Poets' Corner

[Guest]

A BOY AND A DOG

by Marty Hale.

I want my boy to have a dog,

Or maybe two or three...

He'll learn from them much easier

Than he would learn from me.

A dog will show him how to love

And bear no grudge or hate;

I'm not so good at that myself

But dogs will do it straight.

I want my boy to have a dog

To be his pal and friend,

So he may learn that friendship

Is faithful to the end.

There never yet has been a dog

Who learned to double-cross,

Nor catered to you when you won

Then dropped you when you lost.

[oldsailor29]

THE ALBATROSS

The Albatross above the Adriatic Sea

Aviates from Alcatraz, the penitentiary,

To the abalone archives of the Aborigine

And the artificial Palace of the late Antigone.

Angelina Addison, whose inability

To agitate the Aberdeen and join the Argosy,

Will aggravate assassins to defy authority,

As the Armadillo ambles on in ambiguity.

The a cappella chorus drinks Amontillado Tea,

The ambrosia of the ancients, with no apology

To the average agnostic who thinks, in agony,

Of the alternate apocalyptic non-anomaly.

Ali Baba authorized the Afghan amputee

To apprehend the algebraic sum of apathy,

While the Amazon alleges, "It's just as well to be

The Albatross above the Adriatic Sea."

[phkrause]

There once was a man named dgrimm

who walked every day to stay slim

He slipped on the ice

and fell down twice

so he wished he had gone to the gym

RH

Nice one Richard!

pk

[Guest]

HOW DO WE LIVE OUR DASH—

I read of a man who stood to speak

At a funeral of a friend

He referred to the dates on her tombstone

From the beginning—to the end

He noted that first came her date of birth

And spoke the following date with tears

But he said what mattered most of all

Was the dash between those years

For the dash represents all the time

That she spent alive on earth

And now only those who love her

Know what that little line is worth

For it matters not, how much we own

The cars, the house, the cash

What matters is how we live and love

And how we spend the dash

So think about this long and hard

Are there things you’d like to change?

For you never know how much time is left

That can still be rearranged

If we could just slow down enough

To consider what’s true and real

And always try to understand

The way other people feel

And be less quick to anger

And show appreciation more

And love the people in our lives

Like we’ve never loved before

If we treat each other with respect

And more often wear a smile

Remembering that this special dash

Might only last a little while

So, when your eulogy’s being read

With your life’s actions to rehash

Would you be proud of the things they say

About how you spent your dash

Author--unknown

[karl]

Good one, Richard.

Dash to the finish (or is that polish?)

[Guest]

It's talking about the dash between the date you were born, and the date that you died. Like on your tombstone. Come on karl, you're worrying me.

[karl]

It's talking about the dash between the date you were born, and the date that you died. Like on your tombstone. Come on karl, you're worrying me.

I know.

Sorry about the Finnish and the Polish pun, it wasn't really German to the poem.

[oldsailor29]

Sometimes life is boring.

Sometimes we all feel like all is vanity.

Sometimes we are depressed.

But other times we are okay.

ENNUI

Eerie lights illuminate the empty escadrille,

As episodes in ebony escape ethereal,

And eccentric evolutions are wandering at will,

And easy eyes are watching from the hill.

The essence of the evidence eludes the elegy,

And explanations suffer from eventualities,

But the edges are embellished and exhumed in effigy,

And exalted to an esoteric eschatology.

El Dorado dancing in elysian eclipse,

Calls for extradition of ephemeral ellipse

From egregious epidemics, where the emigrants elapse,

And the equinox egresses, and the element elopes.

Exotic expectations entice eternity,

To entertain esthetics of the Eastern embassy,

Where echelons of elegance exceed epitome,

And eagerly expectorate eternal ennui.

[karl]

This was written by one of my wife's students.

The Shoes They Could Have Filled!

Of a doctor, a lawyer, a chemist perhaps,

Maybe one’s for running laps,

Construction worker who builds churches,

Or just the one who sits and worships.

