Best Gerard Poems
Always Prepared
Ready
Freddy
The Untamed
Feral
Ferril
What’s in Frankie’s Pockets?
Frankie’s
hankies
Patriotic Guy
Yankee
Frankie
Of the highest Quality
Fraser’s
razors
Small Eater
Grazer
Frazer
The Warlock
Pagan
Fagin
The Brilliant One
Star Glow
Fargo
Something’s About to Happen to Him
Herald
Gerald
Poet
The bard
Gerard
The Mimic
Parrot
Garret
Who Needs Pudding and Pie
Georgie
Porgie
Good Grief!
Lordy,
Gordy!
Best Things in his Garden
Gerrett’s
carrots
The Stoic
Steely
Greeley
What People Always Say to Him
Really,
Greeley?
The Generous One
Sharin’
Garen
Thrill Seeker
Gnarly
Harley
So Angry
Snarly
Harley
Embittered
Soured
Howard
Not Brave at All
Coward
Howard
What’s in Henny’s pocket
Henny’s
Pennies
The Pest
Vermin
Herman
What Herman Gives Each Sunday
Herman’s
sermons
Why Can’t He Just Stay Home?
Roamer
Homer
Better Than Ice Cream
Sherbet
Herbert
Get Him Band-aids
Howie’s
Owies
Nonsensical
Phooey
Huey
Always Amazed
Wowie
Howie
The Overly Sentimental One
Gooey
Huey
(I'm really sorry if I left your name off, but I tried to do
all the premium members I could imagine plus the
non-premiums with whom I regularly communicate.
If you are not here, I'm just not seeing you around!)
Adeleke and Amy, Andrew, Audrey, Barbara, Brian, Carol, Caroline, Carolyn,
Carrie,
Caryl, Catie, Cecil, Celene, Charles, Connie, Constance, Chris, Dane Ann,
Daniel, Danielle, Daver, David, Deb, Diamond, Doris, Dr. Ram, Highlander,
Elaine, Emily, Faleshia, Farah, Francine, Frank, Gareth, Gerard, Gert, Grace, Joyce,
H.G. Iolanda, Irma, James, Janette, Jared, Jerri, Jessica, Jimmy, Joe, John, john, Joseph,
Karen, Karla, Katherine, Kimberly, Kristen, Larry, Laura, Linda, Lynette, Mac, Margaret,
Marie, Matthew, Max, Michael, Mitch, Moonbee, Nathan, Nick, Nikko, Paula,
P.D., Phyllis, Ralph, Raul, Ravindra, Rhoda, Robb, Robert, Rueben, Samir, Sara
Sean, Sheol, Sharon, Stephanie, Tavarus, Tim, Tirzah, Travis, Virginia, and Wilma
are poets looking great
forward and
- backward -
and forward
great looking poets are
Wilma and Virginia, Travis, Tirzah, Tim, Tavarus, Stephanie, Sharon, Sheol, Sean,
Sara, Samir, Rueben, Robert, Robb, Rhoda, Ravindra, Raul, Ralph, Phyllis, P.D,
Paula, Nikko, Nick, Nathan, Moonbee, Mitch, Michael, Max, Matthew, Marie,
Margaret, Mac, Llynette, Linda, Laura, larry, Kristen, Kimberly, Katherine, Karla, Karen,
Joseph, john, John, Joe, Jimmy, Jessica, Jerri, Jared, Janette, James, Irma, Iolanda, H.G,
Joyce, Grace, Gert, Gerard, Gareth, Frank, Francine, Farah, Faleshia, Emily, Elaine,
Highlander, Dr. Ram, Doris, Diamond, Deb, David, Daver, Danielle, Daniel,
Dane Ann, Chris, Constance, Connie, Charles, Celene, Cecil, Catie, Caryl,
Carrie, Carolyn, Caroline, Carol, Brian, Barbara, Audrey, Andrew, Amy and
Adeleke
For The Palindrome Contest: Sponsored by Jared Pickett
Thank You, God.
Thank You for everything
that I know that I wanted and You withheld.
Thank You for everything
that I thought that I did not need and You provided.
Let me be like the one leper
out of ten who returns to give thanks to Your Son.
Thank you for what you have granted.
Thank You for what you held back.
Thank you. Always. Amen.
