Best Irving Poems
Around midnight, in the library I found myself drawn,
to these shelves haunted still by Poe, Stevenson and King,
as a rare, late October storm brews beyond the pane,
bringing life back to the creatures of Shelley and Stoker.
To these shelves, haunted still by Poe, Stevenson and King,
my fingers grasp a book from under the dust and webs,
bringing life back, to the creatures of Shelley and Stoker,
it's well-worn, leather spine just waiting to chill my own.
My fingers grasp a book, from under the dust and webs,
while autumn winds rustle leaves like crisp, yellowed paper,
it's well-worn leather spine, just waiting, to chill my own,
my head, sinking further back into the velvet-lined chair.
While autumn winds rustle, leaves like crisp, yellowed paper,
candlelight flickers dimly across the tattered old pages,
my head sinking further, back into the velvet-lined chair,
where the ghosts of Irving and Dickens will not let me sleep.
Candlelight flickers dimly, across the tattered, old pages,
I, unable to recline, with the shadows thrown by the fire,
where the ghosts, of Irving and Dickens, will not let me sleep,
residents of the dark welcome, and wait to be revisited.
I, unable to recline with the shadows, thrown by the fire,
as a rare, late October storm brews, beyond the pane,
residents of the dark, welcome and wait, to be revisited,
around midnight, in the library, I found myself... drawn.
To the rock
That wished to fly
Like a butterfly
Sent skipping along
The mirrored sky
Bearing a Layton sigh
Do you feel alive?
*Skipper: a type of butterfly
*Layton: Irving Layton 1912-2006
Canadian poet, author of "Butterfly on Rock"
The October night was dark and cold,
As the autumn sun was going down,
When I recalled the legends I had been told,
About this sleepy, little town.
There were tales about the haunted woods,
They say the wind seems to call your name,
I was going where no one should,
And if I survived, I'd never be the same.
I walked through the covered bridge,
As the harvest moon rose into the sky,
I had made it around the darkened ridge,
Just as I heard a lone wolf's cry.
I walked the path of the dark, gnarled thicket,
Through the fallen leaves of maple and oak,
I heard the chirping of a cricket,
Near the hollow, where the bullfrogs croak.
Then, I heard the "hoot" of an owl in a tree,
And the "caw" of a raven on it's perch,
The headless horseman I hoped not to see,
As I passed the graveyard near the church.
I told myself I would be alright,
Just as I heard the hooves of a horse,
But, I knew I would make it home tonight,
Because there are no ghosts, of course.
August 30th, 2013
(This was my tribute to "The Legend Of Sleepy Hollow" by Washington Irving.
I wrote it from the perspective of Ichabod Crane.)
"There is a sacredness in tears. They are not the mark of weakness, but of power. They speak more eloquently than ten thousand tongues. They are the messengers of overwhelming grief, of deep contrition, and of unspeakable love." -Washington Irving
When the light fades from my eyes,
Weak and frail before it dies,
Light a candle to remind
Even though my eyes be blind,
Love still abides in my soul,
Love, the kind that makes one whole!
When blossoms fall
From the tree of life
Their ash will feed its roots
And bloom away the strife
These ambassadors of hearts and smiles
And handshakes
These caretakers of souls
Theses brothers and sisters
And mothers and fathers
And husbands and wives
And grandmothers and grandfathers
And friends of friends of friends
Who hugged life with happiness
And white orchids
Who embraced the sick without fear
Who opened homes to students
Who joined faiths
Who shared humor
Who laughed with gentle spirit
Who cooked meals for neighbors
Who knew community
These blossoms from the tree of life
Of life
Of life
Blooming again and again and again
No evil shall stop these blossoms
More life will prevail
More trees will bloom
Like vines on hills blooming in the sun
Like wild flowers in fields
And rose bushes in gardens
Sweet roses, blooming for 97 years
Nothing will stop the multiflora rose
Or honeysuckle or wisteria or lantana
They will bloom in spite of prejudice
In spite of bias
In spite of hostility
In spite of this drought of kindness
These blossoms
Of Irving
Of Melvin
Of Rose
Of Bernice and Sylvan
Of Jerry
Of Joyce
Of Richard
Of Daniel
Of Cecil and David
Will come back year after year after year
And our Trees of Lives
Will grow taller and stronger
And beneath their shade
We all will rest in peace.
All around, smoke ribboned from ashtrays
and mushroomed on the stained ceiling.
There, in the corner, F. Lee Bailey glared,
like a father watching his ill behaved children,
but, as children do, they ignored him.
Irving Kanarek leaned on the far end of the bar.
He was equally ignored,
as barristers sought their pecking order
in a gaggle of egos.
Over the bar a sign hung, "The Bench",
where ironically, the bartender, in jest,
would be asked to "judge" the winner of some petty spat.
Conversation was tediously interrupted as night progressed,
"Objection your honor,l he's badgering the witness"!
"Objection sustained" would ring out from behind the bar,
but amidst all the pseudo legalese, a pall hung ~
draping down the walls like smoke.
They must laugh for sanity but
the killer set free, who would kill again
became the dragon in the room
that would follow them home...
Note: F. Lee Bailey defended the Boston Strangler. OJ Simpson and others
and Irving Kanarek defended Charles Manson
“There is a sacredness in tears. They are not the mark of weakness, but of power. They speak more eloquently than ten thousand tongues. They are messengers of overwhelming grief...and unspeakable love.” – Washington Irving
strongest love known
conveyed by tears, not words
powerful the person
allowing tears to escape
walls that hold a captive heart
essence of true compassion
sharing sacred tears
as a loved one mourns
*Entry for Russell Sivey’s “Challenge - 8 Lines Max” contest
by Carolyn Devonshire, October 9, 2011
Dedicated to Joyce Johnson on the loss of her brother
OLD MAN’S LAMENT
Poor irving Berlin –
“Put on your Easter bonnet
And frills upon it” -
Wouldn’t he get just deathly ill
At today’s Easter Parade
There are no bonnets
Instead girls wear nose rings
Guys with drooping pants
There are no crooners no Bing
Just rock bands with loud drummers
.................................................................