A nurse, accountant or teacher,

Maybe even the wife of a preacher.

It’s countless, really, all these “what ifs” and “maybes,”

But they’ll all go unanswered if you kill your babies.

The shoes they could have filled,

If they had not been killed.

RoseMary Blankenship

Ola Christian Academy

[Guest]

Hey that's a good one karl.

[karl]

Will do. Thanks, Richard and dgrimm.

[oldsailor29]

Hey that's a good one karl.

[oldsailor29]

OLDSAILOR29

WELL that is an interesting poem

with meaning

dgrimm60

Thank you dgrimm60. Some of my poems come out of my own experience, and some of them are inspired by other things. One thing that inspires me is another good poem. Some of my favorite poets are Bob Dylan, Kris Kristofferson, Harry Chapin, Shel Silverstein, Willie Nelson, Tony Joe White, Jerry Jeff Walker, Ray Stevens, and Guy Clark. All are song writers, and most have written Country songs, and most wrote different kinds of songs. And one of my poems, this one, was inspired by a Joan Baez song. While it does not reflect my theology or philosophy, there is a Biblical theology which it does reflect, and that would be found in Ecclesiastes.

EASY WAYS TO DIE

Life is just a gamble for no one can deny

That yesterday could not be seen 'til yesterday came by.

It's only curiosity that vainly questions, why

Are lifetimes wasted in the search for easy ways to die.

There is no Justice in the realm. Confusion is the king.

Reality is certainly a most uncertain thing.

And chances are the kings and queens will never wonder why

They're searching for a gentle, kind, and easy way to die.

Equality eludes us as we struggle through the night

Of unconcern and apathy, with no relief in sight.

'Til rivers of futility have run completely dry,

The thirst will not be lessened for an easy way to die.

Hypocrites and hypnotists, who stand upon a wall

Of innocent bystanders who fail to heed the call

For freedom and for brotherhood, you never even try

To justify the trade you ply for easy ways to die.

We exploit and we expand, and overuse the greed,

As we borrow from the future for an unimportant need,

And on the road to poverty we seem to spiral high,

But we discover it's another easy way to die.

The wheel of life is turning while the players stand around

Speaking of advantages, simple and profound.

Advantages are null and void. The wheel would never lie.

It sees in every other notch an easy way to die.

The brave will play in silence. The cowards, how they cry.

But all must pass the table with the stakes beyond the sky.

The dream of every player, as time is passing by,

The wheel will nest and come to rest on easy ways to die.

The deck is stacked against me, but if I just pretend

To let it go and bluff, you know I get to play again.

A deuce will beat a dead man's hand if he believes the lie.

To choke on eights and aces is an easy way to die.

The time will come when everyone on earth will be the same.

Ash to ash and dust to dust, we understand the game

And each will have the same reward as tranquil days go by.

We'll rest in peace for we have found the easy way to die.

[oldsailor29]

OLDSAILOR29

YES this is also a good poem and the last

part she brings out the bible thought

dgrimm60

She? Oh, you thought Joan Baez wrote it? Well, I'm glad you like my poem, even though you thought somebody else wrote it. I reckon when I said it did not agree with my theology or philosophy, that might be confusing. But sometimes the way it works is, I start writing about a subject, and the poem takes on a life of its own. Many times it ends up nowhere near what I intended when I started. In this case however, it did express my thoughts at the time, before I came to the realization that much of Ecclesiastes reflects a world without God. And I think that is the way it is supposed to be, with knowledge increasing, and growth in the knowledge of present truth.

This seems like a good opportunity to post another one of my poems, even though there isn't much of a market for them. When I was working as a country DJ, one of the other DJs introduced this slogan, "Music that sticks to your boots," to describe our play list. I thought it as rather clever, and a few years later I wrote these lyrics.

MUSIC THAT STICKS TO YOUR BOOTS

The stand-up bass and fiddles, guitars and banjos ring.

We know there are no substitutes

For the music we play and the songs that we sing.

