"...when I carried you."
I would like to have this page represent different types of poetry from as diverse a community as possible. However, this is a G-rated site, so write accordingly. Just send me your contribution and I will publish it here with gratitude. I am contemplating a contest in the near future. My email addy is: Mapern. Happy writing and may God bless you and "...keep you in the palm of his hand."
Happy News! I have just discovered a quantity of poems written by my Great Uncle Nick in the box I received after the passing of my Aunt Ellen. I have sent these poems on to my cousin, Ruth Postgate, for her inclusion in the book of poetry she is submitting. You can access the poems I found from the menu below. He wrote these during WWII. Hope you enjoy the feeling he transmits.
It was the first day of census, and all throught the land
each pollster was ready...a black book in hand.
He mounted his horse for a long dusty ride,
his book and some quills were tucked close by his side.
A long winding ride down a road barely there,
towards the smell of fresh bread wafting, up through the air.
The woman was tired, with lines on her face
and wisps of brown hair she tucked back into place.
She gave him some water...as they sat at the table
and she answered his questions...the best she was able.
He asked him of children. Yes, she had quite a few.
The oldest was twenty, the youngest not two.
She help up a toddler with checks round and red.
His sister, she whispered, was napping in bed.
She noted each person who lived there with pride,
and she felt the faint stirrings of the wee one inside.
At the number of children, she nodded her head
and he saw her lips quiver for the three that were dead.
The places of birth she "never forgot"
...was it Kansas? or Utah? or Oregon...or not?
They came from Scotland, of that she was clear,
But she was quite sure just how long they'd been here.
They spoke of employment, of schooling and such.
They could read some...and write some...though really not much.
When the questions were answered, his job there was done
so he mounted his horse and he rode towards the sun.
We can almost imagine his voice loud and clear,
"May God bless you all for another ten year."
Now picture a time warp...it's now you and me
as we search for the people on our family tree.
We squint at the census and scroll down so slow
as we search for that entry from long, long ago.
Could they only imagine on that long ago day
that the entries they made would effect us this way?
If they knew would they wonder at the yeaning we feel
and the searching that makes them so increasingly real.
We can hear if we listen the words they impart
through their blood in our veins and their voice in our heart.
----------------Anonymous
return to Top
Dear Grandpa, how are you?,
Are your wings white with a touch of gray?
Can you see me from where you are?
Do you miss me as much as I miss you?
Can I talk to you for awhile?
Do you think Jesus will mind?
Can we sit on the back porch and watch the garden grow?
Would it be okay?.
May I have a sip of your coffee?,
Cream and sugar in it tastes better when you share.
Tell me what you planted,
then I can wait to watch it grow.
I still don't like thunderstorms
or strange sounds in the night,
you told me it was okay to be afraid of lightening
and things I didn't understand.
But you were always there with a loving hug,
until I could find my own courage.
I miss our little talks as we watched the garden grow,
but now the sun is warm upon my face,
and you are not there to hug,
or are you?
I see your face in the dawning sun,
where tomatoes ripen on the vine; I hear your voice.
You hug me with each gentle breeze,
and I can imagine all my forgotten dreams anew.
Coffee still tastes better with sugar and cream,
when shared with my son;
then I weave tales of hope and trust,
with someone I love.
----------------PAMELA
return to Top
Mary had a little lamb,
His fleece was white as snow.
And everywhere that Mary went,
The Lamb was sure to go.
He followed her to school each day,
T'wasn't even in the rule.
It made the children laugh and play,
To have a Lamb at school.
And then the rules all changed one day,
Illegal it became;
To bring the Lamb of God to school,
Or even speak His Name.
Every day got worse and worse,
And days turned into years.
Instead of hearing children laugh,
We heard gun shots and tears.
What must we do to stop the crime,
That's in our schools today?
Let's let the Lamb come back to school,
And teach our kids to pray!
----------------Anonymous, sent in by Judith Bradley
return to Top
Here is one from my friend and mentor, Rose
I remember the horror I felt when the news hit my ears like a creeping slime of inhumanity. Thinking of all those doll children with liquid black eyes and boney hands clutching bowls of rice. I remember the shame I felt knowing I was one of those Americans who looked the other way at a new car, a vacation trip, and new curtains for the living room while children in Viet Nam were being torn apart by shrapnel, burned by napalm, and orphaned by a war too old for most to remember the beginning of.But I remember most coming to know there was no other way. "When you give Viet Nam man a gun," my friend Houng told me, "and tell him to fight... he go in jungle, he see enemy, he throw gun down, and run away."
In her village, a woman hangs from the rafters of her paper house because she can no longer bear to see her children starving. Children fathered by a spineless "man" who ran in fear Fear of being "sent to G.I." and having to give up games of black jack beautiful clothes and young girls to smile at him.
It is difficult to conceive of a nation where a girl child is a blessing someone to take care of brothers and sisters and parents in their old age and a boy child is "much bad luck", a burden to bear, a parasite on the family and the nation.
A nation such as this, a nation of child men is difficult to defend.
