Best Straw Hat Poems
Flip flops and straw hat adorn him, beach wear suits him nicely
Kind is he to her as he scoops into a bucket measuring precisely
Casted are his piteous passions in sunstruck warm sands
Gently shaping and capturing her likeness, she is in skilled hands
Stooping over chin to knee he bares bronze shoulders glimmering
Her features delicate, her hair etched in his mind flowing, shimmering
An energy is sensed as sand and water caress through his fingers
Behold if only Aphrodite answers his prayer, he pauses and lingers
Recollection clears a birth, breath of life be given this inanimate object
A saintly face faintly appears, he’s fallen in love with his imminent project
Sculpting feminine curves slowly surfacing, an hourglass figure shaped
An alluring amazon controls his very soul, an apotheosis angel draped
Belief in a statue which comes to life, vehemently pangs the phenomenon
Alas the last touches fini, fervently he unveils his seaside Pygmalion
And without further ado, emerging from the ivory sand, he prizes
An obsession his idée fixe at the edge of the pier, a sand goddess arises
Encage us we are of collective souls
Display us in prisoned wallpaper as ghouls
Send us into these sepsis tanks, in tin cans
in torture dungeons, in faraway lands
Mistaken for us are the migrants
who don’t belong in our black hole,
ripped from their family’s arms,
and broken, it has a toll
Try to discern, unchain me,
give me the time of day
I’ve not done any of what you say
I’m here, do you not see me?
I’m tucked in all of your publicity
Before us you stand prestigious -n- tall,
your toughness shared inside our halls
Donning is the blood red Maga cap a telling of your gang
and Jackboots as they were worn by the Sturmabteilung
Wings reinforced by the sword’s blows, in your case
against the chains that contain, and any empathy inside
Keeping you safe an expressionless speech,
seal the deal it shall seal my unmerciful fate
Judged and sentenced without any assemblance
I see right through your imminent coarse leather, and
by the end of your reign, hard you’ll fall
And later the field forces in which you thrive
rotting torn in shreds, but still alive,
as shall be fathers ripped away from family
Have you not exhausted every remedy for me?
Infection is your reasoning,
concede for me and it shall be litigation of guilt
Rewards you’ve given, they’ve taken
and so, forsaken I be
Regardless of it, they have me in error,
as prison wallpaper
I work in the fields, a visa allows it
I wear pastel colors, a straw hat covers
possessing no tats, what of straw hats
What of straw hats?
The last time I took Pop to the big lake, the wind was so strong,
it nearly blew his wheelchair over, I knew just where to stop...
at the top of the hill, the windiest place!
I left him alone, he just looked out on the lake unblinking,
rewinding moments, that made him who he was.
In days past.....
He told me the story of his best friend in high-school, who wanted
Dad to go along with him duck-hunting on that sunny, warm morning in fall...
1940, Dad had promised my Mom (not yet married!) he would go with her
on a picnic in the bluffs along the Mississippi.... so he declined.
From sunshine and 70... to freezing white-out conditions up and down the river,
many lives were lost that day, including my Pop's best friend....
the Great Armistice Day Storm lived on in Pop's heart...
Dad went to his friend's funeral.
Or the time.....
Dad took my Grandpa (Mom's Dad) on the first vacation he had
ever been on! Grandpa worked until he died...... the Company
he worked for had tricked him, letting him work 29yrs. 11 months,
and 28 days, then firing him two days before his pension would kick-in.
Pop took him fishin' for the first time in his life! bought him a straw fishin' hat too!
Dad kept baitin' his hook and Grandpa caught 6-fish before Dad could cast a line!....
Pop called him 6-fish Bumford after that! and us kids weren't allowed to touch
Grandpa's straw-hat from that fishin' trip..... Dad kept it on a hook in his work-room
in the basement, with the words "Six Fish Bumford...My Best Friend"
scrawled under it on the wall (I still have it)
In a while, I knew it was time to bring him back......he had finished
looking out on his life....
