"WHISTLING AT SNAKES" by Horace Sims
SECTION THREE: POEMS
From his personal collection, these poems faithfully convey Horace Sims' deepest feelings about the things that mattered most to him: his God, his family and his memories of home.
A Place Called Home
It was just an old frame house standing by the road,
But, to us, it was a place to call home;
And still we love to come and meet there,
No matter how far away we may roam.
It had five rooms, a big porch, and one semi-bath,
And it gave shelter to two parents, three boys, and a girl.
It lacked underpinning, but it had plaster walls,
And the linoleum hummed when winter winds would whirl.
It was complete with cold running water and electric lights;
And the dining room even had a Warm Morning heater.
The cook stove was fueled by kerosene oil,
And we bathed in a tin tub—what could be neater?
Christmas was always a happy time there,
For in the kitchen could be found ham, turkey and cake;
And our relatives came pouring in by droves
To eat and laugh and give the old place a shake.
Well, the days have come and the days have gone,
And the house that was home for Mom, Dad, Ronnie, Tony, Wilma and me
Now bulges and groans and moans, for besides us,
There is Carroll, Rita, Jane, Ruby, Lynne, Kay, Sonya, Stacy, Bryant, Rhonda … and Thee.
Mother
Today is hers, her very own day
And I wish to thank her in a special way.
For all her tender loving care
Has in my life left its mark there.
She made do with what she had
And never let us know if things were bad.
She kept our clothes mended and clean
And loved us even when we were mean.
Our home was never a sparkling mansion
But for a happier place, it couldn’t be outdone.
For when we came home feeling sad and low
Her singing in the kitchen added a needed glow.
And our lives were pointed in the right direction
Even though it sometimes took a little correction.
So on this special day, I wish to confer
My deepest love and affection on Mother.
Dad
He may be quiet and little known,
But he worked hard to have something of his own.
You may never have heard his name
But there are some who proclaim his fame.
For when there were hungry children to be fed,
He was the one who worked to buy them bread.
And when clothes were needed, he was willing to pay
So that we did not go without for even a day.
Even though a mansion was beyond his fold,
He provided a home that kept us out of the cold.
And we played and sang and worked some, too.
For in a family of six, there was always something to do.
Well, he saw us through until we were grown,
And now we are married with homes of our own.
But this is his day, and for that I am glad
Just to be able to say, “We love you, Dad.”
Jane
A bachelor I’d be until I died,
And the Lord knows I really tried.
Until I saw, sitting there, counting shirts,
A girl to whom I would throw many flirts.
And before we had traveled many a mile,
I found myself walking down the aisle.
I was twenty-eight and poorly paid,
But working together, our home we made.
It wasn’t much, four rooms and all,
But we soon had furniture wall to wall.
Then into our midst God did give
A newborn daughter to come and live.
With my bride of little more than a year,
We moved off to Columbia with little fear.
We had committed our lives to preaching the Word,
And we had to go where we could be heard.
In my calling, many lonely hours I would’ve spent
Had it not been for my wife, a gift God sent.
Not only does she cook and wash and mend,
She brings real joy to the life we spend.
From her many experiences as a preacher’s kid,
She coaxes me on when I would have hid.
Then to our life she brought another joy
When she made me the father of a baby boy.
No matter where in life we may roam,
She will always make ours a happy home;
And whether over distant mountain or plain,
I thank God every day for a wife named Jane.
My Boy
What could give a man more joy
Than to be the father of a little boy?
With eyes so big and clear and bright,
You know that someday they’ll be a girl’s delight.
Oh, he may be filled with mischief and trouble,
But way down deep, he’ll cause you to bubble.
He’ll ask a thousand questions about how and why;
Some you can’t answer, but still you’ll try.
In his mind’s eye, you reign as king,
And to keep that image, you’ll do anything.
He’ll taunt you and tease you just for fun,
Then when you try, he’ll turn and run.
You’ve trained him well, you’re prone to confess,
And then you’ll find his room in a terrible mess.
At times, the noise sounds like a full-blown twister;
That’s when he’s fighting with his older sister.
His laughter, to you, is like a bird that sings
And you thank God for the happiness he brings.
So with his every wish, you’ll be compliant,
Especially so when the boy’s name is Bryant.
My Girl
Is there anything in the world
Like being the father of a girl?
One who is so prissy and prancy,
A little bit sissy and a good bit fancy.
She puts polish on her fingers and toes,
And sometimes powders the end of her nose.
She will wear a frilly dress, too,
But prefers pants if they will do.
In a tub of bubbles, she usually soaks,
But forgets to give her hair a hundred strokes.
