pages 26 & 27


       A child grows
           each thing new
         is seen, touched
             seen new again
                  and grows into a world
                                        larger.
      (What was, what should have been
            is not.)
         --dreams come and go
                    are dreamt again
            that perhaps it may be--


       Watching a child grow
               as a tree, a forested wood
       Watching the child grow
            only then is growing begun
                               As a sapling seeks
                               its height, its vista;
                               it is not found 'til
                               its growing is done
       The man walks only because the child
                  learned to
           laughs only because the child learned
                not to be afraid
           can read word of testament because
               the child had faith
      What lies in our path no man can
               overcome but first the child has.
           so, it is; our life
      The man might reach the stars
            but only that the child dreamt of them
          believed they could be touched
     The man might hear the cries of humanity
                 but only because first he listened to
             his own
     The man might one day know love
           because the child has
           because the child knew of it.
                                                                              26

      Even if love is remembered
                         as only a moment
       high in a mountain meadow
                                     a moment
       washed in its tiny brook
                                     a moment
       of warmth from a sun which
           lies in the center of the
                                       universe
    Even then, he might
              And if that high meadow
                        that stony brook
                        that sun
                     lay beyond the distance
           of miles
             is lost in a wilderness of years--
          yet, the child lives ...
                 then that child's life lived
       is fuller than all the valleys
               and might well be for all mankind
               for the measure of will
                                                    and faith

                                                                     27
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                                                                     page 25


               Yet children
                     in love
                   and in life yet allowed
                                             to be
                         as children in love and life
                      as that the years
                   which have yet to pass
                                         as that all that which
                        is yet to
                                        shall pass
                      and the children we are
                                 and that love
                     which only children know
                                      shall not
                                           pass
                So we are now
                         so it is that we shall
                                                 be able to
                                 remain
                    so shall it remain
                                      our love
                                  our life
                                    even beyond
                                          this
                                             life

--------------------------------------------------------

                                                                      page 24


          Any less
                  the reflected light of a flower
               bloomed by another day
          Its fragrance
               not fresh, any less in essence
          And, as we stoop to break its stem
               is our reaching halted momentarily
               in reflection of the bee having
                            tasted first its life
         Or are our hearts less warmed by its
             sight
           because the sun gathered first its
                                                        beauty
        And would we
            deny the flower’s will or love
          of one, or any of these
                        its desire to remain in keeping
              or await returning of
                        one of those who first touched
        Deny would we
              the day of bloom
           refuse our self its fragrance
           yet
           call our love to be true
              and deny the flower
           its love of the sun
       Or, the sun feel cheated
            seeing it to have been touched
                                               in the night

-----------------------------------------------------

                                                           pages 22 & 23


     Felt again is the soil, which
         from time to time has seeped in
       to lie too thin
                               on the cellar's floor
    There where a time or two before
                         just enough has gained claim
       to that portion
            where the sun shines once in
                                            awhile
   There where a flower or tree has
      tried to grow, in that part of me
      called the cellar hole, is felt a
      reaching for the sun
                                   as roots draw and settle
          into me

                                     First time it came,
                                     the soil I mean,
                                     it was new, a delightful
                                     rich and growing thing
                                     and I played with it and
                                     enjoyed its company

     Another time
          after the first was washed away
       I sought to draw some in
                             but it don't work that way
      Or so I'd thought way back then
      It makes me tired to even talk about
       it draws the cold and stirs the wind
        and I'd wonder if it would be best
        to seal up the cracks
        never let the soil in again
        to seal the open sky above
        keeping even the spiders' webs out
        to close the door
        as that not even a fly could drift in
       Then perhaps I could sleep down there
         and never have to wake, or
         feel the flowers reaching for the sun

