Best Lad Poems
~The Green Eyed Lad~
Nah Then, I’d like to spin you a yarn and weave a story for you to enjoy
It’s about a lad I know and I would have liked to have met as a boy
He is well traveled and I believe well read
His family worldwide they now seem to have spread.
Age is there now and his maturity abounds,
A deep sense of fun though is still around.
His eyes are green even though I’ve not seen
He says they are fading, but I bet they still gleam.
We have never met we are miles apart.
But I don’t have to see him for him to capture my heart
He has a deep affection for the place of his birth
He writes with a skill a longing and mirth.
It would have been nice to play up Wingate Nick
Share spice, have fun, and then take the mick.
We could have made up such fanciful fables
But we can’t go back or wish no, no one is able.
And round Heber’s Ghyll and perhaps Sugar Hill
At the bottom of which the Post Office is still.
His words that soothe and manipulate my senses
Upbuilding and mindful, no need for defenses.
If ?we met for a dinner He’s say “Get yourself outside of that” I think…
Because that’s the way they speak, they are violets that don’t shrink
It would have been fun to meet him weaving and plying his trade
Bought up with the clickerty clack that the weaving looms made.
But time passes us by and at too great a speed
Events mold our lives how they want, and not how we need
So to this green eyed lad I say thanks for being there
You know who you are, it's up to you if you share….
©~GG~ 17/08/2012
so i asked the lad
he was at work with his mother
she manages a laundromat
where one may only need machines
but there is a service of clean and fold
for us single elderly gentlemen
what is your favorite candy bar
snickers he replied
and what flower is your favorite
hmmm.... i like roses
and when is your birthday
another answer fulfilled
now said i of those questions
what are your mother's answers
to such questions
he paused, soon lost in the brain
before i let his wandering within go on
i told him, well young man
let me impart something of value here
if you ever meet the woman
you dream of a life with forever
never fail to know these
it is how a woman knows
you truly love her
and always remember in life
it is the little things
that adds up to the greatest
leaving Lufkin, Texas i like to think
i made a small difference in the life
of a young man watching his mother
fold and prepare my clothes
but more so the lesson mom heard
her smile as i left
OKC 9/22
I was a mere lad of ten living on a prairie farm in Hoosier land,
Roaming the fields in my old straw hat, barefoot, carefree and tanned.
My faithful dog, Spooks, was always with me chasing rabbits,
(And rabbits were very plentiful due to their prolific habits!)
We had no inside facilities such as running water or a bath.
Our privy, as it was called, was located at the end of a winding path!
A Saturday night ritual was taking a sitz bath in a metal washing tub,
Then we'd pile in Dad's '35 Dodge and head for town after my scrub.
There was no TV in those days and my ears were glued to the radio,
Following the adventures of my heroes, filtered through static-filled audio!
I spent my meager allowance buying model planes and crafting the things.
Dozens hung from the ceiling of my room floating on gossamer wings.
I used a supple willow branch for a rod and a safety pin for a hook,
Angling for crawdads and wily crappie in the cool and flowing brook.
The Great Depression was ending way back then when I was ten.
Alas, World War Two began and things were never the same again.
On languid summer afternoons on a limb of the old oak tree I'd stretch,
And watch the scudding clouds as boyhood dreams I'd sketch.
Those were some of the things I did way back then when I was ten.
I'm four score and five now, but how I cherish memories of way back then!
Entry for Kelly Deschler's "Way Back When I Was Ten" Contest
There was young man from Lancs
who had a strange way of saying thanks.
With his mate Billy
they'd do something silly
like rolling in the mud down the banks.
I bet he's up there, his nag astride,
Ferret in sack, terrier by side.
I bet he's up there charming a lass,
Ciggy in gob and mild in glass.
I bet he's up there seeing united win,
Hollering and swearing " get it in".
I bet he's up there happy at last,
No pain no shame no regrets of the past.
I bet he's up there smirking at us,
Ye silly buggers whats all this fuss.
When I was a lad about nine or ten
Summers were long school holidays great then
I played in our street we had so much fun
Me and my mates in the warm summer sun.
We felt really safe as we played in our street
We respected the bobby as he walked his beat
Cricket and football in the street we would play
My mate smashed a window we all ran away.
The girls played skipping with their hair in a bow
We would rather play fight , climb trees you know
We would play marbles and conkers make paper planes too
Me and my mates found plenty to do.
We even built a trolley using wheels from a pram
We chased all the girls they squeled as they ran
The days were so long much time to kill
I remember playing roly poly down that grassy hill.