It's music that sticks to your boots.

Down in music city there's a fortune to be had

Consorting with the music prostitutes,

Doing rap and heavy metal and acid rock instead

Of music that sticks to your boots.

He entertains the yuppies in the uptown cabaret,

But he cannot forget his country roots.

Down on the corner we taught him how to play

Music that sticks to your boots.

Businessmen in helicopters often pass our way,

Underhanded in their high pursuits,

And down below we innocently pass the time of day

Playing music that sticks to your boots.

Well, I believe in karma. Every dog will have his day,

And the devil will be somewhere with all of his recruits.

But up in heaven's corner the saints will sing and play

Music that sticks to your boots.

[Guest]

You write good stuff oldsailor, but country music isn't the only thing that sticks to your boots.

[phkrause]

You write good stuff oldsailor, but country music isn't the only thing that sticks to your boots.

You think?

pk

[phkrause]

RICHARD

YES there is a lot of things that can stick to you boots

smile smile smile smile smile

dgrimm60

You don't say?

pk

[oldsailor29]

I have chosen a couple of my favorite verses to precede another of my feeble attempts at poetry.

It seems to me that Omar may have been influenced by the writings attributed to king Solomon

Selected Quatrains of Omar Khayyam (c.1038-1123), rendered into English verse

by Edward Fitzgerald

A book of Verse beneath the Bough,

A Jug of Wine, a Loaf of Bread – and Thou

Beside me singing in the Wilderness –

Oh, Wilderness were Paradise enow!

The Moving Finger writes, and having writ,

Moves on: nor all thy Piety nor Wit

Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,

Nor all thy Tears wash out a Word of it.

BURIAL AT SEA

I watched the sun go down from a foreign balcony.

I heard a sailor speak, and this is what he said to me.

"I am the ancient mariner, speaking from the sea,

And all my rights and benefits have been explained to me.

One I must remember to pass along to thee,

Every sailor has the right to burial at sea

Though life is very short, and what will be will be,

I welcome one and all to pass some time with me,

For time will come when everyone will know enough to see

That everyone's a sailor on the great celestial sea.

Everybody has a dream or two, it seems to me.

A dream can be a beacon or a siren of the sea.

Dream a dream of truth, for the truth will set you free.

Seek and you shall find your final freedom in the sea.

We may struggle to the mountaintop, the other side to see.

We may navigate the heavens of another galaxy,

But when all is said and done, we will find the fact to be

The salt that circles through our veins is from the primal sea.

I am the ancient mariner, speaking from the mighty sea.

Through the ages sages have passed the time with me

For time reveals the beauty and the wisdom we can see

In the order of the everlasting cycle of the sea.

The ebb and flo and undertow of life will ever be

Coming, going, changing, growing through eternity,

And this you must remember, as it rushes over me,

Every sailor has the right to burial at sea."

Now -- I watch the sunset from my porch in Tennessee.

Neighbors stop and visit, and pass the time with me.

When time is right, the tale is told, as it was told to me,

The story of a sailor, and burial at sea.

[D. Allan]

Where have all the poets gone?

I've been wondering...

Return, Oh poets, with songs

for us to read and sing.

[karl]

DESTINY

(These are the lyrics to a song I wrote circa 1994 published by I/O Jesus Music on Inside/Out Records)

It's your destiny

Don't let it slip away

It's your destiny

To stop living like a slave

Here's your destiny

He died to set you free

It's your destiny - your destiny

It was sealed on Calvary

Here is the Promise to every man

Written in blood on the cross

Living in bondage was never the plan

Jesus restores what was lost

It's your destiny

Here is the Answer to all of your needs

Here is the Lamb that was slain

There is no captive that He cannot free

Jesus is calling your name

It's your destiny

Don't let it slip away

It's your destiny

To stop living like a slave

Here's your destiny

He died to set you free

It's your destiny - your destiny

It was sealed on Calvary

[D. Allan]

That is great, Karl! I am sure it would be really moving to hear it well sung.

More! More!