.......he was ready to go
Pass onto this thinking place
Pristine with luster and rhythmic textures
Bath in its heart-warming splendor
Here in this monolithic emerald patchwork
This relationship consoles your psyche
A pluck from here, a collection from there
A rack of tools and an now idle straw-hat
From the loam to dust that stick upon your shoes
A place to conceal with an atmosphere
Contiguous to the eyes embracing and rich
Time honored in its entirety
Carefully romanced by birds and creatures alike
I found you here in a home of comforts
Now your essence is complete
Behold the gardens of light and sound
As perfect as the gift given to man
A portrait flowering a secrete of love
Its scenery influences your center
Today and always
A thinking place
With a reflecting pool
Blackberry Memoir
Blackberries, round and glossy,
Always invite me to return
To dusty country summer afternoons
When languid waves of mirages
Puddle into shimmering hiatus.
From the gently swaying hammock
I hear the rattle of berry pails
To see my grandmother, in her straw hat,
Smile an invitation - come with her
Into the wild blackberry patch.
Like garter snakes that hide in the thorny brambles
Tangled canes slither across the sandy path
No perfect rows only prickly trailing briars
That soar from the heart of the thicket
In arching limbs to touch on summer skies.
Like raven tresses the blackberry fruit glistens -
Capturing sweetness from the glowing sun -
Purple stained fingers release the ripeness
Then hear it plunk in the berry bucket -
Delicious as raindrops in a summer storm.
Warm evening settles in contented sighs
Watching moonlight creep through tangled vines
When juicy blackberry pie warm from the oven
Arrives on clear plates with salivating praise
Topped with ice cream dripping down the sides.
When autumn strips the jumbled canes
To lie barren beneath the winter sun
My grandmother’s blackberry jam journeys
In reveries of summer days to come
When simple berry picking untangles life.
8-2-22
Contest: Your Thoughts on Blackberries
Sponsor: Matt Caliri
I won a lunch for two with Tom Sawyer
And there he was waiting in the foyer
He wore his best old straw hat
But was told "You can't wear that"
Good thing I'm a hayseed defense lawyer
Here she comes again,
That clip-happy, snippy crone who fancies herself a gardener.
What?
She is doing such a horrible job of it.
She clipped two of us unmercifully yesterday,
And we both had potential, talent, and gloriousness
These other buds can never hope to achieve.
Duck, my friends, hide.
The thorns are not doing a good job of snatching at her.
We need her cut up, and bleeding
So she will return to the house.
Love it that she has on a new straw hat with a gay ribbon.
Leopard spots; makes sense for her.
She is a leopard, leaping and crushing us, under her
Silly garden shoes with the decorative owls.
She is snipping and singing.
Hey!
Watch what you are doing you old hag.
Uh-oh. She is cutting this way.
Dhramn!
She got me!
in the mellow morn
a revelry of roses
pervasive heat, grapes
glossy trees tremble
day's marching into the gold
butterfly frenzy
the day star twinkles
entering doors and windows
housewarming party
a straw hat parade
in many styles and colors
boulevard boogie
Stonelick Lake is tranquil
Where cattails grow so tall
It's where the muskrat feed
Before winds of Autumn call
Along its banks, deer forage
With dark and darting eyes
They listen to birds sing out
So predators won't surprise
A boy wears his dad's straw hat
Stands in the cool lake grass
Spends the day, cane pole held
To fish in this lake of glass
The falling sun chills the air
As birds glide in color red
The boy's chores never done
He fished at the lake instead
11/9/17
I’m taking my camel to town,
do you got a problem with that?
I’m gonna get him some fresh water
and clean provender
What cha say,
they don’t sell to his kind?!
He’s the finest mottled brown,
this side of the Sahara desert sand
This camel got the blackest spots
mixed in
Proof that the sun
calls him his friend
While I’m in town,
I’m gonna buy my beautiful animal
a white straw hat
Do you have a problem with that?
Emily goes for a walk.
Emily was at the beginning of her sixty-fifth year,
She lived alone since her husband,Colin died in 2008.
Her life involved cleaning and maintaining the family home.