Young folk may not agree with my poem, but I say, "Take that, ya young whipersnappers!"
I'm dreaming of a quiet Christmas ,
Just like the ones , I'll never know
With no children screechin
Or pastor preachin
Of where all sinners surely go .....
I'm dreaming of a quiet Christmas
With every cheque , Im tryin' to write .
But , then Lehman Sisters took flight ,
Hopeing Citigroup , can get it right .
( 2 )
Now I'm dreaming of a quiet Christmas .
I pulled a "cracker " , late last night .
She was sent from heaven
Aged twenty seven .
With "stats", for which Miss World , would fight .
Yes , I'm scheming for a quiet Christmas .
Told Santa Claus , I'll be off-line .
Hope my yuletide passion is fine ,
And I'll make it thro' to zero-nine ...
=================+=======================
With apologies to Irving & Bing ( That's Crosby !!! NOT Chandler )...
To be entered in John's Christmas song " what-not "....
Quote by IRVING BERLIN
I knew you as a brilliant light
Shimmering joy, hope and insight
Laughing with wonder at the stars
Breathing a smile through our memoirs
Your song played - is soft dreams and peace
Inviting love that will not cease
A life ended, but love is ours
Breathing a smile through our memoirs
The melody shines on the soul
With time, it lingers to console
On hearts with a moment in jars
Breathing a smile through our memoirs
Keola Secret Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: William Kekaula
January 18, 2022
I'm dreaming of the sandy beaches
Just like the ones I’ve seen before,
Where the surf is rising,
With lovers surmising,
While kayakers skim along the shore.
I’m dreaming of the sandy beaches
With every poem today I write
Hoping you have good weather up here
If I think of you,
I’ll shout a quick “Good night!”
[Repeat]
I'm dreaming of those sandy beaches
With every poem today I write
Of my presence here please do not lose sight
And may your holidays be bright!
Written December 10, 2022
[with a special nod to Irving Berlin,
a parody of his "White Christmas"]
The sign he reads out loud, “There’s holes ahead.”
The Rip Van Winkle Bridge quite disturbs me.
A story book that’s come to life — with head
To lose. My dad inches along bravely.
The chickens must brood o’er a dicken’s deuce.
We steer to the left and the right, afraid.
We stare at the grave pavement claim, the goose
Of golden time, the sleepy hollow shade.
The radio plays somber tunes, as Cole
Never imagined death— the Catskills fresh.
Diedrich Knickerbocker, lots of soul,
Could tread the troubled water’s edge — refresh.
Let’s build our solid homes, not on the sand.
You’ve guessed! We flew the coop, hopped on dry land!
5/18/2020
Bridge over troubled waters Poetry Contest
Sponsor: John Hamilton
Used howmanysyllables.com
1.The Rip Van Winkle Bridge - a cantilever bridge from Hudson, NY to Catskill, NY
2.There was a real sign on the bridge that said, “Holes ahead.”
3.Washington Irving wrote the story of “Rip Van Winkle” and “The Legend of Sleepy Hollow.” In the latter, there are people who lose their heads. At one time he wrote by the pen name, Diedrich Knickerbocker when he wrote a satirical book about NY history and politics.
4.Shakespeare used the term “dickens” - deuce being another term for the devil
5.“Chicken Little,” was a children’s tale where the chicken “was afraid,” the sky was falling - it wasn’t!
6. In “Jack and the Beanstalk,” Jack stole the goose that laid golden eggs.
7. Thomas Cole - created the first paintings of the American landscape
8. I grew up with the colorful history of Dutchess County and thereabouts.
asking for a sign
a wild peculiar joy~
with my name on it
*Irving Layton, A Wild Peculiar Joy
Selected Poems 1945-89
Signed by the Author, To Maureen
*Image of Presentation on Three Stooges by Coshocton Tribune.
Curly and Shemp
*Jerome Lester Horwitz,
often dimmer than your wits,
famously known as Curly Howard, one of the three stooges,
his slapstick comedy split our sober from laughter like being in centrifuges.
*Samuel Horwitz,
a mind filled crackers, no ritz,
Lithuanian Jewish mom says "Sam" with her accent came out "Shemp",
like the original three, ad-libbing and wisecracks, **filled baby bro's shoes as his temp.
*Five brothers; Irving, Benjamin, Samuel (Shmuel), Moses (Moe), Jerome (Curly)
**Curly's ill-fated stroke caused Shemp to return as his original stooge self or Moe and Larry comedy series would have ended.
2021 September 29
*2nd Place*
Clerihew 2
~~Joseph May: Judged 2021 October 29
The Three Stooges
Ichabod Crane sprang from the brain
Of someone most deserving
Of Sunnyside, his proud domain.
His name? Washington Irving.
He also wrote a tale of note
About one Rip Van Winkle
Who found a sleeping antidote
To shoo away each wrinkle.
His home, intact, you can, in fact,
Both tour and pay a visit.
The costumed guide will not distract
From landscape most exquisite.
With river view, we wandered through
The rooms that Irving favored
And sampled life the way he knew
When simple joys were savored.
A worthwhile trip and here’s a tip –
Before you go farewelling,
The gift shop’s one you shouldn’t skip –
Cool souvenirs they’re selling!