JUDGE NOT

I am not bound by ancestral spirits,

To do as my forefathers did!

While allowing for similarities,

Animalism is not my bid.

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While ‘bearing one another’s burdens’

I am obliged to ‘bear my own.’

To each his own, responsible

I am to occupy my own throne.

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I do not inherit my father’s traits.

I am a poet, he is not!

He had a way with words, in speech.

Eloquence I have not got!

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Consensually I sin, he did too.

“All have sinned and come short

Of the Glory of God.”  So far away,

We are tempted sometimes to abort!

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But what I do he is not responsible.

He has his own thing to do!

His son does not have to do as he does.

He is accountable, too!

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Contractually I am as far away

Or near to my Father above.

As near has everything to do with

And how we receive His love!

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My grandfather did not receive His love.

My father did, so did I!

Do not you think our Father in Heaven knows

Who His child is and also, why?

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Sam Cox (is not the judge) 04.04.04

I KEEP GOOD COMPANY

I am not a sissy nor am I a fruit cake,

Just a poet and that is all I am.

You have heard of David, Kipling, and Edgar Allen,

Now you have heard from little ole Sam.

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So what does it take to convince you that

This is a legitimate cause?

“Nobody does it.  Do not make no money.”

Well, I think that should give you pause.

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To consider other poets, like, say David.

Was he ever rolling in cash?

Not until he was the king of Israel.

Could he boast of any kind of stash?

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So who cares anyway?  “The love of money…”

Will get you nowhere in the end.

Especially when that pot of gold stares at you,

But you are too stiff to even bend!

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Just could be I am doing good with my stuff,

Just writing and letting it lay.

Then someone may bend and even pick it up.

Our doughs no good in heaven, anyway!

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Sam did it 12.29.03

A RING FOR NIKI

Ring bestowed, yes, it has been done

By my tall and thin grandson.

No more fun in the sun

For Ian.

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No!  I am kidding, of course,

Not engaged to a horse,

But a living doll!  No remorse

For Ian!

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Niki, hope I got that right.

Not just cute she is also bright!

Christian, too, walks in the light

And a poet!

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Of course, you know now that she is perfect,

She can run in any circuit.

Put an eight-ball in the pocket

Anytime!

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She and Ian taking studies,

Far apart they cannot be buddies,

Which is smart, hard to study

When in love! (*)

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For each other they will pray

Looking forward to the day

When together they can stay

Forever!

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Pray for them that God will lead

That their studies will bear seed

To prepare them for the need

They will find.

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Praying hard to find a place

Share with others ‘saving grace’

Looking to the loving face

Of Jesus!

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(*) Hard for me anytime!

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Your ever loving Gramps S. Cox 8.27.03

ANSWERS

Give a thought please, He does when I need,

He is the master poet!  I just follow His lead!

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Hemmingway, London, a few others I know

Come to the forefront then there is Whittier to show.

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Sure, thoughts contrive to come with meaning

But the meaning is weak only just seeming—

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To contain a miniscule of clear thought

But the thought is not there and I have lost a lot.

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In backward, turn backward, oh time in thy flight,

Make me a child again just for one tonight.

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Retrogression deliberate loss I see

With no growing continuity!

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Childlike and childish big difference I see

Our faith must be childlike not childishly.

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Seeing fairies and gnomes with money on a tree

Fooling the self deliberately.

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But living by faith in Jesus alone

Is positive, sins to atone.

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For sin is real and not a mistake

“Thou shalt not kill, steal or envy…” a break—

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Away from a pattern of doing

Wrong!  Guilty the pair in the ‘Garden,’ no song.

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For we all have sinned, all have come short

Of God’s law we have broken, of course, we abort!

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But graciously God’s love came through

Died for us!  What more could He do?

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From beginning of time this painful death

He suffered, I think, with every breath!

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Sam Cox 08.16.10

IN GREEN PASTURES

So I am a poet, sure, and I knowit!

And what is wrong with that?

With Edgar Allan Poe as my hero,

Decidedly compact!

 

 

And skinny as a rail he was!

Scared himself to death!

That black cat as his enemy

Along with dying breath!

 

 

Then there is the guy who wrote the words,

“Though they lash me and flay me,

By the living God who made me you are

A better man than I am, Gunga Din!”

 

 

The words of a master.  No rhyme and no

Rhythm but with sound.

Rhythm is as a song, a song sung as

A whirling round and round!

 

 

As a verse I wrote so long ago,

“Take heed all ye wanderers,

Take heed and stay at home!

Be satisfied with what you have

And leave that swill alone!”

 

 

There I had it so long ago,

Or perhaps it had me!

Sounded so good with rhythm and such,

Perfect poetically!

 

 

But did it make sense?  Or just sound good

With rhyme and no reason there?

Thethought should be provocative!

As something a saint would share!

 

 

As the invitation, “Come unto Me

I will give you rest

All you weary and heavy laden.”

Accept now the best!

 

 

Then you can say, “Jesus satisfies!”

For certain! He is all I need!

Joy, peace, hope of Heaven above,

Meanwhile, in green pastures feed!

 

 

the Sam 11.25.11