I was listening to an article on the topic of lost and found, and the writer was putting things from her life into these categories.  But what was not said, at least in the NPR audio, was what I thought was the essence of the words Lost and Found… that only something of value could be lost and anything lacking value will never be found.  Value is the determining element… and so this poem:

LOST and FOUND
Look here, look there, look in your heart
for only what is precious can ever be lost.
Find this, find that, and feel for this, for it
must be valuable to be worthy of being found. 

And what is valuable to me may not to you,
for there are things and more than things
of which to consider.  

What can be replaced, and what never 
will be replaced, and what can be repaired,
and what will never be repaired, and if
the value is no longer there, it is no 
longer lost, nor could ever be found. 

But what we can never lose and we can
always make valuable is what we do
and say and feel in the precious moments
of now we find for ourselves by grace of 
fortune and spirit.

The swing swings devoid of spirit
while strolling sad and quiet near it.
Dusty groan of a merry-go-round
objecting to being pushed around,
and teeter-totters tilt no more without you.
As a lithe light carefully filters through
and the shadows are familiar gray
as trees whisper, but don’t quite say
what they mean when lost leaves fall
cluttering the grass just a bit too tall
walking in remembrance of time long ago
when we blissfully didn’t quite know
how tired such a thing could become
without the blessing of youthful fun.

Another cold December morning,
too cold to walk, as is my custom.
Seems better to sleep-in
and rising to write
some thoughts
put a log on the fire.

It burns warming the room,
giving a nice golden glow,
like a sunrise in the room,
it is peaceful it seems,
but of course it is violent
just as every sunrise is both.

It’s Christmas Eve and all through the world
many are stirring restlessness in fitful sleep.
For there are storms of evil exposed in the East,
and faithless father-figures failing everywhere.

And though there’s surely a renewal of Christmas faith
with those who in the dark and bitter cold, and flashes
of war in the night sky and with those protesting with
uncovered hair, or fearing life-threatening diseases.

The world in danger, as it was four score and seven years ago,
with a rise of this evil presenting a third type of hell.
It is now it seems a baby of future-hope may be born,
In the most humble of beginnings, and difficulty of times.

Will she be cold in the dark with a star of fire in the skies,
Or in the Kurdish mountains with defiance in her eyes.
Or possibly in oriental lands threaten by disease and strife
Or even along a border as her mother seeks a better life.

She will come in this world of ours and we’ll come to know
there’s more to Christmas then decorations and lights aglow.
There is hope for salvation beyond religious show, and the spirit
brings us wisdom, love and hope if we’ll open our ears to hear it
… and hearts to feel it.

Fortune favors the brave
is what I was thinking when
writing Ambition…

But it is not bravery, but truth
which drives us forward
the truth about ourselves.

Being clear about ambition
is understanding  the value
of making dreams come alive.

We are who we are, this is truth,
but this is but the beginning,
not end of what we can be.

It is the fear of failure
which bravery must overcome,
yet small compared to the drive.

Dream and drive, and drive and
dream, and be present and happy,
loving life and your journey.

Insight precedes ambition, precedes passion and hard work, which precedes accomplishment, and rewards of success… No steps can be skipped.

The eaglet doesn’t just wish to fly
but finds it in his heart to leap and try.

Mozart learned of music before
he could pour passion into a score.

Michelangelo didn’t just climb a ladder with a brush
to paint a ceiling… but for ambition to inspire all of us.

There is no horizon on imagination, if we are to explore
thought, and learning to find an exciting and distant shore.

The journey maybe arduous and we may at times fail
but the ambition of purpose will get us back on the trail.

Regret is for those who lack the will and belief in self to try,
for they will look back and vainly wish they’d learned to fly.

One Saturday evening, rather early Sunday morning…  after partying as a young man would. I wandered up our driveway and saw a rat the size of a small dog…

Well how could this be!   Was I seeing things?…
but no – I see it fritter across the dimly lit garage floor.

Slightly inebriated but sobering fast. I used a snow shovel as a
shield to make my way to the door.

Now what to do?  Is this monster in the garage
something to forewarn my dad?  Do I leave the
garage door open to allow it to escape?

Now this was a delima… for what trouble would
I be in if I left the door open, or didn’t and it was there
in the morning as we were leaving for church?

So I woke dad, and he came with me to see the rat
which had this befuddled look as it peaked out
from behind some wood scraps.

Dad said it’s the largest rat he’s ever seen… and
I should go get the BB gun in the basement.

I hold the door open and dad shoots at the monster
rat… which now has out of fear turned its backside
to us.

The BB rolls out of the end of the gun and bounces
down the stairs… and of course does nothing but
make a loud pop, followed by, a bing, bing
as the BB found its way to the garage floor.

Dad says, we need to oil the gun… of course…
so we oil the gun and test fire into the garbage can
from under the kitchen sink… by now we are laughing
at the absurdity of this…

Again laughing, and giggling,  I hold the door open
and dad shoots the monster rat in the ass…
and it turns back around and looks
mournfully at us.

Dad says get the encyclopedia and look up
possum… (yes, this was way before google, and the
encyclopedia was our go to reference.)

There in the book labeled “P” I found a picture of
our monster rat… and read: when scared 
it would play dead...  well I thought this is not right,
It really just looks sad, as it plays mournful.

Dad says enough adventure for one night, go to bed,
I’m sure he’ll be gone in the morning… We were still
laughing, and feeling sheepish… and in the morning
the monster was gone, and we had the pride of
men who protected our homefront…

We laughed  about this for some time… deciding
maybe we should keep it to ourselves…
well for a while anyway