JANUARY 2008

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

JANUARY OUTLOOK

JANUARY OUTLOOK

Roger A. Davis

Weather this month can produce snow and ice
Let’s hope what happened in December isn’t repeated twice
Often, our over the road visitations
Are curtailed by us of the older generations
Yet, our post office, phones and emails
Still allow us to give others Happy New Year hails

Cabin fever can get us down
While we wait for a thaw, so as to go uptown
Yet, if the forecast has a bleak outlook
Get to the library for a good book
Batteries and the like, have on hand
Alas, enjoy the beauty of our Winter Wonderland

A TANNENBAUM PSALM

A TANNENBAUM PSALM

Roger A. Davis

Some put on top a star
For the Wise Men that followed it far
Others, angels they yield
To symbolize telling the shepherds of the field

One of my favorite jobs years ago
Helping people buy trees, some flocked with snow
It was a family outing of cheer
They looked forward to it every year

We would buy a six-foot white pine
With soft needles so fine
It was Peggy’s favorite season
Because Jesus was the paramount reason

In January, when taking it down
I would carry it to place on the ground
Then, come spring, its branches I’d strip
And fashion one into a staff to help me not trip

There are so many ways to decorate
Stringing cranberries and popcorn with Mama Grace, we would participate
Full stomach of popcorn was my fate
It was also special getting to stay up late

I know you all have your traditions that are cool
Some even put garland around a log called Yule
As you put a gift decoration away
For that person who gave it to you, pray!

CAROLERS COME SING

CAROLERS COME SING

Roger A. Davis

One cold December night
Carolers came to the door and brought delight
Children and parents came in and sang
And reminded us of how this season began

A heavenly choir represented on earth
They gathered around near my fireplace hearth
May the Lord Jesus bless all their ways
As they learn of His grace and love throughout their days

This is my way of thanking Him and you
For bringing to my heart such joy
By remembering The Stable Born Baby Boy
And may you have a Blessed New Yew Year, too

MEDICINE

MEDICINE

Roger A. Davis

This is a poem I wrote for my sister, Donita Joyce Helmer, who was recovering from a knee transplant. She lives in Hartdner, Kansas and it was the time of year when we celebrate the Medicine Lodge Peace Treaty. This was a treaty with the Native Americans in the 1800's in this area of Medicine Lodge, Kansas. Every two to three years, there is a reenactment of the treaty and other scenes of those times and our family has had a very active role in this for a long time. My great grandmother, Mayme Holmes Grisby, was the Grand Marshall from the 1950's until she passed on in the 80's. She rode a palomino horse sidesaddle. Also, there was always a gathering of the Native American Indian tribes who participated and set-up their teepees in the park. It was a multi-state event. Well, this forward was needed to explain my yet undiagnosed condition of bipolar before meds. A mind of unchecked originality. Welcome to zaniness.

Poem written 10-3-2000.


MEDICINE LAUGH PEACE TREATY DITTY

Hi, Dawn- Knee-Ta-Joy

Your High-Knee Is Cracked
Your Low-Knee Is Replaced
And Corn-Knee Is Butchered

People Who Kneed People
Are Low Blow Hitters

Shaw-Knee, Cherokee
Where Is Con-Knee Sioux
(Connie Sue Kawolsky is my other sister)

Tee-Pee For Cracked High-Knee
Cracked Ice For Sore Low-Knee
Corn-Knee, A Transplant The Eye-Sore

Hopi Navajo Shawnee Mandan
(translation)
Hope You Never Have A Sore-Knee Again

Sioux-U-Later

Love, Roger

P.S. No offense meant toward THE TRIBES

THE EAGLE

THE EAGLE

Roger A. Davis

A majestic bird of prey
The Great Spirit, the Lakota say
The eagle rises there each day
To light the morning star to see the way

Once, years ago in Santa Fe
We were allowed to view a statue of clay
Fashioned in the capture of an eagle
It was life size and very regal

It was cast in bronze, it is a famous rendition
Of the Native American Feather Gathering tradition
I see small ones at different exhibits around
It’s amazing to see him rise out of the ground

The bald eagle for the U.S.A.
Has a special place in our hearts to stay
It represents freedom above our nation’s banner
I’m glad we didn’t go with Ben Franklin, The Planner

Coming here to the Plains in winter and late fall
I have viewed them in awe
Zoos have them, too
Some species are getting to be few

Feathers are preserved and have a reverent place
For the Native American race
To be worn with honor, dignity and pride
In my soul, what the eagle represents will abide

