THE BUILDER

For Adam Jones


My toy blocks are words. Yet, I have a nephew who builds with steel and wood. He followed in my footsteps in grain management but excelled my example.

Then, one day, I read a poem Adam wrote about Carl; shell casings was the subject matter. Another was one about Carl’s work ethics and character. Each poem was more gracious than the last.

I was totally dumbfounded. Why, because his ability surpassed mine. Was I jealous? No, not even a smidgeon. Because, like me, he is directed by the Holy Spirit for the Glory of the Father.

Then came 'The Old Red Barn.’

Adam, I do not have enough superlatives to tell you how proud I am to be your uncle.

The parable is this: You are excelling at Clarey Construction and using your talents for building up, not tearing down. Your Uncle Roger is a trash man. You, Adam, are the builder of a new generation that is of eternal blocks that nothing can destroy.

Love, Uncle Roger

CIVIL LIBERTY

CIVIL LIBERTY

Roger A. Davis

I’m obese and I smoke cigarettes
My family is on my case
Now, society has targeted my pace
Newspapers report the need to undo these traits
But it is a choice I and others want in our fates
Taxing our smokes, rising beyond belief
As for leveling off, there seems no relief
When will excess fat be on the tax roll?
If it happens, there goes all my dough
World, don’t for me sob or snob
I like being a smoking fat slob