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Leonard Kleeman Poem
A WONDERFUL WORLD
One of my favorite songs whenever it's sung,
"What a Wonderful World" is right on my tongue.
The melody's fine and the lyrics are great
but other thoughts sometime get to me
and make my heart ache.
Louie Armstrong sings it best.
He's way ahead of all the rest.
But is the world really such a wonder?
It makes you stop and then
ponder.
They quickly say the world is warming
but we can't say it was without warning.
Climate change affects the weather
And that doesn't make things better.
For the trees of green and red roses too
may not bloom as Louie sings it to you.
We'll have droughts and floods
and skies not so blue.
The clouds of white are not so bright
as storms brew over the lands.
And the shaking of hands
seem to be more of fright
as the winds stir up the desert sands.
We have "Arab Springs" and children are shot
and babies will cry, "please forget me not."
As the world seems to ache
from these things we forsake
for the love that we seem to have forgot.
The world is quite full of 6.5 billion
and the people starving are
more than 6 million.
Can that make it a wonderful world?
The friends who shake hands and say,
"How do you do?"
are they really saying, "I love you?"
The song says so but we really don't know
if they truly mean it or it's just for show.
But when we consider all things
about how the world really sings
and always ends up with a smile,
we know somehow the world will get by
as long as we give it a real try.
The world has been here for such a long time
and somehow has survived no matter what sign
through storms, earthquakes and more.
People live on regardless of any war
or disease that is other than benign.
Because no matter what dread
it can really be said
it is still a wonderful world.
And Louie is right as he sings with delight
of rainbows and bright stars in the night.
The message of the song is very profound
and with a little patience the world will rebound.
So even if it seems so imperiled,
indeed, it is still a wonderful world.
Copyright © Leonard Kleeman | Year Posted 2013
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Leonard Kleeman Poem
WOMEN IN COMBAT
By Leonard Kleeman
Women in real combat, can that really be?
The news article had a great big headline.
It stated that when outdoors, women can't pee.
And, even if it's true, that's no business
of mine.
The Pentagon will now rescind its combat ban.
Which means all the danger doesn't belong
just to a man.
But there are many opponents who say
that women are too weak to have it
that way.
That's very funny 'cause I never thought women
to be weak.
Many gals that I know are stronger than some men.
It matters not how big they are or what kind
of physique;
All the strength that women have or need is
within them.
To pee outside is not the thing they need
neither is skipping showers or pee in the wild.
They just need their brothers and sisters in arms
to cover their backs and not think of their charms,
and to accept them in combat and not think they're mild.
They are brave and courageous if you think
what they do.
They can give birth to babies and then
help you too.
They have strength in their hearts and smarts
in their head.
And if you get bad they'll beat you instead.
Where women have fought before
During peace and mostly at war,
They have fought well and won for their side
and had no reason for anything to hide.
So they can pee outside or pee in the wild.
Or even shower where men are beguiled.
Now that the Pentagon has made its analysis
that women fighting at war would not be calamitous,
They should not hold them back just because they
have no *****es.
Copyright © Leonard Kleeman | Year Posted 2013
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Leonard Kleeman Poem
NEVER ASSUME*
We are told to never assume,
to guess, or to anticipate
or even try to presume.
So if we try to articulate
of things we aren't sure,
do we assume or shut the door
on thoughts we may abhor?
So don't assume, just give the facts
that you are sure to know.
And you will find
it often stumps your mind
how the facts become just so.
The facts somehow get twisted up
even though you know for sure
that you were right and others wrong
no matter to whom you implore.
That's really known as politics
when facts aren't facts and we assume
the facts are just made up for tricks.
Then no one knows for sure
who's right or wrong or just
what is the score.
One side says the other is wrong
and tries to give the true facts.
But their facts are no more true
than a fairy tale or an old song.
So once again we should not assume
to know what we really know.
Just toss it up and then presume
the facts got lost
as round and round you go.
* This poem was written as the result of listening to political debates and political messages, talking points, and commercials during the 2012 elections.
Copyright © Leonard Kleeman | Year Posted 2013
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Leonard Kleeman Poem
TO MARKET, TO MARKET
As big-box supermarkets became the rage,
most small grocery stores closed down.
And the constancy of change set the stage,
for different looks all around town.
