The Poetry and Songs of
Bob Hurt
BH
Pining at the Mount
There lives a lass I dearly love.
She near the mountain dwells;
Spirit-bright, she smiles a lot
And seldom ever tells
Of how she yearns and longs inside
For him upon a steed,
Her Knight in shining armor, yea,
The Captain of her need.
Some say she’ll pine her life away,
Awaiting years gone by
For one who’s just a misty dream,
Clouding up her sky.
But patiently she waits him out,
The fire within her glows:
The mountain soon will send him forth,
She consumately knows.
Now if only I could be the one,
And upon a stallion ride,
I’d swoop right down upon her
And pull her to my side.
I’d comfort, love, and cherish her,
Put waiting to an end;
I’d be the pride and envy of
Ten thousand thousand men.
But I know naught of knights and such,
Nor mountain mystery.
I’m just a poor and simple man –
She’d never go for me.
Each night I sigh myself to sleep
And dream how history tells
About the lass I dearly love
Who near the mountain dwells.
Copyright © 15 September 1981 by Bob Hurt.
BH
Ordeal at Sea
Painting by N. C. Wyeth
Our tiny craft, built of finest oak and teak,
Sailed boldly forth to distant ports
Through seas infested with serpent and shark,
Risking pirates, brigands, mutiny, scurvy.
Thousands of miles from home the skies
Darkened with menace, erupted with bolts
Of lightning, torrents of hail and rain.
Force 4 gale battered sheet, mast, and sail.
Forty-foot waves towered aloft,
Crashing thunderously to our decks,
Straining every plank and timber,
Working to drown us, plunge us to the deep.
Our mighty captain stood stalwart to helm,
Driving us bravely against the deadly storm.
Now, to a greater danger he quaked in fear.
The gigantic and fearsome, poisonous serpent
Reared her horrid head above our sea.
Prodded by evil intent of malignant eyes,
He heeded her threatening, commanding
roar:
"Robert, it's time to get out of the tub."
BH
Hurricanicity
A hurricane knocked down my door
And filled my house with blow.
A cryptic voice inside the whirl
Laughed and told me so:
"Follow my lead, you won't be bored;
My myst'ries you will know;
I'll shake your tree and rock your world,
You puny little toad."
"I'm sure," I said, "the way you go
Is not the path I'd take
To meanings, values, and truths I'd know,
For the trek a dervish makes,
In circles that endlessly curl,
Just drills himself a deep dark hole,
And wreaks havoc on the world."
Then I showed the wind the door.
BH
Footprints on the Soul
Inspecting pipe, and checking well,
He always liked to stop and tell
Life's tales to lads of friendly face,
Its thrills to girls of frill and lace,
And leave them stunned with gladsome
heart,
To know there's one who would impart
The things he'd learned from fist and grind,
From heart so burned, from senior mind.
He thought and searched for how to start,
Then locked in verse what came to heart.
For years on end he fussed and fixed
His poems till they were rightly mixed.
And now are we all blessed with rhyme
To which he gave such love, such time.
His words paint pictures in the mind,
And shake us loose from fears that bind;
They nourish hearts and make them whole;
They leave his footprints on the soul.
For what he's done we thank him so,
Oilman, poet, Brother Joe.
BH
On Starting a New Family
Oft we've reminisced
To times not rich like these
Rich, that is,
In a golden heart
Getting a family
Off to a start
Yes'ms and nopes,
Thank you and please,
And frogs-come-princes we've kissed.
But we found those thoughts
Less rewarding than this:
That we look to our futures,
Not what we've missed,
And show through our living
The boundless hopes,
And joys of giving,
That love, not ignorance, is bliss.
BH
Tribute to Don Miller
Those are mighty kind words
to come from a Tiger Heart.
I have in the past wondered whether
you have any idea what treasures
you bestow on others with the simplest
of encouragements, jokes, and jest.
A heartening comment costs less
than a full breath of air, and yet
it has nuclear power in lifting folks
to hope, humanity, and no-regret.
From canopy to wash have you embraced
Strength, courage, and ability.
May your skies be blue and crystal clear,
Your horizons golden and rainbow-graced.
God bless you and whoever reared you to be
A mighty champion of goodness and cheer.
May your motives be greater than your goals,
Your goals more than you can have-do-be
Your inspiration the maker of worlds
Your Tiger heart king of all you can see.
BH
Stinkweed
A lanky kid kinda nice inside
Lay low in the sweltering heat
Of the torrid Texas sun to hide,
Avoiding the certain encounter
With the one who called him
Stinkweed.
