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Best Poems Written by Robert Gorelick

Below are the all-time best Robert Gorelick poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Robert Gorelick Poem

His wise council and kind patience bolstered my resolve
to overcome my youthful woes and nightmarish troubles solve.
His humanity may have saved my life. His memory I hold dear.
But whenever the name Mister James arose—
Other kids just called him q****—By Poet

It’s May of 1966. Mr. James gave us an assignment to write about happiness. Everyone talked about happiness, usually in terms of fame and fortune. But was that our definition of happiness? We were instructed to write an essay. I wrote that, although people saw happiness in terms of fame and fortune, for most of our time on earth, we had fame because we use to travel in small groups, and everyone knew who everyone was. We were all famous. If we lived, in say, a fishing village with a warm climate, we were all fortun-ate. Yet, even with all this fame and fortune, there’d still be happy and unhappy people. So, most of our happiness had to come from within. I was handed back my essay with a big A+ “This is insightful beyond your years. You’re a precocious young man!” This grade and comment saved me from some kind of breakdown. Maybe I was smart and good at something, even if I had to look up “precocious.”

I had entered English class with my shoulders slumped and my head down. I thought about the fable of the straw that broke the camel’s back. I don’t think that at the moment there was anyone but Mr. James I’d confide in. I didn’t know where to start. I spilled just about everything that was making me miserable and told him that I was beyond help.

Mr. James explained that junior high could really mess kids up. He admitted that he had spent three years in junior high but was spending the rest of his life dealing with it. With time and perspective, he’d developed empathy for kids going through what he’d gone through. Although he knew I’d find it hard to believe, I’d be a better person for it. He reminded me what I’d written in my essay: Happiness comes from within. He told me not to become “addicted” to negative thoughts, like people are addicted to cigarettes. As we talked, I felt a few straws lifted from my back. Before I got a chance to thank him for the talk, he asked me if my parents were coming to open house that night. He looked forward to meeting them.

My mom and dad talked about open house, describing all my teachers, what they thought about them, and what they had to say about me. My dad said that Mr. Lohr was a “red neck jerk” but Mr. Brio was the good, old-fashioned kind of gym teacher he had back when he was a kid in the Bronx. They talked about all of my teachers, except Mr. James. “Did you talk to Mr. James?” I asked, breaking the silence. I felt in my gut that something wasn’t right.
“Oh, yes. We sure did,” replied my mom with an odd half-
smile.
“Who’s Mr. James? Your make-believe friend?” asked my
sister, oozing sarcasm.
“No!” I responded angrily. “He’s my substitute teacher!”
Then my sister asked my mom with fake concern and politeness, with a phony English accent, “And how did you like Mr. James?” My mom stood up, hand on her hip, like an old-fashioned girlie pin-up. My dad shrugged his shoulders and said, “He’s a fagela”
“He’s gay?” asked my sister, giggling like it was a big joke.
“What does that mean?” asked my mom.
“You know—q****! Is he q****?”
My mom smiled derisively “Oh yeah. There’s no doubt about that!” I felt my insides go limp. It was like I was sitting with strangers. I imagined Mr. James as an eighth grader, being mocked and bullied by my mom, dad, and sister. My world, which had become so cruel, had become even crueler.

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Cat Possessd

Cat Possessed
          
                     Mrs. River got a black cat named Mr. Right
                      The day her husband disappeared from sight
                      Now neighbors all shiver
                      Is Mr. Right—Mr. River?
                      And what spell might she cast Halloween night?
                      
                      10/13/22

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Man of Words

Relaxing in my garden chair blessedly alone,
with my cup of soothing chai and Scottish scone.
No TV, computer, iPod, kith or kin,
my crossword puzzle I shall now begin.

So, an eight-word name for a Mayan sink?
A quika--I didn't even have to think!
As the sun clears the rolling hills afar
I'm done, a crossword superstar!

My Corgi Hal licks my face in congratulations,
as the sun-lit moor beckons her invitation.
Such a simple, sweet, tranquil pleasure,
Sunday morning crosswords, my priceless treasure.

2/14/23

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Tribute To Women

Mother Nature, Athena and Mother Earth
Apply wisdom and beauty to life
they're icons whose bounty has infinite worth
offering sustenance throughout strife

Mother Mary grants us mercy and love 
Our flag; long may she wave
Venus, the love god, shines above
Amazon women; so strong and brave

Accolades for such women never cease
Their value cannot be denied
Noble women of love, courage and peace
who we admire and in whom we confide

But women who aren't symbols, myths or gods
are never so grandly exalted
they may have value no one ever lauds
But for our original sin are faulted

This tribute is to women, here on earth
Thank you for your guidance and love
And for providing the gift of birth

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A Boys First Day

They taunt me one then the other
Push me—hurt pride—scattered books
Crying?   Go cry to your mother
laughing with smug contemptuous looks

Dark musty locker room, stripping for gym
Shouting, snapping towels at each other’s rear
Vice principle comes by looking grim
His volcano erupts—we’re silent with fear

Growing into a body odd and disgusting
Face oily and breaking out
Cursed with tormented lusting
I give up—What’s this about?

My mother asks me over dinner that night
How was your first day of junior high?
Not wanting to upset her, I keep it light
It was even better than I hoped, I lie

6/4/22

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The Rules Of War

We are admonished by guardians of civilization
to battle the enemy with due civil restraints
Yet with a nagging visceral realization
we know wars are not fought by saints

Rules of war shield all children from harm
disallowing rape and torture and pillage
soothing unease, assuaging alarm
reassuring every town, farm and village

Long ago Sherman warned us war is hell
as knowing heads bowed with grim words unspoken
Now lulled into another innocent naive spell
we learn again rules are meant to be broken

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In Memoriam

Love our enemies as ourselves
Let he who is without sin throw the first stone
Turn the other cheek
He who does wrong to the least of us
Does wrong to me
				Crucified c. 33

With malice toward none and charity toward all
If slavery is not wrong, then nothing is wrong
Let us listen to our better angels
				Shot—killed 1865

Heaven welcomes the decent of all faiths
God does not favor man above woman
All should be afforded the opportunity and
Means to rise above their caste
				Shot—killed 1947

One should not be judged by the color of their
Skin, but by the content of their character
Only the power of love can conquer hate
I may not get there with you, but I have
Been to the mountain, I have seen
the promised land
				Shot—killed 1968

Written 5/30/22

Details | Robert Gorelick Poem

Brix the Bullmastiff

In the bullmastiff's breast beats a heart of pure gold
A proud Saxon canine, true caring and bold
Ever steadfast, not trendy
Such an apt chum for Wendy
A real breed apart and a joy to behold

POEM OF THE DAY
3/14/23
(For Wendy Horder and her hunk of love Brix)
Written 3/13/23

Best Poems Written by Robert Gorelick

A Tale of Billy the Kid

Twilight Love

Mr James

Cat Possessd

Man of Words

Tribute To Women

A Boys First Day

The Rules Of War

In Memoriam

Brix the Bullmastiff