Long Ernest Poems
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Its a conundrum to me.? In Ukraine i see; farmers
Complaining they can't farm' because of wars harm
The E U did help, droppling tariffs no stealth.'
In Holland its different..There the farmers are punished
Net zero ' and soundbytes don't encourage' the rulers
Are hostile.' yet eye the farmers lands in ernest.' again
I hear of shortage of foodstuffs, because of whatever.?
Or is it really all bleather.? In Holland they can't farm for
To the eco, they could cause harm? Yet there is much
Green help to Ukraine uranium shells? all is fair game.' Its
Zippe de do dah..' no masks now though i note ho ha..'
With unsanition and war scars, i did see them initially
2022 it just stunned me, i sense oxymoronica why would
Russia invade, in the plan-demic? Such a deadly epide
mic'
Its really not clear to me? Maybe others here could offer
Clarity.? Part the mud so I could see, any plan for humanity
For b evaluation it escapes me.' Apart from absurdity.!
remember those days we sat
over looking railroad tracks
picking up rusty metal E's
while collecting long cattails
to burn keeping the mosquitos
at bay while my eyes were
dazzled by lightening bugs
we'd catch placing them
in mason jars sometimes
my cousin would put them
on my ears for glamorous jewels
i fancied that as we sat reciting
hymms humming throughout
langley street leading straight to
our lady of the gardens entrance way
funny how long four o'clock took
opening her flowers right at mass
the gentle way you tended
to my scars on my knees
after a long run of hill deal
at george washington carver school
retrieving golf balls just to tee off
before big momma called us
for dinner i was so young then
our time will never end you were all that i had
much more than that you were my dad
written by Yolanda Nicholsen
in loving memory of my Dad
Ernest King Community Organizer
Altgeld Gardens
1126 E. 131st
Chicago Illinois
Come February
This is the last day of January 2026
It has been a long month; my surgery took
more out of me than I thought
I have shrunk the trousers' legs too long. I have
to fold them so they do not fall over
I have been thinking of Ernest Hemingway
He had a gun and knew how to use it
I never had a weapon; one needs a license, but I could
Say it is for protection
If I ask for one bullet, they will say I need
a clip, how many bullets are there, six?
I'm painfully sober, a glass of red wine wouldn't
Come a miss, I'm optimistic with a drink
Again, I think of Ernst Hemingway, who avoided
the indignity of old age
midnight hour...
this sky is as full
as my mind
as i sit here
trying to connect stars
like thoughts
i can almost hear you
in the whisper of winds
filling the voids of loneliness
in temporary stifled breaths
as they rise and fall
around me
i can almost see you
breaking through shadows
as they dance
on walls
beneath the iridescence
of this moon
peering in at me
through this window
as if staring into my soul
through passageways of time
to close my eyes
would make you mine
even if only
momentarily
i long to feel your lips
brush against mine
in a blush of passion
feel your hands
caress the edges
of my existence
draw your scent
into my final breaths
before drifting to sleep
yet i sit here
watching time
beat faster
than my own heart
as the midnight hour
slowly wanes
with loneliness
knowing either way
..."I am the master
of my fate"
02/04/2020
Famous poetic lines 2
Sponsored by Silent One
"I am the master of my fate" William Ernest Henley
“Close to the western summit there is the dried and frozen carcass of a leopard. No one has explained what the leopard was seeking at that altitude.”
— Ernest Hemingway, The Snows of Kilimanjaro
Close, but close to what, he asks himself
to God, or to the end of things?
the question looms, an icy wind that stings
western sun belies the deathly chill within his bones
summit slain, an unread book upon the shelf
there is this urge that drives a man,
is hard to grasp and harder to expound -
the constant forward press that leaves each
dried, unquenched, though verdant green surrounds,
and yet, to feel within one’s core, the source just out of reach
frozen by fear of somehow missing out, his
carcass now grows cold, a mind adrift, in search
of times of youth and days of old -
a man possessed will rid these thoughts no sooner than a
leopard sheds his spots
No real concern is given to the
one who comes behind, who likewise seeks -
has he a thought of how his end will be
explained? to whom? they either understand or know not
what lies just ahead beyond this snowy peak
the sadness of the unattended field such sown - the
leopard lives and dies alone, but for the joys of spring
was this Creator’s plan for us? i don’t think so -
seeking, He’s found in places pressed and low,
at heights, without, does but exhaustion bring
that one might scale the highs, seek out, explore -
altitude, we find, a perfect metaphor
Parody of "Casey At The Bat" with apologies to Ernest Lawrence Thayer
The outlook was quite brilliant for the high school stud that year—
the senior prom was coming up, and Casey had no fear.
