Mystical Fog

Morning Fog

Mystical Fog
By David De Jong

Meanderin’ through mystical fog
An ol’ cowpoke and his trusty dog
Searchin’ for strays and doct’rin’ the sick
Coverin’ old wounds needin’ a scratch or pick

Surroundin’ fog with its somber charm
Somehow comfortin’, oddly warm
Like a blanket wrapped in tenderness
Settlin’ worries, erasin’ stress

Speakin’ softly in his calmin’ tone
The cowpoke assured, he’s not alone
He hears a whisperin’ in the trees
The brush of feathers, angelic breeze

Unable to speak yet still explain
Branches shed tears for the sorrowed pain
Solemn drops shatterin’ on the ground
Humble offerin’s, simply profound

Somehow peace, alleviates the soul
On this damp an’ dreary, mornin’ stroll
The Creator’s magic never fails
Inspirin’ hope along these trails

Step after step they all trod along
Listenin’ to angels sing their song
An ol’ cowpoke and his trusty dog
Meanderin’ through, mystical fog

Twelve Hundred


Twelve Hundred
By David De Jong

Saddle bags getting’ lean, ammo’s nearly spent
Pockets are empty, ‘cept memories and lint
Sheriff’s closin’ in and his posse’s takin’ turn
Piece of lead he gave me, sure startin’ to burn

We crossed the border and the ponies were fine
Our herd of three hundred, all ready and prime
Got caught up in a tussle, Black Canyon Bends
No-good sheriff with his no-good friends

They rustled the herd, left us all for dead
I can’t get that lyin’ cheat, outa my head
He knew we were comin’, had it all arranged
Thought I could trust him, until it all got changed

We’ve been busted up before but none the likes
Pinned hard to the ground like a rail and spikes
Surrounded and outnumbered, nowhere to go
They took the herd and turned for ol’ Mexico

So now, the sheriff and I, got a debt to settle
His badge, means nothing, just a piece of metal
We’ll be pickin’ buttons off each other’s shirt
Lead will be flyin’ till one of us eats dirt

If I go down spillin’ my blood on the ground
I’ll sure take him with me and bring him around
Just in time to see, what he’s about to taste
Twelve hundred hooves, givin’ the devil his chase

Clear Path

Clear Path

Clear Path
By David De Jong

Who can we determine as beautiful, peering through our masked facades
Who can we call conventional, while scrolling our glass tablets and pods

What makes us believe we’re better, looking at life through our polished lens
What makes us deny we’re capable to commit the very same sins

Where is coincidence, in a world run with technological bots
Where can we find freedom, within covert strategies and secret plots

How can we demonstrate compassion, when our homes are filled with crude hate
How can we rid cruel starvation, when food is spilling off our plate

Who can we call mighty, while we submit to our celebrity gods
Who can we distinguish unrighteous, while we walk where the devil trods

What can we call true, when our self-judgement lies to our self-centered minds
What can we call false, when our eyes and ears hide behind narrow blinds

Where can we serve full justice, when our hearts are ruled by wanting conceit
Where can we triumph victory, while the destitute sleep at our feet

How can we perform this symphony, when we play a different chord
How can we call ourselves holy, when we place our thrones, above our Lord

What makes us think our souls are different, than any other on earth



By David De Jong

You greet me and shelter me under your wings,
As you soar overhead on the breath of kings.
Your eyes fixed upon my fragile, broken heart,
Ready to console and mend each aching part.

In the lonely hours of longing memories,
Your grace abides while it glides above the trees.
Though ever silent and swift your presence shown,
I cast no doubt once I see your gleaming crown.

Your gift of companionship settles my day.
My spirit restored whole as I watch and pray.
You seem to foreknow the most delicate time,
As if responding to some heaven-sent chime.

While you soar with my prayers to heaven above;
You turn to look back with your assuring love.
Fleeting coincidence it could never be,
Abounding grace your mighty wings bring to me.

As you fly away, another takes your place;
Adorning bare trees with his bright crimson face.
And though he be smaller in stature and size,
His sole gift of company, a cherished prize.

It gives my heart comfort, assurance of late;
These simple messengers sent from heaven’s gate.

Winter’s Rejoice


Winter’s Rejoice
By David De Jong

Fresh February snow, after a tease of spring;
While the geese return north, and confused robins sing.
Cold winds drifting, rather forgotten memories;
Manifest in the howls and scowls of tortured trees.

We basked in the sunshine of unwarranted days;
Winter’s gate had broken and let in all the strays.
Tempted by short sleeves and t-shirts, strolls in the park;
Frost already retreating, mud losing its mark.

Each day forcing memory, of one subtle clue;
Old man winter wasn’t finished, not nearly through.
Just a tinge of frost, in the early morning air;
Winter hats and coats cast, for a much lighter fare.

We doubted the forecast, the weatherman’s disdain;
Surely, he’s joking, or must be going insane.
Temperatures in the seventies, warm sun aglow;
Then he tries to tell us; get ready for some snow.

Blizzards in February, just a winter’s norm;
Even March or April can bless us with a storm.
So, we’ll return to our thermals; boots, hats and gloves:
Listening for orioles, lonely songs of doves

Until then, we’ll esteem the beauty of the snow;
As the morning sun rises and trees seem to glow.
God’s gift of creation, lifting her mighty voice;
Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Winter’s rejoice.

A Dog’s Life




Watercolor Credit: Lindsey Tonak


A Dog’s Life
By David De Jong

We’ll go meandering for morning walks
Just to have our silent, extensive talks
Learning, discerning for paths of whitetail
Searching and sniffing all along the trail
You follow their scent and I track their tread
Gaining your prized treats, winter antlers shed

We’ll sit on the ridge, watching a red tail
Attempt after attempt ending in fail
To catch his prey scurrying in the brush
A rooster pheasant unwilling to flush
Taking his chance under an old tree pile
Sneaking out the back in keen rooster style

We’ll share a watermelon slice of fun
A tempting, sweet treat to your gentle tongue
Both so content as we nibble each slice
Knowing one will never, ever suffice
Then there on the porch we’ll just sit and stare
While dragon flies dart and pass through the air

We’ll play in the snow, the deepest the best
Racing the frisbee, your favorite test
You’ll turn your side into a giant ski
And slide down the hill in jubilant glee
You’ll roll and tussle to pick up some stink
While I cuss, and wonder just what to think

We’ll find puddles and muddles none too small
So you can splash and crash and spill them all
You love water more than fish in the creek
Sunny or cold, any day of the week
Once soaking wet you take hours to dry
With towels and fans, whatever we try

We’ll crash on the couch and you’ll twitch your eyes
Hinting with pathetic, endearing sighs
The days not over and there’s things to do
More toys to fetch or hide, more bones to chew
Just one more time, get your boots and your coat
Quit pretending, you’re some tired old goat

A dog’s life it is, for you and for me
Darn good one I must, admit it to be



Our Beloved Kopper


Whispering Blooms



Watercolor Credit: Nicole de Jong


Whispering Blooms
By David De Jong

Mere pigments, paper, water and brush
With hints of heated capsicum blush
Sweet strokes of genius, perfected flair
Grows a bouquet, endearingly rare

Soft painted flowers adorn a frame
Sifting sunlight while fanning the flame
Feathering edges enclose the bloom
Holding silent their starlit perfume

Tarry too long they will draw you in
Fast losing your way beyond the stem
Up turned parasols scanning the sky
Purest of beauty tempting the eye

Delicate dancers, flirting with ease
Whispering their secrets to the breeze
Telling all of whom they bloom the best
For a love that loves eluding rest