Best Bullfrog Poems | Poetry

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Bullfrog Valley by Turner, Daniel
A Bullfrog And A Butterfly by Riley, Wayne
--muddied bullfrog blinks--03022011 by k., kabuteng P.iNk
Bullfrog Lullaby by Moreno, Raul
mississippi bullfrog by Goff, James Marshall

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The Best Bullfrog Poems

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Bully, Blow Hard and Old Geezer

Bully, the bull dog thought he was tough
He barked until his owner had enough
Bully went to the pound
A disgruntled old hound
He had a name he's called "Scruff"

Blow Hard was a very ugly bullfrog
Sat in a pig sty on a rotten log
Boasted about his size
He was not very wise
Cuz the moron was eaten by a hog

There's an old geezer who has an ego
Told tales of his greatness for all to know
The haughty one cries
His tales were all lies
He's an old phony who has to eat crow

Bully, Blow Hard, and even that old Geezer dude
All three looked at life with eyes that were skewed
Moral of story...
There is no glory
In barking, boasting, or a haughty attitude

Copyright © Lin Lane | Year Posted 2017

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Lovers Utopia

Magical crescent moon
Shining on the path below
Lighting the way for lovers
Together as they stroll

Exploring the enchantment
Of the animals and the trees
Finding their own Utopia
Beneath natures canopy

Together they may hear
A love birds sweet melody
As the crickets and a bullfrog
Seem to join in harmony

Sparkling stars and dewdrops
Fireflies dance about merrily
As winds song within the leaves
Plays a lovers symphony

The smell of jasmine in the air
Rose and chamomile so sweet
With just a soft hint of patchouli
A lovers perfume as they meet

The mystery and excitement
Passionate kisses, perfect date
These two lovers souls connect 
In this mesmerizing place 

Copyright © Lena Townsend | Year Posted 2009

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Sounds of Summer

Summer has so many sounds,
And all of them unique;
From the leaves rustling in the trees,
To the slow babble of the creek;

And all of the birds have their own voice,
To lend to it’s harmony;
The grass blowing in the wind,
And the buzzing of the bees;

The soft chirping of new hatched chicks,
And the bark of a happy dog;
The horses snorting in the fields,
The croak of an old bullfrog;

The soft pulling of the grass,
As a cow takes a big bite;
The clashing of a pair of bulls,
Wrestling in mock fight;

The different sounds of summer,
Makes a beautiful melody;
 Everything from the gulls on the beach,
To the crash of the waves in the sea;

To some people it may sound like noise,
But to me it is a never ending song;
An amazing melodic tune,
That plays constantly all day long.

Copyright © Tirzah Conway | Year Posted 2010

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mississippi bullfrog

darkness approaches
your time is at hand!

bullfrogs arise!
strike up the band!

wild rice surrounds you
your kingdom awaits

guard and protect her
'till shadows abate

Copyright © James Marshall Goff | Year Posted 2009

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The gray overcast sky predicts
Rain to layer the damp
Cool will become colder wet air
Trapped inside, lifestyle cramped

It is worse for blossoms turned brown
Their spring beauty cut short
Soon to join spent blooms 'pon the ground
Cold their life did thwart

The bullfrog croaking in the pool
Not hindered by cold air
Is he calling his love to come
See his fair lair 

There is a stillness this morning
A quiet 'pon the air
All the birds softly sing their song
Yet stillness says beware

Copyright © Sara Kendrick | Year Posted 2014

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From Illusion To Reality-w

She was walking on the footpath uneven,
The tiles, at places, jagged and broken
Making the pedestrians walk with care
Stuffed in her head a question not fair.

Meandering not to knock a sleeping beggar
With a battered bowl, a skeleton road keeper,
Was he dead or alive? she could not guess,
And she? Being alive meant not feeling helpless.

Her husband, pot-bellied, balding bully, a bull
Bulling like a bullfrog walking ahead in blue
Halting, looking back to measure the gap,
The gap would never close in to good shape.     

She thought of their congenial intimacy
Seven years back, love affair, pregnancy.
They entered a shop to buy the grocery.
She saw a kid’s picture on a pad of nappy.

Death of their son, mockery of her love,
The unfaithfulness of her idiotic cove.
The shopkeeper’s son was on the phone:
“Is there any point to carry it further on?”

