Oldcomer

SPOTS OF GREECE

by Edward Lear

Papa once went to Greece,

And there I understand

He saw no end of lovely spots

About that lovely land.

He talks about these spots of Greece

To both Mama and me

Yet spots of Greece upon my dress

They can't abear to see!

I cannot make it out at all—

If ever on my Frock

They see the smallest Spot of Greece

It gives them quite a shock!

Henceforth, therefore—to please them both

These spots of Greece no more

Shall be upon my frock at all—

Nor on my Pinafore.

Working so hard, I haven’t had time

to speak to my friends, that is a crime

hope all is well

soon I will tell

you of my endeavors in prose or in rhyme.

REMEMBERING

by Oldcomer

I cannot remember her face

lying cold and gray,

when I close my eyes

I see you, I see you,

and could not bear

to see you close your eyes

when your time is done.

IN THE WOODS

by Oldcomer

A broken house hides in the woods,

its shingles torn and ragged

surrounded by a picket fence

its old wood worn and jagged.

It's here I hide when life’s not good,

beneath the oak still standing,

Nature shelters me once more

and nothing she’s demanding.

Once underneath the oak I’ve stood,

inhaling ancient times,

I can go back to where I live

and write some silly rhymes.

Did you write poetry when you were 10?

This morning as the sun arose

I banged the window with my nose

My mother yelled and I suppose

I should have stayed in bed.

SCATTER MY ASHES (a response to Caz)

Scatter my ashes

among the trees

and the tall grasses

of the forest.

I will not be

food for worms,

but for the plants

who feed the air.

Scatter my ashes

so I may live on

in the heart

of Mother Earth.

I wrote it in haste yesterday.

TIGER IN THE JUNGLE

The jungle is the place where I reside,

Among tall grasses where I hunt and learn

To catch my prey wheverer they may hide.

I creep upwind then move off to the side,

Make not a sound as in the grass I burn;

The jungle is the place where I reside.

I pounce upon my prey with mighty strides,

My tail a balance as I twist and turn,

To catch my prey wherever they may hide.

When screeching vultures fly down to my side

I gaze upon them feeling no concern;

The jungle is the place where I reside.

And when I have my fill I then decide

To let them feed for soon I will return

To catch my prey wherever they may hide.

My instincts and my talents are my guides

To sate my growling hunger as it churns;

The jungle is the place where I reside,

To catch my prey wherever they may hide.

TIGER IN THE JUNGLE

The jungle is the place where I reside,

Among tall grasses where I hunt and learn

My prey to catch wherever they may hide.

I creep upwind then move off to the side,

No noise I make as in the grass I burn;

The jungle is the place where I reside.

I pounce upon my prey with mighty strides,

My tail as balance as I twist and turn,

My prey to catch wherever they may hide.

When screeching vultures fly down to my side

I gaze upon them feeling no concern;

The jungle is the place where I reside.

And when I have my fill then I decide

To let them feed for soon I will return

My prey to catch wherever they may hide.

My instincts and my talents are my guides,

My belly growls with hunger as it churns,

The jungle is the place where I reside,

My prey to catch wherever they may hide.

Then, I believe I'll take a break from YAP for a while.

Ode To Grecian Glory

Once...twice...three times deletion,

A world made of toxic secretion,

Oh...how...I wish I were Grecian,

To write in glorious words.

I...would...wow all the masses,

Poets and people of all the classes

They ...would... bow down, those donkeys,

At vocab they had never heard.

The Roman said, “It’s all Greek to me,”

How is it possible they did not see

That... all... those who cannot be

Greek are naught but curds.

During my road trip

YAP I often skipped

and the troll

was on a roll

90 negative points

Does he think I care

does a real poet dare

to wipe out the words

before they're heard

by good-hearted colleagues?

Funky Monkey suggested an edit and Cassie suggested a challenge. Anyone up for it?

HOME (edited)

Home is where in my favorite chair

waits for me when I’ve time to spare,

where on our stove our special meal

simmers with slow smells revealed,

where friends and family gather round

and laughter is a frequent sound,

where our son, who’s almost grown

(and who will soon leave you alone)

makes piles of laundry on the floor,

mows the lawn and slams the door,

still throws a ball which you can’t hit

laughs aloud as you chase after it.

Home is where the sun will rise

in our own familiar skies,

and when the moon is at its peak

my love and I in whispers speak

in the dark, no need for sight

until the early morning’s light.

HOME

Home is where

favorite chair

electric stove

full refrigerator

toaster

friends and family

are.

Home is where

your almost-grown son

makes piles

of dirty laundry

helps you mow

the lawn

still tosses

a softball

for you to foul.

Home is where

you know when

the sun will rise

and set

where husband

and wife

love in private

darkness.

OUR SONG

We have a song that we call “ours,”

it is not filled with springtime flowers,

it does not sing of Sun or Moon,

nor does it say what’s coming soon.

We have a song that has no words,

only we have ever heard

this secret version of great love;

as we soar free below, above.

We have a song we bonded make

when darkness comes, till morning breaks,

a song in wordless poetry,

known only by my love and me.

FOR BETTER OR WORSE

I hear the music when you write to form,

it speaks to me in song as music flows,

brings me ‘way back to days in college dorm

where knowledge of our tongue’s great beauty grows.

Nostalgic am I now my child will learn

that poetry is neither toy nor play,

by working hard, my son at last will earn

a title he will bear with pride one day.

A poet should strive to be versatile,

as in his voice he makes a song to sing.

he need not write in form, it is not guile

to know the different styles a poet brings

No matter how a poet writes his verse

he should know when it’s better, when it’s worse.

ROAD TRIP 060212

Mountains rise unto the skies

move and shrink, breathe, divide

mysterious the caves on either side

shelters for first Man to hide.

And we motes wish we could abide

as we watch the Moon and planets ride

but though great Nature we all have tried

we must homeward go, we have sighed.

School’s Out

In another day or two,

I will take a break from you,

school is out, it’s our last chance

to be with our son, it’s our last dance.

Then he’ll be going off to college,

to learn of the world, acquire knowledge,

and when he returns, as we know he must,

we pray that our Earth has not turned to dust.

Because of Beth’s apology, I am dedicating a bit of information about my life to her:

Musings on a Saturday Morning

I rise in the predawn

as on every work day,

but this is a day of rest;

I dress, drink a cup

of steaming coffee,

feel no angst as

I open my door,

take my morning run.

Many of my Internet friends

live in pain;

I do not like to tell them

I am happy,

content with my life,

in love with my wife,

proud of my son,

happy in my work,

healthy in my

late middle age.

I feel guilty, as

they seek to discover

who I “really” am, but

should I give them

my name,

my photo,

my history,

they would still

not know me.

I apologize, but

I am happy.

Poetry is, above all, an approach to the truth of feeling . . .. A fine poem will seize your imagination intellectually—that is, when you reach it, you will reach it intellectually too— but the way is through emotion, through what we call feeling.

Muriel Rukeyser

Quotation by Hemingway:

“The world breaks everyone; some of us grow stronger in the broken places.”

--- Ernest Hemingway

Never will this sad world break me,

I'll bend until the Devil takes me;

as the years grow long and longer

my frail bones do not grow stronger,

soon, in all those broken places

I will dream of loving faces

whispering my secret name,

helping me to end the game.

No exotic words in this one, either.

LIFE IN THREE SNAPSHOTS

Oh, to be a young man

when the World was new,

when Hope stood there before me

though I had not yet met you.

Oh, to be a big boy

growing day by day,

looking to the Future,

and still with time to play.

Oh, I’m now a grown man

watching each day fade,

climbing still, but wondering

if I can make the grade.