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Best Poems Written by Jim Dunlap

Below are the all-time best Jim Dunlap poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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A Golden Brooke

He lives upon a printed page,
marching golden in a dream.
His words described a brighter age --
which quaffed the milk and lapped the cream.
Fate brought him forth to love and live --
scion of a proud and noble race.
All he sacrificed and all he'd give
was deeply marked upon his face.

No gold survives the final frost:
in his prime death carried him away.
In wars, a nation's best are lost;
as then it happens still today.
    His home was England, vale and hill;
    across the years, he's with us still.

Copyright © Jim Dunlap | Year Posted 2019



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Don't bother me right now, dear -- I have to watch the game

Don't bother me right now, dear -- I have to watch the game! /center>
The pipe beneath the kitchen sink has sprung a nasty leak, But he's afraid the plumber will label him a geek; And he won't leave the t.v. to even take a peek. She calls for him to help her, but the answer's still the same: "I really don't have time, dear; I've got to watch the game!" Their anniversary has come again, and she's putting on the heat. Going out for dinner would really be a treat -- Yet just to leave his t.v. for him's a pointless feat. She's asked him and she's begged him, but the answer's still the same: "You'll have to go alone, dear; I've got to watch the game!" She hears the ringing of the phone, and answers it to hear, "Your mother's had a stroke, and she will die, we fear." But when she yells the news in, he says, "Get me a beer." She's putting on her overcoat when she hears him call her name: "You'll have to go alone, dear; I've got to watch the game!" Then one day, he hears sirens, sounding very near, But since he's watching t.v. and sucking on a beer, When the roof falls on him, he doesn't even hear. For as the house is burning, he has to bear the blame: He ignored the smoke and fumes so he could watch the game. POTPOURRI, February, 1992

Copyright © Jim Dunlap | Year Posted 2019

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A Portal to Glory

Should Death be arrogant and proud,
Or slink like villains plotting harm?
Should it come open-face, shouting alarm,
And crying prophecies out loud?
Is Death the villain, spoiler, thief --
Harbinger of our last Apocalypse?
Is it a messenger whose coming slips
Past pain and opens doors for grief?
No. Death is but an entryway to Life
That holds us true and lights the Way
To horizons far beyond our mortal clay:
It ends for good all ill and strife.

  With answers to all our questions immutable,
  We'll penetrate, at last, the inscrutable.

Copyright © Jim Dunlap | Year Posted 2019

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A Horse, A Horse, Of Course, Of Course



A Horse, A Horse, Of Course, Of Course

For horses, horse flies,
For humans, shame,
But horses don't kill off
The halt and the lame.
It's apples and oranges.
My, what a surprise.
Horses don't deal in
Deception ... and lies.
Just stop and think.
A no-brainer ... of course.
To have a clear conscience,
One needs be a horse.



 from a poem by Jane Hirshfield


I have permission to use the phrase from her poem, and she signed the original of this poem, which I still have.

Copyright © Jim Dunlap | Year Posted 2019