She leaves for school in such a tizzy
It often leaves me just a little dizzy.
When on a paper, she makes a good grade,
Around the house she loves to parade.
But when bad, she is in such gloom,
She often goes and sulks in her room.
There is one thing for which she wishes:
That is to never be asked to do the dishes.
While she has absolutely no use for a broom,
She will occasionally straighten her room.
But none of these things are really a bother,
Especially when she says, “I love you, Father.”
And to my Heavenly Father will my praise be
For He gave me a sweet daughter named Stacy.
Wilma
’Twas on a cold January night when I was born,
And to my sister that was as bad as a thorn.
That she really wanted a baby sister was true,
And news of a baby brother just would not do.
Across the street she ran in a mad flurry;
But I was her new brother and I didn’t worry,
For through the years she would come to realize
That having baby brothers was no real surprise.
She was the prettiest girl our daddy ever had;
A saying that most of the time made her mad.
From her first job, she bought a television set,
And her brothers’ approval she did quickly get.
She soon grew up and began dating boys and all,
And finally married a low-lander, lean and tall.
He had felt called to lead a preacher’s life,
And our sister wound up being a preacher’s wife.
She later became mother of two pretty girls,
Who usually left their uncles spinning in swirls.
And always at her table you could find
A meal to almost put you out of your mind.
As we come together to celebrate this day,
May we join our hearts and earnestly pray
That our Lord deliver us from many a dilemma
And help us always remember our sister, Wilma.
Uncle Benton Davis’ Farm
How well I remember Uncle Benton Davis’ farm,
For, to a city boy, it was a place full of charm.
It seems like such a long, long time ago,
But memories of that place still make my heart glow.
You see, as a city boy I was born and bred,
And I suppose I’ll be that until I’m dead.
But many were the good times at that farm I spent,
And to go there in the summer was a big event.
The beds always had a pleasant country smell,
And I loved to help draw buckets of water from the well.
The aroma I smelled as day was first dawning
Came from the wood cook stove where Aunt Clara was cooking.
After breakfast, there were many chores to be done,
And feeding cows and pigs, to a city boy, was really fun.
And when the sun got too hot, off we would streak
Across the pasture to swim in old Six Mile Creek.
Well, time has divided us by many long miles,
But the times we had there are remembered with smiles.
And though time and place may forever keep us apart,
I’ll always remember Uncle Benton Davis’ farm in my heart.
Thirty-Nine
Life is a funny thing to me;
I was sure I’d die by thirty-three.
Such a fate just was not mine,
So now I’m a little past thirty-nine.
Well, my hair has a silver lining,
And on top my dome is shining.
Though the years have added to my girth,
It was really mine from my birth.
Even though it gives no real pleasure,
Pills do control my blood pressure,
And medicated powder I must put
On my feet for athlete’s foot.
I may even live to seventy-two,
Provided I don’t catch the flu,
And if I do, I may even shout,
Only if it doesn’t hurt my gout.
Old Rebel
(For Harold Bryson, upon the loss of his dog, Rebel.)
He shared the woe
Of broken hearts,
Of pain, of grief
When one departs.
Of storm-tossed nights,
Of sunless morrows,
Of flowing tears
When a family sorrows.
He told of a search
Of hours unending,
Of kindhearted friends
When souls needed mending.
He told of days, of weeks,
Of months slowly passing,
Of the mind’s anguish
When hope’s not lasting.
And we all knew
’Twas the work of the devil,
But, alas, we must say
Farewell to old Rebel.
Itis
I hear that your bronchitis
Has aggravated your tonsillitis
And that you even have laryngitis.
The news does, however, excite us
Just to learn that your arthritis
Has not yet aggravated your neuritis.
Justice, Mercy, Grace
Justice! Oh no, oh no,
Please don’t let it be,
For my sins are dark and many
And it cannot set me free.
Mercy! Oh, please dear Lord,
Let it fall upon my ear:
“Your sins are forgiven
And you need never fear.”
Grace! Oh, hallelujah,
The message from above
Has filled my heart with joy
And bathed me in His love.
Lasting Joy
Have your days been dark and dreary?
Have your burdens left you weary?
Have you longed for some light to see,
Or some friend to set you free?
Have you faced the world afraid?
Have life’s trials left you dismayed?
Have your eyes been filled with tears,
And you are aging beyond your years?
Then one question I ask of you,
And from your heart, answer true:
Have you taken time to pray
And talked with the Lord today?
In Him you’ll find sweet release,
In Him is comfort and peace.
Trust Him, His power employ,
He’ll fill your heart with lasting joy.
