One Man’S Life and Thoughts: In Good Times and Bad -Volume 1

By Chuck Johnson

SING ONE SONG FOR ME
Now it was just a simple casket made of pine and iron nails,
Without a trace of carving or any polished brass for rails.
It was assembled from a broken box splintered from abuse,
Yet it had a simple beauty despite the way it had been used.
It was placed before the altar on a stand of polished stone,
A simple casket made of pine for a loved ones fi nal home.
Only present there was silence not a choir was there to sing,
Not one voice to sing his praises not a single human being.
I cannot forget my sadness when they took the casket down,
And placed it in a six foot hole beneath the cold, cold ground.
Not one voice had sung his praises not a soul was there to see,
And I wondered at my passing who would sing a song for me.
Charles T. Johnson
9/20/96
Sing One Song For Me is a poem based on a song done by
the Stanley Brothers called Who Will Sing For Me. It has been
one of those songs that have always touched me deeply. I have
spent a great deal of time alone, and I can relate to one asking
if there will be anyone that will sing for me.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Trafford Publishing
• Release date: Apr 10, 2012
• ISBN: 9781466919853

Chuck Johnson

Chuck Johnson served twenty-one years in the US Marine Corps and retired as a master sergeant in May of 2001. He completed his basic police academy training at Palomar College in San Marcos, California, and retired from the police force in 2011. He and his wife, Beverly, have one daughter and live in Southern California.

Book preview

Contents

A Child Alone

He’s My Son Too

I’m a Christian?

How’s My Image?

Compassion

It’s Just a Poem

Rewards

A Father’s Grace

Vengeance

The Marriage Vow

I Promise

If Life Were Fair

Did You Ever Wonder?

A Gift

The Stranger

The Box

The Punishment

The Old Man

The Prayer

The Visitor

Judgment Day

The Missionary

He’s Saved

Treat Him Kind

She’ll Always Be Remembered

Without Defense

Commitment

The Sound of Silence

The Hourglass

Sounds

Little Words

My Dog Sam

On My Tombstone

Jerome

Ajo

Cape Canaveral and the Atlantic Missile Range

Things of Value

Regrets

The Thread

She’s Yours, Lord

Three Jewels

Choices

Marriage

My Daughter

My Father

The Pain of Loss

His Plan

Consequences

Control

Resentment

Salvation

Purpose

Cathy

Twinky

I’m a Man

Colors

Solitaire

Anger

The Riddle

God Is Watching

First Love

Hurts

My Brother

A Child’s Faith

Repeat

He Tried

The Desert

The Snowman

The Gift of Wisdom

Star Bright

Kittens and Puppies

To Be First

The Drunken Man

Apology

Wayward Son

Committee of the Mind

Old Bill

Things I’ve Lost

Guard Dogs

Will He Understand?

Decisions

The Beggar

The Chaplain’s Shield

Mother and Child

The Sea

He Loved Too Much?

What Would You Say?

The Gladiator

The Love of Swans

Monkey See, Monkey Do

Just for You

The Game

Retirement—Big Deal!

Verbs Are for Action

Bullwinkle

Friends Who Count

The Last Hand

Feed My Dogs

The Journey

A Child Alone

When I was just a child of eight, my parents took me far away

To a hospital for lame children, all white with shades of gray.

My father held me in his arms as I cried from pain and fear.

I begged him not to take me in, and Please don’t leave me here!

My pleas to him were made in vain as my body shook with fright,

And I was left to be with Them, those strangers dressed in white.

My parents left me in Their care, then made their journey home.

My home to live was in a ward with other children there alone.

The kids with me were of all kinds, their arms and legs like mine.

They couldn’t walk or play child games. Some had so little time.

Now many came to offer hope, for encouragement was their goal,

But all who came would leave again, leaving none for me to hold.

On Sunday morn, the ladies came and sang those hymns of old,

The words of praise our voices raised about those streets of gold.

Now all the friends and the families too could visit on that day,

But when our beds were wheeled back in, none were there to stay.

My days were spent in constant pain. My playground was my bed.

They covered me with steaming rags from my feet up to my head.

I couldn’t move—I dared not move, or Those in white would come

And punish me for moving free from Their treatment yet undone.

And so once a day They forced my limbs to move despite my pain.

Although I pleaded with Them to stop, they would do it once again.

But over months my legs improved until I once again could stand,

But I could not stand yet by myself, for I required a helping hand.

And then one day with Them outside, I slipped slowly from my bed,

For it was my plan that I would stand, despite what They had said.

But I would find my legs would fail, and so I fell right there in place,

And for my deed They gave this heed with a slap across the face.

They all would laugh The older teased. The Ones in white were mad.

I was alone, and I thought of home—where were my mom and dad?

How could they leave a child of eight all alone with Those in white?

Did they not care that I was there, or that I lived constantly in fright?