CRASH RAILS

CRASH RAILS

Roger A. Davis

Do you remember the Calico poems I've spun?
Well, this one is about her and Joe's son
It seems they did name him right
Because in youth, at bumper cars, Crash was quite a sight

At State Fairs where they went and Calico sang
His allowance went to making those vehicles go "bang, bang, bang”
Upon obtaining his license to drive
His skills really came alive

When he started competing in Demolition Derby races
Crash could really put those cars through their paces
Calico and Joe worried for Rails’ safety and health
Yet Crash seemed to drive like his car was stealth

From his winnings he bought a street hot rod
Again, Calico was on her knees praying to God
One night on a pink slip bet
His souped-up nitro car won a Corvette

Crash Rails’ life had a sudden change
A ladies man he became from this exchange
The outcome was soon wedding bliss
Ten months later, a baby girl to kiss

Now Crash travels in a green minivan
And Calico’s in agreement with the Lord's plan
Readers, I know you want to know the baby's handle
Would you believe, Shimmering Candle?

CENTRO CIGARS

CENTRO CIGARS

Roger A. Davis

Umut is such a hoot
And a U.S. citizen to boot
Membership costs some loot
Yet, you can visit with Don, the Old Coot

Sitting in a leather seat
Watching big screen is an added treat
As you smoke your cigar
Centro, the best place by far

Meet Donny and Josh
They smoke and drink only the posh
Bryan takes your money
Also, Sarah, a good looking honey
So come in, smoke and relax
Rick will regale you with facts
This always makes my day
Hey! At Centro, you’ll enjoy your stay

FRONT DESK

FRONT DESK

By Roger A. Davis

Up to the Front Desk I go again this week
It’s made of granite, I think, not teak
Staff signs me in with complimentary accommodations
This is why I choose Prairie Band above other locations

You see, I drive 165 miles in my gas hog
I couldn’t afford to run up the fuel log
If it wasn’t for their comps
I wouldn’t be able to go on these gaming romps

Though they may be busy day and night
They’re never snobbish or uptight
They make your trip a pleasant stay
Even if, for the room, you don’t pay

Valet service is my first stop
Then, there is my bud, Stan the Bellhop
Dennis with the Jayhawk tattoo
Is a great asset through and through

Dan the Man gets my vehicle late at night
I tip him well, I hope – my wheelchair is not light
All your staff welcomes me as "Mr. Davis" or "sir"
But at the tables, it’s “Roger” or a good natured slur

Prairie Band, my second home where I'm a resident
And I truly enjoy tipping and the money spent
Yes, sometimes I win a little pot or a few
And hit some Blackjacks instead of twenty-two

I’d like to mention the unsung crews
Housekeeping deserves special dues
You leave your room astrewn
Yet, returning, it’s fit as a fiddle, like a new tune

Security and Maintenance I’m not leaving out
In fact, they came to my rescue upon my shout
On my way to the spa, my wheelchair did tip
They righted me and my ship, I signed a waiver slip

Know this, Potawatomi Prairie Band Casino and Resort
Because of your kindness, I would never go to court
On your questionnaires, you score an excellent report
As for food, service and fun – you never come up short

61: THE POETIC ROAD

61: THE POETIC ROAD

Roger A. Davis

On the way to my folks at Medora
Turning on 61, you’re among Catalpa flora
Direction is diagonal to the southwest
Aunt Donna lives in Hutchinson, I’m a welcomed guest

Next, around the bend, comes South Hutchinson
For now, there is much road construction
Then Amish stores and Stutzman’s Greenhouse
And Dutch Kitchen, great pies, cream doused

A few more miles – Partridge, on your right
My ancestors’ homestead this site
Then come the towns ending in “on”
Arlington, Langdon, Turon and Preston

These are small grain elevator locales
Arlington, though, has the 61 Motel and beer decals
Turon has Sunday liquor sales
For your convenience if the wine cellar fails

Preston, last stop before Pratt
And this is where Mom and Dad live at
Also sis-in-law Vicki and brother Rick
On arrival, out come the cards dang quick

Good food, good ribbings and KU on TV
Makes this family jaunt special to me
So, up and down on 61
Is the path to great fun

BIG DEUCES: WHERE 2s REIGN

BIG DEUCES: WHERE 2s REIGN

Roger A. Davis

This game is not for the tame
Dealt a hand, your job is to frame
Singles, pairs, three of a kind
Poker hand, straight or better is a good find

Four of a kind, you need a kicker
If you’re left with it, one feels sick(er)
The object is to get rid of all of your cards
Before the other card addict retards