P.S. Lord, Thank you for the following incomplete list of talented caring people
who have filled my heart and engaged my head.
They, too, are one of You gifts to me:
Be good to them always and protect them as Your own. They are:
Carolyn Devonshire;Francine Roberts;Andrea Dietrich;Carrie Richards;Destroyer Poet;Chris
D. Aechter;Harry Horsman;DorisCulverHouse;Audrey Carey John Freeman; Wilma Neels;Dr. Ram
Mehta; Sean Kelly; Deborah Guzzi: Ambassador Carol Brown;Andrew Crisi;Brandlee
Augustus;Joyce( I told you first!) Johnson;Ralph Taylor; Charles Henderson; Joseph Spence;
Karen O'Leary;Connie Marcum Wong;Barbara Gorelick;Iolanda Scripca;Susan Palli; SKAT*;
Katie Lindsay;Michael Jordan; Caryl Muzzey;James Fraser;Rich Parise; Joe Flach;Tim
Ryerson;Mitch White;Nathan Dilts;Daniel Cwiak;Chris Smith; Brian Strand; and The Rambling
Poet. Thank you all and Thanks to all whom I foolishly overlooked. REGARDS! GERARD!
[Poem read at Sekoto’s inhumation ceremony at the Neuilly-sur-Marne-93 Cemetery, near Paris. Channel 4 in London recorded the reading as they did the funeral rites in the presence of his close relatives come from afar for the nonce and based their documentary - as far as I can tell - on my lead cover article on the South African self-taught painter and musician Gérard SEKOTO, published in The Journal of Comparative Poietics, Vol. 2 (Paris), 1993. Both the article and the poem were re-published in my book on “poietics/la poïétique”, entitled: Poietics: Disquisitions on the Art of Creation. Allahabad: Cyberwit.net, 2008, 214p. There ensued a general scramble for his canvasses at the Maison des Artistes where he was lodged in his declining years, and even the sketches he gave me for publication disappeared from my studio.]
III
Long are the years you have lain your easel down
Longer still the sun at Botshebelo burnishing your skin
In the soft autumnal retreat of your heart
You could still hear children playing in the mission station
You saw with what glee they jigged in Sophiatown
And bled for your brothers enchained in District Six
Away in the quiet slumber of a land you loved
You wrought the blazing colours of a secret rage
of man's will thriving in his limbs
of an enduring passion for hope
in the dance of stoic joyousness
in the embrace of a Mandela
Not a shaft of light escaped your hunt for
traces of your childhood
nor
were lost the spare airs that filtered through shanty-towns
Your world was a world of people
simple people
going about their chores with premeditated caution
oppressed people
endowed by need with the guile for survival
People for whom you lived
People who live on in your veins
uninterred in your carved canvasses
(Poem read by the author at Sekoto's funeral in Neuilly-sur-Marne, France)
(c) T. Wignesan, Paris - 1993. (Pub. in the Journal of Comparative Poietics , Vol. 2 & 3 (Paris), 1993 & in Poietics: Disquisitions on the Art of Creation. Allahabad: Cyberwit.Net, 2008.)
A Night On The Town
While searching for a book, one that I hadn’t yet read
I stumbled upon a critter and this is what he said:
Although the library is quite cozy and nice;
Could you fancy a night out for the right price?
Howsabout we meet by the bibliotheca shrub?
A groundhog as I adores a good Punxsy pub.
Grab your coat and throw on your hat.
I’m ready to have a friendly chat.
I looked him in the eye and asked him his name
With delight, he said,
“You’re unaware of my fame.
My friends call me Phil, so I suppose you should too
Let’s blow this joint”
And away we flew
We wandered the streets of this charming town
Visiting shops and pubs, up the street and down
We feasted on grub and guzzled much drink
Then, Phil looked at me with a very hard think
“My friend, it’s been fun but it’s three in the morning.”
And he tottered down the street without any warning
I watched as he burrowed under the library steps
Down on my knees and behind him I crept
His words fell on my ears as he waddled out of sight
“My friend, it’s time for you to go as the sun soon brings light.
You see, I don’t mean to complicate.
But in the morning, I must prognosticate.
Meet me again: fight your way through the mob.
That tree over there; in Gobblers knob.
In just a few hours, at the light of the day;
Meet me again; and don’t delay.”
