Hoosier Poems: Volume I

By Gary Fiscus

Hoosier Poems is a book about the life of the author as he lived in and around Bloomington, Ellettsville, Gosport, Stinesville, and Spencer, Indiana. Many of the verses are reflections on his early childhood. The barn on the front cover of this book depicts where he played, worked and grew up from 1946 to 1964.

Other rhymes, such as memory epics in this volume, tell of his forty-seven-year preaching career, his forty-seven-year marriage to his wife Jane, and memories of rearing their family.

Inspirational poems were written as the poet was inspired by a church service, a sunset, a roaring sea, or a calm pond.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Aug 23, 2014
• ISBN: 9781496930422

Gary Fiscus

A child of the fifties and sixties, Gary’s parents took the family to Florida nearly every school break or Christmas vacation. Seldom did they ever stay over one night in the same motel or town. There was just too much to see, and a near tropical weather was much more pleasant than the frozen tundra of Indiana. In his college freshman year, Gary traveled with the all-student band USA on a thirty-day concert tour of seven European countries. In the early 1970s, he spent three weeks on Cat Island, the outermost of seven hundred Bahamian Islands. There, he and another preacher did mission work in that remote (nonresort) area. The Fiscuses have crisscrossed the United States from Miami to California on various vacations and/or preaching appointments: parasailing in Cancun, Mexico; zip-lining in Ketchikan, Alaska; and the last few years, Gary and Jane have cruised both the East and West Caribbean, as well as their most recent sailing to and through the Panama Canal. Gary’s reading of the The Bully Pulpit piqued an interest in that canal’s engineering feat. The last few voyages have given the author more time to reflect on days gone by as well as current journeys. We hope you will relate to some of these Gary Fiscus’s memories via his poetry.

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© 2014 Gary Fiscus. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 08/22/2014

ISBN: 978-1-4969-3041-5 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4969-3042-2 (e)

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CONTENTS

Inspirational Poems

At The End Of The Pew

Cowboys Really Do Cry

Earthly Assets?

Empty Vases

From Julia To John

Glimpse Of Glory

Color

How It Might Be

I Am That I Am

Lost Child, Lost Opportunity

Moms’ Jobs

On Bended Knee At Sunup

Sunrise

The Bible

The Homeless Man

The Morning Walk

The Motherly Chef

What Brought Them Here?

Why I Don’t Like Thanksgiving Any More

Farm Poems

Barney And Dolly

Changes In Farming

Corn, Beans & Hay

Go Figure About Farming

Grain Fed Wildlife

I Met Her At Breakfast

I’m Ten Years Older Than My Tractor

Indiana: This Must Be Heaven!

It’s Dry

John Deere Yellow

Learning To Drive John

Milk Barn

Norma, Trixie, Pepper And Gretel

Pond Symphony

Greg Campbell And His Seven Wise Chickens

Thankful For Farmers

The Old Home Place

The Old Root Cellar

The Bug-Eyed Steer

Those Clydesdale Mammoths

Tractors Under The Chairs

Walking The Farm

Memory Poems

A Trip Down White River

At Sea

Four Ribbons

Friday Nights In ‘58

Getting Rid Of Strife

Happy Trails To (Me)

Holley’s Toggery

Hoosier Hoops

I Mowed The Grass On Saturday

Learning From An Old Soldier

Maybe I Shouldn’t Be By Myself!

Memory Lane

Mom Died On My Birthday

Mom’s New Home

Mondays Were For Washing Clothes

Music The Way It Used To Be

My Memory

My Mother-In-Law

Our Friend Sue

Removing Worship

Shoot Low Sheriff, They’re Ridin’ Shetlands!

Side-Yard Games

Tab & Mel

That 1960 Bug Collection

The Christmas Tree Of ‘63

The 500

The ’49 Ford

Through Locked Doors

The Old White Rug

‘Twas The Season

Welcome Back Tabitha!

Humorous Poems

Behold, The Mail Cometh

Dear God, Thank You For Calling Chase

Eat What You Want!

Football Pride!

Funny Foods

Green Grass, Brown Grass

I Overheard Them Say

I’m Not Concerned

I’ve Been Mugged

My Friend, Ole Duck Head

My Unwanted Neighbor’s Death

Numbers

Pumped To Smoke ‘Em

Spoonerisms In A Speech

Strangely Named Foods

The Artist’s Visitors

Too Old To Diet

Miscellaneous Poems

Colton’s 3

Cricket Scouts

Ode To A Hardwood Floor

The Not So Boring Preachers Wife

Travel Much?

Wall Street/Main Street

Walls

What’s A Bah-Bah-Hee-Hee?

