Oklahoma August
Miracle Man
8/11/2024
The sun is now up,
and the sky’s all aglow.
What this day brings me,
I don’t fathom to know.
I sit in observance,
as puffy clouds float by.
Quite a big contrast,
to a robin egg blue sky.
My hope is that now,
I see August heat abate.
Or perhaps I’ll go somewhere,
that I can acclimate.
In my mid fifties I retired,
and it has now grown stale.
I register five of ten points,
on my contentment scale.
But I’ve much to be thankful for,
God has truly blessed my life.
This month is anniversary 59,
all with the same loving wife.
A country like no other,
Our citizens are like brothers.
Our country anthem,
Has made so many come.
Bring us your lost,
We will help them at no cost.
Bring your extended family,
You will all live happily.
My country tis for thee,
And all those in need.
The Oklahoma red dirt,
Is yours to convert.
Come join us in our country,
You won’t regret it, trust me.
Oklahoma, Texas Rivalry
Miracle Man
6/17/2022
I reside in a town that has a small lake,
growing up, with this lake I formed a bond.
Once, a visiting Texas friend gave me his take,
he said that in Texas it’d be considered a pond.
I look up into the sky I see it,
Getting darker and darker,
In those Oklahoma skies.
That feeling never goes away of,
The past memories of destruction,
Pain and loss of life.
It was getting closer and closer,
The clouds had dropped out of the sky.
I could see it the funnel cloud,
Laughing at me.
I could feel it making my heart beat,
Faster and faster and worse,
I could hear it.
That train sound that scorches thru,
Your veins knowing the pure evil,
And the fear it brings with it.
So I run, hide and cover because,
I know in my heart it is after me.
I got away so many times,
It infuriates him and so,
He searches for me.
Oklahoma
We were all in that building
White, Black and Brown
Old and Young
Americans all
His face, we know it well
He looks like us
America’s son
The face of America
The eyes so cold, so hard
They take our breath away
Cut deep into our hearts
The Soul of America
Laid bare for all to see
How can we understand?
How can we forgive?
We must never forget
Our Oklahoma
Oklahoma City Bombing
25th anniversary
9:02
April 19, 1995
April 19, 2020
Written: By Tom Wright
I only hear the silence as I stride,
twixt granite chairs neatly set in rows.
The 168 chairs epitomize each life,
now neath a sea of grass that grows.
Today my psyche visits this place,
albeit, here, their Spirits do not rest.
However, a Monument and Reflection pool,
usher memories, as if at their behest.
Still I visualize a chain link fence,
with images, blossoms, pandas and such.
A transitory memorial that reaches out,
to asphyxiated lives, as if to touch.
For certain, I dare not challenge,
the eternal rest, of those who sleep.
But pausing at each chair, in silence,
I recall this day's events and weep.
I would to God, that casualties,
could discern today, my thoughts about.
Then from the quiescence of this place,
would emerge an angelic shout.
For I tire of silence.
Oklahoma skies reserve a place for me,
when my last breath no longer is,
shoot my soul to the stars above,
a resting place where I can find peace and love.
Oklahoma skies reserve a place for me,
a change from years of living in strife,
waking up to days of ulcer living and worry,
living life in the fast lane of being in a hurry.
Oklahoma skies reserve a place for me,
as I sing this song for all to hear as a plea,
to find that special place as I play my guitar,
on a shining place to call my own star.
Oklahoma skies reserve a place for me,
where the angel doves fly and coo,
greeting me to a forever and peaceful rest,
adding to the blissful dreams of the best.
I'm living in Oklahoma
That green country fresh aroma
Life sweet as could be
All fine and dandy
Till I lapsed into an okra coma
When Len traveled to Oklahoma
to obtain a ranching diploma
a bull butted him hard
out in the training yard
and he but earned a hematoma.
... CayCay
July 25, 2019
State Limerick Contest
Oklahoma Flood 2019
By Tom Wright
Haiku
Much rain has caused floods,
Water sought its own level;
Nature, man can’t tame!
Most evenings, right around supper,
when the sky was streaked red
right before dark, the old man
would talk of Oklahoma-
the first time he hunted squirrel,
down by Coal Creek, and how
you could usually sense the rain,
long before it actually started.
How he caught a big crappie
on the Fourth of July, and how
it snowed that same year, first
white Christmas he had ever seen-
he recalled finding an old graveyard,
now at the bottom of Eufaula Lake-
whether the Corps of Engineers
moved it or not, he couldn’t say.
Mostly he remembered;
the damp smell of red clay,
and how on real clear nights,
he always wished on the stars
If the wishes came true
nobody will ever know,
now he’s there forever
beneath the stars
and damp red clay.
Winter is here there can be no doubt:
You feel it most when you must go out :
When water turns into ice from the cold:
To wonder out takes a spirit so bold:
So nice and warm here inside :
Bundle your self before going outside:
Leaves are crunching under my feet:
So thankful were not having sleet:
Leaves have fallen every where:
The cold wind is felt in the frosty air:
Here inside looking out visions a wonder to see:
However going out is a fright for me:
You can feel the chill into your toes:
Bundle up that frost bite nowe:
There are no lofty mountain peaks, nor inlets of the sea.
Just rolling plains for miles on end, where the wind blows wild and free.
And before we found the oil, what was there indeed?
Mild lands, so unadorned, unsuited for man's greed.
Perhaps that's why the sowers, the ones who came before,
Were so intent on fashioning, for their children, so much more.
What quiet beauty in the hands, that built this precious state,
Tis it not man's greatest gift? To till, and plant, and wait?
Knowing well the fruit will come, too late for us to taste.
And knowing still our choice was right, that others call a waste.
By the struggle of our fathers, and sons in years to come,
who's to speak the limit, of what we can become?
2 September 2017
Sunday is a balmy seventy degrees
out in out in shorts and short sleeves
enjoying the sun and breezy breeze
Monday is suddenly thirty five
you skin a bear for it's hide
and your throat is feeling dry
Tuesday has sleet and ten below
you suddenly can't feel your toes
Ice wind and frozen cold, capped by a foot of snow
Wednesday the sun peeks out again
feels like thirty because of the chilly wind
forget outside your staying in
Thursday and it's fifty now
your nose runs, your fatigue somehow
can't stop coughing anyhow
Friday and it's sixty-two
can't go outside for you got a flu
sleeping in is all you can do
Saturday and it's eighty-one
wow this winter as so much fun
Sunday's forecast high of twenty- one
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.