I did just that; I waited on the lawn
When Phil came out with a stretch and a yawn
With a wink and a smile, his eyes met me with regard
Then a man handed me a note. His name was Gerard.
“This note is from Phil. Don’t tell anyone he can talk, or find you I will.”
I took the note from this cryptic subversive
And found it to be written in splendid cursive
"Thank you for the night, full of libations and cheer
Let’s do it all again. Meet me same time next year."
"ROBERT GOULET"
Robert Gerard Goulet'
Singing love songs 'twas his forte'
As Lancelot wore ornamental panache'
Kissed several Guinevere's with sexy mustache.
*panache' - helmet
*For Nathan's Yesterday's Clerihew Contest.
*Sept. 24, 2012.
Some dreams have no answers some dreams make no sense
Some dreams last forever perched upon a Razor-wire fence
Some dreams make us empty, other dreams make us whole
I once rode the breath of a dream right straight into my soul
Sometimes I search for answers to questions I have never thought
I used to think every dream had a price and it could be bought
I learned that dreams, which can be bought, are not dreams at all
Just another way for some fool to bang his head against the wall
I pray all throughout the day, in the circle I burn my sage
Isn’t everyday of our lives another beautifully written page
This is the way I have come to believe, it is everything that I see
Sometimes what is, is not what was, but it is as it should be
Life is made for living and we must all choose our path
The good, bad, happy or sad, it is up to us to do the math
So what does this poem mean have I not written it so clear
Dreams, schemes and old routines can drown our soul in tears
So if we are unhappy about the lives that we have come to live
Lets rely on a dream with Jesus Christ teaching us how to give
When we are willing to give all we have, the Lord will
make sure we will always have something to give. Be
strong in who you are and what you believe because in
the end you will pay the price of your actions. Let your
Soul be where you seek your answers for Christ lives
with-in each of us. Our mistakes prove we are human
our salvation proves we are redeemed and our love is
what proves we are saved. I love all of you more than
i could ever say. I hope that Gerard Keogh Jr. reads
this poem for i wish to dedicate it to him. What a
wonderful gift his poem to many of us was.
I was not born to be an aristocrat.
I was far too blunt to be a diplomat.
And the rest is who says this or that.
I don't care since I'm where I'm at.
So hoist a cold one for me today.
I'll buy you one some other day.
Regards, Gerard.
Next time it rains, close your eyes
And smell the color blue
So fresh and clean, the life it brings
The aroma of brand new
While they're closed, listen to
The music of her mood
Baby blue for lullabies or heavy electric blues
At times she feels icy blue, others warm indigo
But when you're wrapped in her embrace
You feel like a vibrant rainbow
We always see her coming
Dressed in clouds dark grayish blue
And when she leaves, she takes her blue
And all the other hues.
an original poem by Daniel Turner
painting by stricher gerard all rights reserved
NOT FOR CONTEST
Green locusts whirl and flap above,
A long way from Chicago, love.
Out here, the armor piercing dove
will make you scream for mothers' love.
Through layers of mud, I'm still alive
if life just means what I survive.
The mortars thunk, I shove and dive.
I don't think I'm--------------------------.
The World of War: Vietnam.
Gerard F. Keogh Jr.
THE BARBERSHOP QUARTET
The barbershop quartet, mustache brushes in hand.
A Capella joviality, with torquing wrists, snapping fingers.
Bristles foaming, silky white and smooth, voices grand.
Dapper in their pinstripe suits, hats — Delmonico brand.
Sweet Adeline, drawn out. My Adeline — peaks, lingers.
The barbershop quartet, mustache brushes in hand.
Choreography matchless with their sugar-cane wands.
One by one they tap and score with lighthearted zingers.
Bristles foaming, silky white and smooth, voices grand.
Bass, lead, baritone and tenor glitz altogether stand,
Impressing the country stage — these polished singers.
The barbershop quartet, mustache brushes in hand.
Differences overlooked, blend of ringing chords command.
Friendship in angelic voice, grooming of youthful wingers.*
Bristles foaming, silky white and smooth, voices grand.
Brothers in harmony, gathering precious social sand.
Through time, the dusty chair spins and memories linger.
The barbershop quartet, mustache brushes in hand —
Bristles foaming, silky white and smooth, voices grand.
