A Perfect Moment
Life for me is doing
The mundane things
Day after day
Waiting for the perfect
Moment to arrive.
They happen suddenly and
Unexpectedly. They sneak up on you
And if you are not paying attention
You might just miss them:
Shooting hoops with my son
Or playing catch in the yard,
Holding my wife in my arms while
watching our teenage son play with his infant brother.
Tickling the baby until he laughs so much
you have to laugh too,
Holing hands with my wife.
A conversation with my son,
Celebrating the birth someone’s child.
Embracing a friend or love one whom
you have not seen in a while.
These are but a few perfect
Moments that I have had.
They have always come when
I have been sharing of myself.
It never comes through self gratification.
For self gratification only leads to search
for the next self grafting act.
Each time less satisfying
With a huge let down afterwards.
A perfect moment stands on its own
It is sweet and pure,
Leaving a lingering euphoria of peace,
That can be felt every time
The moment is remembered.
So I wait doing the mundane, watching
For the next perfect moment to come.
October 4, 2007
Larry T. Hollist
Thursday, October 04, 2007
Face Masks
Face Masks
When I played American football
I never looked past the facemask
Of the opposing player.
That way I could hit them as hard as
I could and not worry if
I was hurting another person.
In fact I played a whole game with a friend
On the opposite team and did not know it,
Because I never saw his face.
How often do we put face masks on other
People and do not see them?
Other cars on the roads, and not the people inside?
The labels we give them: Muslims, Jews, Arabs,
Chinese, Africans, Hispanics, Caucasians.
Usually not as nice but using words
That now are referred to as:
A single initial and then “word.”
But once we look past the face mask,
See the person there,
Find the humanity,
Get to know them,
Then we would not wish to hurt them.
Sping 2005- 29 September 2007
Larry T. Hollist
When I played American football
I never looked past the facemask
Of the opposing player.
That way I could hit them as hard as
I could and not worry if
I was hurting another person.
In fact I played a whole game with a friend
On the opposite team and did not know it,
Because I never saw his face.
How often do we put face masks on other
People and do not see them?
Other cars on the roads, and not the people inside?
The labels we give them: Muslims, Jews, Arabs,
Chinese, Africans, Hispanics, Caucasians.
Usually not as nice but using words
That now are referred to as:
A single initial and then “word.”
But once we look past the face mask,
See the person there,
Find the humanity,
Get to know them,
Then we would not wish to hurt them.
Sping 2005- 29 September 2007
Larry T. Hollist
Facades
Facades
We build facades.
Some around others,Some around ourselves.
The ones we build around ourselvesWe build to protect ourselvesFrom the ridicule of others.
Or we build them to fit in.
We shape them andPaint them to conformTo what we thinkOthers wish to see.
We put up facadesBecause we are ashamedOf what we are andHow others will react.
We put up facades around us
So we can pretend that we are
Something that we are not.
To show others that we are better
Then they are.
We put up facades
Around others to give us hope
Of happy times and better things.
For joy that we seek for ourselves
And even for a moment give it to others.
We put up facades
Around others so we don’t have
To see their problems, their heartache.
By doing this we do not have to
Become involved and it is easer for us.
We put up facades
Around others to make them
Lesser then we are.
So we can put them down,
Belittle them, and even control them.
All so we can feel better about ourselves.
Soon we start to believe the facades
Are the real thing, we start to even
Worship the facades and build them up.
To the point that we do not believe
The truth when it is staring us in the face.
It is not until all the facades, the falsehoods,
The lies, the predigest, and the bigotry
Are all torn down
That the healing can begin
And we truly see the structures
And the beauty that God has
Built in each and every one of us.
It is then we see joy.
Spring 2006-14 September 2007
Larry T. Hollist
We build facades.
Some around others,Some around ourselves.
The ones we build around ourselvesWe build to protect ourselvesFrom the ridicule of others.
Or we build them to fit in.
We shape them andPaint them to conformTo what we thinkOthers wish to see.
We put up facadesBecause we are ashamedOf what we are andHow others will react.
We put up facades around us
So we can pretend that we are
Something that we are not.
To show others that we are better
Then they are.