The big new markets were open all day,
every day of the week and all night.
But to me this was quite okay
because shopping at night was my delight.
By going at night I avoided the crowds
and parking was easy as could be.
The aisles were very empty and still
and the shelves were restocked for me.
But as I wandered through the large place
my memory would play all kinds of
tricks on me.
Passing the poultry so neatly packed and spaced,
I'd remember going with my Mom to where
live chickens would be.
And she'd pick one out to meet its destiny.
As a child what followed I'll never forget
from that time on, no chicken for me.
I quickly moved down the aisle to think what
next to get.
My mind wandered a bit and my memory got blurred
as stuff on the shelves reminded me
of different times and style.
The quiet was deafening and nary a sound was heard
except for the cash register ready at only one aisle.
I think of the times I went with my late wife
to buy a few items we needed just then.
It brought a tear to my eyes as I thought of my life
and the changes death made just shopping again.
I passed the closed Deli and wondered out loud
Do I miss all the noise or just miss the crowd?
I don't really miss any at all as I think by myself
and I take a can of pea soup off of the shelf.
Being alone in the store amid food galore
Allows me to think of all kinds of things
as I wander through empty aisles in the store.
I do check my list just to make sure
I have what I need before the register rings.
I glance at the peanut butter jars all lined up
and I remember the days when I couldn't get enough.
I picture myself as a kid way back then
following my mother around like a pup.
Things were different back then
and some stores
where we went had sawdust
on the floors.
I never found out why.
As I passed the refrigerated meat counter of now
I remembered the butcher and parts of a cow
hanging like socks on hooks above
the gleaming high white counters
that I couldn't see the tops of.
So my mind wanders as I go through the aisles
and I think of the differences that time will tell.
The candy store, the baker, and all that great smell
are all gone forever just like fashion styles.
But shopping at night is still my delight
and bringing back memories is not bad.
So I'll continue to shop mostly at night
and remember the thoughts that I had.
Copyright © Leonard Kleeman | Year Posted 2013
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Leonard Kleeman Poem
MY RED CHAIR
By Leonard Kleeman
I took a hard fall just the other day
and broke three ribs to my great dismay.
The pain is deep and very hard to take.
I can't even lie down, if just for Pete's sake.
But I was saved by chance, you see
for in my bedroom there's a chair
just for me.
It's a bright red color and a recliner too
and it's very comfortable for me or for you.
At night for my comfort it becomes my bed.
I even cover myself with a blanket that's red.
I'm in front of the TV and control all the light
So I can sit and watch shows all through the night.
But that's not the purpose of my lovely red chair.
I just can't sleep in bed with my ribs to repair.
When I lie on either side the pain is severe
so I have to sit on my rear in my dandy red chair.
I stretch myself out and tuck myself in
and pull the blanket way up to my chin.
My red chair protects me with arms on each side
So I don't spill over or go for a ride.
After a few days I got used to the red chair.
I felt so comfortable and was glad it was there.
Now I have to get better to get back in the bed
And when I do, I will dearly miss all that red.
But my beautiful red chair and I just won't part
I'll keep it right next to the bed and my heart
For without that red chair what would I do
If I need it again for me or for you?
Copyright © Leonard Kleeman | Year Posted 2013
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Leonard Kleeman Poem
WRITING POETRY WITHOUT RULES*
I thought I'd write some poetry
Just for the fun that it would be.
So I went to the web to see
what it said
about how to write poems just for me.
I ran into words like iambic and tercet
and other ones that I had never met.
There was even a thing called a quatrain
that confused and corrupted my brain.
Stanzas are neat if they get the right beat
with the meter which I'd no doubt delete.
You also have tetrameter and pentameter
which are terms I don't think are neat.
Long ago I did write in rhyme
but just to friends who didn't mind.
I'd write some limericks or lyrics to sing
that were not important
and didn't mean a thing.
But as I write now and look into how
I find myself stymied by words to allow.
I read such things as trochee
and anapest and even dactyl.
They are words I just read
and don't really feel.
Those words belong to meter,
a measure in feet.
With stresses on heavy or light
and then they repeat.
They do form the meter
which makes the poem complete.
I may just give up and write more in prose
My friends will give thanks and I'd smell like a rose.
But I do get such joy with the lines in a verse
So I'll just continue, and the poems I'll disperse.
