James Donovan Poems

A cat is a special gift from God
just a simple ball of fur
who will let you know he's happy
when he thanks you with his purr
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I've often wondered to myself
what causes cats to stray;
are they fleeing from a cruel life
and trying to run away?
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Thank you, God, for harvest-time,
For milk, for meat, for fish,
Thank you, God, for all the food,
I find upon my dish.
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A loved one dies, a wake is held, and friends all euologize
They try to tell you death can be a blessing in disguise
They say it's probably for the best, that this is their belief
They offer you their sympathy, to try and ease your grief
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We'll begin with box; the plural is boxes;
But the plural of ox is oxen, not oxes,
One fowl is a goose, and two are called geese,
Yet the plural of moose is never called meese.
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When the roll is called up yonder;
when my earthly life is oe'r; will my soul go straight to hell,
or will I pass through heaven's door?
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Among the south-west indian tribes the Apache were revered
they lived and tilled their sacred land for over a thousand years.
They worsipped their god Yahweh and daily gave Him praise
for all the simple gifts He gave; like buffalo and maize.
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On judgement day when we face God and stand before His gate;
will we be able to tell Him we did not discriminate;
that we tried to give equality to every living man
and treat them all with fairness in accordance with His plan.
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A question that has bothered man for all recorded days:
is who is God, this entity, we worship and give praise?
Is He a supreme being? Well, depending on your view,
He may be called a lot of things; so I offer you a few.
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Life is just a thing of chance; a fickle maid with whom we dance,
and never even take a glance at all the gifts that life implants;
while gambling with the gods.
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