He kicked around during the day
And dreamt at night of way-off places,
Adventure, excitement, cars, high-seas,
Poker, danger, a gentle summer breeze -
Anything at all to keep from being called
Stinkweed.
And later, when his life had thoroughly run
Half its zaney zig-zag course and more
In big cities, forests, hovels broken down,
Ranches, ships, and pokey little towns,
He leaned back with an ironic smile and
knew:
That steaming stogie between his teeth was
Stinkweed.
BH
Dxtr, Like Me
Dxtr, like me,
Loves the wind in his whiskers,
Adventure ahead,
And history at his back.
Unlike me,
He cares naught for our future or history,
Let alone those of our planet and universe.
We both take joy
In the journey,
The ride up front,
The pedal to the metal.
The destination, meanwhile,
For all its importance,
Wallows in the back seat for its turn.
BH
Gimme a Job and a Guy
Oh I need and want a man,
Need one this very day,
Before I creak and wrinkle up,
And become old and gray.
Chorus:
Gimme just the right job
and just the right guy
I'll wade the seven seas
And wing the starry sky.
Hey I could use a cushy job.
I'll work hard all the day.
I'll do whatever you tell me to,
Then come collect my pay.
I could beckon from the door.
Many would come and drool,
But in the flood I'd miss true love,
And feel like such a fool.
So I'll hold out for the very best,
Heed each tried and trusted rule.
I'll plot and plan for my perfect man,
And rightful work, a rewarding jewel.
Copyright (C) 2 March 2015 by Bob Hurt. All rights reserved.
BH
Dreams
You're not alone tonight.
Your loving heart
And supple thighs,
Your givingness
And knowing eyes,
Your tender touch
And mind so wise,
What's more, your spirit high...
In way off worlds
cavort with mine
And thumb their nose
At space and time;
They deeply drink
The heady wine
Of missions come to life.
I joyous sing
For meeting you
To trek the stars
And seek for truth
And share the dreams
Where (as you knew)
You're not alone tonight.
Copyright (C) 1980- 2015 by Bob Hurt. All rights reserved
BH
Learning What to Eat
When we were kids at Palton Beach,
We asked our Lord what we could eat
To bring us strength and make us tall
and make us wise and good and all.
He smiled and said what mattered most
Was showing love to needy folks,
And eating just good stuff that grows,
And thinking good as down it goes.
BH
I wrote the verse below at Christmas time 2010 for this article for my webiste: http://bobhurt.com/articles/recipe%20-%20Habanero%20Heaven.pdf. The text on page 2086 of The Urantia Book inspired my writing of the poem:
The great hope of Urantia lies in the possibility of a new revelation of Jesus with a new and enlarged presentation of his saving message which would spiritually unite in loving service the numerous families of his present-day professed followers.
Even secular education could help in this great spiritual renaissance if it would pay more attention to the work of teaching youth how to engage in life planning and character progression. The purpose of all education should be to foster and further the supreme purpose of life, the development of a majestic and well-balanced personality. There is great need for the teaching of moral discipline in the place of so much self-gratification. Upon such a foundation religion may contribute its spiritual incentive to the enlargement and enrichment of mortal life, even to the security and enhancement of life eternal.
The Purpose of Life
The salty sage sat solemn, serene.
We’d thought he’d tell what life could mean,
Revealing its value for all to know,
What we’d reap from the seeds we sow.
Then he whispered in a voice soft but intent
“I’ll tell you life’s purpose, that’s why I was sent--
Take care to develop a personality
Of balance sublime, and of majesty.”
He gazed at us all and asked with a nod
“What else can you do to become like God?”
Then he hummed to himself, adjusted his cap
And sauntered away with a bounce in his step.
BH
Farewell to an Earthen Path
New concrete, covered, lined with sod,
Replaced the earthen path I trod,
Transformed as though by hand of God.
It leaves us vet’rans glad and awed.
“Farewell to an Earthen Path” was inspired by my encounter with a wonderful lady, Suzanne Klinker, director of the Bay Pines VA Medical Cener near my Florida home. Most of those in her hospital have not met her personally. I have. I invited her to my room during my stay in her facility early last year. She had a new parking garage built to diminish the furtive hunt for close-by parking. But it had a crazy sidewalk that few people ever used, so folks beat a path to the door most sought. I wrote to Suzanne about it last April, proposing a covered walk. And guess what greeted me as I left the parking garage to go into the hospital early this afternoon. I felt overjoyed to see a covered walkway. It inspired the meager quatrain. This is a thing of romance. Below you will find a copy of my email to Suzanne Klinker, a professional woman who engenders lots of love among those she serves.
