My Tender Son (sonnet for my youngest)

Matt eating ice creamA tender son my loins begot
Yet peers said, “Raise him rough.
If he’s to see his chosen lot
You must make him tough.”
So on such poor advice I tried
To be rough with my child,
But found it my own heart belied
T’ward my gift so young and mild.
I found their ways too brutish so
I tried soft love instead,
I championed his every move
And poured belief upon his head,
He makes me proud it seems each turning of the Sun,
I’m proudest that my tender son is still my tender son.

-Donald R. Sansbury, 2013


My Rugged Son (sonnet for my firstborn)

Marc cutting up as a boy-2A rugged son my loins begot.
My peers said, “Break him now,
Or you’ll regret it come the months
When you’re standing brow to brow.”
So I thrashed him ’til ’twas I who cried,
Then I reasoned deep within the why,
If God had given him a warrior’s might
Should I then set to make him meek and mild.
So I endeavored to train him then to be,
my rugged child with warlike traits,
the man only God looking forth could see,
one day His grace and love would make.
I’m proud of him now grown, and yet my rugged child,
He’s a man among men, a gentle man…unless he’s unduly riled.

-Donald R. Sansbury, 2013

Double Losers

Daily Prompt: Fight or Flight


Ruins (Photo credit: StephYo)

I knew two men who were giants,
Not really, they just thought they were;
They both were so defiant,
Brought themselves and others great hurt.
In their hearts they each were always right,
‘Twas the other who was always wrong;
With those mind sets, and both willing to fight,
The question was who was more strong.
They pitted the battle not once but twice,
And the battles were several years spaced;
They cared not the cost, who or what paid the price,
It became a fight to save face.
Neither won, so many lost, the rubble is all that remains,
Two ‘little men’ thought they were giants, did nothing but cause great pain.

-Donald R. Sansbury, 2013

A Happy Poet?


Pensive (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

As a poet how can I be as history’s best
I may have too much joy
I’ve moved on from life’s toughest tests
I’m living in the moment
No sad respite that keeps me down
No lingering melancholy
Except for pains from aging now
I remain carefree and jolly
Pensive tones are hard to invoke
When happiness rules my days
I remember the times my heart hurt so
‘Twas easy then to turn a sad phrase
But I’ll keep my joy; others may lament sad sorrows and woe
I’ve learned life is short; to enjoy requires some letting go

-Donald R. Sansbury, 2013

Broken Trust Hard To Mend

Let's Stay Together (song)

Let’s Stay Together (song) (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Trust that has been broken,
seeks so much to hide;
Cares not the ‘tempt to woo it,
will not bear the light.
A timid stranger she becomes,
laughs no longer still;
Trust that has been broken
feels pain that’s hard to heal.
But, wounded trust has not sworn off all intimate hopes,
often needs affection so much more than most;
She’s a lover to be won again–only
there has to be a willingness now to take things very slowly.
Trust that has been broken truly hopes to mend,
so boldly dares to take a chance to love and trust again.

-Donald R. Sansbury, 2013

~This poem comes from my heart that is hurting for those whom I love who are now dealing with trust that has been broken. Because of my life experiences and professional counseling work with others I know the hard work ahead as they try to mend broken trust.

Being Poetic (a sonnet for peers)

Portrait of Belgian poet Michel Bartosik

Portrait of Belgian poet Michel Bartosik (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Sometimes with rhymes
Sometimes with none
Thoughts of the next line
on the tip of the tongue
Remembering a moment
an event or words said
Jotting down quick notes
lest one should forget
Longing for quiet time
to try to write verse
for searching for rhymes
or simply to savor the sounds of words.
To muse quite long on a phrase quite short
Being poetic in a sage poet’s world.

-Donald R. Sansbury, 2013

The BB Gun

Vintage Ad #1,057: Who Wants a Daisy Red Ryder...

Vintage Ad #1,057: Who Wants a Daisy Red Ryder Air Rifle? (Photo credit: jbcurio)

His BB Gun was jammed
so he brought it to his dad,
Soon the problem was found
the ‘hunter’ went away glad.
While the father smiled and pondered
joy he’d brought to his dear lad,
Younger brother came crying and wondered
“Why did you do it, Dad?”
The older son stood there smiling,
the younger one crying instead,
Dad had fixed the air rifle,
now a little bird lay dead.
Now, you may please one or the other,
You can’t always please both when they’re brothers!

-Donald R. Sansbury, 2013

~from a memory  of  1987 when my sons were ages 3 and 9~