We put up facades
Around others to give us hope
Of happy times and better things.
For joy that we seek for ourselves
And even for a moment give it to others.
We put up facades
Around others so we don’t have
To see their problems, their heartache.
By doing this we do not have to
Become involved and it is easer for us.
We put up facades
Around others to make them
Lesser then we are.
So we can put them down,
Belittle them, and even control them.
All so we can feel better about ourselves.
Soon we start to believe the facades
Are the real thing, we start to even
Worship the facades and build them up.
To the point that we do not believe
The truth when it is staring us in the face.
It is not until all the facades, the falsehoods,
The lies, the predigest, and the bigotry
Are all torn down
That the healing can begin
And we truly see the structures
And the beauty that God has
Built in each and every one of us.
It is then we see joy.
Spring 2006-14 September 2007
Larry T. Hollist
Music
Music
Most good music is not instantaneous,
Except in the gurgle and guu of a baby,
Or in the laugh of a child.
The rest needs time to develop.
The instrument needs to be made
By artists, who through many
Years of experience have improved
Upon their art.
The instrument needs time to age,
To settle in,
To collect the good things of the world,
Along with the bad things,
The happy things,
The sad things,
The ugly and the beautiful things.
This is done through use and practice.
The music needs to be composed,
Written and found by those who
Compose, write and find music.
They need time to find how to
Feel the music in the ether
To pull out what is theirs
And then to share it with others.
For some it comes faster then
They can write the notes on paper.
Others it is a slow and tedious process.
But, it all takes time.
Musicians need time to
Learn how to play their instruments.
Practice time, and lesson time.
The musicians need time to
Become one with their instrument,
To find all the emotions, the joys, the sorrows
The triumphs and tragedies
Which are stored in the instrument.
The musician needs time to
Collect the good things of the world,
Along with the bad things,
The happy things,
The sad things,
The ugly and the beautiful things.
That way when the instrument and the musician
Start to become one, they can relate to each other.
They inspire one another.
Most good music is not instantaneous,
Except in the gurgle and guu of a baby,
Or in the laugh of a child.
Spring 2006- 28 September 2007.
Larry T. Hollist
Most good music is not instantaneous,
Except in the gurgle and guu of a baby,
Or in the laugh of a child.
The rest needs time to develop.
The instrument needs to be made
By artists, who through many
Years of experience have improved
Upon their art.
The instrument needs time to age,
To settle in,
To collect the good things of the world,
Along with the bad things,
The happy things,
The sad things,
The ugly and the beautiful things.
This is done through use and practice.
The music needs to be composed,
Written and found by those who
Compose, write and find music.
They need time to find how to
Feel the music in the ether
To pull out what is theirs
And then to share it with others.
For some it comes faster then
They can write the notes on paper.
Others it is a slow and tedious process.
But, it all takes time.
Musicians need time to
Learn how to play their instruments.
Practice time, and lesson time.
The musicians need time to
Become one with their instrument,
To find all the emotions, the joys, the sorrows
The triumphs and tragedies
Which are stored in the instrument.
The musician needs time to
Collect the good things of the world,
Along with the bad things,
The happy things,
The sad things,
The ugly and the beautiful things.
That way when the instrument and the musician
Start to become one, they can relate to each other.
They inspire one another.
Most good music is not instantaneous,
Except in the gurgle and guu of a baby,
Or in the laugh of a child.
Spring 2006- 28 September 2007.
Larry T. Hollist
Fall
The Relaxing Game
The Relaxing Game
For Jonathan who I use to play this with to put him to sleep.
Relax your toes.
Relax your feet.
Relax your ankles.
Relax your calves.
Relax your thighs.
Relax your legs.
Relax your hips.
Relax your stomach.
Relax your chest.
Relax your fingers.
Relax your hands.
Relax your wrists.
Relax your forearms.
Relax your biceps.
Relax your arms.
Relax your shoulders.
Relax your neck.
Relax your chin.
Relax your mouth.
Relax your tongue.
Relax your lips.
Relax your cheeks.
Relax your nose.
Relax your eyes.
Relax your eye lids.
Relax your eye lashes.
Relax your fore head.
Relax your hair.