The babe he hoped to take he knew would happily comply,
for Casey was quite popular, the envy of each guy.
And she, of course, was stunning, in a Barbie sort of way,
and any fellow would be proud to date her any day!
There was ease in Casey's manner, a real confidence infusion—
that she would smile and tell him 'yes' was a foregone conclusion.
For Casey was the captain of his high school football team
and she was head cheerleader, with a face that made boys dream.
Deciding he would ask her to the prom with a sweet note,
composed in a romantic style, which late one night he wrote.
Next day at lunch, the courtyard packed with hustling and bustle,
wearing the shirt that he picked out that best showed off his muscle—
approaching boldly, Casey handed her his heart-shaped note.
His dream girl read it, then looked up and softly cleared her throat.
Oh, somewhere in this favoured land the sun is shining bright,
The high school pep band plays somewhere, and high school hearts are light;
And somewhere boys are laughing, and somewhere schoolgirls shout,
But there's no joy in his world—mighty Casey has struck out.
Written 25 Dec 2020
A night for Romance
Wes at on an upturned boat of the type of “the old man and the sea.”
by Ernest Hemingway used, the night had all the ingredients needed
for romance, full moon and glittering stars on blue velvet.
She gave herself to me, how trite and old fashion this sentence sound
nevertheless, it was so, sixty years ago.
I gave her a cheap wristwatch bought in Genoa it was hopelessly slow.
I think it was in some small seaport in Guatemala or some other
the port on the coast of Latin America and the year was 1964.
Then the night paled I could see my ship it was ready to set sail
to some other destination. And so many years later her kisses
still lingers on my lips.
It was old Woody that lured me with
Dust Bowl Ballads and so much more
Telling stories of a West
That I'd never heard before.
I was with the Okies as
They travelled down the road
Got a new hero from
The Ballad of Tom Joad.
Then on to Steinbeck
Faulkner, Williams, Hemingway,
Until dreams of America
Filled my teenage day.
The whole world exploded with
The advent of Rock 'n' Roll
And once again Americana
Captured my heart and soul.
I learned of Jimmie Rodgers
Hank Williams, Ernest Tubb,
All founder members in my
Exclusive Country Music Club.
Dylan, Van Zandt, Steve Earle,
Guy Clarke, and that's how I found
The huge variation in that loose
Genre, the Country Music sound.
It's been a part of my life
A very constant friend
Too late to change now and so
They'll be with me until the end.
I listened to those story tellers until
They influenced the way I write my verse
So it's my American Dreams
For better or for worse.
The journey back
The trail
An Author of books
“FOR WHOM THE BELLS TOLL” my look
From Miami to Key West
The whom being I
4 hour venture to tour Ernest Hemingway’s house in Key West, Florida
Through his writings encouraged me to write
Extending my own words into theory
Mr. Hemingway being the vision of what words can be, and illustrating thoughts
The whom being can
The glance and grasp
I did a critical analysis of my College English 101 Professor’s Assigned I chose “FOR WHOM THE BELLS TOLL”
I got an A for my analysis of the book
Ernest Hemingway was an impact
His words bringing fact
His accomplishments are hard to keep track
Ernest Hemingway write up
Analysis complete.
Charles Bukowski
I read a fine essay written by a friend of mine, Bukowski
I thought he was a great poet and writer, whether the high
table of the educated literate think, or not because from
where he wrote, the side streets of life, unfamiliar to them.
Many famous writers/poets drink; I think this is because they
have finished writing for the day, they feel empty inside
alcohol salivate the sense of tristesse, meeting friends for
drinks as whisky and conversation flows
Ernest Hemingway was a heavy drinker, which is overlooked
by his admirers, he had been to Paris, the middle-class son
of a doctor; his drinking had charm, the fishing and shooting
When I read Bukowski’s novel the “post office” I remember
opening the book, a rainy afternoon, absorbed by his art
I lost track of time; I followed his journey doing menial tasks
The boredom of having to make a living when all he wanted
to do was to write against the odds; he did write and gave
us, the beauty of his soul.