A Prayer
My Heavenly Father from above,
Let me feel the strength of your love.
When my heart is burdened with care,
Let me know that you are there.
Dear Father, when my days are filled with strife,
Help me to find in you peace for life.
And when my own way has brought me sorrow,
Let me see in you a brighter tomorrow.
Then let me walk by faith each day,
Trusting in you to lead me in the right way.
And when with life’s battles I am done,
Let me dwell in heaven with your dear Son.
Sanctimonious
Sitting sanctimoniously in the sanctuary,
Showing piety in the pew.
As cold in June as in January,
Love’s warmth found in but a few.
The world outside is crying;
Sin is devouring like a flame.
Men all around us are dying,
And our piety may be to blame.
The call for help is sounding;
Lost souls look for one to come.
Their look may turn to longing,
For the will to respond seems numb.
Will we leave them lost and weary,
Not showing them life anew,
While sitting sanctimoniously in the sanctuary
And showing piety in the pew?
I Know That God Lives
When I hear the birds that sing
And see the flowers bloom in spring,
I know that God lives.
When I listen to a bubbling brook run
And feel the warm rays of the sun,
I know that God lives.
When I feel the warm summer rain
And smell the roses by the lane,
I know that God lives.
When I see the changing color of the leaves
And watch them fall with an autumn breeze,
I know that God lives.
When I feel the cold winter wind blow
And walk on paths covered with snow,
I know that God lives.
When I awake to a bright sunrise
And watch it set in a fiery demise,
I know that God lives.
When I, at night, kneel down to pray
And thank Him for this, another day,
I know that God lives.
When sin has filled my heart with sorrow
And He gives me hope of a better tomorrow,
I know that God lives.
Just God and Me
I walked through the quiet woods today,
All alone, just God and me.
And in His presence, I knelt to pray
And sought earnestly His will to see.
I sat alone with God tonight
And told Him all the burdens of my heart.
And in the darkness, I felt His might
As He bid all my sins and fears depart.
I awoke this morning to feel God’s love
As warm as the morning rays of the sun.
And I heard Him call down from above
To tell me that I am still His son.
The First Cold Wind of Winter
The first cold wind of winter
Blew its breath on us today,
And the sky heralded the arrival
With blustery clouds of gray.
The icy breath brought a shiver
To the naked limbs of the trees,
And made ocean-like waves
In bending the straw to its knees.
The birds flying in pattern
Seemed to fly a little faster,
And the old man walking the street
Made each step a little quicker.
And, as the cold night began to settle,
The sun gave one parting smile,
And somehow it just seemed to say
That winter would be here for a while.
The Morning Light
There’s a quiet hush just before dawn,
Quiet enough to hear all nature yawn.
Then comes the sound of a honeybee’s wings,
And off in the distance a mockingbird sings.
And the maple’s cover of new green leaves
Ripples softly in the early morning breeze,
While the flowers, bowed with a heavy dew,
Begin to raise their heads for a glorious view.
At last the whole world seems to be humming,
For out of darkness, Morning Light is coming.
And so it was with the souls of men;
They were lost in a world full of sin.
Their heads were bowed, their hearts filled with fright
As they sat in the lonesome darkness of night.
And then there came through the prophet’s voice
A sound that would cause all men to rejoice.
For, like the flowers rising from the heavy dew,
God was preparing to give men hope anew.
And now all their sad hearts could be singing,
For new life, the Morning Light would be bringing.
If I Had My Life to Live Over
If I had my life to live over,
In a thousand different ways,
I’d make more use of each moment
Of those quickly passing days;
I’d fill each second with wonder,
Reaching for the distant star;
I’d set my course to sail onward,
Gleaning from ports near and far;
I’d look for God in the flowers
And see Him in every bloom;
I’d trust Him to fill the hours
And never, never know gloom.
If I had my life to live over,
I’d sing with the morning sun
And rest complete in the evening,
Knowing my work had been done.
Wonders I’ve Yet to See
In the quietness of the morning,
I hear God speak to me,
And as day’s light is dawning,
He tells of wonders I’ve yet to see.
Sin as the darkness of night
Has hid from me His face,
But up there in heaven’s light,
I’ll sing the glory of His grace.
And when salvation’s story’s told,
I’ll lift my voice in thankful prayer,
And I’ll walk along those streets of gold
With all my loved ones waiting there.
And standing by the river, crystal clear,
And eating from the Tree of Life,
My heart will know no pain or fear,
Having left this world of strife.
In the shadows of the evening,
God still speaks to me,
And my heart now has a longing
For the wonders I’ve yet to see.
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