Not that there was any family really.
Her only friend was a stray cat called Elenore.
She lived in Sydney so the January weather was fine and hot.
Just the kind of weather for a walk.
She put on a white dress and a straw hat with a rose on it.
“Come on Collie lets get going” she said softly
She often spoke to Colin even though he wasn’t there.
Her walk took her passed the Wilson house. She stopped for a moment.
In the front garden were bushes of Lavender. It was glorious.
“ Oh look Colin its Lavendar.It always reminds me of our first date.
Remember you gave me some Lavender perfume as a present.
Oh it must have been 1988.I still love the fragrance.”
Her mind often drifted to the place where good hearts go.
And in that place Colin was always tall,dark and handsome.
Emily kept walking down passed the river and the park.
There was a garden filled with red and yellow roses.
She sat on a park bench and smiled at the beautiful flowers.
“Oh Colin I was never really a big fan of roses until you brought me some.
Do you remember when I was in hospital and I had to have electric shocks.
You brought me bunches an bunches of roses.
It was divine.The whole ward smelled of rose perfume.”
“Oh Dear the sun seems to be going down.I’m not sure where I am.
Is that you Colin.Are you there.I should like to go back now.
I can’t see my way back.Please someone help me.
Ahh I am so lost.”
“Don’t fret sweetheart. I will lead you home.
And when we get there I have a surprise for you I have placed Lilies in your room
So lets go back.Hold my hand dear heart and I will lead you home.”
Le Jardin De Ma Mere.
A frayed straw hat protecting silvery grey,
my mother got outside today!
Yellow, green, and white, her garden daisies smiled happy and bright.
I'll pick some for her, but never all.
Ma mere dit, "They are so
"fragrant,
pretty,
tall"
"Would you fill the vase in the hall?" "Oui" "Merci"
Her home, a place she could once roam alone, is now surrounded
by a daisy wreath,
her garden beauty and peace.
"A Whip-poor-will, bumble bugs, my garden feels like nature hugs"
A smile gently lights her face,
"You know this is my happy place" "Oui, ma mere"
Mais, mother tires easily. She is sick, you'd never know. She doesn't let
her pain show.
The captain of her chair, a blue pillow always resting there, hiding a tiny
tear.
"Forget me not" she whispers.
"Mother, your other favorite bloom, I can assume?"
I wheel her to her room.
She smiles at her grand bouquet.
It brought happiness inside today. "Merci, ma fille"
Ma mere me dit, "They are so
"fragrant,
pretty,
tall, in my garden I have it all"
"Merci mon amour.
"You're welcome Mother, J'adore"
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
You'll probably find me in my little garden
With my big floppy straw hat upon my head,
And dirt on my hands digging in rich black soil.
I'm always fiddling with my garden beds,
Planting ground cover between the plants,
Blue little petals with heart-shaped leaves.
Some bloom early and some bloom late,
But the anticipation is worth the wait.
A gentle breeze like butterfly wings
Lifts sweet aromas from my blooms.
Honeysuckles, alyssums and gardenias,
Flowers of reddish pink, purple and white,
Stretch and yawn towards the sun.
A true show that spoils the eyes and heart.
Please come and sit a spell and we can chat,
And enjoy my little garden of zen.
Ice tea or peach schnapps, if you wish.
For Sandy's Ivy's contest, 'My Own Little Garden'
Fishing
Under the shade of an out of the way Weeping Willow
with its branches hanging low
As a little boy then the man
I sit in peace, with serene feeling
Of heavenly nature
A mist of the tall green grass,
delightful colors, of mix white, yellows, purples
wild flowers and wild blackberries grow
I watch as the butterflies dance around the wildflower
and listen to the sounds of the birds
A slight breeze through the trees sends seduction natures smells to intoxicate
In my blue overalls, straw hat, fishing pole, and a can of earth worms
Fishing in the cool, clear stream watching
trout jump up to feed on dragon flies bouncing off the mirrored stream
Utilizing my daylight time fishing
Instead of undertaking a day’s endeavor
2/19/2015