…and then she looked at me
with a smile and said with a
table knife in her hand…
Make the most of burnt toast
Man, you gotta use your head.
Scrape off the burned part.
You need to make the most of your bread.
…and then I had breakfast.
Children
chase
brightly-
colored butterflys in a
g r e a t field of green
grass with great nets.
They miss their prey,
and catch themselves.
Para ver la versión original en inglés, haga click aquí.
La sal de la vida
En muchas recetas, es de nuez moscada molida fresca
una especia de que muchos jefes de cocina como de utilizar,
pero no demasiado, para el fresco natural
Esencia puede ser objeto de abusos.
Es una sutil ingrediente secreto que
parece que el sabor de platos caseros,
y es cierto que otros distintivos
especias son sin duda exagerado.
Chile de todos los tipos piensan que están calientes,
comino y piensa que todavía puede competir.
Sage va con romero y tomillo
canela y considera que es dulce.
Luego negro de pimienta molida, que es
utiliza siempre con una pizca de sal marina.
Varios chefs de tratar de hacer una gran parte de cómo
el ajo es bueno, pero una buena respiración se detenga.
Así que lo mejor es usar un poco de nuez moscada,
sobre todo cuando no sabemos.
Ese será el plato que gana primer lugar
y el que se roba el show.
Some go out the in,
others go in the out.
Things are so confused.
What is it all about?
Some know where to begin,
others are filled with doubt.
I listen to what they say,
and I just want to shout.
Where should I turn?
Should I go left or right?
I just keep moving along,
but the end isn’t in slight.
How I am supposed to love,
when there are those I hate?
How much love is enough
when I go out on a date?
I just keep asking questions.
Their answers I should know,
but they will come with time
and with patience, I’ll grow.
To read this poem in French, click here.
(Photo by Mike Hall)
Footsteps in the Sand
Footsteps of the soldier are
etched in the sand as he walks
into the events which are history,
but like the water that rises with the tide,
the events are erased with the passage of time.
Then another man leaves his mark in the sand.
To read this poem in French, click here.
(Photo by Mike Hall) National Road winds through the hills of West Virginia.
Detours
If the road to success is always under construction,
then my life has been a constant detour from the expressway.
I’ve slowed down a little for the others in my way as I
watched the new overpasses being put together.
My truck, filled with my belongings, has felt the changes in
the layers of pavement, the new over the old, on the frontage roads.
As I made turns I believed are right, I found out later that
perhaps they were not appropriate; however, a decision was made.
At times I relied on a few tourist guides. Unfilled, I left
places feeling disappointed. The books lied.
It is always easier to look back, to see the different places I
would have missed if I would have known my directions.
I have no regrets, and I have hope for the future,
for life is the journey.
Para ver la versión original en inglés, haga click aquí.
Cuaderno de la Naturaleza
Ramas desnudas de café
árboles en el bosque
bloc de notas son de la naturaleza,
y el vacío ramas
son las líneas de la
página en blanco.
Palabra por palabra, el
verde yemas pronto
florecen en la primavera
en oraciones completas.
Cada árbol se convierte en un
párrafo y, a continuación,
un caminante errante puede
leer el ensayo de la naturaleza
ha escrito con una
banda sonora de cantar
aves en el fondo.
You can call it fate,
for it just might be luck,
but I met a wild
red-headed woman
in a red pick-up truck.
And I think I’m in love.
I was driving home from work last Thursday evening,
something happened you won’t believe.
There, by the road she stood with a tire gone flat.
I said to myself with a smile, “I could help her fix that.”
I stopped to see what any man could do,
and I acted like a crazy, head-over-heals fool.
You can call it fate,
for it just might be luck,
but I met a wild
red-headed woman
in a red pick-up truck.
And I think I’m in love.
Well, I changed her tire and the rest is history.
I went and took a shower ’cause she went out with me.
I spent a few minutes with my hair for a good impression.
I wanted to have her love as my only concession.
We went to the Longhorn Cafe and had a few drinks.
Things were getting good when she started to wink.
You can call it fate,
for it just might be luck,
but I met a wild
red-headed woman
in a red pick-up truck.
And I think I’m in love.
It has been over three years since I fixed the flat that day,
and we1re fixing to celebreate our third anniversary.
We have a precious child which was born to us, too.
Her name is really Susan, but mostly we call her Sue.
She1s got red curly hair, and is as wild as her mother.
She1s got a little red truck for her birthday. Oh brother!
You can call it fate,
for it just might be luck,
but I met a wild
red-headed woman
in a red pick-up truck.
And I think I’m in love.
Photo by Mike Hall
The Puzzel
Like apuzzel, mi
lif is kuming tooogether
and eech pees gos in a
sertan plas. Soon
the picture wil be compleete.
This poem is from brother Adrian Parker, who was a business major. he wanted wanted to start his own business, and became a high successful independent insurance agent in Peoria, Ill. Was married, divorced and has remarried with two children from his first marriage and one from the second. The second wife has custody of her three boys. Now that’s a family.
The other man’s shoes
As a child I was the one who
thought too much, and in class
knew what to say with
questions asked in class.
I tried to solve the world’s
problems in my own little way.
I tried to know the facts, but to
some, didn’t know anything
about life. I thought they were
wrong and I was right.
They say 20/20 vision is hindsight.
I didn’t want to give up without a fight.
The more I learned, the less I knew.
That is true. I’m always catching up
with technology or learning
something different from you.
There seems to be a million
shades of blue, and like camouflage,
I now try to blend in with the right hue.
As the old Indian saying goes,
I need to walk in the other man’s
shoes to get to wherever I need to go.
The child’s hands,
small fingers in each hand,
reach out to understand
what they should know.
The child’s eyes,
the baby’s bright eyes,
look forward to realize the
truth from the show.
The child’s ears,
cute, curved pair of ears,
continue his parent1s fears
and does as he1s told.
The child’s mouth,
a sweet smiling mouth,
opens wide to shout while
his vocal power flows.
The child’s feet,
tiny toes of both feet,
get bigger quickly to meet
those who will help him grow.
The child’s mind,
many memories in mind,
searches the world to find
when best to bet or to fold.
Contents of this website copyright 2007 by Michael D Hall. All rights reserved. Privacy Policy.