“I will be going to USA for three years at least
Want to be free and have fun, can’t commit.”
Her heart went on the other side of the phone
Her inner voice spoke to her in different tone.

Outside the moon shimmered on a clear summer
Her eyes shone with a clear determined glimmer


Please Click  ABOUT THIS POEM button for more information
Second Place win in
The Contest Featured Poem by P.D.
The poem was featured in 2006 and won Honorable Mention in
The Poetry Soup International contest of July, 2006.

Copyright © Dr.Ram Mehta | Year Posted 2006

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A Bullfrog And A Butterfly

A bullfrog and a butterfly both chanced upon each other.
‘My dear, you are an ugly beast!’ the bullfrog dared to utter.
‘Why froggy,’ gasped the butterfly, astounded by his words.
 ‘My beauty is unparallel while yours is so absurd!’
‘Ha – ha! Ho – ho!’ laughed froggy so, and with a knowing look, began to tell the butterfly about a guy called Chuck.
His name was really Annabella, a princess not a common fella.
The fairest in the fairest land. with skin of silk and hair of sand.
‘This princess had a Stepmom, *****,’ whispered froggy in old butty’s ear.
She was in fact a wicked witch, who once threw Anna down a ditch,
And with a hocus – pocus spell turned Anna into a frog as well.
Then leaving on her horse and broom she bode poor Anna a life of gloom.
To which the girl did not respond, instead she went and found a pond,
And there she stayed alone and blue and ribbit-ed like froggies do.
Until one day a handsome prince called out towards his squire Vince,
‘young lad remove me from this saddle so i can yonder off and paddle.
And so the squire did as was told and copped the Prince a mighty hold,
Allowing him as Princes are, to paddle eating caviar.
‘Oh woe is me!’ the prince spat out. ‘This caviar has got no clout. It’s only good enough for Ted. The dog i left at home in bed.’
‘What i need is some tasty meat, cuisses de grenoville – a frog to eat.’
Just then, not hearing what was said, poor Anna popped up and ribbit-ed.
‘Please save me from this rotten hell. A kiss is what will break this spell.’
But Anna’s words fell on deaf ears and left her very close to tears.
For Princey in his Royal haste swept Anna up to have a taste,
and there above his hairy lips, Anna dangled from his fingertips.
'Goodbye you glumptious grotty frog, prepare to go inside my gob.'
But Anna, being quick as quick, knew something of a party trick.
And stretching in a ballet pose she swiftly bit off half his nose.
'Oh sacra bleu!' the Prince spat out. 'This creatures eaten half my snout.
My handsome hooters all but gone! A prince without a schnauzers wrong.'
Young Vince, his squire had up till now, been watching like a dozy Cow.
When suddenly, with one big volley, he knocked poor Anna off her trolley.
'Take that!' you nasty noshing frog. He said, as Anna hit a log.
'No froggies gonna eat my mate,' he parried, getting quite irate.
and ending with a little flurry, like Ali, only in a hurry.
The wicked spell was somehow broke, and Anna not a froggy spoke.
'Oh what a simply horrid guy you are to make a Princess cry.
For Princess that is what i am, and not some froggy from Japan.
My wicked stepmom cast a spell and wished that i would rot in hell.
But luck is luck and who would knows, by chomping on your bosses nose,
I'd once again be Annabella. A Princess not a froggy fella.
The moral, and I'm sure I'm right, is goodness always comes out right.'
The words that prissy Princess spoke, did nothing for that Princey bloke,
For having lost his Royal beak, he had no time for moral speak.
Instead he took his vorpal sword and snicker snacked the lousy broad,
displaying as he liked to do, the courage of his 'derring- do! 