                                                                            23
     Or perhaps, seal it up
        never reach down there again
         but walk and see only the sky filled
         with its countless little lights
         and burst with joy
         when the moon shines too
      These I could and perhaps else
             like tear it down
             or build a better one
             fill it in and sell it to some
                                           fool, like myself
      But, I know, it's all just thinking
         about
     And not such as even one of these
         could I do
     And, as I said, "I feel the soil seeping
          in again."
     I wonder, what yours will bring
     If you'll hold back because it's dark
          or help to bring the sun
          by clearing the branches which cover
          over and keeps it out
     I feel the thousands of tiny
                                               'little particles'
             that are your 'self'
             beginning to lie thinly on the floor
     I wonder
        if it's just that I've drawn you
        and not because you wanted to come
        but because I felt I wanted you there
     Best would these all
             as one, be the reason why
                    for if they were, I'm sure
                             that that age old cellar
                                             would first feel
                                                    the day time sky
------------------------------------------------------------------
                                                               page 21


                               Our measure in life
                                    is not found in one filling
                               but in our ability to
                                    refill after spilling



       What moments we know
              carrying us
           in which
                  we're carried
              and we trust
                     then
                    down
                        we're
                   thrust
           Fearing
                 even to touch
             again
                  not realizing
                      our greatest fear
          Having nearly
               touched
                    yet
                       remained here

 


                    He knows our love of Him
                       though we choose to remain
                       earth bound with kin
                       whom we'd love yet once again

-------------------------------------------------------

                                                                     page 20


                          Budding--
                              are trees again

                           one might not think it new
                         'tis

                                      first time the leaf grew

 

         The Chase


         I shall follow
             be you quick
           and run you fast
                 my pace too shall
              kept
          passing thee
              in waiting breath
                   my heart your touch


 

                           Our greatest joys, loves
                                are not found--
                             no hole lies atop
                                           the ground


---------------------------------------------------------------
                                                                   page 19


                A Peaceful Hearth Burns

     Home's hearth burns
         kindled still
       against evening's early morning chill
          with peace of knowing
       the keeper there
         tends well the house with love and care

     Restless though
         the grounds, outside
      as stormy winds stir about
         and night-time things reside
      branches reach to knock
          asking to enter in
      and grasses whisper
         after secret kin

    Would one come on this wooded ground
       and see the active unsettledness around
      sad to say,
           the travelers turning wouldn't be slow
           and the house keepers' peace and love
        he'd never know

    Or, had he through her window
       seen the fire's flame
     and passed the grassy woods
        to knock and give his name
     it would indeed be sad
        if she continued to sit
     unable to brave the knowing
        and not answer it

   For he'd not pass the woods
      knock or give his name
    but that he'd have hers
      be one and the same
  Nor, she answer
      but she'd know
   that her house would be home
     that there he'd stay
       and he'd cease to roam

--------------------------------------------------------------
                                                                      page 18

   Can we understand
               or know
     the seeds unremitting
                                   desire
              to grow
    to split the earth covering

    or crack even stone

 Where within us is such
     to be found
         who among us last
    has lifted stone
                      or gone beyond
   the bounds of earth
                  and our reality
         to greet the sun

  Love's fire
              is never touched, only known
     none too few have sought to touch
     many have never broken ground
     among us though we can say,
     "I've felt the warmth of day!"
                                           and will live
             knowing the morrow'll come


-----------------------------------------------------------------
                                                                      page 17

            It took the wind
               to fall the leaf
             a thousand years of rain
                 from mountain top

                                              to sea
                 to move one grain
                     all the forces
                       in the heaven above
                     to bring

                           the morning sun
          These none
                 are mine to command
                               I have but

                                       my hand
                              to draw you close
                                      a kiss
                              to express my love


---------------------------------------------------------------
                                                                 page 16

What a smile
                  you have today
      one such as should
   never go away

                   neither the sparkle
          in your eyes
                    your grace of form
                    or frame of mind
  but nothing lasts forever
       and should I be near
    when that sparkle
                       become a tear
      that smile is inverted
      your frame of mind converted
  might you find
                    words of mine
       able to bring them back again

-----------------------------------------------------------------
                                                          page 15


Friend Fred and his lady Jeannine
   twenty-five years this day have seen,
Some were full and rich, some lean
   but through each he's love his queen.
 
