Pansy was her name; Garbage was her game,
she made each can in town most every day -
She rode each alley there. She took what e'er she'd care,
then hopped her 'bike' and quickly rode away.

She sang a funny tune and often acted like a loon;
the boys would taunt and call her awful names.
With sticks she chased and cried, and yelled that they had lied;
with shouting she would hurl back their profanes!

They teased her through the years, and often brought forth tears;
'the story told' in sin she slipped and fell.
They told her young heart broke, and caused her mind to stroke,
but never of her lover would they tell.

She'd braved the storms of life alone in poverty and strife;
her mind seemed gone when all was said and done.
Each day she picked the trash - 'midst teasing verbal rash -
I'm sad to say of them, that I was one!

I chanced one day to find: a photo left behind -
it fell from in her purse - she'd often look.
It was of he and she - her beauty I could see -
but now so strange to view the toll time took!

From that day forth I vowed: her peace to be allowed;
I'd have this taunting, teasing, vigil stopped!
And by this simple act, there came an-un-spoken pact -
between us distant friendship soon out-cropped.

We spoke but only twice, of how she'd paid the price:
to live alone this life that seemed so sad.
But memories of him, although sometimes so grim,
were all she had and made her heart feel glad.

I watched as time went by; with what she had she'd try,
to help the poor and sick - the needy old .
She gave as best she could: their simple needs she would
attend with food and clothes, and Heart of Gold.

She brought them laughs and cheer; when sick she'd hover near
and bring them aid if they had friend or kin.
In time I came to know, although it didn't show,
to many she brought Love where none had been!

Now only memories bring. . .the way she used to sing
and heaven's portals she has surely crossed.
The Lord forgave her sin and I pray that in the end -
She too forgave the sin . . . at her we tossed!


An old worn bowlegged cowboy
rode into town one day
He said he'd talked with an angel
ride'n along his way
The angel said go tell your friends
God's round'n up His herd
It's time for the final round - up
spoken of in God's word

The angel told him that only
those with special names
Shown in the book of life
are the only ones God claims
God said He knows the ones He's branded
. . . those who really care. . . .
And soon we'll stampede to meet Him
RAPTURED in the air

Jesus . . the chosen trail boss
combs the pasture lands
And mighty will be the final
herd that His voice commands
He's round'n up the strays and dogies
ride'n a mighty steed
Sling'n-a-mighty lasso brand'n
all that His voice heed

The old worn bowlegged cowboy
told me the angel claimed
He came to fetch two souls to heaven
his was the first one named
He told me that the angel said
before this day was done
We're ride'n together on to Glory
. . . .mine was the other one !!!!!!!

Put Down Your Guitar

I had a few years left I thought I'd spend in having fun
But first it seemed I had to have this marriage thing undone
I'd had a fling or two in just the not too distant past
Now I could not forget and I was growing older fast
I knew a place where I could hang my hat though not a home
A place where I could come and go and I'd be free to roam
It seemed that lately things were all mixed up and full of strife
My life seemed unfulfilled by church and things that pleased my wife
I'd listened to the word of God in preaching, prayer and song
But in my mind were tunes and times-each day for them I'd long
I couldn't give it all to Jesus though it seemed I'd tried
I couldn't shake the past- the lust for life and foolish pride
I bummed around the musicals and had fun for a while
But soon I came to realize they didn't like my style
I guessed I'd make a night-club or a tavern or a bar
I'd fool around and sing and dance but wouldn't go too far
I used to sing and dance and play and thought that I was great
But all the girls were drunk and only looking for a mate
I did my thing and sang my songs the way I used to do
But those who liked my corney jokes and songs were such a few
They liked a strange new sound that seemed to put them in a trance
Then someone yelled, "Hey Pop - go try the Senior Citizen's Dance"
I'd heard these slurs before and didn't really seem to mind
'Cause someone who would listen I could surely always find
I looked across the room and saw an old friend at the bar
I asked him how he liked the new way I played my guitar
He said, "old pal, the songs you sing are anything but new."
"They're just the sounds we listen to to do the things we do."
The tunes you play and songs you sing have always been around
Where pain and heartache, sorrow, sin and loneliness are found
You come here thinking you can find some friendship and some fun
But just like me you're empty when the song and dance is done
I sit here every night and drink my booze and cry my tears
And think of life gone by and look ahead to wasted years
I had a wife and family that was better than I thought
But growing old is hard and there were times we fussed and fought
I didn't realize how fine she was -how much she cared
I just forgot the good times of the life that we had shared
It seemed that I'd be better off alone and have more fun
So I stepped out and caused this married life to be undone
I now don't have a place to go or place I have to be
But also I've discovered no one really cares for me
There's no one there to listen when I hurt so deep inside
There's no one there at night I really care to be beside
There's no one there to wash my clothes and fix my bed just right
And care about my health and worry when I feel up-tight
There's no one there to fix my meals with tender loving care
In fact I've searched and love like hers I can't find anywhere
Now put down your guitar and listen close to what I say
Before I left I think that she had found a better way
I still remember how she prayed for God 's help from above
She said that He would mend our hurts and heal our hearts with love
So if you'll sing just one more gospel song-how God hates sin
I think I'll step outside and ask for one more chance again
And when I get to where I stay and sit down all alone
I think I'll say a prayer....and then...
I'll call her on the phone.

The Mountain Climber

The roar of rushing waters
by the trails he climbed so high
Resounded in his ears
and visions danced before his eyes
He sought to climb the highest peaks
in all the Mountain lands
And all his energy and strength
he gave to it's demands
Consuming passions kept him
on the trail to strange new heights
Along the way encountering many
dangers and delights
He held great satisfaction
having scaled steep walls of stone
Though often filled with anguish
pain. . . .and always so alone
He clawed through rocks and
any barrier standing in his way
But always somewhere higher up
the unfound pinnacle lay
He woke from sleepless nights so filled
with fantasies and dreams
And always in his ears the roar
of rushing mountain streams
Yet upward climbing ever seeking
life's vain peaks and goals
He sought to climb much higher
than had ever before been told
Then one day high above the world
he stopped to catch his breath
Upon the precipice -- one more step
would mean his certain death
He cried to God above "Please help
dear Lord send help today
I'm lost . . . . .don't know which way to turn
Please Lord, show me the way"
I too have sought life's pinnacle
followed trails that greed inspires
And climbed to strange and dangerous height
and sought to climb much higher
I've heard the roar of life's swift streams
resounding in my ears
And taken paths forbidden. . . . . . .
not regarding inward fears
I've spent cold sleepless nights alone
God watched from up above
He knew my bleeding heart in pain
cried out for His great love
And yet I upward climbed
through such a maze of wilderness
Till finally on the brink of death
my soul in emptiness
Cried out. . . . .I'm lost -- can't find my way
show me your way Lord - Please
Then I 'The Mountain Climber'
found life's pinnacle
down on my knees

Poetry Copyright 1997 Ron Baron
Art Copyright 1996 Robert Luttrell