Would I ever leave this lonely place, and would I ever learn to walk?

Would I ever run and play again, and forget the way They talked?

Or would I always have as home, this lonely place of white and gray,

A place where there was only pain, such a lonely place to stay.

But I really knew from deep within that there’d be a time I’d leave,

And one day soon my mom and dad would grant me my reprieve.

I prayed they’d come and carry me back to that place called home.

I’d leave this place of gray and white, and I would never be alone.

That glorious day had came at last, and it was time for me to go,

And I left that place of gray and white. My face was all aglow.

My mom and dad were right on time. God’s light on me had shone,

And I sang this song as we drove away: Lord, I’m Coming Home.

December 2, 1994

A Child Alone is probably the most painful poem I have written. It tells of my experience as a child with polio. In 1948, at the height of the polio epidemic in Jerome, Arizona, the first five children that were stricken with the disease died. I was the first to live. Like AIDS today, the public was deeply frightened of anyone inflicted with this thing.

The day before I was taken to the hospital, I had been playing with a large toy train in the backyard. This train was a real working model train that had at one time run on steam from burning coal. It was very heavy, and my brother and I had been setting up the metal tracks, lifting the engine and coal car onto the tracks to push each other around the yard. My back was hurting, and I complained to my mother about it. She took me to the hospital the next day, and I saw her talk to the doctor and begin to cry. I knew that there must be something wrong, because they wouldn’t let me go home and I was in terrible pain.

I was placed in isolation on the top floor of the hospital. I remember the pain, the fear, and the loneliness. I wasn’t told what I had and would not have understood what it was even if they had told me. I was in a room with two other kids that also had polio. One had it in his arm, and the other was in an iron lung. I don’t know if that kid lived or not. After a few weeks in the Jerome hospital, my mom and dad drove me to Phoenix in an old 1936 Dodge. As we traveled over bumpy dirt roads, I lay in the back seat in pain, crying most of the way there.

When we finally arrived at the Phoenix Crippled Children’s Hospital, my father carried me in his arms into a place I would remember the rest of my life. My days were spent under steaming hot towels and rubber blankets from head to foot, interrupted only by painful physical therapy.

On Sundays, the children were wheeled outside in their beds to sit in the sun with their parents or visitors. Sometimes my parents couldn’t make it to Phoenix, and I was alone on those visiting days. But every Sunday, the ladies from the community churches came and sang hymns like The Old Rugged Cross, In The Garden, When The Roll Is Called Up Yonder, and, my personal favorite, Lord I’m Coming Home. I was to spend two months of absolute hell there. I was only eight years old.

He’s My Son Too

Now AJ was my only son. You know I loved him so.

He brought me joy and happiness as I watched him grow.

There’s not another one I know to which I can compare.

He brought me joy and happiness whenever he was there.

My son was always there for me. Without a doubt he cared.

I knew I was the one he loved, and with me he always shared.

We were such friends, AJ and I, I know you’ll understand

How much I miss his being there, his smile and helping hand.

It saddens me to see his life come to a sudden close.

He had such plans to be a man, to lead the life he chose.

He chose a path within his heart, a path of love and care.

For those he knew, his life would be a gift for all to share.

He made my world a better place, and so for those he knew

He was my son, a friendly face, and to all he would be true.

I know his friends will mourn his loss. Their pain is plain to see.

They made a plaque that says it all and says it lovingly.

And as a gesture of their love, this plaque of brass will be

Placed on a rock with loving care for all who pass to see.

His memory will last like stone, so time won’t pass him by.

Oh Lord, I know you’ll understand the need I have to cry.

Oh Lord, I miss him. Oh, I miss him. No one will ever know,

For he was my son, my only son. Oh Lord, I loved him so.

Then from Heaven, God replied, "I know your pain is true.

I share your hurts and sorrow, for I’ve lost a loved one too.

"Now he dwells with Me and Mine. He’s happy with Me here.

He is in My care and loving arms. There is no need for tears.

You see, dear Jon, he is in My home, a place that you should know

Is without pain or loneliness because I love him so.

"I know your life will always have a time to mourn each day,

But I have given you a wife who will help you on your way.

And when the pain is hard to bear, she’ll be by your side,

And one day soon, within My time, in Heaven we’ll all reside."

For Jon, a loving father and husband

August 23, 1994

I rewrote my first poem in order to also express my deep sympathy to my oldest and dearest friend, Jon Switzer. His son AJ was killed in an accidental fall shortly after his graduation from the U of A. He was only twenty-three years old. AJ and Jon loved to hunt with AJ’s friends, who had a brass plaque made to commemorate AJ’s first deer and placed it at the spot in the woods where this proud moment occurred.

Jon’s father died when Jon was still a young boy, and he didn’t have the experience of growing up with a father figure. It meant a great deal to Jon that he had the chance to be to AJ the father he never had.

Shortly after