Best P.A. Poems
While Ma was away, Pa lost Tweety
while pet-sittin’ for his friend Petey.
Then at dinnertime, Ma
said, “I’m so sorry, Pa,
but this bird I found ain’t very meaty!”
Another time, it was a frickin’
frog he lost. While pa was lickin’
his chops over dinner,
Ma beamed, “What a winner!
That frog I found tastes just like chickin.”
Another time “Hillbilly Jake”
Asked Pa to please watch his pet snake.
Ma was out of the loop;
saw that snake and made soup.
It was more than her husband could take. . .
Pa hollered out, “What’s wrong with you?
Every pet I sit ends up as stew!”
“Keep your eye on them critters,
or they’ll end up as fritters.
I’m not here,” Ma said, “runnin’ no zoo.”
My Pa said to me:
“Football will get you nowhere
my boy”
and,
“playing the guitar will get you nowhere my boy”
and
“poetry will get you nowhere my boy.”
He was right, but I like it here in ‘nowhere,’
besides I’ve seen where somewhere is
and it’s not that special.
N Naturally caring.
U Understanding and Kind.
R Realistically diagnoses
S Sees things others miss
E Enthusiastic about helping people
YOUR MORNING BAGEL Doylestown PA
Consider this, as buds break out on trees
not yet a leaf, the sight that no one sees
as walking through the borough mesmerized
past ancient mansions seen, not realized.
Through early morning air, our sence of smell
arouses to a bagels morning bell;
it tells us to awake, this is a day
we gain another try to make our way.
Past tiny shops of books and pottery
of artists who record what used to be
and at sidewalk cafes, we take a pause
considering what's real, or never was.
We hear the groan of traffic come alive;
the buzzing of our time and constant hive;
but who can see the budding of the tree
that's made for us to always never see?
Consider this, of time we've none to spare
to capture in our heart the birthing there;
no longer for a blinking of the eye;
what time has brought along, too soon will die.
© ron wilson aka vee bdosa the doylestown poet
My Pa,
My Ma,
My parents,
Pa a gent,
Ma his agent,
Pa spends,
Pa(ys)rent,
Ma at home,on rent!
By looking at your picture
Is like you are still alive
Your face is still fresh in my mind
Always proud to tell your suffering
And your moments of joy
Beside your bad side...
...you have consol alot
You've known pain
And you have past through alot
Of difficulties
Beside all your default...
...this is not important
Because you were the the hero...
...the icon
That unique singer that keeps us
All on our feet
Your 'bonm' and your 'zez'
Was your two best friend
When you were on stage...
...no one gets in your way
Your mission wasn't accomplish yet
But our God needed you
The road that you have started
I am following
But it doesn't stop there...
...I will pass it with my children tomorrrow
That it won't lose its value
And in a way that you will
Always be present...
...and forever live among us
Dedicated to my great-grand-father that was an important person in the culture and part the
heritage of Seychelles, who died when i was very little.
As a young man, his world awaited
His thirst for success unabated
Found his niche, hunger unsated
To build a better team
Years went by, his fortunes grew
Ever larger crowds he drew
Trophies, accolades accrue
A legend it would seem
With his legacy assured
On one decision he demurred
Lack of action was inferred
The end of a dream
Indicted by a colleagues shame
He was forced to share the blame
In the press besmirch his name
Take one for the team
After all the games he won
After all the good he'd done
A storied champion was undone
It killed him it would seem
Written in honor of Joe Paterno
Couplets are written in tetrameter and trimeter
Pa Honks the Horn With a Tree for Christmas Morn
~*~ ~*~
_______________ ~ * * .* `* ‘ * ‘`’`’`
(1940s green pick up) *’ *` *’ - * ~ - `*~ ` * - *
/1l l11l l1\ ~ `’`’ * ~ * * * * * * * `’`’`’
/1l l11l_______l1\ * =*= * = * = * *= *= *-- *--
(Pa honks l @l the horn l@\________________________________`’`’`’
{when he drives up the drive with a noble fir for Christmas morn. ]
( Dressed warm all seven of us run outside as crystalline [ snow falls ]
( from heaven. Excited with anticipation to help pa bring in the [ tree indoors]
( The flavor piney scent of the tree lingers throughout the old farmhouse ====]
Decorating the tree with string popcorn garland,
dried fruit, and homemade lace
ornaments we adore
12/2/2016
DOYLESTOWN SPRING RAIN
I watch the sky begin to fill,
with clouds that roll and pitch until,
all Heaven seems so black and bleak,
then lightning makes a sudden streak,
and blows the southwind to its will.
The air so fresh it brings a high,
as I breath in the falling sky,
and darkened, all of space now seems,
engulfed in thundering that screams,
and makes the world think it could die.
The first raindrops now hit the ground,
the joy of it is all around,
each budding leaf breaks through its pain,
now free to come out in the rain,
and here is love that's seldom found.
Now falling fast and falling free,
blown in the wind that has to be,
the rain sets in and for the night,
a steady rhythm--cool and light,
and lulls to sleep the deep of me.