Relax your head.
Relax your whole body.
Relax,
Relax,
Relax.
Now you
are going
to
sl
e
e
e
e
e
p.
Goodnight.
27 September, 2007
Larry T. Hollist
For Jonathan who I use to play this with to put him to sleep.
Relax your toes.
Relax your feet.
Relax your ankles.
Relax your calves.
Relax your thighs.
Relax your legs.
Relax your hips.
Relax your stomach.
Relax your chest.
Relax your fingers.
Relax your hands.
Relax your wrists.
Relax your forearms.
Relax your biceps.
Relax your arms.
Relax your shoulders.
Relax your neck.
Relax your chin.
Relax your mouth.
Relax your tongue.
Relax your lips.
Relax your cheeks.
Relax your nose.
Relax your eyes.
Relax your eye lids.
Relax your eye lashes.
Relax your fore head.
Relax your hair.
Relax your head.
Relax your whole body.
Relax,
Relax,
Relax.
Now you
are going
to
sl
e
e
e
e
e
p.
Goodnight.
27 September, 2007
Larry T. Hollist
A Blue Smudge
A Blue Smudge
For Angel Madero
In a place and a time
Where tattoos were rarity.
A bunch of us young men
Noticed a blue smudge
On the upper arm of
Our friend's dad.
All of us being curious,
Yet most afraid to ask.
There was one of us
Who was more forward
Then the rest, asked him,
"What is that tattooed on your arm?"
He told us over forty years ago,
When he was not
Much older then us,
Newly married,And was
In San Francisco before
He was to be shipped off to
Fight the Japanese in WWII.
With a bunch of his buddies
Out on the town they went,
And with more then a few drinks
Found themselves in a tattoo pallor.
Now my memory of what
He said the design was,
Is a bit smudgy.
It is as clear as day what was written,
There was his name,
There was his wife’s name,
(Still married to this day)
And their wedding date.
Except the wedding date
Was wrong by two days.
This left a big impression on me.
The blue smudge,
And the wrong date
Is why I have no tattoos.
Or it could be:
I just don’t like pain.
18 September 2007
Larry T. Hollist
For Angel Madero
In a place and a time
Where tattoos were rarity.
A bunch of us young men
Noticed a blue smudge
On the upper arm of
Our friend's dad.
All of us being curious,
Yet most afraid to ask.
There was one of us
Who was more forward
Then the rest, asked him,
"What is that tattooed on your arm?"
He told us over forty years ago,
When he was not
Much older then us,
Newly married,And was
In San Francisco before
He was to be shipped off to
Fight the Japanese in WWII.
With a bunch of his buddies
Out on the town they went,
And with more then a few drinks
Found themselves in a tattoo pallor.
Now my memory of what
He said the design was,
Is a bit smudgy.
It is as clear as day what was written,
There was his name,
There was his wife’s name,
(Still married to this day)
And their wedding date.
Except the wedding date
Was wrong by two days.
This left a big impression on me.
The blue smudge,
And the wrong date
Is why I have no tattoos.
Or it could be:
I just don’t like pain.
18 September 2007
Larry T. Hollist
A Trail of Smiles
A Trail of Smiles
For Angel and Virgina Madero
One of the saddest moments from US historyIs the tale of “The trail of tears."
I can think of one thing that I can do
To right this wrong,
That is to blaze a trail of smiles,
That goes on for miles and miles.
I can remember when I first saw
This phenomenon,
I was in the temple with my mom.
We were going to eat lunch withAngel and his wife Virginia.
They had left ahead of us,
I was worried that we might not
Catch up to them in time.
My mom said not to worry.
Angel will have to greet
Everyone he meets
With:
A Light laugh,
A big smile,
A shake of the hand,
And a genuine, “H’z ya doin’.
Gladz to know ya.”
With Virginia smiling
By his side.
So we started on our way.
Everyone we meet
Coming towards us had:
A spring in their step,
A sparkle in eye,
And a curled up upper lip.
After some time I said,
To my mother,
“We must be gettingCloser to Angel and Virginia.”
“How can you tell?”
She asked.
“The smiles are getting bigger,”
I replied.
Over the years I have thought
Of this experience.
