How peaceful is the snowglobe village
resting in its protected place
high atop grandpa’s knicknack shelf,
the one he keeps out back in his private space
The woodshop smells like new cut cedar
while the old radio plays jazz-time concertos,
outside the birds take turns at the feeder
and grandpa tells stories of days in the village.
He remembers the names of children at play
and the brook as it rambled and babbled nearby,
he said he’d go back but the village was razed
then pavemented over for a super-highway.
Raging Rats Rush & Race,
Rippling, Rustling & Restless.
Rooted Roger Rocks in Relief
Reckon Rats Rambled to Rill.
Ripples of Rivulet,
Rapsody of Raindrops,
Resounding Roar of Relief
Roger Rejoicing
Since a girl I have rambled,
down green forest paths on hikes;
roaming the woods around home,
wanting to wander beyond.
I . . . a nature wayfarer,
collecting rocks and odd things;
on my walk !
I played the flute for a rampaging elephant.
She hesitated, then flashed a forlorn tusk
and rambled on...
She trampled a greed-pocked society.
Gored its steel hook-wielding keeper.
and his forty-year reign of chained isolation.
Men with rifles arrived, experts at finalizing freedom.
It took 200 bullets, give or take, to bend her ancient knee.
She trumpeted to her kin, long ago marked for death...
Profits cut away from their gray mountain heads.
I played an Ivory flute for an angel elephant.
As she slid into the mist of a waterfall ascension.
Upon a grassy hill, so long ago,
our lovely, old Victorian-style home
was built in eighteen eighty-six, aglow
with cozy rooms and firesides burning bright.
So charming were the winding stairs that flared
neath the cathedral ceiling's chandelier.
Outdoors, a rolling lawn and gardens spread
beside a stony brook that rambled on.
A time I still remember- Christmas Day
in nineteen fifty-three- age fourteen then,
and I recall those very special hours
at home, so cozy, warm with my loved ones
of many generations, happily
around the sparkling tree with old-time trim
of bubble lights, glass balls, and Christmas songs
playing softly on the record player.
Extended family- my mom and dad,
grandparents, brother, cousins, uncles, aunts-
spent happy hours, and such a blessed time
was shared as peace and love were felt by all
as I, once the youngest, now the oldest
generation, carry on that spirit
and make traditions last, to someday be
my children and grandchildren’s Christmas past.
Today again, I went to go teach, totally unprepared.
And fearing the principal would come observe me had me so scared,
I rambled through the room, floundering and fluttering.
And then a student asked, "Mr J, why are you muttering?
Do I sense maybe ~ you're just a little bit impaired?"
I swore
over and over
and
over and over
Forever
to love her
no matter
the whim
But time
after time
as each siren
would call
I rambled
and left her
my nose
— in the wind
(Dreamsleep: December, 2024)
We all stood up to let the witch-doctor work
He rambled and cried, and screeched with a jerk
Her HMO would pay for no other service but his
He has a contract with them, and it is a whiz
Other doctors stood around watching him shake
Recognizing now the sound his rattles make
He howled like a wolf and pounded the bed like a bear
No doubt the frightened lady was getting great care
prim and proper she sits in the back seat
going to a birthday party is always a treat
Her parents were throwing advice her way
She did not care, she was here to play
She knew the birthday girl really well
The party would be super fun and swell
They rambled on and on in the front seat
She did not care, going to a party was a treat.
His soul alive when he rambled
Hours and hours upon end
Being alone with mother nature
His one and only true friend
Confined, suffocated between four walls
He needed to roam free
Through the mountainous hills and countryside
Of wildlife, rivers and trees
He was a loner by choice
A rambling spirit since a child
Innate to his whole being
His heart and home the wild
The local folk called him “The Rambler”
As no-one knew him or his name
Sometimes at dusk high on a hill
A distant silhouette is seen rambling the rugged terrain
I asked about her family.
She started to say “to make a long story short.
her story went on and on and on
There was a barn, a country road, a duck pond.
It rambled and ambled,
My eyes were scrambled.
It was my third yawn.
She reiterated “to make a long story short”.
I was fighting the fight but my eyes were closing.
This was the most boringest boring speaker I had ever heard talk aloud.
I was snoring soundly the third time I heard her say,
“to make a long story short.”
The next time I will ask her to please make a short story long
or...
I will simply run screaming in the opposite direction.
Whenever I look upon his poems
I wonder: Why so many words today,
words concerning so many things, expressed
so aimlessly as if to meet a deadline?
He must have so drifted, rambled,
this way or that, who knows?
Today - or was it yesterday? -
he wrote of the creature who lives next door.
Oh, human, of course, but this is how he thinks.
This week - or was it last?
Is this the way poets work,
writing many words, throwing some away, using few?
Perhaps he astounds his own senses.
Neighbours always seem like that.
Neighbours! They always seem to be
there and here and there.
Just like these, oh so many quite odd words,
today or yesterday or tomorrow.
What rambling, meandering!
Is there no way to halt, stop, cease?
(9 Oct 2023)
Eve was the one woman not born of a woman.
Was she then a magical sprite or a demon?
No, she was a unique creation from the rib of man.
Meticulously fashioned as per God’s special plan.
She became Adam’s companion and mate.
His sense of loneliness she did abate.
In the Garden of Eden, they rambled free.
In its centre there stood a fruit laden tree.
God forbid them from eating its fruits.
But Satan told them, it had great attributes.
Fools they were to fall into his temptation,
They ate it incurring God’s condemnation!
Got my Dictionary of Quotations,
The Greek Myths of Robert Graves,
Plutarch for beginners’
How The Ancient World Behaves;
Back at the Paranoia Poetry Club,
Local Intellectual Branch
And that collection of books
Might just give me a chance
Of understanding the words and
What on earth they’re talking about
Because the first time I went
I understood precisely nowt.
Must spoke with cultured voices,
Some rambled and some muttered,
Word following word following word
Crammed and packed and cluttered.
But all spoken with confidence
About what they felt mattered
And, my ignorance being exposed,
I sat both deflated and shattered
I’ve got the book of Popular Philosophy
The Book of Modern Scientific thought
Gambling on the hope and presumtion
That wisdom can be bought.
I could not let go, I was in love.
She’s not for you they told me,
But I was deaf and perhaps dumb.
I just could not let go.
She sauntered along the street,
Flaunting her new dress and yet
She did not look at me even though
She knew I was watching her every
Curve, her slim figure, her lovely eyes.
Go on, they said. We dare you,
Ask her out, a dinner or a dance.
But I was a daydreamer and dared not.
I would have hated her saying “No”.
Thus the days just rambled by.
Dejected I simply stared and yearned.
Went to places she would frequent,
Knowing she had eyes for all
But she never even glanced at me.
Then something sparked and I crossed
To the other side of the street,
Calling her name. Still dazed
I did not see a car driving straight at me.
The injury was slight, all would be well.
For near my side she sat in anxiety
Hoping we’d be able to talk
And become what I had always hoped:
My very first true beautiful love.
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