Why do I use such a nasty tag?
Because I love to win, and if I don't, I nag
I cry and say, "Your victory was a fluke!”
“Let’s play again; I'm THE BIG DEUCES DUKE”

This game is a metaphor of my philosophy
Each hand that we pick up and see
Is a gift, like each day
A present to plan and enjoy in every way

Now, if you’re dealt an ugly hand
It is just one; the next might be, 'Strike Up The Band'
You never know how it’s going to end
Even a bad one can win

So, Mom and Dad and family
Don't take seriously
Your usual loss
For Roger is the modest, fun loving, Big Deuces Boss

FOUR ACES AND A ROSE

FOUR ACES AND A ROSE

Roger A. Davis

For Christmas 1999, I gave my beloved wife, Peggy, a custom crafted wooden box that held inside a Rigid single-bladed folder, four love letters (each represented by a suited Ace) and a single red rose. Following is the fourth letter, the Ace of Clubs, a love story for Peggy:


Once upon a time, there lived a knifemaker named Colin Cox. He was somewhat famous, advertised in BLADE, sold at shows, took orders and made some money. Yet, he wanted to make something no one else had and to do it well; not just well, but glorious. Many a day and night, he thought and thought, drew and drew knife sketches, but none would do.

His wife, Mary, listened, consoled and counseled, and cooked his favorite dishes. Yet, Colin didn’t want to do a folder, survival, hunter or Bowie again. He wanted dessert, the frosting on the cake, the cream that rises to the tops, a cherry – the crowning glory of the sundae of all knives.

On Christmas Eve, Colin had bagels and lox, then finished wrapping two ivory lockbacks for his wife and then went to bed. Since Colin had missed a lot of sleep and the Christmas program’s music of “Silent Night” was still sweetly ringing in his heart, he entered into a deep, restful sleep.

This is the dream he had:

There was a workbench of alabaster marble and tools that were of the finest quality. Upon this bench, in a small wooden case, lay four of the finest crafted daggers Colin had ever seen or dreamed about. He could not make out the maker’s name or logo. Try as he might, it would not come into focus. There seemed to be a small cloud obscuring his view. Giving up, he just basked in the glory of their beauty and art.

Then, Colin heard a small noise that was increasing in volume. It finally reached a level of understanding. The noise was a voice behind him. He turned around and there, on an old wooden scarred up workbench, amongst the mess of a sloppy craftsman, was a little clip point blade, 3 ¼ inches long.

The little blade (and it was only a blade; no handle) was saying, “Who are you?” over and over. Colin finally found his wits and responded with his name. Then, the little blade said, “Hi, I’m Razor Rigid, the best knife in the world.” Colin laughed, for it was an animated cartoon dream now, with a little talking blade named Razor Rigid, with no handle, just a short pocket knife tang. Razor demanded to know why Colin was laughing. Colin said, “You’re not really a knife until you get a handle on yourself.”

Razor started crying and tried to cut up the mess around him. Colin told him, “If you don’t stop crying, your tears will rust you and you won’t be of much use later. And your attempts to cut the mess around you will only dull your edge, for those are the tools to make you into a knife; not to hurt you, but to help you.”

Razor quit crying, wiped away his tears and stopped slashing out. He asked Colin what he was, because he only knew one person and that was the knifemaker of the four daggers. Colin responded by telling him his profession. Razor Rigid started laughing himself now and he laughed so hard, he cried again for joy.

Again, Colin silenced Razor and explained the rust situation and slashing problem. Razor told Colin that he was so glad because the other bladesmith told him that another would come and make him into ‘the best knife in the whole world.’

Colin thought to himself, surely the Master craftsman of the four double edge bladed knives must have had someone else in mind. His quest was to make the finest knife in the world, not some little 3 ¼ inch clip point folding knife.

Colin told Razor of his quest and of his many accomplishments - all the Damascus, ivory, oyster, D2 and other exotic hardwoods, metals and designs. Razor became very silent and the little hole in his tang rested. Colin thought, any moment now, little Rigid will cry. Yet, Razor was silent. Colin asked him why he was not crying.

Razor spoke, saying, “I have seen the Master Knifemaker forge those four best blades from fires of his furnace and I came from there also. He told me that I was his favorite knife on earth and I only had to have faith in His words and it would come to pass. So, Mr. Colin Cox, sir, if you want to make the best knife on earth, you’d better take care of the small and little things first.”

