Christmas Eve in the Gardner household
With mum’s prep for next day going well,
When her two boys, 9 and 7, began to fight
And Mike, her oldest, decided to tell
His brother Kenny, that there was no Santa
“Yes there is,” yelled Kenny, “that’s a lie!”
“No it’s not,” said Mike, “it’s just dad dressed up.”
Mike went quiet, and then started to cry
Mum came through when she heard the commotion
And asked Kenny, why he was so sad
“Mike told me that there is no Santa.”
She turned to Mike and told him, “That’s bad.”
“Well there isn’t,” said Mike, “it’s you and dad
Who put our presents under the tree,
At least, that’s what they’re all saying at school
And what Jimmy Jones told me.”
“And you believe everything Jimmy Jones says?”
Mum asked Mike taking charge of the situation,
Knowing that Jimmy was known for his lies
Perhaps she could use him, as damage limitation
Mike thought for a while; then he quietly said
“No I don’t, because he sometimes tells lies.”
Then he went over, and gave his brother a hug
Saying, “I’m sorry I made you cry,
It’s Christmas Eve, you shouldn’t be sad
Santa’s coming to bring us new toys.”
And with peace restored, they ran up to their rooms
Mum went back to work, thinking, ‘Boys!’
Whispers of talent are carried on New England breezes
Dickinson, Hawthorne, and the Irvings’ son Washington
Though I sense a special connection to all of these
None inspired more than Edwin Arlington Robinson
Three Pulitzer Prizes were displayed on his mantle place
His childhood in Maine he described as “stark and unhappy”
Though he went to Harvard, academics he’d not embrace
Arlington’s style was unique and his cadence snappy
“Miniver Cheevy,” displaced soul, longed for Medieval years
To Miniver I could relate, felt I was born too late
Wishing I’d ridden West with America’s pioneers
But at least my dreams alcohol will never desecrate
For his depressed brother Herman, “Richard Cory” he wrote
A handsome man who appeared to enjoy the perfect life
But the turmoil in his heart, his exterior did not denote
Richard shot himself in the head to put an end to strife
Edwin, your character studies touched something deep inside
Struggles you described of common men gripped me, made me cry
People whose dreams and accomplishments did not coincide
I, too, watch life’s play from backstage, feeling like a standby
Though I seek to display wit, tragedies pour from my pen
And much like my muse, my life seems filled with loneliness
As poets we reach out to touch lives of men and women
Hoping to find comfort as troubled feelings we express
* Written for Jared's "Ode" contest
Edwin Arlington Robinson (December 22, 1869 – April 6, 1935) was an American poet
born in Maine who won three Pulitzer Prizes for his work. His brother Dr. Dean
Robinson died of a drug overdose, perhaps inspiring Robinson to write of the
alcoholic dreamer “Miniver Cheevy.”. It has been speculated that his poem "Richard
Cory" was penned for his other brother, Herman. E.A. Robinson’s poems have a dark
pessimism stemming from dreams gone awry. The style and themes of many of my
poems seem to emulate Robinson, who often wrote in rhyming quatrains. “Richard
Cory” can be found at http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/richard-cory/.
To read “Miniver Cheevy,” go to
she does make me feel whole
she does touch the intricacies of my soul
she does, and she does it all
with every poem she answers a holy dove's call
she does thrill me body and bone
she does make me feel no longer alone
she does write words I could never duplicate
she does write words that will allow her into Heaven's gate
she does something that makes me feel real
she does write words that describe how I feel
she does scribe stanzas that shake me awake
she does put into words feelings for this poet's sake
she does know the respect I hold for a poet of her grade
she does know the lady has a soul only the universe has made
she does write words that set my spirit free
alas, she probably doesn't know what her words mean to me
© 2013..copyright PHREEPOETREE ~free cee!~
When Robin Hood hides in our wood
I shall not turn him out
I'll let his merry gentlemen
Hang all their bows about.
So when a swaggering M.P.
Comes riding by alone
The arrows of the hidden host
Will ring against the stones.
The horse rears up,the man looks round
To see what's caused the stir
And what he sees amidst the trees
Is green men everywhere
Let him complain to Sheriffs all.
The green men will be gone.
When soldiers come to hunt them out
They've vanished every one.
The forests of England are the home
Of rabbit,deer and game.
The green men live their natural life
And we should do the same.
let us all take to the greenwood life
And feel the strength of trees
They do not change at every poll,
Nor do just what they please.
In Nature all is linked to one
And one to all extends.
If we could change our cut throat ways
Maybe all could be friends.
The hearts and souls of all of us,
Form a great human wood.
So let the love we feel be shared,
And heard for the common good.
If everyone is given their place
Then Robin could go home
His men would not be in my wood,
And M.P.'s could safely roam.
Let us all sing,"Robin for King,"
"We all want Robin Hood."
"He took the money from the rich
To be spent for the common good.
It’s 5 am, we sneak out of the house
My brother and I, as quiet as a mouse
To his red bike, where I sit on the cross bar
Trusting my brother, we won’t go too far.
Put the worm on the hook, wrap it round well
Or it will wiggle off, and the fish it will tell
Watch the float as it bobs, and pull it in gent-ly
That how my brother taught fishing to me.
Always sneaking out, fishing in the dark
Racing on his red bike, we thought it a lark.
He made me dig up the worms, for the fishing bait
But I wouldn’t squeal, no, that was never my fate
Holding both fishing rods, I hung on real tight
He promised he would teach me to use it just right.
