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Monthly Philosophy and Riddle


“Once you choose hope, anything’s possible.”
– Christopher Reeve

“Be the change that you wish to see in the world.”
– Mahatma Gandhi

“Remember, no one can make you feel inferior without consent.”
– Eleanor Roosevelt


*NEW* July Riddle: What comes once in a minute, twice in a moment, but never in a thousand years?

June Riddle: How many letters are in the alphabet?

June Answer: 11 letters

Poetry Honorable Mention:

“Where Sagebrush Grows” – Darin Brookman, Author

Boogers In The Bushes

The weather snuck in past the bluffs
Sure messed up my bull hunt.
It ghosted through the cedar trees
Plumb rude, cold, wet, and blunt.

The trailer’s not too far away
Could be we’re not too late.
I loaded up Ol Dobbin
And we struck out for the gate.

The gravel’s five slick miles away.
Things went without a hitch,
For just about a hundred yards
Then slid off in the ditch.

I cussed the mud and cussed the ditch
I surely cussed my luck.
But after all my cussin’ fits
I still was fairly stuck.

Considerin’ my options then
They both looked pretty thin.
Could spend the night there in the ditch
Or ride my pony in.

A good twelve miles back to the house,
Already gettin’ dark.
I put on all the clothes I had,
Prepared to disembark.

We trot along a mile or so
When darkness closes in.
I’m left alone out in the night
A ways from hearth and kin.

At least the sleet has mostly quit
The air’s still wringin’ wet.
I can’t make out the road at all.
Have we crossed Buck Creek yet?

There ain’t a sign of moon or star,
Not any hint of light.
The clouds have swallowed up the world,
A tarp pulled crisp and tight.

Wish I was on Ol Doc or Tex
Instead of this bay colt.
The way he blows them rollers
It sure makes ya take a holt.

If he’s to lose me way out here
I’d sure be on my own.
The best that I could hope for’d
Be a long cold walk back home.

I feel him humped up tight and stiff
Just like a loaded gun.
There’s boogers in the bushes
And he’s huntin’ ever’ one.

Just then we top out Cagle’s hill
And see through cold pitch black,
A sight that makes my neck hairs rise.
Sends shivers down my back.

The distant lights of Childress glow
Some fifteen miles or more.
Yet I can make out plain and clear
The shape of house and store.

The cars out on the highway
All lined up so nice and neat.
The lights in all the window panes
The lamp posts on the street.

Like snowglobes on your Grandma’s shelf
The glitter swirls serene,
‘Till your caught up in the magical 
Imaginary scene.

I can nearly see the people there
All snug and safe and warm.
They’re sittin’ in their easy chairs
Content and free from harm.

The watchin’ from my little hill
I feel an easy peace.
It’s not because those people there
Could help me in the least.

But more because I am alone
Apart from all the throng.
I realize out here lookin’ in
Is right where I belong.

The strength I feel while watchin’ down
Upon the world below,
Must be the same imposing power
That angels only know.

I know there’s explanations
For the things I saw that night.
The odd magnification
Of some damp refractive light.

But as I turned the bay colt home
He trots off loose and free,
And the boogers in the bushes
Didn’t bother him or me.

  • This excerpt has been approved by the author, and more information about this production is below:
    • Pair’a Spurs Press
      Rt. 2 Box 20
      Hollis, OK 73550
    • Printed in the USA by Humphrey Printing Co, Inc
      1602 Midwestern Parkway
      Wichita Falls, TX 76302