----------------Submitted by Rose, written in September 1975
return to Top
Remember when? The following are verses of the "BURMA SHAVE" commercials that dotted the highways and byways of America in the "good old days" and we all loved 'em. They were poetic and fun to read as the automobiles (which we also loved) streamed down the road. Go here to Catch the new wave of Burma Shave
|
A CHRISTMAS HUG A BIRTHDAY KISS AWAITS THE WOMAN WHO GIVES THIS BURMA SHAVE SUBSTITUTES ARE LIKE A GIRDLE THEY FIND SOME JOBS THEY JUST CAN'T HURDLE BURMA SHAVE MY MAN WON'T SHAVE SAID HAZEL HUZ BUT I DON'T WORRY DORA'S DOES BURMA SHAVE SUBSTITUTES CAN LET YOU DOWN QUICKER THAN A STRAPLESS GOWN BURMA SHAVE IF YOU DON'T KNOW WHOSE SIGNS THESE ARE YOU CAN'T HAVE DRIVEN VERY FAR BURMA SHAVE UNLESS YOUR FACE IS STINGER FREE YOU'D BETTER LET YOUR HONEY BE BURMA-SHAVE THIS CREAM MAKES THE GARDENER'S DAUGHTER PLANT HER TU-LIPS WHERE SHE OUGHTER BURMA-SHAVE |
MANY A FOREST USED TO STAND WHERE A LIGHTED MATCH GOT OUT OF HAND BURMA SHAVE THE ONE WHO DRIVES WHEN HE'S BEEN DRINKING DEPENDS ON YOU TO DO HIS THINKING BURMA SHAVE DIPLOMACY IS TO DO AND SAY THE NASTIEST THINGS IN THE NICEST WAY BURMA SHAVE HER CHARIOT RACED AT EIGHTY PER THEY HAULED AWAY WHAT HAD BEN HUR BURMA SHAVE CATTLE CROSSING PLEASE DRIVE SLOW THAT OLD BULL IS SOME COW'S BEAU BURMA SHAVE "NO, NO," SHE SAID TO HER BRISTLY BEAU "I'D RATHER EAT THE MISTLETOE" BURMA-SHAVE PAST SCHOOLHOUSES TAKE IT SLOW LET THE LITTLE SHAVERS GROW BURMA SHAVE |
THE BEARDED LADY TRIED A JAR SHE'S NOW A FAMOUS MOVIE STAR BURMA SHAVE IF YOU THINK SHE LIKES YOUR BRISTLES WALK BARE-FOOTED THROUGH SOME THISTLES BURMA SHAVE SHE EYED HIS BEARD AND SAID, "NO DICE THE WEDDING'S OFF- I'LL COOK THE RICE" BURMA SHAVE A CHIN WHERE BARBED WIRE BRISTLES STAND IS BOUND TO BE A NO MA'AMS LAND BURMA SHAVE USE THIS CREAM A DAY OR TWO THEN DON'T CALL HER SHE'LL CALL YOU BURMA SHAVE THE BIG BLUE TUBE'S JUST LIKE LOUISE YOU GET A THRILL FROM EVERY SQUEEZE BURMA-SHAVE TRAIN APPROACHING WHISTLE SQUEALING PAUSE! AVOID THAT RUNDOWN FEELING! BURMA-SHAVE |
----------------From The New Wave of Burma Shave
return to Top
I watched you as he reached down and snapped your
Slender stem; and as each petal fell, his words echoed in my ears
"She loves me, she loves me not, she loves me"
And as the last petal falls, and your life is gone
So is a part of mine
For I have lost you, my darling, my love
My Beautiful Daisy
----------------Contributed by Daniel McElwain
return to Top
I have just started to write poetry and this is my first try. I would be very interested in any feedback you might want to send, because I know I need help!
Our Dad left the family, he said
Because Mom had another in bed
So, Mom was alone when she had me
And that was the start of tragedy.
The four of us went to live
With this-or-that relative
While Mom went to the city
To work and play and be witty.
As a little girl living on a “farm”,
I felt carefree and kept from harm;
But then I grew older to find
That life was not so kind.
I had an uncle who was “funny”
On days that were not sunny
And an aunt who couldn’t believe
What she did not perceive.
During the days, I could hide in the crowd
But at night, I wanted to scream out loud
As I lay wide awake in the bed,
My heart and mind filled with dread.
“He” would sneak into my room
Whether in moonlight or gloom
To touch the most private part of me;
I’d pretend to awake and he’d flee.
Then, my aunt bought a restaurant
And fear drew my lifeline taunt
For I knew if she was not there
He’d commit a sin I could not bear.
So, I went to live with another
Whom I wanted to have as my Mother,
But I guess she really didn’t want me
For she already had a great family.
I went back “home” to Aunt Bell
Even though I knew darn well
What waited for me at the gables,
So after school I went to wait tables.
As the years went by I became very adapt
At avoiding his touch and the strap.
Then, my sister, Pat, came to live with us
And, Thank God, he gave up without a fuss.
At 16, I graduated and left for the city
To be with my Mom, and what a pity!
A woman not able to love is sad
For we were the only family she had.
I vowed as I left her house
Not to marry an abusive louse
And always keep my kids with me
No matter what problems there be.