© ron wilson aka vee bdosa the doylestown poet
The hordes of defection await
Obscurity indulges their silence
Abruptly, I am lost within my own recollection
Feverishly trying other hearts
My brain seizes its choler
It bathes in the solace of grief
Disgruntled, I await ambition
Deciphering each notion, towards alienation
The separated seconds loathe me
I fall between my somber thoughts
Deserted, my will vexes me
As I tumble into oblivion
I am at a loss of words and will--
This silence drifts into my mind
I conjure a pool of empathy
[Pretending that I am no different]
My demons bathe under my skin
For, my heart is their tyrant--
I am persecuted by my vacant will
With-held from my embittered perception...
perspective
of my pa
different
than my own
eye to eye
we deviate
still
he educates
i don’t learn
anything
except
to listen
to love
to hear
his heartbeat
to joy
always
there’s olives
in his glass
i can hear
the daily
missives
of his martini
speaking
in gentle
low tones
even
his feistiness
is controlled
grief
brought us
together
his goblet
of tears
his plea
“Tell me
she’s somewhere…”
two butterflies
their wing-sets
flapping
as he retrieved
his mail
broken glass
like a
broken heart
on his birthday
their birthdays
a solid shelf
fell
shattering
James Kent
teacups
signs all here
perspective
of my pa
different
than my own
eye to eye
we deviate
3/28/2023
Sponsor: Brian Strand
Had a dream about my Pa tonight, We all went out with them to Lake Loral Nancy His wife cooking up a good ol' Chicken Pot Stew slow-cooked set way up high atop the hickory us loading up the Bayliner for our afternoon fishing trip.
We reminisced, Canoe in toe as we used to do just in case, yes just as we did back then; you-know if either would wished to float to one or more sides with the Canoe tied to the railings of the boat, or more or less to widen the chance at a greater spot to cast a gander upon our luck... .
My Father by adoption; having-stated many times early on in-all of our teenier all together, God being-in-charge of all good-Blessings and if-you will--luck... we'll always catch some albeit one Yes I began to see through this statement he mentioned often God is always presenting always providing this-His Honest Hope, for us both--as I believe like my Pa, for any one yes everyone who is patient remains-open... !
Our woes, and Peace abiding... uncertainty grievances questions yes laughter were our main recollections as we dropped our first lines as we cast them... .
I tell you I truly did love Him, still love Him, will always I figure... yes I know Some folk are so defined never wish to grow any further their Character divorced by Cancer, Nary did my Father allow it. On the day he passed He told Nancy, "I love my life. My Family Children. Love all those close to me.... but I'm tiered just plain wore out." the Lord took Him that night, the next day forthcoming I was told and O how I cried —
But then realized as I saw he lived the greater life - He worked on this purpose until the day he died, and so for all he work for this final reprieve — it was for all of the ones he loved, because I feel for all whom he loved, he'd prayed for all to do the same... Yes a suffering in kind the same I'm seeing now -
All-of-it I'm-finding; because he taught me the greater of his Faith nary a day apart from Him, and me... his youngest Son two Others older Sons if you will, yes I feel his family and friends still have this eminent belief to boast;
Yes, in-the Company--Comfort... of Jesus' Peace... !
There's no other phrase that will get a lad's total attention,
And fill a young feller's soul with dread apprehension,
Than to hear the phrase Moms have used since time began,
"Just wait 'til your Pa gets home, young man!"
Cain became envious of his brother Abel and did him in.
This cowardly deed was done much to his Ma's chagrin!
"How dare thee slay thy brother, bringing disgrace to thy clan?"
"Just wait 'til thy Pa gets home, young man!"
As a lad even Jesus was not immune from this threat.
On one occasion He had His Ma in a most terrible fret,
When he dawdled at the temple expounding on God's plan!
"Just wait 'til thy Pa gets home, young man!"
Young Washington, it is alleged, went on a hacking spree,
Chopping down his Pa's favorite cherry tree.
Ma attempted to box his ears, but her he outran.
"Just wait 'til your Pa gets home, young man!"
Feckless youths from their Ma's have heard that dire phrase.
Any denial of their transgressions, 'tis useless to raise.
They'd prefer to hear their Ma utter any other expression than,
"Just wait 'til your Pa gets home, young man!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
I was leanin' on the fence slurpin' a mug o' joe,
Admirin' my neighbor's garden and watchin' Harry hoe.
"Harry, Harry", I asked, "What makes yer garden grow?"
"I spread oodles of fecal matter on each and ever' row!"
Clyde spent an afternoon guzzlin' Coors in his neighborhood saloon.
He swore he saw a cat play a fiddle and a cow jump over the moon!
He was so sozzled that he was taken to a clinic to recover from his swoon,
And it was there that he was certified to be wackier than a loon!
Humpty Dumpty fell from a balcony splattered upon the street below!
Was he shoved, was he soused or suffered an untimely bout of vertigo?
He was a fairly 'bad' egg from what is heard from pals in the know.
It was just 'rotten' luck that his fragile shell couldn't withstand the blow!
Little Jack Horner sat in a corner devourin' a large pizza pie.
He furtively sipped some brew and was gettin' rather high!
His momma was aghast at such behavior and confiscated the beer.
"Just wait 'til yer Pa gets home" said she and boxed him on the ear!
For nigh on thirty years since he and Ma had married,
Pa had a breakfast table routine that never, ever varied!
The menu was standard - bacon, fried eggs and gravy bread,
And no one dared bother him 'til the Daily Gazette he'd read!
The family bowed their heads as he offered a desultory grace,
Then he grasped the paper, thence, his clan seldom saw his face,
Except his eyes now and then glaring over the top of the paper,
If someone talked, sneezed or perpetrated some irksome caper!
From behind the paper came a cacophony of slurps and snorts,
And an occasional "dag nabbit" if an article put him out of sorts!
Ma was ready in an instant with more coffee - she knew the drill,
When Pa, never lowering the paper, rattled his cup for another fill!
Sundays were different - he hid behind the paper in his easy chair,
As Ma and the kids marched to church leaving him discomfitted there!
If the daily rag was not delivered or suffered some minor delay,
Pa's day was ruined - he didn't have very nice things to say!
The kids were excused, eyes glued to the paper he mumbled "goodbye".
They left scratching their heads wondering, "Who was that guy?"
Their conjecturing of who it might be was never quite complete,
Since they seldom saw the elusive face behind the printed sheet!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Received