I could go further and write in free verse,
which doesn't make sense
and just makes it worse.
Free verse would just boggle my mind.
It really won't matter
what rules I would shatter
as long as I make the words rhyme.
* I actually learned all the technical poetry terms as an English major in college. This is just a satire on their usage and the way I enjoy poetry.
Copyright © Leonard Kleeman | Year Posted 2013
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Leonard Kleeman Poem
ODE TO FRAN
I had to wait
Until I could write
Without shedding a tear
But, alas, that time will never come.
I hear a noise
I look around, she won’t be there
She won’t return
I have to accept
The finality of her death.
She was everyone’s friend
She loved people and
People loved her in return
Strangers would talk to her
No matter where
As if they knew her for eternity.
Her family always came first
No matter the pain she felt
She had a need
To keep pain to herself
She did not want to worry us.
She made my life whole
She gave me two wonderful children
And she always gave of herself
She was a bright, caring, compassionate soul.
We loved each other
Without ever a doubt
And,
We made each other happy
We were a good, complete couple.
Now my loving partner is gone
She will not return
And,
I have to accept
The finality of her death.
Copyright © Leonard Kleeman | Year Posted 2013
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Leonard Kleeman Poem
MY FRIENDS*
I keep thinking of my friends
as one by one they die
so I really have to think of them
as just passing by.
Perhaps at some other place
we'll meet once again.
But it's not up to me say
just where or when.
I hope that I will meet
my friends
so we can just talk
about the good times
before they met their ends
And the times that we lived
as we helped one another
to live a good life
as we would like a brother.
We offered each help
were we to see a need
for friends were always there
and we didn't have to plead
But as time passes on
and my friends go on by,
I look for them all
down low and on high.
But they are all gone
as one by one they die.
So I now stand alone
to wonder just when,
or if ever again,
I will get to see
the ones I called a friend.
* As Secretary-Treasurer of my High School Class Reunion Committee (January/June 1949 class) I keep the data base and record deaths, etc. As I update the data I am saddened by the many deaths of my friends as our age marches on. Also, I am the last man standing out of the eight that formed my band in my youth. Those things prompted the poem.
Copyright © Leonard Kleeman | Year Posted 2013
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Leonard Kleeman Poem
NOBODY THERE
By Leonard Kleeman
When you lose someone dear
it's really hard to bear.
You turn to talk
but nobody is there.
You wake up in the morning
and turn to say good day,
but there's nobody there.
You sit and eat breakfast
and scan the newspaper.
You lift your head to remark
but there's nobody there.
You just talk to the air
or even the wall
but neither will care.
'cause there's nobody there.
You go alone to the movies
or to a show.
You can't comment to anyone because
there's no one there you know.
The things you must dread
when your spouse is now dead
is the loneliness that reaches out
every minute of the day.
It taps you on the shoulder
and you turn around but,
there's nobody there.
It surrounds you as
you look to the sky
and the clouds just roll on by and
you want to say ' "Oh my"
but there's nobody there.
You have family and friends
but it's not the same.
They don 't bring you coffee
as you watch the game.
There's no one to call
if you should take a fall
because there's nobody there.
The whole world is a deserted isle.
You are lonely
and you need someone to care
but there's nobody there
and you remain alone.
Copyright © Leonard Kleeman | Year Posted 2013
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Leonard Kleeman Poem
AS WE GET OLD
As we get old,
so we are told
we tend to forget many things,
and yet,
Some things are not forgettable.
We'll remember some we can't forget.
We can't remember being born,
but we can't forget when we are torn
by love or death and
of things we've shorn.
We'll never forget the first of things,
of first loves and wedding rings.
We remember some friends
and changes and trends.
But names are just lost
somewhere in our brain.
No matter the cost
our mind seems to wane.
We remember events
but not of the sense
of people and places
or names or what tense.
Things just seem to happen
as we get old,
our hair gets thin and
we lose our hold
of names and times when
we were once bold.
Our minds seem to wander
as we get old
of things we should ponder.
Then we are told
to remember the times
when we were bold
and had a good life
before getting old.
But most important of all,
for things big or small,
We should never forget
as if it were gloved,
who we are, what we did
and who we loved.
Copyright © Leonard Kleeman | Year Posted 2013
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