Silver, has shown through the years;
   has paid for wars and women's tears.
It is found in nuggets and mountain side;
  for its possession, men have lived and died.

So, it is, with the silver of two,
   from times of joy and moments blue,
Of hard won smiles and easy laughter:
   that ounce of silver all men chase after!
 
When we've reached the year 'twenty-five',
    it comes time to weight, if it's still alive,
The ounce of joy which we first found:
    and rare the two that weigh a pound!


----------------------------------------------------------
                                                                   page 14


Often,
     I go out at night
     just to look at the stars;

I wonder,
     "Just Who put them there?"
     "When will we reach so far?"

Through my telescope I peer
     at the planets
     the stars; and

I know.
     "Whether I'm alive or not,
     Man shall reach
                 those tiny dots;
     Spread His knowledge
                 through His land
     before He calls to man."
 

 

 

 

                                          No tree may grow
                                              or flower bloom
                                          but first a seed
                                              has broken ground
                                         or life be lived
                                             but love is found

---------------------------------------------------------

                                                          page 13


                  ....would see again,
                               about the neck of dawn,
                           the gracing dove
                                         and dance the Spring:
                     the feathered wing that lifted high
                                       that flowing word--Love.

 


 

                     Who among us
                                          wouldn't
                         kiss the cheek of Spring--
                      bring to her hands
                               flowers that are hers

                   Who among us would                                                                       despair
                    the waiting of her day--
                                                  when she
                         would be waiting there.

 


               By Day's Light

   What stars are viewed in the night
       at least one we would hold tight.
   Yet, they're years and years away;
     ours, near, and viewed in the day.
        
  

                                                                                                                   Before Night    

                      Descending slowly, evening sun
                          a day near now done   
                          lingering, in its red light
                         a last visit, before night
                     A moment shared, silently so   
                        then, it was, we had to go.


----------------------------------------------------------

                                                         page 12


             You love the snow, it's here again
                 one might believe just for you
                      as compliment;
            Brown eyes above reddened cheeks,
                which, above your smile finds
                    not to 'while,'
           In moody passing, these days of
                snow, as it is you know warmth
                   within.

 

         Snow weights the leaf
              not fallen
                           and it falls.
          Yet come Spring, one
              or two upon the tree
                                       remain
             much as life's moments
                     in our memory.

 


                dancing, falling, fluttering flake
                                                          of snow
                 (down from the northern heaven)
                  the wind to blow
                          rom house top to bough
                          window pane to frozen lake
                       a child's dream
                            a grown man's mistake

 

------------------------------------------------

                                                                 page 11


               On the Eve of Christmas
 
 Now, three days past the longest night,
    eight reindeer and sleigh take flight;
    to spread the tide of Christ's birth and gift,
    carry word of His new year, spirits lift.

So silent and swift the passing sleigh: yet,
    not one believing in His name would say,
   "I fail to see the tiny sleigh and deer,
    I really don't believe St. Claus was here."

Down the chimneys of our hearts he goes,
     rekindling spirits fire; for he knows
     that no gift greater than His divine light,
     is seen in our spirit on Christmas night.

Myth born an age and world far away,
    spun and imagined 'til this our day--
    we would naught believe unless we heard:
   the bells, deer, sleigh and His spoken word?

Wouldn't believe in easy joy, special laughter,
  can we believe now two thousand years after,
  that our God Father in the Heaven above
  gave to us His Son so much was His love?


We needn't look to the sky, strain our ear,
  as it's from within He comes to us each year.
As we lay gifts under the decorated tree,
    on the eve of Christmas, within us He'll be.

 ---------------------------------------------------------------
                                                                     page 10 







                               To My 'Self '

                     I can't show you happy
                          if I have only sad;
                        there isn't much of good
                          if all remembered is bad.
                    I can't very well answer
                         if it is I question why;
                       it'd be hard to say, "Hello!"
                          on my way--good-bye.