Of how I can Overcome my tendenciesOf walking around with-Out a smile on my face.
I say that I am often
In deep thought,
Well, OK, I'm daydreaming,
That I forget to enjoy
The moment I am in.
So to try to right a wrong
And to give thanks to those
Who have added to my smile
Like Angel and Virginia,
Everyday I try to just make one person smile.
In this way I can have a trail
Of my own.
Yet, this trail of mine,
Is really part of Angel's
And Virginia’s trail of smiles.
Why Virginia’s? you ask.
Well I always thought that
At least half of Angel's smile
Came from Virginia.
And at least half of Virginia’s smile
Came from Angel.
Spring 1995 - 9/18/2007
Larry T. Hollist
For Angel and Virgina Madero
One of the saddest moments from US historyIs the tale of “The trail of tears."
I can think of one thing that I can do
To right this wrong,
That is to blaze a trail of smiles,
That goes on for miles and miles.
I can remember when I first saw
This phenomenon,
I was in the temple with my mom.
We were going to eat lunch withAngel and his wife Virginia.
They had left ahead of us,
I was worried that we might not
Catch up to them in time.
My mom said not to worry.
Angel will have to greet
Everyone he meets
With:
A Light laugh,
A big smile,
A shake of the hand,
And a genuine, “H’z ya doin’.
Gladz to know ya.”
With Virginia smiling
By his side.
So we started on our way.
Everyone we meet
Coming towards us had:
A spring in their step,
A sparkle in eye,
And a curled up upper lip.
After some time I said,
To my mother,
“We must be gettingCloser to Angel and Virginia.”
“How can you tell?”
She asked.
“The smiles are getting bigger,”
I replied.
Over the years I have thought
Of this experience.
Of how I can Overcome my tendenciesOf walking around with-Out a smile on my face.
I say that I am often
In deep thought,
Well, OK, I'm daydreaming,
That I forget to enjoy
The moment I am in.
So to try to right a wrong
And to give thanks to those
Who have added to my smile
Like Angel and Virginia,
Everyday I try to just make one person smile.
In this way I can have a trail
Of my own.
Yet, this trail of mine,
Is really part of Angel's
And Virginia’s trail of smiles.
Why Virginia’s? you ask.
Well I always thought that
At least half of Angel's smile
Came from Virginia.
And at least half of Virginia’s smile
Came from Angel.
Spring 1995 - 9/18/2007
Larry T. Hollist
Ripples
Ripples
Written for 100th Anniversary of Grandpa Orson Leroy Hollist’s birth.
A single pebble thrown
Into a smooth lake
Will cause a ring of ripples
To spread out.
Some ripples quickly comes
Back to you on shore.
Others will go on until
You don’t know where they go.
And you can’t see them anymore.
Many years ago, in the 1940s, when my dad
Was but a lad
In a place that my father, uncles,
and aunts all adore
For they ran in wild kid-packs
is the family lore.
Brigham City, Utah just in case
You wanted to know where this
story started to take place.
Grandpa was in the bishopric then.
(The same as an assistant pastor
in other churches I would imagine.)
He took some time away from his family duties,
And other church responsibilities
To spend time with a youth
who needed some help in life
And to gain a testimony of Christ.
This young Jensen boy was ever grateful
for Grandpa’s helping hand.
For he found the faith and testimony
he needed: to better his life,
To grow up to be a good man,
And became a good husband to his wife.
In a home where the spirit dwelt therein,
Together the Jensens raised their children,
They taught: responsibility, hard work
Sacrifice and in helping others to better their life.
Especially those who might be going
through turmoil or strife.
The story next picks up in Tokyo,
‘twas the fall of 1989
I went to church where some good friends I did find.
Chris and Rebecca Jensen were their names.
Yes, the last name is the same
I think it was part of God’s plan
For me to meet the son of the Jensen boy,
who grew up to be a good man.
As a new fledging trying to take flight
Though I was trying with all my might
I was having a hard time molting my college down.
The more I struggled the stronger I was bound.
Alone in this pivotal time, Chris took me under his wing
And metaphorically taught me how to sing.
Chris showed me by word and deed
How to be: a father, a husband,
and a man the world would need.