In the river we found we loved to fish best
Often paddling in water right up to our chest.
My brother, he stopped taking me fishing with him
I always caught the fish; he said it was a sin.
Then came the day girls were more interesting than fish
Our fishing days were over, it was never my wish.
So anyone with a rod that they will let me use
I’ll sit on your crossbar, or saddle if you choose
Teach me to fish and to cast it with skill
And I’ll get your worms up, I promise I will.
© ~GG~ 14/11/2012
My hero to me, was just a simple man
He was ill throughout his life, but he raised two sons
Two jobs he held down until he couldn't anymore
Then fate took it's turn, and turned his heart sore
First was the youngest, on a broken bottle he fell
His artery slashed, was the start of his hell
I recovered from my trauma, nearly losing my life
But my accident increased, his ill health into strife
Over the next two years he was hospitalised
His sons fostered out, in fatherless cries
To children's homes they went, from pillar to post
Yearning for the person, who loved them the most
He gradually recovered, we became a family again
Once again fate took it's turn, returning life's pain
On a Monday night back in nineteen sixty nine
What every parent dreads, returned him to ill health decline
His two boys excited, joining the local Boy's Brigade
Running as fast as they could, for time to be made
The older was faster, he ran well ahead
The younger lagging behind, his little legs so delayed
On turning the corner, all I could see
Was my older brother, running well ahead of me
Without looking left or right, onto the street he ran
A split second later, he was hit by a van
My life entered slow motion, whilst I witnessed it all
To see your brother knocked down, a sibling to fall
He was caught under the van and dragged down the street
At seven years old, too terrified to greet
Over the next six years, his heath gradually became worse
He was more in hospital, in illness immersed
That's why he is my hero, to my lost brother and me
He's the kind of man that I've turned out to be
He had no quality of life, but what he gave meant more
The love for his two boys all through his life's sores
Holding down two jobs through illness and strife
Admirable, that's just a word, he gave me my life
My entry for Crystal Wilkins contest 'My Hero'
a letter to my brother
of whom I hold dear
he's accross the ocean
so far from here
he fights in a war
of which is not his own
many stand beside him
he is not alone
I pray he makes it home
to his family and friends
I pray the war ends
and U.S. and iraq make amends
I miss my brother like no other
but i am proud of where he stands
his endurance to take the pain
his courage to unite foreign hands
brother I'll be here when you get home
I'll be the first to thank you for all you've done
for I am proud to be your brother
you stand and fight when all others would run
you have a strong heart, mind, and soul
so i know the devil wont try to take any brother of mine
I know you will all come home safe
I know everything will be just fine
but there are some things I think you should know
some things I have probably said before
but I dont think it will hurt
to tell you once more
I love you for who you are and for what you do
...I miss my brother and best friend
but no matter what happens
I promise i'll see you again in the end
to my brother and his brothers in arms- be safe.
The value of a precious novelty
it seems is intricate fragility.
Recall special trinkets kept in a hutch
for display only, not opened to touch.
Keepsakes in prison, upheld, unimpaired.
reminder of events that once were shared.
One is now kept in a glass étagère
collectible curio set there with care.
Awaiting the finding of a misplaced key,
a new piece tempted curiosity.
Too precious to be ignored, my granddaughter
played with it carefully, warned by her mother.
Rejecting caution, which kids oft ignore
she forgot it, leaving it there on the floor.
The next day, her brother found it with his foot.
One piece now three pieces, broken, kaput.
Comes precious moment, happening on my watch.
Crying sister faults her brother for her botch
who then returns accusations with blame.
Common occurrence, accompanied by shame.
Moment develops as we find the glue.
Are there chips still missing? We find a few.
Together, three of us talk as we work.
Accountability comes with its perks.
The most precious of moments in history -
when that collectible met surgery.
Years later it stands tall, gathering dust
priceless symbol of joint effort and fuss.
Have you ever been hiking
Out in the woods
When this creepy feeling
Scares you real good?
Afraid to look round
Don't know what's behind
Oh don't be so silly!
The sound of a twig
Snapping in two
Your heart starts pounding
You shake in your shoes
A flicker of light
Through the towering pines
Saw something move
Was it just in my mind?
It happens again
So I whirl myself 'round
There right before me
My brother the clown
Laughing and chuckling
Under the pines
This badass prankster
Kid brother of mine
He teases me still
Bout the look on my face
After all these years
He still can't erase
One day my turn
For revenge will arrive
And brother oh brother
I hope he survives!
© Jack Ellison 2012
Sister wife and Uncle brother,
didn't really like each other,
so they left it up to me,
which one I liked the best you see.
Sister wife, now she could cook,
not too bad with line and hook,
but Uncle brother had good traits,
why he could name all 40 states!
Both of them were good in bed,
least that's what Cousin mommy said,
but Sister wife she had one ace,
and that there was her purty face.
Her eyes are green, and blue and brown,
one of them looks off toward town,
and she has no hair beneath,
her lovely, crooked yellow teeth.
Uncle brother, he's my friend,
I'll love him to the very end,
but he stops to scratch his britches,
'cause he says it always itches.
It is so embarrassing,
to watch him scratching at that thing,
but what am I supposed to do,
when Sister wife helps scratch it too?
Sister wife and Uncle brother,
suddenly they like each other!
I guess it's just a lucky me,
that has a great big family!