 

 

 




                                     
---------------------------------------------------------------
                                                                   page 9
                           Solid Coin

       It is not that yesterday's dreams
         could not be today's realities
         but they were then
         and we
       have passed their probabilities

     Coined silver for everyone
        but a thief takes that away
       paper certificates then are made
         and lose their value day by day

     So our lives pass
        coined silver in youth
                                      and we dream
        and dreams are stole away
     then
            we give out certificates

    Yesterday's dreams
        are solid coin 'oft times spent
      foolishly, and not just by youth
      (Our personal value diminishes
           only from within.)
     Trade then only value for value
       and what dreams you
       don't lose interest in
       for they not only must sustain
       but grow
       and lend their worth to the dreams
             that tomorrow might bring

 


------------------------------------------------------------
                                                         page 8 
                                

                               The wind   

                                may last he day
                                yet it is the wind
                                      and blows away



 

 



     Words to a Friend


      "... and when it was
      that I was poor,
          you opened your door
     and let me touch the beauty of your soul."

 

 

                                       

------------------------------------------------------
                                                                      page 7 

                                   Sapling

                   When yet a sapling
                      not much more than
                   a twig, with
                        leaves so small
                   much may come to
                       serve upon, to make
                         and shape your
                                 very form
                   If it be in passing years,
                     that the north wind
                        caught and bent you some,
                                    winters snow
                     has laid heavy upon
                          your boughs, summers
                     heat and too, spring rain
                  Remember, how once you
                       stood straight as the
                       trees surrounding you
                  Know this
                     lest in your being
                   and frame of mind
                   you lay as in form,
                       bent and weathered

 
                                                                                     
------------------------------------------------            
                                                              page 6


      "Isn't that what home is about?"

   "It is the Spring of the year,
      he said, I've managed to last it out--
      this long; the breath is short,
                    there is only the going to."
    "Why?" He asked, "Why don't they
                                  let me go home?"
    "All the years of living there;
          must it: the smells, woods and
      wax, the rooms
               the warmth and love I knew,
           be denied me?"
   "Am I to be left with plastic
           smells and white empty walls?"
                "The going would be better there,

            I'd not be so afraid;
                     my rest would come easier--
           there, isn't that what home
                                                is all about?"
   Would you tell them, for me,
                          my breath is too short?"
 


                                          

 -------------------------------------------------

                                                                      page 5

The seed of change may burst forth
     yet, it too, must grow
    and weather the seasons
At once we are
   the soil and the sun
   the seed and the gardener




                      An Empty Glass
 Winter's dreams flow into spring, and
               as we drink we hope             
             summer to bring
                 the flavor of reality

For someone to fill our glass that we might sing
         summers long we may sit, waiting
         as an empty glass is a poor thing
                  yet poorer still
          is a heart in which dreams don't ring

 


                               Friendship III
                 
                   A friend is as still waters
                         the reflection there seen
                       never hides truth
                         be you beautiful or not, it is you
                  And as with those still waters
                        you may be washed or caressed
                   sharing its gifts
                   be you poor or rich, you're accepted


-------------------------------------------------------------------
                                                                   page 4
          Old Leaves

Country folk may have
                             their fences
             to mend, one on either side,
  old leaves out of winters snow
     are the making of neighbors
    where town folk reside
Each their own grassy meadow
       trimmed with plants and trees
  none would have covered again
                           by old fallen leaves.
Spring's first warm weekend
   may find a neighbor or two
  in their yards raking out
                                      old leaves
     and making new conversation too

                               

----------------------------------------------

                                                                    page 3
            Looking

    Looking at a flower
    Looking at a tree
    Looking at the lake
         at the world surrounding me

              and I like what I see
                                   in me


                                                                                                                      Sometimes
                                                                                                             Sometimes is a funny tree
                              here a leaf                                                                               there a leaf
                              where you please

                                  sometimes isn't always
                             sometimes never has to be
                                 so, sometimes, we're

