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Poems by AW Bogle

"How Do You See Me?"

How do you see me, on the outside or in?

Look at me, and what do you see?
The furrowed brow, and wrinkled skin.
The thinning hair, and toothless grin.

"Ah, but if you could only look within.

You would see me climbing mountains, dancing under the
stars, and howling at the moon.

Like a vintage wine, I was once young on the vine.
I took years to mature, and become mellow.

So I say to you like the dove, there is nothing on this
earth like pure sweet "love."

FOR THAT, is on the inside.

These Hands

Lord, as I sit and kneel in prayer, with my hands clasped
in reverence to you. I pause to look at my hands.

Although they are part of my body, I have never given
them much thought. They are used for work and play.
They work as hard as the legs and feet, which take us
from place to place, and bear the burden of our weight.
They support us, while we sit or kneel to pray.

But now, these hands write down my deepest thoughts to

These hands, to hold a child, to embrace a loved one. To
lift those, who can not rise on their own. To caress and
fondle, to pat and show appreciation. To give to the
needy, and to give signs to those who can not hear.

I raise up my hands to heaven, requesting You, Dear God,
to join me, so as I may be one with You. These Hands,
which have fingers, turn pages of the Holy Book in which
I read.

They open and close doors. They feed me, and cloth me.

And reach out to You, Dear God, sometimes in vain...

As I started this prayer, I did not know, it would turn
into the paths, of These Hands. Unfinished, it means
nothing. But as I end it, may You understand and posses

May These Hands be washed in Your everlasting love...

Lord, I know that These Hands are not worthy to even
touch thy garment. But yet, let These Hands now, take up
the Cross and follow You.

Dear Lord, I thank You for the gift of belief. For it is
now, I understand.

These Hands are meant to serve only You.

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Biographical sketch: I was read to as a child by my grandmother, who could read poetry as no other I've yet to match her. In the evening it the was reading of the Bible by my grandfather. Then my grandmother and poetry. I believe it was from her that I got the desire to write poems and short stories.
I still enjoy them just as much today at 68 years old, as I did in my youth.

AW Bogle recommends:

"The Undying One" by Author: Caroline Norton (1808-1877)
Reason: The works of: Caroline Norton. Include, to name a few: My Native Land, Dreams, First Love, and my favorite: The Arab's Farewell to his horse. I think what makes Caroline Norton's poems so extraordinary, is you can feel the words. They give a feeling of living what is read.

Recommendations for writers:

A slow beginning, a full body that has been well thought out. An ending that can bring a smile to one's self or a satisfied feeling. I like to read it to my wife and get her opinion, who I find to be a good judge.

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