Bud of New Beginning


I thought I  killed my grape vine this summer! When the Japanese Beatles began to devour the fresh green leaves, I thought I would try my own homemade natural insect spray. As it turned out it was much too strong, and though it got rid of the beetles it also got rid of all the leaves it landed upon. After a week or two the dried up leaves began to fall off and I noticed new buds coming out at the base of the old leaves. In a couple weeks I had an arbor full of leaves and the stalk was much hardier. As my summer lilac dries up in the sunshine I see the same thing. New buds are awaiting the right conditions and will come out and renew the plant once more. This poem compares this renewal to our human condition.

At the base of each drying leaf

Is a bud full of life and potential


Waiting patiently for summer’s heat

Or winter’s cold to pass

In the cool of spring

The refreshing showers

The promise of warmth

Sap rises in the cambium

Pushes open that small bud


Enlarging into a new fresh leaf

Green and vigorous

Full of life



Behind all that crushes you

Makes you feel devastated

Hopeless and distraught

Lies a bud of strength and potential

Waiting for you to recognize

That your spring has arrived

Once more



Photos: Dwight L. Roth


Mr. Ed


One of the things in life I value most are my friends. Good friends make life so much better. Mr. Ed, as everyone at Siding Associates called him, was a great friend. We had a lot of common interests. He came from the “old school” and had his ideas about what should or should not be. We had many great discussion from religion to politics. He was our driver who delivered and picked up siding for our business. I was very sad when he passed away from pneumonia one of the last years I worked there.  This poem is my tribute to him.

Found a good friend at my last job

We called him Mr. Ed not Jim or Bob

A kindred spirit we hit it off right away

Shared many discussions and stories along the way


In the winter of his life he wanted to work

He was not one to sit at home and perk

Drove our old Ford pick-up all across town


Delivered supplies and siding all around

To the bank, to the job, and picked up our biscuits

At Oak Level Café as regular as the clock ticks

Our go-to guy dependable as the sun

In spite of emphysema he was not really done

Forty years of puffing had clogged his lungs

But that didn’t stop him from having lots of fun

Sales were slow wooden pallets were many

He wanted a Rocker so I got him one ready



Recycled oak

cleaned, sanded, and finished

Copied from an old one in spite of nail blemish

We rocked together between his runs

He was a joy to know and a lot of fun


His dry sense of humor was filled with wit

Gave us many laughs that left us in a stitch

I loved him like a father he returned the love

Until pneumonia brought his calling form above

He fought it bravely but his body was done

We lost Mr. Ed and all of his fun

I lost a good friend but not the memories

Of his smile his jokes and all of his stories


I see his old truck and it makes me smile

He loved to drive he put on many a mile

He was a great friend as I sat by his side

Gone but not forgotten

He was born to ride.



Photos: Dwight L. Roth & Dan Neice

Pallet Rocker made by Dwight L. Roth




Music and Words

dwights-harmony-guitar-paintingMusic and words go together like mashed potatoes and gravy! You can eat them separate, but, in my opinion, they are so much better when put together. I feel the same about music. I love to listen to classical music and recognize a few of the more popular pieces, but  when   words are added and you have Ode to Joy, the Halleluiah Chorus, or a National Anthem. Pop songs and jingles stick in our brain for ever taking us back in time.  I have seen some guitar festivals with super guitarists, but to me it is always better when they sing along.

Music and Words

Music tickles all of my of my tympanic space

Notes driving pounding every membrane

Notes floating lightly bouncing along

Embedding their unique melodies

Like fossils deep in my brain for all time

Waiting to be conjured up at a moment’s notice

Classical music beautiful and majestic

A multitude of instruments playing on cue

But the soul of music is in the words

Words give direction to music

Taking me back to the exact times and places

To that first love that first heartbreak

Music the story of my life

The first two notes the first two words

That preceding guitar lick

Remembered forever in my soft hard drive

Evoking feelings from the deep recesses of my soul

Stirring joy tears raw emotion

A spiritual touch like no other


Harmony Guitar Painting by Dwight L. Roth

Coal Miner’s Fate


Coal mining is a deadly occupation. Many men have died in the mines while digging coal out of the ground. Explosions of deadly methane gas have occurred many times over the years. When I was very young our coal mining community lost over thirty men to an explosion in the Robina Mine  in Green County, Pennsylvania.  It was a sad day for all of us. Yet men still go down into the mine shafts every day bringing out the coal. The painting was done by a coal miner who rose through the ranks to become head of the Mine Workers Union. He was a poet and a painter. Check out his work at the end of this poem.

Coal Miner’s Fate

Digging in the dark dusty earth

Coming home every day

Covered in black dust head to toe

Only to turn around and do it all again


Spending a lifetime digging in the earth

Only to spend an eternity there as well

Lost forever in the dust and methane

That explosion sealed his fate

Never again to be found


Dust to dust and ashes to ashes

But, then again we all knew

It was just a matter of time

Tomorrow we’ll do it all over again


Is the money worth the pain?


Painting by John Minnich “Jock” Wilson  aka. The Coal Miners Poet

Check out his Facebook Page and poetry….


Silly Limericks Day



A while back I decided to try my hand at writing some limericks. They came out quite silly, so I decided to call this Silly Limericks Day. I hope they make you smile.

Silly Limericks Day

There was a sweet boy from Seoul

Who ate his rice from a bowl

Until he came here

And burgers brought cheer

Now he enjoys his lunch on a roll!