Copyright © Wayne Riley | Year Posted 2014

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The Notorious Jumping Frog of Calaveras County

In a small gold rush town sipping on ale
Mark Twain once overheard a bartender
Made himself famous by penning this tale
A frog jump contest with a large wager
Decided outright when one frog didn't jump
The contest over before it could start
Obvious that the bullfrog seemed too plump
Buckshot in it's belly made jumping hard
The first County fair sixty years later
They called it The Jumping Frog Jubilee 
Just local frogs are allowed to enter
The record is over twenty one feet

Each May at Angels Camp, California
Mark Twain's tale center stages the gala

Copyright © Mitch White | Year Posted 2010

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Oh where does the dragonfly go, between the reeds,
And murky shore.
Gently dipping his wings edges, in the waters cooling
 Ripples, dancing across the tingling ponds waves,
To moisten it's beautiful translucent appendages,
So sheer and delicate of design.
Danger's bullfrog, on the Lilly pads so sits still,
Waiting ever so patiently, for the dragonfly to slip.
Yet awareness’s great aerial acrobat, knows better
 Not to mess around with this amphibian's slick
Devilish tongue.
So flights fancy leads him beyond, the flabby 
Froggies reach.
Testing limitations boundaries, this lighter
Than air insect, soars at mercy's whim,
 Gliding the currents wind, and tasting freedom's
Glory of wonderment.
Inspiration's tiniest of miracles, melts the poetic
Heart within, humbling one to pause, at nature's
Beauty beyond words expression.
Gleaming beneath the summers sun, the light
Shines and shimmers, as if made of glass,
A reflective surface of diamonds, cast asunder
With hews deepest blues, as it's aquatic canvas
Background below.
In this spiritual garden of the wetlands, cannot
Thee taste the essence of true purity, amongst
Clarity’s crystal clear air.
Oh do I not envy such a creature, as this the
Dragonfly, to drift a aloft from reed, to the
Abandoned Lillie pad, and see such magnificent
Natural beauty within nature itself.







Copyright © cherl dunn | Year Posted 2014

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Splish Splash Splosh Sploosh

The rain poured all night and all day.
Little Susie put on her rain clothes to go play
and jump in the puddles.
Splish Splash. Splosh Sploosh!

Tommy the puppy went with Little Susie.
 Big mud puddles what fun to jump and play in!
Splish Splash. Splosh Sploosh!

Freddy the duck woke up. 
Freddy went to a puddle to swim. 
The raindrops splashed him.
Splish Splash. Splosh Sploosh!

Billy the bullfrog woke up from his nap. 
Billy put on his hat. Billy opened his umbrella.
Splish Splash. Splosh Sploosh!

Tina the mouse woke up. She twitched her 
whiskers and said, "It's too wet to go outside!
 No fun when it rains."
No Splish Splash. No Splosh Sploosh!

Copyright © Laura Page | Year Posted 2015

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Song of the Evening


In a lullaby song of the evening.
In the background a cricket sings, 
corellas fly past, to their resting tree
high upon silhouette wings.

Red sky widens and covers the west
with half sun glowing and gold,
there’s stark contrast between heaven and earth
as life in a pondage unfold.

Bullfrog! Bullfrog! Clearing your throat,
reed warbler should be going to sleep.
‘Sweet pretty creature,’ call of willy wagtail
and crickets continue to cheep. 

In a lullaby song of the evening,
new stars are beginning to shine,
plovers’ static call fills the growing dim sky
and the reed warbler's calling decline.

So when the changeover’s completed,
and day has now turned into night,
these lullaby songs of the evening,
are now hidden well out of sight.

Bullfrog! Bullfrog! Clearing your throat,
and crickets continue to cheep. 
‘Sweet pretty creature,’ call of willy wagtail,
the ringtail awake from their sleep.

A red fox is yapping, then a mournful drawl,
the mopoke hoots steady and soft. 
Radar pings in flight of the wattled bat
echo with it flying aloft.

A koala growls in the manna gum tops,
a sugar gliders’ stealing its space, 
maned geese flying blind from dam to dam
moan ‘gnow’ for the night to embrace.

The lullaby song of the evening is dying,
where hunter and hunted exist,
for the art of survival is simply relying
on mute vigilance in their midst.

Bullfrog! Bullfrog! You are silent now,
reed warbler is sleeping at last.
Plovers’ are quiet, crickets no longer sing 
the moon in a stillness drifts past.

Copyright © Lindsay Laurie | Year Posted 2015

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I’ve perfected the art Of withholding a fart I tighten my buttocks and clench But when no one is the vicinity I let rip with a dreadful stench A silent secret fart released in a confined place To some folks I guess it’s an utter disgrace If I fart in a lift To me it’s a gift I can leave and I’ll not be red in the face! If a fart is dropped in our house I secretly wish we had a dog I could toot with the noise of a bullfrog but I would have someone else to blame and could then say poor Fido’s name! Contest That’s why I love …. Sponsor Lewis Raynes A fictional write (well I have to say that don’t I … and I don’t have a dog lol) First stanza is taken from my poem ‘the art of farting 06~05~16

Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2016

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Life Passes By

dark green lotus leaves
soft throne of the old bullfrog
life passes by

By- Tahera Mannan
Theme-Lily pads and frogs.