4/25/2018
*wingers - I am using to describe the new set of kids who
practice “wing it”
Sweet Adeline written by Richard Gerard
Today’s’ another day unlike yesterday I am told.
But each one is unique in the troubles that it holds.
To solve all my problems I call on all those good old Patron Saints.
The Catholic Church has Patron Saints I can pray to for everything.
As I get up each morning I pray to St. Martha the protector of housewives.
I need St. Christopher while going to the door, to safely find my way.
Then St. Camilla is handy if I trip and fall getting there, needing aide.
And when I write my poems its St. Cecelia to whom for words I pray.
As my children leave for school its St. Pancras to get them there and home safe.
And when they give me a headache I ask St. Dennis to make it go away.
I pray to St Ambrose as my learned children bring report cards home from school.
And as my children’s music gets loud its St. Cecelia I beg to change it into
something good.
When in trouble my kids like St. Gerard since they were falsely accused.
And with any time out, I send St. Hippolytus to guard their prison room.
Each month as I pay the rent it’s to St. Margaret I look… so as not to be homeless
soon.
And when I face my crazy neighbor… its St. Eustace to calm me down, it’s true.
When the dogs misbehave… I ask St. Roch to stop them just once more.
And when I’ve had a bad day its St Dymphna I ask… why I shouldn’t run away.
I’m not Catholic but I like to hedge my bets you see…
I wouldn’t need any of these saints if just one wasn’t my best friend… truly.
St. Murphy from Murphy’s Law sits upon my shoulder each and every day.
He keeps telling me not to worry… if it can go wrong it will go wrong any way.
He’s my Patron Saint who loves me intensely… most of all!
And I can see why the Catholic Church won’t claim him… no… not at all.
Written 4-20-2011
Pray for Margaret you Jesuit priest,
who wept for falling leaves but cast no blame.
Her soul, as leaf-meal lies, is now the same
in Heaven she can now confront her beast.
Oh! Grief, not sweet-or-sour, but only grief,
as man was born for blight - same as our shame,
you twist your words like in a parlor game.
In flown fine-flowers you found your relief.
My poor pocket of pence, poor pence of mine
pray! Pray for us, pray you Jesuit priest ---
for motion of your heart, your heart is fine,
with all your want you could not make pine, pine.
Yet, light you gave; you gave the light at least
to cast before us a poetic feast.
Gerard Manley Hopkins -1844-1889:
Jesuit priest and poet.
Father of sprung rhythm, he is a hard read but few poets have as much to teach
in rhythm, language, style and many other aspects of poetry.
Hopkins' health, both mental and physical, had always been delicate; he was
prone to digestive problems and severe depression.
Even though agnostic, I am always uplifted by Hopkins' inter-weaving of sound,
the sweep and swing of words. His is poetry which attempts to break from the
plodding regularity of french-influenced metrical verse. Hopkins brought back
beat to English poetry, structuring his verse around stresses in a breath rather
than metrical feet.
His work:
http://oldpoetry.com/oauthor/show/Gerard_Manley_Hopkins
Watching a good movie,
the one on demand,
or the one I receive from Netflix
is the smartest thing to do...
sometimes going to the a movie theater
can be a thrill, but curving back into a recliner chair
is even better that setting next to a bunch of noisy kids
who refuse to shut up and use foul mouth!
I like action movies, but they are too bloody,
so a cowboy's or funny movie is my next choice...
the sarcasm of Clint Eastwood is acceptable:
you get to see what a real cowboy was then!
The silliness of Gerard Butler makes everyone laugh:
it shows the other unknown side of masculinity.
So indulge like me in those kind of movies...
lay back, munch on those crunchy, hot popcorn
and wash them down with a soft drink or beer!
The peace sign is a symbol universally recognized and venerated;
to some it means sacrificial death, to others gentle love instead...
shouldn't, its creator Gerard Holtom, have drown it with arms up
instead of arms down...didn't the ancient signs influence him a lot?
Whichever is the interpretation of this sign,
we all recognize it as love besides peace;
during the Vietnam War the fanatic hippies
used it to protest the deaths of young men.
From the day of its creation, when angered crowds protested in line,
it has become the icon of an Humanity that wants an end to all wars and turmoil...
then shouldn't it resemble the upward branches of a tree bristling over unspoiled soil,
or a teary, lonely child reaching out for arms to make his face shine?