We tried to build a raft with some oil drums tied to a big plank
We took it to the river guess what it sank
I had so much fun growing up as a lad
I was bit of a rascal but good times we all had.
Bobby is a slang word for a policeman
A trolley is like a gokart but made of wood
A conker grows on a Horse chestnut tree. You thread string through the conker stand facing
another person with one and take turns hitting each others conker until one breaks off the
string
When I was a Lad
by Bob Moore
I still remember, when I was a lad
the head of the house, was the one we called dad
he’d go off to work, and mam would keep house
look after the kids, be quiet as a mouse
He’d come home when shift ended, and sit in his chair
wasn’t much said, cuppa tea waiting there
mam did all the washing, the cleaning and such
no TV, no internet, not very much
Sometimes, if she had to, a part time job she’d get
selling tickets at Belle Vue, or maybe the Met
or at the Apollo, in Ardwick Green
the Hippodrome too, some stars there, she’d seen
or the Midland Hotel, up on Hyde road
to make a quid, and pay what we owed
us kids didn’t know this, we all just played
and if mam and dad worked, at the neighbours we stayed
we knew all the neighbours, and we would just roam
until the street lights came on, then we’d go home
mam would be waiting, or sometimes it was dad
I remember those times, when I was a lad.
He last had a pal in the 7th grade,
They shared a class from the 1st grade.
And together, for Home Economics,
they were always late.
But the seventh grade showed up, in its
claws it held their un-anticipated fate.
For death's heartless might had
snatched away the pal's dear moter,
The lad watched as he packed the
boots that both their feet knew.
Off he went to unknown horizons.
"I will write", is all he said.
And so, at the post office,
the lad became a familiar face.
"He never forgot me", he convinces
his lonely self everyday.
The 12th grade is his current stop.
He recently acquired a harmless infection-hope.
So, while he dejectedly kicks innocent pebbles
in the streets he's quite hopeful that the other lad, his pal,
will write..........or maybe tweet.
Word has it, though, that the pal was
seen somewhere.
He was wearing a black suit...
Word has it also that he couldn't make a conversation.
Instead of his trademark smile,
solemnity had found a home in his face.
There he was, stone dead.
"Maybe, just maybe, he will write",
thinks the nameless lad as he kicks a
couple of innocent pebbles while he threads
on one rugged path towards home.
And tomorrow he's going to the post office.
THE LANCASHIRE LAD 1914-18
Hello Mother, a nurse is writing this for me,
I’ve lost my arm and a bit of my leg you see,
But I’m up on crutches and hobbling about,
So this afternoon, they’re shipping me out!
Please tell Maud next door ‘bout Tommy and Joe and the butcher’s lad Jack,
I’m very sorry but they’re not coming back;
Tommy died at my feet choking in trench, amongst all’ rats, an the stench,
And me an Joe went over the top, they told us to run an we hadn’t to stop,
When a bullet blew up his face, I didn’t stop mother, I still had to race;
Young Jack were frightened an shaking, an he wouldn’t go,
So a bloke told him to shoot off his toe
But the officer heard him when he let out a loud screaming moan
An they took him away mother, an they shot him at dawn.
I’m on the ship now mother, I can see the white cliffs of Dover
Eeeh, but I’m glad it’s all over.
Ay, this ship’s silent mother, it’s as quiet as the grave,
We’re all just looking at England, knowing we’ve been saved,
And now, I’m standing an looking at that green painted, cracked door
An I’m staring, trying to knock but it opens and there you are mother,
With your best paisley-pinny, over your frock.
An your cheeks have lines like trenches, that I’ve never seen before,
An your eyes are wet for every year and more
An my dads behind you with a big wet grin,
And then mother, my bloody wonderful mother grabbed me by shoulders and said,
Where av you bin, get in!”
His mother told him, watch out
many a lass you will meet
with some you will dally
share a kiss or two,
some you will bed
but take care, for a lass
that's too easy is not to be wed
this advice he took to heart
with many a lass he dallied
most to his bed he took
'til one day he fell in love
with a lass called Jill
on bended knee he asked her
will you please wed me
oh no she said no never
my mother warned me of studs like you
she told me, bed them, don't wed them
for a stud he will always be
How sad it was to watch that boy,
Who in his hands, ne’er held a toy,
Walked aimlessly, a subdued child.
He mostly trudged with his head down,
If he looked up, it was with frown.
