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Robert A. Dufresne Poem
When we were young boys on our farm.
A fish tale never meant any harm,
We oft were given a look,
When from such a tiny brook,
We claimed a fish as long as your arm.
But then our neighbor named Meg,
Beat the fib and put us down a peg,
By claiming from the same brook,
With not a worm on her hook,
She caught a fish as long as your leg!
Well that truth was quite hard to beat,
Then Summer beat a hasty retreat.
Winter changed the fishing world,
Meg turned from tomboy to girl.
And now this fishing tale is complete!
For John Freeman's "Fishing Limericks"
Copyright © Robert A. Dufresne | Year Posted 2011
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Robert A. Dufresne Poem
Blissfully ignorant and supine,
Lost in the economy line,
voters don’t have a clue
that liberty is through.
Apathy dictates all else is fine.
People keep telling me how foolish I am,
but frankly I don’t give a dam.
I’m going to tell you what I see.
You don’t have to agree with me.
In hatred’s name Moslems prayed at the mosque,
boarded planes and three thousand we lost,
Soon we elected a Moslem president,
his books words and actions self evident.
To prove he was islam’s extremist hero,
He allowed a triumphant mosque at ground zero,
Freedom of religion is what they subtly called it,
by a government that continues to overhaul it.
The American people look on as if still numb,
singing his praises as if deaf and dumb,
while a pseudo democratic uncle Sam,
in a forced health care plan,
continues to turn out liberty’s lights
by destroying other religion’s rights.
Thus the American people’s democracy,
is morphed into a dictatorial hypocrisy.
While blindsided by a frantic economy,
we apathetically lose our autonomy.
Allowed by deaf and blind voters in a loud voice,
Fooled by not freedom but license they call choice,
sly appointment of people who fulfill the plan,
A long range one by the “new” Uncle Sam.
a champion of abortion, killing future contenders
him and Herod; another of the great pretenders.
“Enlightened Americans have one point two children per family,
because of abortion, birth control and contraception
Moslems have seven; which is the anomaly?
We Americans treat babies as an infection.
Laugh if you wish; I’m just exposing the path,
You “enlightened” Americans: you do the math.
Copyright © Robert A. Dufresne | Year Posted 2012
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Robert A. Dufresne Poem
If e're we could move that mountain from between thee and me,
where would be lament or reason to grieve?
How remove the hollow from the tree, or shore from the sea?
What left would there be?
What if ere the beam lost it's moon.
Or lovely Autumn raiment lost it's tree? What then would it be?
Can one sow the seed without the land?
Would this be what Powers planned?
The grief, the longing, oh, the heartfelt gaze,
The strife the loneliness, but a soulful phase.
A mountain surmountable, a hollow fulfilled,
A sea able to be, a beam again spilled.
A stage again for raiment,... a fertile valley for seed.
Our love could not be boundless without the bonds of these.
Copyright © Robert A. Dufresne | Year Posted 2010
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Robert A. Dufresne Poem
There was a nice lady named Bess,
Her age not many could guess,
Because when she put on her face,
Her age did erase,
But left the bathroom a mell of a hess!
Her husband was an electrician for hire,
He sat on a generator and licked a wire,
He toathted hith tongue,
And burnt up hith bung,
And now he always thits fire!
( I'm sorry. I tried hard but could not find any moral to this story.)
Copyright © Robert A. Dufresne | Year Posted 2011
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Robert A. Dufresne Poem
The name's Ike.
Some a ya might a met me before,
in my very first write,
and knew me as the stalker with the walker.
"Retired Romance" was the name,
Spoke about meetin' my wife,
She's here with me, name is Jane.
I likes ta call her the Mrs.,
cause I never thought that would happen again.
Now she like ta near smother me with kisses,
but gives me room ta write now and then.
We had us one of them honeymoons,
she says it ain't over yet.
But dang, if'n it ain't over soon,
we'll have ta call me in a vet!
Ennyways, I wanted ta give y'all a heads up
that I'll be a writin' from time to time .
We'd like ta thank y'all for the nice thumbs up,
'bout our first little Retired Romance rhyme,
and let y'all know that me and the Mrs. .. well..
. ..we doin' just fine !
. "Nite nite darlin."
