Poetry and Lace
I’m nearly back to the old homestead, my earthly race ‘bout run,
Somes been good and somes been bad, but all of it’s been fun.
When I cut the end of this too short trail, and go to my home in the stars,
Away from these dancehall beauties and honky tonks and bars,
I’ll consider this ride a complete success and the end of the trail I’ll face,
For I’ve lived equal parts of thunder and lightening, and poetry and lace.
I’ve read Milton’s account of the start of hell, and the Rubyaiat by Kaayaam,
I’ve played McBeth on a broadway stage, in the town of Murphy’s Dam.
I know of the prince, the crazy Dane, and the death of Ceaser too,
In the NFR in Okey town, I rode a bull named Lou.
I’ve never run a real fast car, but I’ve rid a horse in a race,
And lived equal parts of thunder and lightening, and poetry and lace.
I’ve sat on my horse on a summers day, up in the rockies high,
Where the tall uncut sways in the breeze, and touches the clouds in the sky,
Where the deer still drinks from the creeks so clear,and the elk with the puma stand,
And there ain’t a pile of rubble left, by the hand of a city man,
I know Pascal and Homer too, and Chaucer? I’ve read the brace,
I’ve lived equal parts of thunder and lightening, and poetry and lace.
I’ve slept in the rain, on the Oregon plain, Been to the tops of the rockies high,
And wandered with steers under thunderstorms, like paintings in the sky,
I’ve sworn to hell, and I’ve prayed to God, my heart and my bodys sore,
I had a wife that left me cold, and I was wounded in the war.
I’ve buried a friend under cold black sod, and wiped the tears from my face,
I’ve lived equal parts of thunder and lightening, and poetry and lace.
Six men will soon come to carry me and lay me to rest away,
I’ve never had fear of any unknown, I don’t mean to start to day,
I had a sweet sister I loved as a kid, she’s under the willows now,
My Dad’s long gone, I am alone, under strain, I’ll never bow,
I started tough and I’ve stayed tough, Never saw my Mothers’ face,
But I’ve lived equal parts of thunder and lightening, and poetry and lace.
Re: He couldn't find a rhyme for Wilkinson!!
Posted by: Johnny SansCulo (---.nycmny83.covad.net)
Date: April 27, 2022 08:39AM
My poetry's nearly as laureate
as an overcooked broccoli fleureate
but in moments not months
you can see any dunce
can write something that cant be ignoreate
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Re: He couldn't find a rhyme for Wilkinson!!
Posted by: Johnny SansCulo (---.nycmny83.covad.net)
Date: April 27, 2022 08:57AM
I assure you Camilla
the Queens not a killa
and it's all a lie
about Dodi and Di
There ain't no conspiracy
real or imaginal
So please try to act very
royally vaginal.
lake elmo laundromat
Posted by: redmittengirl (192.168.128.---)
Date: August 29, 2021 09:27AM
Tchaikovsky and me were furious
When we found hiking boots in the dryer
While he chose cannons to fire his fury
I wished for bazookas to avenge
My broken Maytag
Four baskets of clothes slammed into my jeep
My mittens buckled down tightly,
We raced to Lake Elmo’s Laundromat
With 1812’s Overture fueling my mood
(Ironic, how whenever I’m ticked,
I find cannon music to calm me.)
Counted quarters, Rain Forest Tide
Faded jeans, black band T-shirts
Midnight grey bath towels
And orphan socks to match them.
As 30 minute cycles glazed over me
I was caught unaware
As a fellow dryer mate
Paused my load of white delicates
To add a splash of Victorian pink
From my permanent press load of colors.
He restarted both loads,
Took three steps back
And paused to admire his artwork.
The swirling pink midst my fancy whites
Disarmed my bazooka anger.
I looked up at him, a stranger from the lake,
And hesitated to quiz him
Cuz he smiled with pride and said to me,
“Now, that’s what I call awesome.”
redmittengirl
Posted by: JoeT (---.piscataway-15rh15rt.nj.dial-access.att.net)
Date: December 24, 2021 11:23AM
I've tweaked this one for the last couple of years. It still doesn't capture my feelings entirely, but I'd like to share it and to seek your comments.
Happy Holidays!
It Doesn’t Seem Like Christmas
It doesn’t seem like Christmas
To the two of us this year.
Oh, gifts are wrapped, the star is lit,
But something’s missing here.