As Colin kept watch over the tiny Razor Rigid and replayed Razor’s words, a bud of faith started opening in his heart. “Maybe Razor is a test. If I take care of his needs, then I can move onto bigger and better knives.” Though not convinced, Colin made the choice to help Razor be all that he can be.

Colin decided, since he just finished Mary’s two ivory lockbacks and they were fresh in his mind, he would make Razor into one also. So, Colin announced his decision to Razor, who was as silent as a mouse, not laughing, crying or slashing. Colin asked, “Are you not happy and overcome with joy to know that you are about to become a knife?” Razor’s answer shocked Colin, for he said he knew that Colin still did not believe that he, Razor, was to be the Master’s best knife in the world. Razor finished by saying, “Mr. Colin Cox, sir, for who are you making me into a knife … for yourself and your glory, or for the Master’s glory and use?”

It was as if Colin had heard from on high, from an angel, for that bud of faith bloomed into a full bountiful and beautiful rose. Colin saw that his quest had been his only, not to fulfill another’s needs, only his own. His vision within a vision now was to become all he could be by being the Master’s apprentice.

Razor Rigid began to glow as if he was just coming out of the forge. It was because Colin Cox was glowing and was beginning to look a lot like Christ, Master Craftsman.

In the blink of an eye, Colin held Razor in his hands and fashioned a two side scale and bolster lining combination, a spring and a lock.

Razor quietly asked, “Am I a knife yet?” Colin answered, “Little Razor of Bethlehem steel, you are a knife now. Yet, to become all you have faith for, you need engraved bolsters and handles made by the Messiah.”

Razor said, “The Master said, if I believe in His words, He will provide. So, take that book over there. Those are His words. They will be my handles, so be it.”

All of a sudden, on high, a light coming down appeared. The bright current of light engraved the two bolsters on each side.

Colin then took the Master’s words, the book’s pages, and fashioned, layer after layer, the handles of His knife, Razor Rigid. Though the pages were yellowed with age, they formed a substance that will never pass away.

Colin looked at what had transpired. He held a knife that had been fashioned and forged by an invisible Spirit with his assistance. Then Colin prayed, “Thank you, Christ Jesus, for allowing me the privilege to make, with You, Razor Rigid, a knife for Your use on earth as it is in heaven, Amen.”

Razor Rigid shouted, laughed and, yes, repeated cried for joy, “Alleluia! Alleluia!” Colin smiled and agreed in his heart with Razor, praise Ye the Lord.

Then an angel appeared and said, “Little Razor Rigid of Bethlehem, the Lord of Lord and King of Kings acknowledges your devotion to Him. You will now receive a new name in heaven. You will be called ‘SILENT KNIFE, HOLY KNIFE.’ Silent Knife, you are going to earth now and you will receive another new name there. God is giving you as a gift to Mary Cox. She will receive a sign from me and four love letters. Mary will give you your name on earth. And Mary will teach Colin to be the best husband and apprentice to Christ, Master Knifemaker.”

The angel then told Colin to look at the four double edged daggers and to remember, “For the word of God is living and active. Sharper than any double edged dagger or sword, it penetrates even to dividing soul and spirit, joints and marrow; it judges the thoughts and attitudes of the heart.” (Hebrews 4:12 NIV)

Colin woke up to the smell of cinnamon cranberry juice a-brewing and a cinnamon roll wreath a-baking.

After breakfast, Colin and Mary opened their gifts. Colin really liked his Gerber President Set of Mark I and II daggers. Mary liked the ivory lockbacks. Colin noticed there was another package wrapped in plain brown paper, lying near the nativity’s manger, and suddenly remembered his dream.

Colin rose from his chair and presented the gift to Mary. She removed the wrapping and found it was a wooden box with a blank brass plate on the lid. Inside the box was a little paper box that she opened. There, lying inside, was SILENT KNIFE. Looking at the knife, Colin and Mary saw that it has been scrimshawed with four aces and a rose. Mary read the four letters, kissed Colin and said, “This is the best knife in the whole world.” Colin then realized the four daggers represented the Four Gospels, and the rose, Razor Rigid, symbolized that Love is the greatest gift of all. Then Mary asked herself, “What knife is this that rests in my lap?”

Reverently, Mary said, “It is Four Aces and A Rose.” Colin engraved that on the brass plate.

Peggy, Mary taught Colin how to love her and Him, as you have done for me.

Merry Christmas and to all a good knife!

~~~~~~~~~~

Colin Cox is an actual Master Knifemaker from Raymore, Missouri. Visit his website at http://colincoxknives.com/. He liked the early version of this fiction short story.