Copyright © Robert A. Dufresne | Year Posted 2009
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Robert A. Dufresne Poem
Comfort food is a riddle,
Makes one soft in the middle
No matter how hard I try ,
When I smell food fry.
I drool a little spittle.
They say comfort food is in your head,
Unless you eat it in bed,
Then without any warning ,
You’ll wake in the morning,
With food in your sheets instead.
Some say they take ex-lax,
To help their bellies relax,
But if you do ,
Best head for the loo,
Before you leave some tracks.
So much for the comfort food story,
It’s obviously lacking in glory,
But if it succeeds,
In meeting your needs,
Let me burp it out .."I’m sorry".
Copyright © Robert A. Dufresne | Year Posted 2010
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Robert A. Dufresne Poem
Summer yawns at rest,
Autumn kaleidoscopes in
Ominous beauty.
Copyright © Robert A. Dufresne | Year Posted 2010
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Robert A. Dufresne Poem
...Now I ain't without notoriety,
Fact is.. I'm an old stalker with a walker.
She was big in the Purple Hat Society
and broke her hip,...while playing soccer.
When I met her, she was on the mend,
and she knew.. what I was after...
and I said I'd catch her when I can,
She said to push that walker a lil' faster.
She had her a "lectric wheel chair,
I just had my old walker and me,
she was pretty fast for a blue hair...
"till I crashed into her I.V. tree...
Well, they fitted my leg with plaster,
and I kinda forgot what I was after...
"till one day,
she wheeled in to see me,
Yep. Said she'd come ta free me!
Now we sit together,
cozy up and talk about the weather.
We compare wrinkled tatoos,
and guess what they are,
we may share a shot of booze,
we don't go too awful far...
We keep our orthepedic shoes
under the same bed,
and I retired as a walker stalker,
meals on wheels keeps us fed
and we keep our teeth...
in the very same locker.
("Nite Nite, Darlin.")
First of Ike and Jane sequence...Reposted to help PD with smiles request. : )
Copyright © Robert A. Dufresne | Year Posted 2011
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Robert A. Dufresne Poem
Oh sky look down on this earth of gray,
Something dreadful on the horizon looms.
There is no black and no white today,
Laws exist but justice is doomed.
Morality is labeled religion,
And must be separated from state,
Whose own religion is political correctness
And determining God's fate.
Oh heaven rain down on us,
Ae are tasting your tears.
Yes we've become that bad,
Confirming your fears,
That what has been done ,
Is being done again,
Those lessons taught,
Coming to naught.
Judges and laws make it legal,
To be rid of your innocent babes,
Under a symbol of the eagle,
God's loving justice betrayed.
Racheal you cry the tears,
That now only heaven supplies,
Because ours have dried,
In the dust of our alibies.
Excuses and lies are linked,
As you and I know well,
The truth is all but extinct.
Truth is foreign to hell.
Oh heaven, look down on this world of gray.
Something dreadful is watching and looms.
Is there nothing left but to watch and pray,
While Rachael wails by the dumpster tombs?
Copyright © Robert A. Dufresne | Year Posted 2009
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Robert A. Dufresne Poem
I began to tell of the two pens (my couplet) I always carry tucked away in my shirt
pocket, and of my humble closet which contains nary a pocketless shirt.
My thoughts drifted to what by.. and how I am inspired, when my love and I began speaking
of a subject very dear to me.
When we finished .... in what I believe to be an infused prayer,...perhaps inspiration to
some,... I saw what seemed to be liquid glass like droplets ..falling slowly from above ..
as a slow motion shower into an atmosphere of what may have been, space and time. I saw
no earth or sky.
These liquid glass droplets were falling without disruption through a pellucid barely
recognizable outline of a figure that I perceived to be a poet.
Somewhere from within I asked why the poet could not be lined somehow with a shell to
capture these apparently valuable liquid glass treasures. They were so clear that the
atmosphere through which they were falling, appeared as a gloom gray.
I understood that these treasures cannot be contained or retained. They must fall
through the poet who must also be like these liquid luculent treasures in order that these
particular gifts may come through the poet ..continuing to transform same and all others who
allow these treasures to permeate them.
There is no clearer description within me to give. ...
And then... I was no longer free and came back into the pain,
discomfort and seemingly bloated entity
within this shell.. that I call me.
Copyright © Robert A. Dufresne | Year Posted 2010
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