On a Small Touch of Hunger
A small touch of hunger sometimes is good
True hunger in truth never being good
While flase hunger is something for which to watch
Food being the great drug of our time
With which we anesthetize much more than hunger
Beware food as a drug which masks the deeper pain.
poem by Bill Grace
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Formula for Making Rank
Our mentor gave us this formula for making rank
'Work your boss's priorities...'
More than a little pagan given Gospel sensitivities
Of a group of ordained ministers -
But not a bad formula for survival -
In a world where Christmas was located over the winter solstice.
poem by Bill Grace
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Formula for Making Rank - Rewrite
Our mentor gave us this formula for making rank
'Work your boss's priorities...'
More than a little pagan given Gospel sensitivities
Of a group of ordained ministers - but not a bad formula for survival -
In a world where Christmas was located over the winter solstice.
poem by Bill Grace
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Trucks in Susan B. Komen Pink
When the burly owner of the company
Lost his mother to cancer
He kept his vow and painted his trucks pink
I doubt it hurt business a bit
There is something about an air conditioning and heat man
Arriving in a pink truck
Especially if you know the story of a son’s love.
poem by Bill Grace
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Ike Receives His Last Salute
When Eisenhower was buried
With well deserved stately pomp
Omar Bradley was in uniform
And with a palsied hand of age
Raised it in final salute of his great chieftain
Giving television an electric moment
And affirming the bond of a great lieutenant
Not even death could break.
poem by Bill Grace
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On Despair
Those who care must despair
A battle never to be won
If God truly sent his only son
Even he was not enough
When up against such brutal stuff
As the blood that fills our veins.
Best we work only for the smallest seed of hope,
For fear - despair will catch us - if we dare look back..
poem by Bill Grace
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After Mary Ranney's Service
The night after the funeral
I am still not free
Haunted in part by her memory
The realization of early death
Only yesterday it seems
A partner at the pre-service table.
Yet from the closure of candle, bread and wine
Words from her 'bunco' circle friend ring:
'Mary, it was not your time! '
poem by Bill Grace
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House at Night
The house at night is best
When wife and daughter rest
The strivings of the day
They seem to fade away
and leave a perception so profound
Even errant water is retrieved
There is only the fear of those who thieve
Cat and dog understand it too
A house at night how different
Than the house at day.
poem by Bill Grace
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Front Page
On the front page of the newspaper
the beautiful woman wipes her tear
The copy beneath details a decade ago loss.
In Texas a bonfire that killed twelve is a big deal.
I wonder if our understanding of our connectedness will ever grow
To the point where any twelve deaths
Will merit a front page anniversary?
poem by Bill Grace
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Three Cats
Three cats
Each one a history
#1 tamed off the street
Dog catcher denied.
#2 acquired through a neighbor
A grief replacement
For the number one's companion
Lost to owl power.
#3 a shop cat once
We loved her window antics with our daughter
Granted asylum when the flower shop closed.
A history of three cats.
poem by Bill Grace
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