Dear Suzanne:
Thank you for the spiritual light you have brought to CW "Bill" Young VA Medical Center. I am in your fan club.
FYI, People who use the new parking garage have created their own intuitively obviously convenient walking path between the parking garage and Building 100 and the eye clinic building. You can see this in the photo I shot this morning looking west from the parking garage elevator area. Of course when wet with dew, the path gets a little mucky.
I believe putting a sidewalk over that path would constitute a prudent investment. What do you think?
FYI, patients often walk directly to the front door of building 100 through the trees and hedge bushes from the parking lot across the street. Apparently they just don't want to walk a less straight path to the destination when they can take a straight path with fewer steps. Maybe a sidewalk there would make sense too.
I have shown the two paths people now take, bypassing actual, poorly-planned sidewalks. I propose putting full walkways (including concrete sidewalks) where the thick yellow lines indicate in the google map photo below.
I realize that regulations probably prohibit these because a large metal object lies near the path from the parking garage, and you'll have to order workmen to paint a crosswalk in the passenger loading area at the front door of the main hospital building. Oh well. Unless you put up a fence or impenetrable hedges, you won't keep people from using the yellow paths.
In the future when designers present you with plans that make ambulants take an indirect route to the most popular destinations, just say "NO." ... Until, that is, the center offers full valet parking and curb service. We know that will never happen.
God bless you, Suzanne. I sincerely appreciate you and your goodness.
BH
Journey from Tipperary
We left in dark of night from Tipperary,
Three of the girls I could, but two I couldn’t, carry.
The wee ones I nestled warmly in a potato sack.
Faith, I heaved my bag of treasures o’er my back,
The bigger girls took bundles under arm.
We skittered from our loft at Widow’s farm.
I had tried to save my wife Oh Lord I tried,
But she worsened in that terrible winter and died.
I couldn’t pay the fees for inn or car,
So we stole out before dawn to go afar.
We slid down the rooftop, covered in soot,
And betook our torturous journey on foot.
The wind howled at our departure from the town.
We trekked the hills and woods; rain poured down.
We warmed us beside fires of sticks and peat,
And sucked cows’ milk fresh from the teat.
The girls smiled with my tales of elf and fairy,
To forget their dead, cold mum in Tipperary.
Now and then we’d stop; I’d dry their tears;
Give hope for better lives; calm their fears.
In a week and more our travel finally ended;
The girls’ aching, broken hearts eventually mended.
I found stevedore work in Cleggan, by the sea
And a cottage on a farm for my girls and me.
Though they grew up happy, fine men did marry,
Sure, we miss her still who stayed in Tipperary.
Copyright © 28 September 2011 by Bob Hurt. All rights reserved.
BH
A Tribute to Joseph F. Bauer
1/25/2002
Inspecter of pipe,
Checker of wells,
He always liked
To stop and tell
Life's wonders to laddies
Of friendly face,
Its secrets to lassies
Of frill and lace,
And leave them stunned
With gladsome heart,
To know there's one
Who would impart
The things he'd learned
From fist and grind,
From heart so burned,
From senior mind.
"That book, that book!",
He wanted to say,
But just one look
Could drive 'em away.
He thought and searched
For a way to start,
Then committed to verse
What came to heart.
For years on end
He fussed and fixed
His poems till they
Were rightly mixed.
And mostly did it
In shower stalls,
Or on the john
Against the walls.
And now are we
All blessed with rhyme
To which he gave
Such love, such time.
His words give pictures
To the mind,
And shake us loose
From fears that bind;
They nourish hearts,
And make them whole;
They leave his footprints
On the soul.
We thank him so
For what he's done,
Oilman, poet, Brother Joe-
By him we all have won.
BH
She's the Only One for Me
I've had big,
I've had little.
I've found that I prefer
someone in the middle.
I've had short,
I've had tall.
Sometimes I've ended up
With no one at all.
I've suffered famine,
I've enjoyed the flood.
I've had my heart broken,
And landed with a thud.
I'd been love's slave
Till she set me free,
And gave me all the loving
I'll ever, ever need.
Breakfast time romancing,
Salacious afternoons,
Keep my soul a-singing
These sentimental tunes.
So now I don't want a world
Of women hustling me.
My heart's on fire for one -
She's the only one for me.
Lyrics Copyright © 1 August 2011 by Bob Hurt. All rights reserved.
BH