Copyright © Tahera Mannan | Year Posted 2011

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Finding Bigfoot

My uncle’s home, had a forest nearby;
he loved animals so; left some supper scraps, outside.
It was always his generous intent to feed,
every stray, that crawled, walked or flew, from those trees.

While visiting him, one sweet, southern night;
through the kitchen window, my eyes did alight;
upon his loaded scrap pan, I glimpsed, such a sight;
it was terrifying, as the moon rose, that night.

Oh those poor hungry cats, dogs, opossums and raccoon's, 
I cried and felt dizzy, I thought I would swoon.
The small woodland creatures, would not have their meal;
For a Sasquatch, I saw, gobbling it down with such zeal.

I bolted the door and my camera I fetched;
a photo I must have, of this giant wretch.
Thank God for fast speed film; I thought, as I snapped;
The sun had gone down; sister Moon just unwrapped.

Back into the woods, Sasquatch loped with huge feet;
How long had he come, to my Uncle’s house, to eat?
After he left, I opened the door, 
held a lettuce leaf down by the stairs for Old George.

I hoped that old Sasquatch, hadn't harmed good Old George;
an old bullfrog that lived under the stairs, of the porch.
The stench on the air, was so horrid and foul;
But Old George, took the lettuce, with a slight little cowl.

My Uncle just laughed, at the photo I took;
as he closed up the pages, of his favorite book.
Uncle said with a smile, "Sasquatch’s name is Bob";
as for cleaning a plate; "it was his favorite job".

That weekend, some friends, uf my Uncle and Aunt;
came to dine on barbecue, beer and descant.
Over old times and old friends, they did reminisce;
with their bellies full, they exuded such bliss.

I don’t think that they saw, the stranger nearby;
hidden between giant oak trees, but I met those eyes.
With longing, they glared, at the still smoldering grill;
and I knew that very night, Sasquatch’s belly would fill.

Sure enough, once they’d gone, Uncle piled a plate high;
with barbecue scraps and even some pie.
By his garden shed, the huge plate, he laid;
With a wink of his eye, Uncle turned, went away.

There just, was no sleeping, for me on that night;
I sat by the window, till evening twilight.
Once again, old Sasquatch, came back for his meal;
Uncle patted my back; said, “How does it feel?

“To be one of few, to see a real cryptid?”
Into a chair, in awe, I then slid;
Well, I could just deny, that I’d seen, what I saw;
the fact is, that Sasquatch, was the best vision of all.

By: M.L. Kiser
Entered in: "Bigfoot Contest"
Sponsored by:Skat A

Copyright © M. L. Kiser | Year Posted 2015

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I AM The Pond

I am the gold fish
Swimming in the pond

I am the blue bullfrog
Bellowing in the pond

I am the yellow tadpole
Feeding in the pond

I am the fluorescent dragonfly
Nesting in the pond

I am the white rock
Wading in the pond

I am the Noble Savage
Siting on another rock
Contemplative near the pond

I am the sycamore tree
Overshadowing everything within the pond

I am the boisterous wind
Breathing the breath of life in the pond

I am the high noon sun
The spark of life in the pond

I am the green algae and amoeba
Supporting all life in the pond

I am the tall river of grass
Cleaning debris in the pond

I am the blue heron
Raising like the Pohoenix
From the tar sands in pond

I am the black sea turtle
Like an island
Caring for my children
Black white yellow and brown
In the blue pond


Copyright © Mel Brake | Year Posted 2010

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 “I open the door and cross the threshold of imagination”

                     A Rambling Poet

One path finds the door
Traveled only from the heart
Through the eyes to life

Hovering about
Dragonflies of all colors
Dancing with sunshine

A mystery world
Sparkling glass dimpled with life
Guarded by cattails

Nervous chatters above behold
A strange sense of company
I watch a miracle unfold
From behind a red oak tree