Sweet little Mary loves clothes pins

In her hair she always clips them

Until one day

They all fell away

Now they’re only found in the pin bin.


Natalie loves horses and riding

On the back of a Sorrel she’s gliding

She looks so refined

Just like a fine wine

With horse and rider combining


Sweet Patty  loved cookies and candy.

To eat them each weekday was dandy

Her dentist said friend

Your tooth has no end

So I need filled it next Monday


There was a little girl named Polly

Who had an American Girl dolly

Its hair was so soft

That her head twisted off

And that was our dear Polly’s folly!


There was a young girl named Sweet Pea

Who was fascinated with a cute sea a-nem-oneee

She forgot where she was

As she played with its fuzz

And she’s now just her dear mummy’s memory!


There was pirate named Larry

He had a big sword he named Harry

He got in a fight

And his sword took a bite.

It was there he committed Hari Kari!


There was a young man named Jaden

Who loved video games and raisins

He played as he nibbled

With his games he fiddled

’til his eyes fell upon a fair maiden


My favorite artist is Ashley

Whose paintings are very costly

She charged me a bunch

And I choked on my lunch

So never a painting did I see


Black and White Photo: Dwight L. Roth

Grandson on the M


When my Grandson was three years old, he went with his mom to visit the farm. The old tractor seemed the perfect place to set him, high on the seat. He loved it and thought he was really driving.  When I was a teen I loved driving my uncle’s Farmall M. It had a lot of power and when the throttle was cut back quickly, it would backfire like a shotgun. This poem is to good memories for both old and young.

The old red Farmall sits idly in the field

Not shiny red, but still its engine roars

Like fifty Harleys passing by

Its shotgun cracks shoot fire into the sky


Years of wind and weather scrubbed its rugged frame

But still the inner heartbeat has not changed

Life still surges through its veins

The bellowing roar is just the same

Creating awe in young and old

Grandson and Grandpa enjoy the flame

That blows out its pipe with every crack


He sits high on his seat

Behind the wheel he’s a farmer too

Who loves the feeling of strength and power

In ways only little boys and old men understand

He’s only three but in command


There’s nothing like it that Farmall M

In my mind the memory never ends

Nor in the little one’s childlike kingdom

Where joy begins and laughter sweet

Long remembered, indelible on his mind

That throne of power

That only he and Grandpa understand!


Photos: Dwight L. Roth   &  The old M from Farmall M & H – Mark Miller




Buffet of Words


When I started this Word Press Poetry Blog, I had no idea how many interesting people I would connect with from all over the world. Now after a hundred days and almost a hundred followers,  I am still meeting new people. These fine people come from almost every continent and challenge and stimulate my mind every day wonderful poetry and beautiful images. I started with poems from my recent book above and continued writing a poem a day. It is challenging, but very interesting to live daily on the edge of inspiration. I want to thank all of you out there who have taken time to read my poems and share your work with me. Your work inspires me to keep on writing and your images bring beauty into my life each day.

Our Buffet of Words

I never dreamed there was a place

Where people joust words

Where one can sample and digest

The fare of a verbal buffet

And in return

Share their morsels of wisdom


What a wonderful venue

With choices better than Golden Corral

Tidbits of this and tidbits of that

Scrumptious words that tickle the mind


Add in photos for dessert

Images that carry us beyond imagination

Challenging us to stay sharp

Stimulating the brain

Words of pain rooted in anger

Healing words of joy and hope

Words of love and passion

All of this and more on our wordpress.com blog

Perspective and Truth


As I watch news of the protests in Charlotte, NC, I find it interesting that everyone thinks they have the truth. The police have their version, the family of the man who was shot, has its truth. The News Media has its sensational truth. The rioters who were trying to destroy property seem not to care at all about truth. So, who is right? Truth in our minds is created from our personal perspective. As we sit at home watching everything play out, we form a truth that works for us. Who really knows the truth?

“What is Truth?”

A question we all ask

Only few can answer

Truth created from ones perspective

May be right or may be wrong

Truth for most seems to be what we believe

Created from the facts seen or heard

Blind truth a rush to judgement

Often turns out to be false

Truth based on bias, bigotry, hate, or revenge

Is often proven wrong

Yet we still hang on to our truth

It seems to absolve our guilt

Makes our judgments righteous

Justifies our atrocities be they verbal or physical

For if given all the facts

We might not be able to “handle the truth!”

Would it change our perspective?


Painting by Dwight L. Roth



Aretha sang, “R.E.S.P.E.C.T,” many years ago

Crying out for acknowledgement

Elevating women to a place of equality

Respect… not something earned

Rather something given

Respect… a word that brings life

Allowing for mutual understanding

Appreciating the value of one another


Many have died in confrontations with police

Black lives, Blue lives, and many more

Conflict and reactions bring escalation

Disrespect stirs the soul’s darkest response

Death and carnage often follow

How many would still be alive

If they had given R.E.S.P.E.C.T


Public Domain Photo: wp.12.com


Love at First Sight


Love at First Sight

Where two hearts meet nothing else exists

A virtual reality of suspended time

Totally immersed in mind games

The eyes say it all

Revealing the true intent


When two hearts meet

The eyes lock on like heat seeking missiles

Tracking every movement, flutter, and blink

Zeroing in on the heart

Moving blindly toward a hypnotic explosion of the mind

An eternal bond fused in fires of love


When two hearts meet you will know

The button is already pushed

There is no turning back

Just a predestined track to a specular fusion

Leading to a destiny unknown


Photo Dwight L. Roth