands and stroked my tiny brow.

And even now I feel her breath lightly on my cheek and the scent of lost perfume

that teased my nose with subtle dreams of flowers and summer clouds

and leaves that danced and played in the gentle summer breeze.

 

Back and forth, squeak and roll, the rocker sang its song.

Keeping rhythm with the sound of mother's lullaby,

Her simple song she sang to me, just me!  Yes, to only me!

 

I nestled in her love while the world of pain and monster growls

slipped quietly away to places lost and secret, places closed and sealed.

 

Oh, if I, just one more time could snuggle in her arms and find that lost

serenity that once was mine.  Enfolded in her safeness as gentle arms

engulfed my tiny frame!  Just one more time!  Just one more time!

 

But, this gray head is bending now and mother's arms are gone.

And so I yearn for mother's arms and lullabies that comforted my dreams.

They once were mine!  They once were mine!

 

Copyright 1997 by Layne S. Porter

 

 



Truth In A Lie

There

Is a truth

In a lie,

Which if learned

Will make

You wise.

 

For

Little lies

Are just a ruse

To keep

The hearer

From the truth.

 

A

Wily hoax,

A sham, Deceit!

To plant

False thoughts

For us to think.

 

What

This deception

Says to me,

I cannot trust

The words you speak.

 

For,

You try

To play me

As a fool,

I'll not

Consort with

Fools like you!

 

Copyright 2001 by Layne S. Porter

 

 



Two Women

(1st Woman from one side of the street)

So little time, so much to do
          I'm never done when day is through.
Too many demands tie me down
          I always run and fret about.

In earnestness I try my best,
          In the end I'm still depressed.
Nothing ever quite works out,
          My self-respect is still in doubt.

My neighbor on the other hand
          Seems to finish all she plans.
Always smiling, always fresh,
          She never even takes a rest.

I worry what she thinks of me,
          I'm not the best that I could be.
If I could just be more like her,
          I would not feel so insecure.

 (2nd Woman from the other side of the street)

It seems no matter how I try
          I can not make a simple pie.
The food I cook is such a bore,
          To share, I buy it from the store.

I try so very hard to learn,
          But, all I cook is raw or burned.
I would like to cook from scratch,
          But when I do it tastes like hash.

My neighbor on the other hand
          Never cooks a meal from cans.
She slices, dices, mixes, pours,
          A feast that all who eat adore.

I worry what she thinks of me,
          No one comes to eat with me.
If I could just be more like her,
          I would not feel so insecure.

And so the tale goes on and on,
          Both caught up in woebegones
For envy of the gift they sought,
          The gift they own is somehow lost.
  
                                                                       Copyright 2012 by Layne S. Porter

Baggage

He didn't use to notice
          This heavy little sack,
But lately he's become aware
          His tired aching back.

In many ways he is surprised
          The weight feels quite alive,
He never dreamed his evil deeds
          Could bend his once strong spine.

He finds himself encumberd
          With this heavy little bag,
Filled with sordid memories
          The deeds of which he bragged.

There were warning voices
          But, he mocked and would not hear,
Intent upon his quest of pain
          Which now draws ever near.

Yes! This bag is heavy!
          He filled it full you know!
The contents now escaping,
          His deeds becoming known.

He wants and needs so very much
          To shed this heavy load,
To free himself forever
          From the baggage of his soul.
                                                  
                                                      Copyright 2013 by Layne S Porter
 

Sweet Release

God proffers sweet relief
          For every pain or injury,
For every ache or sadness,
          He yearns to give relief.

His healing balm is offered
          To every hurting injured soul,
Liniment to soothe and mollify,
          To help the wounds to close.

Ointment offered freely
          To sooth the deepest grief,
Where only God and angels know
          How to bring relief.

This gift is freely offered
          From He who knows all pain,
To those who seek Him faithfully
          He tenders healing grace.

The Master's balm is offered
          When the faithful humbly speak
From their knees - in simple prayer,
          Seeking sweet release.

                                             Copyright 2013 by Layne S Porter

How Blind! How Vain!

If I’ve had much, but you’ve had none,

What good has all my having done? 

Does it prove I’m good and great,

Firm in stature, style and grace? 

Does it show my life is more than yours,

Cause you’ve had less and I’ve had more? 

Does it prove that God is pleased with me,

Because you are bond, and I am free? 

Or does this fact say anything

Of either you, or either me? 

If only what we see and touch

Defines the way by which we judge. 

How blind!  How vain! How small we be!

Crushed beneath such vanity! 

 

                                                                                                                Copyright 2002 by Layne S Porter


Side note by Layne: Some of the most wonderful people I have met in my life are of the common variety, living from hand to mouth.  It is unfortunate that these good people are seldom recognized for their contribution to the goodness of our community.

Great Grandma and Grandpa

He stands not as tall as he did once before,

She is not nearly as blond.

His eyes aren’t as sharp and he moves kind of slow,

She holds his hand when they walk.

 

She’s content just to sit and listen and watch

The grandkids playing their games.

His mind is now focused on family and friends,

He reads the obits every day.

 

He’s grateful for each act of kindness,

That someone cares for his needs.

She’s happy when someone stops by to talk

And listens to words that she speaks.

 

They sit close together, just holding hands,

Happy to be side by side.

There’s really not much need of talking,

               They know how their hearts intertwine.

 

They don’t feel a need to worry or fret

           What some folks might see or perceive.

They both know it really won’t matter,

         They’ve grown into what they will be.

 

So contented they struggle together,

In a graceful and dignified way,

Willing to bow to the trials and tests,

Pressing them each passing day.

 

 

The strength of their youth, long passed away,

Their bodies are weakened with age,

But, what they have lost through the annals of time

Is replaced by beauty and grace.

 

                                                                                                 Copyright 2000 by Layne S Porter

 

 

 

Side Note by Layne: I write this poem in hope that I will find such grace when youth passes from me.

Cartoon Run

Up before the crack of dawn,

          Pitter-patter fast he runs,
To mama’s bedroom quick he flies
          To stir awake her resting eyes. 

“Can I turn on the TV, please?”

          His shining eyes are all she sees.
“Yes my dear.”  Off he runs.
          Thinking only cartoon fun! 

She sighs while drifting back to sleep,

          But gives no thought to sleep she needs,
She dreams of happy little boys,
          Their TV shows and special toys.
 

                                      Copyright 2000 by Layne S Porter

Side Note by Layne: What more can I say?  I will let Jean (my wife), respond to this one. This poem was written with her in mind as I watched her respond to our young children and even now with our grandchildren.

Side Note by Jean:  When Layne first showed me this poem, it brought a quick smile as my thoughts returned to by-gone days when my own children were young and Saturday morning was the best day of the week.  They could easily jump out of bed at 7:00 a.m. or even earlier just to watch their favorite cartoons.  But, Monday morning would come (even Sunday morning) and..........well, you know all too well how hard it was to "pry" them out of bed for school and sometimes even church.  Now my children are grown, with children of their own and once again I smile as I think that they too are experiencing these same sweet moments.