Feel as tho' I'm going to the dogs
it's almost time to pop my clogs
kick the bucket chuck it in
call it a day take a spin
and shuffle off this mortal coil
be released from worldly troubles and toil
buy the farm and bite the dust
or cash in my chips if I must
when D-Day dawns (it's not that far)
a big bang send-off will be my last hurrah
but it's no joke
as should I croak
who will miss me
when I'm long-gone
for no matter where on earth I am
I don't fit in I don't belong
oh well easy come easy go
whether up in smoke or down below
In my life I may as they say
have accomplished a thing or two
but I've not made the mark
I so dearly wished to do
altho' having trod the boards
where mighty giants once stood
the rug was always pulled out
in many a good neighbourhood
never had it made in the shade
fame and fortune eluded me
a one-man band on parade
anonymity included me
sailing off into the sunset
is not quite the right thing to do
nor is going down with the ship
in the yonder wild blue
and yet if my get up and go
has not got up and gone
I'd like once more to bring it on
before fading away into oblivion
Think that you might agree with me ,there is no way easier to pen a poem,
Than writing it right here, on your poetry home.
There are no characters to remember, no details that you have to keep together, with a mental hook!
In a short poem, like a haiku, there are only three lines!
It doesn’t take a notebook,stop wasting valuable time!
Writing poetry to me is as easy as visiting a nunnery!
Go get to work with, joy and write down all your funnery!
Plus, you don’t have to store your poetry anywhere at all!
You can just put it right on this site any fortnight, any season at all!
So what I’m saying is, that writing poetry here~~is no big bear!
Poetry Soup stores it online, so there is not even a piece of paper to tear!
3/11/2025
Hurrah, hurrah, it's the last hurrah,
before the return of a once dead Son.
What once was will cease to be.
We will have to face our mortality.
Alone we’ll stand to be judged.
We can only hope we've done enough.
The Word was given. Did we listen?
Judge not of others, their fate their own.
It is yours who's endangered when you walk alone
When our time has come, there's nothing to be done for by then it will be too late.
a red-orange golden glow
covers faded summer leaves-
autumn's magic brush
autumn artistry
Monet landscapes every day-
last hurrah before snow falls
their bright shawls carpet the ground-
winter, standing by-
before long, tree limbs are bare
December 9, 2022
Contest: Triple New Charlieku Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Charles Messina
Non-Traditional Haiku
Syllables Used: 7-7-5, 5-7-7, 7-5-7
Steep slate slopes glow in autumn gold
Below jagged white aretes.
Strong young men hunt among the crags
Pursuing choice chamois and deer.
Valley maids harvest purple grapes.
Laughing children mash-dance in vats.
Women stir yeast to set the brew
And lid and cork some oaken casks.
Auld men rest warm on terrace slates
Of a sunlit vine-wrapped arbor,
Slowly sipping first blush vintage,
Telling tales of mighty hunts.
Bright eyes eager for fontina
Laughter and motsetta slices,
Raising glasses filled with Syrah
To toss their years a grand hurrah.
Their hearts are on the mountain highs,
But sunset colors paint their eyes.
Hurrah or hooray
Does it matter
How you say,
Or spell the words
On that happy day
When we hear
The dreadful virus
Has gone away
A SOLDIER’S LAST HURRAH
By
Robert E. Welch, Sr.
November 7, 2020
He was sitting at the table,
His coffee in his hand.
Not caring where he was,
This sad and lonely man.
The years that he had lived
Totaled ninety-nine and one
His memory was going
Of days when he begun.
He fought the war in Germany
With medals on his chest.
Then came home to family
Who said he was the best.
Now he sits alone at home
With none to share his fame.
Often asking for his friends
Though none had ever came.
Then a young boy came along
To hear the tales of glory.
The old man closed his teary eyes
And began to tell his story.
He passed away that very day
To walk the streets of gold.
Saying “Thank you, Lord, this last hurrah,
My one last story told.”
Like Ken, ever on his last sail -
a soul slipper asway on gales …
Some loves shall lead these ending days
Tapering the winding display ~
High mountain air before lungs crush
Umpteen stars to drink ‘fore eyes hush
Rivers cold to shiver the numb
Rivers bold will quiver to dumb
Away, away, this last hurray
Hie now to float the scented way ~
(8/29/20: '96 Sea Ray Express Cruiser 400; DMS)
Summer is ending; we can feel it
But we pretend we cannot
Slater our corn-on-the-cob with butter
Cutting generous slabs of watermelon
Ignoring the Back-to-School sales flyers stacking up in our box
July is the last hurrah.
The month we celebrate as wildly as we can
Knowing reality will soon set in
And school will begin
Because August is peeking her head in July's window.
A worthy cause
‘gainst daunting odds
A chance to set the world aright
Truths to be told
With hero bold
To champion a noble fight
‘tis all I ask
A final task
And while I still have beating heart
For win or lose
To fight I choose
For then I’ll know … I did my part
Cars line the curb - last hurrahs,
the last of pseudo praises,
or as Mom would say in the midst of a eulogy
"Do I know this person"?
Praises never thought of
while life strode so proudly blind.
As the bumble bounces on the hydrangea,
sadly, other blossoms are forgotten
while the most proud was overappreciated.
How many days/years until
my blossom is forgotten - left to pink
and wither in winter's shadow
then pale and blown away
before spring knows it's missing
...or even cares.
I'd much rather a fist raised in anger
and celebration "The bastard's finally dead!"
- Not a whisper when parting,
"You got a tee time for Monday?"
The cars line the curb, yet will they leave
simply thankful they came "for the family"
or will they give a damn … pause and say
"I will miss him".
last hurrah
for the school of fish
a bowl for two
04.19.18
1st place
"Fish" themed
hosted by M. Talbot
A final hurrah in our rosebed-
the last Summer colours
palette the foreground
Ha ha a hullabaloo shouting hurrah is neither a hooked hippo nor a hollering hake. So dive into the deepest depths of an ocean globe and always wear a pretty apron or a pair of skin tight leather trousers when doing this brave and dangerous act. For it is a feat not a foot nor a fighting feet. Podiatrist arrives with a blanket for a podiatrist without a blanket can get very cold instead and be more comfortable in and on calves rather than see and view the mischievous and painful crusts on foot teeth. It is the voluminous veins. Wow. It is the talismanic treatment taking trauma. And a half kettle of ketchup! Watching. Ha ha a little button balancing on a ledge give hundred feet up. Xxxxx polypeptides Z z Z
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