I hold my breath, don’t make a sound
Slowly peeking bit by bit
Tugging, jumping and playing around
Four unaware fox kits

The wind became my enemy
My scent from it they stole
No hesitation, instantly
They scampered down their hole

Astonished, I ponder what a rare sight I had just witnessed.
The tranquility of being surrounded by huge trees envelops me as I walk around the pond’s edge. 
Led by a bullfrog’s ballad, I hone in on its stage location.
Startled, the frog leaps into its safe haven and disappears into thick vegetation.
The setting sun glimmers in the wake of the bullfrog, as does my reflection.
I watch until the water’s surface is smooth again.
A rustling in the brush directs my attention to a doe and her fawn wandering in search of a tender morsel.
The long shadows of dusk begin a tale of nocturnal beauty, a revelry to the nightlife to dance with a miracle world.
Content, I find myself back at the threshold of my heart.
Leaving the world that will some day surround me, a horn blaring taxi barely misses me.

Haiku, Rhyme, Narrative

Randy Steele

Three Gems contest

August 7, 2011


Copyright © Randy Steele | Year Posted 2011

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--muddied bullfrog blinks--03022011

rain drops dribble
rivers run through green grass;
muddied bullfrog blinks

Copyright © kabuteng P.iNk k. | Year Posted 2011

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Joy to the World

Joy to the world is a precise name 
For this poet named Joy of little known fame
For joyful I am with the Lord as my guide
With a Christian heart and a smile a mile wide
I sing His praises, confess his name
Worship the One who is without blame
So “Joy to the world, the Lord is come”*
Songs about His birth really make me hum
This is one side of me that you might see
But another exists, if you will permit me

“Singing joy to the world, to all the boys and girls
Joy to the fishes in the deep blue sea, joy to you and me”**
Jeremiah, the bullfrog inspired me to collect a few
Frogs of green and one that was big and bright blue
Now many years later and many frogs, too
The funny side of me comes shining through
I love to laugh and try to bring pleasure
To enjoy this life and to give without measure
To honor the name my blessed parents gave
To have lots of fun, but still try to behave
Life is to live and to love, this is true
So put a little joy to the world in your life, won’t you

*(Music from Handel, words from Isaac Watts, 1719)
**(Three Dog Night 1971~words and music by Hoyt Axton) 

Copyright © Anita Lovelace | Year Posted 2005

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Bullfrog Valley

Encamped beside a clear blue water lake
We call it, Bullfrog Valley. Here, they thrive.
The labyrinth of streams the water takes
Brings insects, as the meadows come alive.

Blue herons wade, perched hawks take treetop views
Colorful fish seek shelter in the shade
The bullfrogs sing for rain, from grassy pews
Mix sights and sounds of nature, all stress fades

Late evening, we share tales around a fire
First one who tells a lie, don't stand a chance
Each time a story's told, the stakes get higher
Night breezes make sparks rise and shadows dance

As eyes begin to dry, we start to crash
A night time serenade in Bullfrog Valley
The orange glow turns into white hot ash
The moon provides the light in nature's galley.

by Daniel Turner

Copyright © Daniel Turner | Year Posted 2017

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Brunch and Tea

And so the snail invited, me to brunch and tea,
And I excepted joyfully, Oh what great fun this would be!

I put on my pink party dress, and went skipping out the door,
Then I felt the drip, drip, drop, then I felt it pore.

There I stood in my party dress, soaked from head to toe, 
Wondering if it’s impolite to stay or to go. 

So I stood there in the puddle, slowing forming at my feet, 
Until I saw, the great bullfrog, coming up the street.

What a dashing frog he made, in his red bow tie,
So I waved and ran to him, just to tell him Hi.

I told him I was on my way to have some brunch and tea,
He asked if it was with a snail, cause he said so was he.

So me in my pink dress and he in his red bow tie, 
We continued on our way, while rain fell from the sky.

We finally made it to the brunch, and oh what a delight,
Snail with his green top hat on, he was such a cute sight.

Scones, cookies and muffins, and I won’t forget the hot tea,
We all had such a good time, I think we can all agree.

I thanked the snail for inviting me, oh what fun I had today, 
I was having so much fun, I wish that I could stay.

But I could already feel, myself being pulled away,
And waking up, I sat right up, to a brand new day.

