FAITH

 FAITH

I need you when the storms of life

Come crashing on my shore.

And when my doubts wash over me

I need you even more.

I need you when my hopes and dreams

Are dashed upon the rock,

and when convictions held for years

Prove little more than talk.

I need you when my empathy

Is tearing me apart,

And when the sins of this cold world

Weigh heavy on my heart.

I need you when life's long held truths

Prove veiled and elusive,

And when the lies that claim the lost

Prove endlessly sedusive.

And I always need you most in the evenings,

When sun goes down and nightfall's shadows grow,

When darkness turns to silhouette, becoming one with shadows,

And faith becomes the only light I know. 

Shannon Thomas Casebeer

HARBINGERS OF LIBERTY

 HARBINGERS OF LIBERTY

The time has come to play your part.

All those who care, stand tall; take heart.

America can wait no more.

Let freedom ring from shore to shore.

Our flag is raised.

The bells have peeled.

Come, join as brothers.

Take the field.

Lend a hand now, one and all.

Respond as one to duty's call.

Denounce the calls of bigotry.

Be harbingers of liberty.

Defend the goals we've sought since youth.

Rise up as one and stand for truth.

Shannon Thomas Casebeer

WHEN BREEZES SIGHED, "MISSOURI."

Willow Springs, Missouri 1920s

If I could turn the clock back

And live my life once more,

I believe I’d take a slower pace,

Not hurry like before.

I’d live my life in Willow Springs

When faith dispelled all worry,

When fireflies lit summer skies,

And breezes sighed, "Missouri."

When school was taught with chalk on slate,

Each hour marked by a bell,

Luncheon served from paper bags,

And a pint of milk was swell.

When horse and buggy still raised dust

And little Fords were few,

When little girls weren’t exempt from lust,

But little boys had no clue.

When belts were worn with shirts tucked in,

And Pomade clogged our comb,

When we took our best girl to the dance, and

Palms caressed while walking sweetheart's home.

I know it’s just a silly dream.

I know it can’t come true.

I know it just sounds foolish now

To share it here with you.

But my wish for every one of us

Is that we’ll live each minute,

Treasure every hour of life

And every loved one in it.

Cling tightly to those days gone by

When faith dispelled all worry,

When fireflies lit summer skies,

And breezes sighed, "Missouri."

Shannon Thomas Casebeer

The Ozark Plateau

The Ozark Plateau

Beneath the ever-changing sky,
The Ozark Mountains stand.
They tug at fierce clouds passing by,
To quench the thirsty land,
While sharp rains whittle craggy bluffs,
And wash away the sand.

The rugged hills of greens and blues
Are beautiful and vast;
Each season’s ever-changing hues,
Here but brief, then past.
Their colors are inconstant,
But the Ozarks last and last.

As spring exiles the winter’s chill
Till next year’s early freeze,
The first faint call of Whippoorwill
Floats soft on evening breeze,
And echoes through the redbuds
And the Ozark’s flowering trees.

Deep in the Ozark bluffs and rocks
With old growth for a nest,
The Pileated Woodpecker taps and knocks
In rhythm with the rest,
And the passion of this ageless song,
Could never be expressed.

Beneath the ever-changing sky,
The old plateau insists,
That any pilgrim passer-by
Is drawn by Ozark mists.
And Whippoorwill will echo still,
As long as life exists.

Shannon Thomas Casebeer

250 YEARS OF FREEDOM

We the people, free and blessed,
Pledge today to stand the test.
It's not by accident we're free.
Our heritage is liberty.
Still today our task remains.
To gird up and secure those gains,
Make fast the freedoms we've received.
Raise up the truth that we've believed.
Hold tight the torch and raise it high.
Defend our flag and let it fly.
Prepare to stand for truth again.
Defend the rights of fellowmen.
Our brotherhood has kept us free.
Our greatest strength is unity.
Our cause, robust as tempered steel.
Our flags fly on; our bells still peal.
Together, truth shall keep us free.
Together, we are liberty.

Horton House

 

HORTON HOUSE

Sometimes in the evening

By the light of fireflies,

As the sun sinks in the Ozarks

And bright embers paint the skies,

I picture good old Willow Springs

When every day was good,

Before her rutted streets were paved

And the Horton House still stood.

When the mill smelled of molasses,

The Frisco ran on steam,

And those who reached our depot

Likely satisfied a dream.

I can almost see old Main Street

With storefronts of weathered wood

And I hear the smithy banging steel

As briskly as he could.

Horse drawn buggies still raised dust

While little Fords were few,

With business brisk and trade robust

And skies a vibrant blue.

Evenings found each storefront lamplit

With streets serene and still.

The only sound was cordial chat

Midst calls of whippoorwill.

The smell of beans and cornbread

Wafted warmly down the street.

Utensils clanked and horses neighed

While folks' broke bread to eat.

Today I've got a few old bricks

That graced that grand facade

And they hint at long spent sunsets

That my heart may yet applaud.

But oh, to be a child once more

When every day was good,

When the mill smelled of molasses,

And the Horton House still stood.

Shannon Thomas Casebeer

Heritage

Asa Camp was long and lean.

He knew ambitions’ burn.

My granddad said he wasn’t mean,

But his countenance was severe, his manner stern.

He headed west in ’49,

His goal, the mother lode,

And though great fortune wouldn’t shine,

He bowed his neck and held fast to his road.

The trail to Hangtown took a toll,

Leaving many numb,

But Asa’s shoulders let it roll.

Old Asa would prevail and not succumb.

He panned along the south fork,

On the American’s rugged banks,

Till his bones grew stiff from overwork,

But he finished each day with thanks.

Despite long hours and frugal means,

He sought success in vain.

Surviving on sourdough and beans,

And whistling as he smiled through the pain.

Undeterred, he took up freighting,

And hauled among the camps,

Through summers’ devastating heat,

And winters’ dews and damps.

Freighting through the choking dust,

And through the deepest mud,

Till Asa won the mountain’s trust,

And the High Sierras coursed within his blood.

The mountains were his challenge.

The mountains were his prize.

The mountains were his confidant,

And the wild Sierras shone from Asa’s eyes.

At last old Asa took a wife,

And settled on Reservoir Hill,

Where he raised a family free from strife,

And ruled by an iron will.

His daughters wed, and birthed a brood,

To populate the West,

But Asa cherished solitude,

And spent his days in the mountains he loved best.

Asa was Granddad’s granddad,

And my hope, as you may surmise,

Is to live my life as Asa lived,

And die with the wild Sierras in my eyes.

January 28, 2013

STC