He took the same route every day,
which led him past a barn with hay.
the farmer childless, his wife had died
his farm his life, Nelly his bride,
was ill, to stay alive for him, she tried.
One day the boy and farmer met,
‘twas winter, close to Christmas, yet,
no feeling for this season either had.
The boy found this man to be kind,
The farmer spoke ‘bout his wife and sighed.
Come inside the old man said, warm your feet,
the boy’s tattered clothes gave him no heat.
The first thing that the farmer did,
found a jacket rather big, a bowl of soup
he gave the boy baked bread, the soup to scoop.
They chatted till late that night, the boy told
of his dad who beat him bad, when behold,
a bright light shone outside the house,
and angel’s voices carols sang out loud,
they sang with them, one young, one old.
This story ends with love, to have, to give and get,
the boy stayed with the farmer, neither had regret.
The old man died and joined his so missed bride.
The young boy now a fine young man and wealthy too,
forgave his dad for miseries endured, when just a lad.
The old Scotsman burred loud on the dock:
" Bring along more than tackle and block!
For if yah cast out yer net,
yah might live to regret
bringing ole Nessie up out of the Loch!"
B athed in the soft glow of morning's gossamer light
E ngrossed, as my eyes behold the most beautiful sight
A sleep in his crib, I gaze down at my first grandchild.
U nder Your protection, God. ~ I prayed, then I smiled.
T ender maternal thoughts I hold of this infant baby boy.
I nnocent eyes are looking at me. Oh, what feeling of joy!
F ace of a cherub, sweet angel, though you're not divine,
U ntil my heart no longer beats, you will live on in mine.
L ittle lad, because of you, the word, "love," I redefine.
* * * * * *
December 28th, 2015
Beautiful Acrostic Contest
Sponsor: John Hamilton
My small lad and his big dog are the absolute of friends.
Each knows he is the one on whom the other one depends.
I spy on them as they're wrestling on the newly mown lawn,
then with one motion they are up and ready to move on.
The dog slows his pace to match the small boy’s short legged stride
and guides him from all danger as he sticks right by his side.
I have a twinge of worry as they wander out of sight.
I run down stairs to call them in to know that all is right.
I need not to have worried for they’re coming on a run.
The big dog is on the job though they are still having fun.
I open wide the kitchen door as they both run inside,
my nearsighted little man and his faithful big dog guide.
My Dad Was Just a Lad
Part 2
He was on a brand new ship,
The USS Horace Bass,
The KEEL was laid in ‘44
APD would be her class.
With a crew of over 200 strong,
But for most, their first time out.
In the weeks and months ahead,
They’d learn what “WAR” is all about.
Headed out for the great Pacific,
Okinawa, at Hagushi anchorage.
371 Enemy planes shot down,
As our Fleet would vent her rage.
Then came those grueling days,
They called this duty, “picket line”.
The enemy must cross this space,
But heavy shelling is what they’d find.
There were occasional escort trips,
To Guam and then Saipan.
It broke the tension of daily fire,
Which was fine with every man.
Returning from such an escort trip,
A submarine blip came on sonar.
8 depth charges would be dropped,
Watch for oil slicks, on open water.
History was made April 25,
Bass had sunk a mid-size sub.
The only APD to, “git’er done”.
36 enemy, “sank” inside that tub.
It was the night of July 3 0,
Things were seeming very still.
When they heard the cough & sputter,
Of a crippled plane, out for the kill.
It caught them really by surprise,
Flying in darkness, fast and low.
Headed straight now toward the Bass,
Wanting to take its fatal blow.
The very last moment before impact,
That killer plane went o’er the side.
An aerial wire had caught his wheel,
Missing our ship, that “kamikaze” died.
One American killed, 3 badly injured,
More injured slight, but still could fight.
The Bass puts into Buckner Bay,
Ship & injured were soon made right.
They would be among the first,
Task Force 31 would find their way.
To take position way up front,
To occupy 'their' Tokyo Bay.
August 27, at 0810, Captain Flynn,
It’s official: Nagato admits defeat.
The last lone fighting battleship,
Of their Great Nipponese fleet.
Well now I pause to catch my breath,
Our young man will soon be home.
As thousands more hit U.S. soil,
So many of them, will feel “alone.”
Families were there, that’s true,
And friends, now by the score.
But they had not seen the suffering,
The deaths, and so much more.
* * * * *
Written by oldbuck to record for his
growing family, The story of his father,
and the brave fighting crew of the
* * * USS Horace A. Bass * * *