Most of these lessons were not new to me,
I had first learn them while sitting at my father’s knee.
Chris just helped me liberate
These lessons from their dungeon cells.
That they might: crystallize, coagulate,
Coalesce, solidify, and really jell.
By transforming them from something I knew
Into something that I do.
There was a hole in my education that needed filling.
Chris taught me the rules of proper gift giving.
That is the gifts you give to your spouse
And still live in a peaceful and happy house.
Since this page is quickly running out of space
I will share them at another time and place,
And they are not a true part of this story I now tell,
But I have followed them and they have served me well.
So thank you Chris, Rebecca and the whole Jensen clan,
And all those who through the years gave me a helping hand.
Thank you Grandpa Hollist, though on earth we never meet,
Through others your presence has been felt, wherever I went.
Cast your pebbles of goodness out onto the lake.
And do it for no other reason then for goodness sake.
Don't be concerned if you do not know
Where or how far the ripples will go.
For out into time and space they will spread
Going on and on long after you are dead.
By God’s tender mercy and letting His love show
Maybe onto a distant shore they will go,
To lap on your posterity’s feet,
And thus making this circle of love complete.
27 September 2007
Larry T. Hollist
Written for 100th Anniversary of Grandpa Orson Leroy Hollist’s birth.
A single pebble thrown
Into a smooth lake
Will cause a ring of ripples
To spread out.
Some ripples quickly comes
Back to you on shore.
Others will go on until
You don’t know where they go.
And you can’t see them anymore.
Many years ago, in the 1940s, when my dad
Was but a lad
In a place that my father, uncles,
and aunts all adore
For they ran in wild kid-packs
is the family lore.
Brigham City, Utah just in case
You wanted to know where this
story started to take place.
Grandpa was in the bishopric then.
(The same as an assistant pastor
in other churches I would imagine.)
He took some time away from his family duties,
And other church responsibilities
To spend time with a youth
who needed some help in life
And to gain a testimony of Christ.
This young Jensen boy was ever grateful
for Grandpa’s helping hand.
For he found the faith and testimony
he needed: to better his life,
To grow up to be a good man,
And became a good husband to his wife.
In a home where the spirit dwelt therein,
Together the Jensens raised their children,
They taught: responsibility, hard work
Sacrifice and in helping others to better their life.
Especially those who might be going
through turmoil or strife.
The story next picks up in Tokyo,
‘twas the fall of 1989
I went to church where some good friends I did find.
Chris and Rebecca Jensen were their names.
Yes, the last name is the same
I think it was part of God’s plan
For me to meet the son of the Jensen boy,
who grew up to be a good man.
As a new fledging trying to take flight
Though I was trying with all my might
I was having a hard time molting my college down.
The more I struggled the stronger I was bound.
Alone in this pivotal time, Chris took me under his wing
And metaphorically taught me how to sing.
Chris showed me by word and deed
How to be: a father, a husband,
and a man the world would need.
Most of these lessons were not new to me,
I had first learn them while sitting at my father’s knee.
Chris just helped me liberate
These lessons from their dungeon cells.
That they might: crystallize, coagulate,
Coalesce, solidify, and really jell.
By transforming them from something I knew
Into something that I do.
There was a hole in my education that needed filling.
Chris taught me the rules of proper gift giving.
That is the gifts you give to your spouse
And still live in a peaceful and happy house.
Since this page is quickly running out of space
I will share them at another time and place,
And they are not a true part of this story I now tell,
But I have followed them and they have served me well.
So thank you Chris, Rebecca and the whole Jensen clan,
And all those who through the years gave me a helping hand.
Thank you Grandpa Hollist, though on earth we never meet,
Through others your presence has been felt, wherever I went.
Cast your pebbles of goodness out onto the lake.
And do it for no other reason then for goodness sake.
Don't be concerned if you do not know
Where or how far the ripples will go.
For out into time and space they will spread
Going on and on long after you are dead.
By God’s tender mercy and letting His love show
Maybe onto a distant shore they will go,
To lap on your posterity’s feet,
And thus making this circle of love complete.
27 September 2007
Larry T. Hollist
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