The princess who would stand in awe
As she spied the Christmas tree,
Her eyes aglow, her mouth agape
In silent reverie,
Has answered proud the mission call,
Now serves half-world around.
She’d come home for the season
If somehow time were found.
The towhead boy who’d shout with glee
As he scrambled down the stair,
With joy so pure and boundless
It electrified the air,
Has headed west with pockets bare
In search of providence.
We’ll miss his carefree passion,
His unspoiled innocence.
The china doll with honeyed curl,
The sleep still on her face,
Who’d slowly open every box
With elegance and grace,
Is now captive to Erato
And her sisters lithe and tall.
She’s on the stage in Iowa
In answer to their call.
Sure, it doesn’t seem like Christmas
Without our treasured three,
But we're gifted with the knowledge that
They’re safe, they're sound, they're free.
joe,
i remember this poem! now that so many years have passed, have you come to a point where you are satisfied with it? and how about the reality behind the poem? where are those three now? and is christmas any easier for you? or am i being too personal?
terry,
i hadn't read this one of yours before. this covers a spectrum most of us can never claim, and many of us could never find the talent to pen. really like the use of "uncut" in this. i wish you many more stanzas to this poem. hope all is well.
wow johnny, you've been writing like this for likeforever! and still you find a new word for every poem. your humor and cadence are affectionateous.
Red:
The "treasured three" are not so far away these days, fortunately. Even so, it just isn't the same without the magic of their physical presence at the stroke of dawn on Christmas morning. This poem tried to capture that semi-sweet moment when it finally dawned on my wife and me that we had come full circle as we stood together, alone, in front of the tree.
Life does go on, and thankfully for us, it will continue this year with our first grandchild who is due within the next two weeks. And we found out just recently that she will be joined next year by a cousin who is due in April. Trust me when I say, we are the most fortunate parents on the planet.
As to whether I'm finally satisfied with the poem, I guess it's just my nature never to be totally satisfied with anything I write. But this one, I will leave as is.
Thanks for asking. And by the way, I remember the moment I first read "Lake Elmo Laundromat." I thought to myself then, "here is a writer with real talent." You have proven my first impression correct on every occasion since.
Terry:
I had not read "Poetry and Lace" before now, since you arrived here at the Forum a few months before I did. It is full of vivid images that fit perfectly with the poem's reflective theme.
Johnny:
This first posting was the perfect precursor to so many great reads that followed. Continue, please.
Joe
Edited 2 time(s). Last edit at 11/12/2021 10:09AM by hpesoj.
Congratulations on the grandchildren, Joe. They're such a joy and pleasure.
Mary
joe,
grandchildren and a steady spouse beside you--truly, a blessed life. i bet you'll have some new poetry in the next year as grandparenthood continues to bless you.
thank you for the kind words about my writing. that lake elmo laundromat poem was written after a battle i had with fury and about...oh....10 or 55 loads of laundry. life has a circular pattern to it (see the coming/going thread somewhere in here). i am reassured by this, because the last time i was at this laundromat, the experience was much nicer. while merc doesn't have a whole lot of pretty colors in his laundry, he has the skill to disarm bazooka anger as well.
And we watched some guy feed a donkey. Or at least I did, he may have been done by the time Mitts got there. I like donkeys. I like Mitts too. Not necessarily in that order. Donkeys are the definition of unpretentious. They is a donkey, an' a donkey they is gonna be. Lots of horses asses are jack asses also. But a donkey is mearly a donkey. Marry up one with a horse an' the kinder unit is called a mule. 100% femazoid. 100% sterile. Live twicet as long as a horse and do three times as much work in a day. The old cowboys rode mules, not horses. good reasons for that. Hollywood doesn't like mules nearly as much as horses. I guess Roy and Gene couldn't teach their mules to unlock gates and untie knots and play the guitar. Mule was smarter than Roy and Gene is the primary reason.
Diogense is a horse of a different color. He's 17 by the way, which is dead in dog years. A donkey is like a dog in that he/she/it is gonna love you no matter what you tell it. No matter what your education, income, car you drive, looks. A donkey only cares that you are the feller who brings the hay at 5 p.m. If you are that feller, or gal, you are gonna be loved by a donkey.
As said, I like donkeys. I don't like doing laundry, but if you have to do laundry, watch some guy feed his donkey, and then talk to Mitts. Makes the job nicer.
My first post on this forum can be found here: [www.emule.com] />
Les