Inspirational

Poems

Too Old to Diet[There are many widows and widowers in most congregations. Although this poem was written from the inspiration of one such person, the words are suggestive of so many peoples’ lives].

At The End of the Pew

By Gary L. Fiscus

12/30/08

She sat at the end of the pew where she and her husband had sat.

He was now gone and she looked forlorn. She was not over him yet.

She never would be as far that goes. They loved one another for years.

He’d always seen to her every need and helped remove all of her fears.

Her faith was still strong though her husband was dead as she still worshiped her God.

That worship seemed better and brighter with him – but on with her life she would plod.

He never could sing, but she missed his voice as hers would often now crack.

Steadfastness prevailed, fidelity stayed, and of hope, she never would lack.

She knew that Old Book and had learned much from him, together their studies went on.

They’d meditate, read and rightly divide sometimes from the late night till dawn.

Their children they taught to be pleasant and good, upstanding and help every man.

Sometimes it is tough, the parents would say, Just do the best that you can.

But now Mom’s alone at the end of the pew, and Dad to his reward;

The children all live away from here now. Mom’s the final string left of the cord.

When you see this fine lady still worshiping Him, her Savior and Lord up above,

Be nice and be kind, let her know that you care; she’ll smile and you’ll know of her love.

[I had known Ruth Curry since her sons and I rode the same school bus in the 1950’s. She passed away in February of 2012. The family asked me to preach her funeral. Ed (George) has always been a good friend and fellow cattleman. This poem was inspired by that friendship].

Cowboys Really Do Cry

By Gary L. Fiscus

2/5/12

You made the cowboy cry, He said, and that is hard to do.

We were at the funeral home. All eyes were wet with dew.

His statement got me thinking, though, the toughness that we wear;

Just open us and look inside, we’re mostly Teddy Bear!

We’re big and burly in our hearts, why we can lick the world!

We are protectors of our tribes, we wave the flag unfurled.

To mess with us is flirting death unsav’ry is our claim.

I’m here to tell you little one, I’m out to make a name!

Our John Wayne acts build confidence that we can do it all.

From being tough to fightin’ hard, we answer any call!

Why, I’ll protect ya’ little gal, ‘cause you’ll be safe with me.

No harm will come to you today. Stand by me. You will see!

The cowboy hats, the western boots, the country/southern talk,

The 4x4s and pickup trucks, the way we gangly walk,

All prove to everyone around that we are lean and mean,

But we are also gentlemen, and strive to make life clean.

You shoot my dog, or hurt my horse you’ll see me come unglued.

I’ll give a whole new meaning to some words like rude and crude.

But when they lay my mother down, you’ll see this cowboy cry.

I kinda’ wish that it was me, for her I’d gladly die.

She brought me up. She cared for me. She taught me right from wrong.

But on this day I say good-bye. I sing her final song.

I’m not as tough as nails I guess. I can’t control it all.

The time is waiting all of us; we’ll hear the Cattle Call!

[Someone made mention of how we sing hymns about the golden street(s) of heaven. One day I was thinking about that with regard to giving an account of my earthly assets. Here is the result of those thoughts.]

Earthly Assets?

By Gary L. Fiscus

6/23/09

I handed her my credit card to pay for all the food.

She said, I hate to say this sir, this card is just no good!

I wrote a check to cover jewels I bought from Diamond Jim,

He said he needed more I.D. the ink was just too dim.

I counted all my treasures in the bank and at the house.

And now I understand just what they mean by, poor church mouse.

I looked into my lock box with its moldy deeds and such.

I counted out the coinage I had saved – there wasn’t much.

I added up the value of my cars and all my trucks,

Surely these will bring me more than several hundred bucks.

And all my life insurance that’s been paid for twenty years,

Will be worth something to me for my toiling, sweat and tears.

I added all the CD’s that the bank has held for me,

And counted all the payments that I’ve made to Lending Tree.

With stocks and bonds o’plenty I thought, I am filthy rich,

But blindly I have followed and we both fell in the ditch!

So when I inventory life of things that thrill me so,

I’ll ask the Lord in heaven, "Can I bring a little gold?

It’s what I have to offer. Accept it as my payment."

He’ll say, Why would you want to bring a thing that we call pavement?

[While on the cemetery board for a while I often got calls about broken vases on headstones. These thoughts came to mind one day after such a call].

Empty Vases

By Gary L. Fiscus

5/27/09

Vases, pots, and old tin cans can brighten up a place.

Flowers yellow, red and gold will cheer up corner space.

Ceramic molds, and earthen clay, perhaps a wooden box

Can decorate with roses, mulch, petunias, or some phlox.

Antique wagons, horses’ troughs and concrete garden pools

With displays of your handiwork and what you do with tools;

But summers come and summers go and so do we as