                                          sometimes me



                          Little Things

                A plane flies only with fuel
                   birds but with wings
                So it is with friends parted
                   but for knowledge of little things



-------------------------------------------------------

                                                              page 1


From two brown eyes
  did materialize
 Mine
     Gumbie
 Oh!
  Such form
    such grace
 among thoroughbreds
                      a place
She.     Gainly sticks
       tube of gum
  curls in the lap
 "I love you 'mum'."
tries to run
          and only tumbles
  tries to walk
              and stumbles

What lament!
    too long, too much
     time was taken
  but for her eyes
       all is mistaken
Forgotten in the making
    was her nose,
  tried to pull it out
    it popped to her toes
   tried to make her smile
   tried, yet, the best
       a droopy grin

Oh!  My pain
       my suffer'n
   I forgot her tail
      forgot her bark
          her wail
She can't then wag - happiness
    no bark - she can't run
      speak, ask, have fun
  without a wail
    tell of loneliness
        or of pain         

                         - - - - - -
                                                                      page 2


Mine-Gumbie
  you're not to blame
     You make
         me laugh
     though I shouldn't
       make me grin
when no one else
               could
          though I doubt
                          I should
Of you, the best
            be my caring
              all my sharing
From two brown eyes
   you materialized
  eyes which
                I though so beautiful
     so deep with love
          with a look
                that says
--there's only you
              forever-today--
   For all that might not
        seem right
     none can replace
                smiles I've shared
        the laughter
      your ‘following
                         me after’
-------------------------------------------------------------
                              Contents

From two eyes...                                  1 & 2
Looking                                                       3
Sometimes                                                  3
Little Things                                               3
Old Leaves                                                  4
The seed 
of change...                                 5
An Empty Glass                                         5
Friendship III                                             5
"Isn't that what home is about?"             6
Sapling                                                       7
The wind...                                                 8
Words to a Friend                                     8
Solid Coin                                                  9
To My "Self'                                             10
On the Eve of Christmas                         11
You love the snow...                                12
Snow weights the leaf...                           12
dancing, falling...                                     12
...would see again...                                 13
Who among us...                                      13
By Day's Light                                         13
Before Night                                            13
Often,...                                                    14
No tree may grow...                                 14
Friend Fred...                                           15
What a smile...                                         16
It took the wind...                                    17
Can we understand...                               18
A Peaceful Hearth Burns                        19
Budding...                                               20
The Chase                                               20
Our greatest joys..                                   20
Our measure...                                         21
What moments we know...                     21
He knows our love...                               21
Felt again...                                      22 & 23
Any less...                                                 24
Yet children...                                          25
A child grows...                              26 & 27
And we wondered if...                             28
Only 'good'...                                           28

--------------------------------------------------------






 

                                Strangers we

                                   and yet, not,

                                 as our life,

                                   is lived, in the same eternity.





__________________________________________

                                              



                           Dedicated to

  

    Griswald Wesley Carlton Gou-Min Wong-Thom Brooks








_________________________________________________


        Rocks of the Stream

                                 Book I


             High Meadow/Stony Brook



                                     by 

                   Gerald William Brooks


___________________________________________

                     



         Rocks of the Stream


                                           by

                       Gerald William Brooks


                       Book I




                         Copyright 1976

________________________________________

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                                                         page 28

                 And we wondered if
                    it was out of necessity
                   that the leaves and twigs
                        of autumn
                     filled the crags
                                          and nooks
                              of the stones
                                     through which
                           the brook did flow
                                 bringing the back--
                                water
                                           high
                                   and the one waterfall
                                      was joined by others
                           Wondered why
                                for no more water flowed
                                it was only dispersed
                                       about the rocks
                                      and twigs
                                           and leaves


                             Then
                                 we listened close
                                      and heard its song
                                                               to us

 



        Only 'good' can God do
        Satan but that which isn't
        Tis man which is of
                              a free will

----------------------------------------------------------