But still I sit and wonder about my friend the snail,
And about our awesome brunch we had, and the tale I have to tell.

Copyright © Becca H | Year Posted 2009

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It broke her life

A pair of hazel eyes
Meet his muddy brown
His arms strain to push His body up 
He breathes 
He stops
He stares
He can not do it
The teenage girl 
Sits beside him on his bed
The girl asks in a cheerful voice,
“How are you doing today?”
He looks at her
And only stares
He can’t hear her voice
He raises his hands and spreads
Them out 
I love my son as much as the size of an alligator
I love my grandson as much as the size of a fish
I love my granddaughter as much as the size of a bullfrog
He smiles
she smiles back
And the teenage girl hugs him
He starts to cry
He whispers in her ear
I see her 
She’s waiting
I’m ready 
I wanna die
The girls body shakes
The girl leaves the room
And goes to the door next to his
 her room
Her sanctuary
She feels the throbbing heart beat out of her chest 
It hurts
She cries
She hears it everyday his mission 
His only mission 
to die 
So he doesn’t suffer
So he can see his wife
That once strong willed
Stubborn man
Begging to die 
Until his last breath
that wife and husband
 both died
in the same year
raised by them all her life
it broke her life

Copyright © Fullmoon Sway | Year Posted 2016

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Busting Their Spleen

Everyone has a giggle trigger it seems If you find it, just watch the happiness beam Their smiles will be broad Like a big old bullfrog They'll wind up howling and busting their spleen © Jack Ellison 2015

Copyright © Jack Ellison | Year Posted 2015

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there once was a three legged dog
who thought he was a bullfrog
instead of a nap or a nip
he preferred a wet kiss
then had his way with a log

Copyright © Anthony Slausen | Year Posted 2012

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Senses of My Summer Play

I have swept the sidewalk and watered the flowers- the yard is perfect you see
Afforded the time to swing in the rocker and drink southern sweet tea
As I sip from my favorite old fruit jar- a steady northern breeze accommodates
 My thoughts wonders back to recall the best remembered days-
 of youthful summer s gone by 
What precious memories to an old man like me- whose senses have dulled – now denied
I gladly endure and believe in the best of cures- the wonders and joys of youthful age
So I will tell you heartedly what cannot be forgotten- senses of my summer youthful play
The sting of my palm while playing catch with my older brother-
 who died when I was thirteen 
Or the flicker of lighting bugs caught in a Mason fruit jar –imaginative fairy queens 
A croaking daddy bullfrog while fishing on Pine Lake – just Tom, Dad and me
The earthy aroma of freshly cut grass before playing ball at the little league
The sweet watery meat of a stolen watermelon-the farmer knew it was me
A dip in Pear Creek wearing nothing at all- with a summer’s kiss from Mary Ann-
- when I was fifteen
Playing pirates and Tarzan in the back yard- under the laughing- weeping willow tree
Or the July Ozark Mountain visits to grandmother’s house - I still believe she loved best- only me
The carefree rides- wind in my face- on my new Schwinn bike with my best bud Steve
The mournful tears as I watched Old Yeller- when I thought I was too old to cry
I will stop for now- there are reddish clouds with filtered flashlight beams filling a dusking night
For it’s time to eat my bread and wash for bed- I hope my dear wife will not be snoring tonight

Copyright © Mark Goodson | Year Posted 2012

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A Season in Bloom


The sun finally came out anew,
The sky turned from a hazy gray to a vibrant blue.
The ground now quenched with ample rain,
Turns from dry and dusty brown to lush green once again.

Flowers seem to bloom with gusto and zest,
With petals reaching out to be their very best.
Trees stand tall in glorious splendor,
With leaves so soft, so green, so tender.

Birds sing out to one another,
While the deer graze in fields a little further.
And by the stream a bullfrog croaks out loud,
Proclaiming he is so very handsome and for that he is so very proud.

And in the backyard a young child plays,
As grandma watches and dreams of yesterdays.
As seasons come and seasons go,
We learn to live, we learn to grow.

With each season that passes by,
We find our self changing and many sigh.
So many fight this process right up to the day their light no longer shines,
But the seasons go on and on, and like the seasons, our lives become so hopelessly entwined.


Copyright © Ronald Bingham | Year Posted 2009