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David Brooks Poem
Wonder, wander, list and lust
to learn anew until you bust.
Read, search, question and look
for paths you thought you never took.
A world awaits, new kingdoms come.
New skies, new roads, puzzles done.
Machines man made, a technocrat
to realize some oft-quoted stat.
Never too old, and not too late
to learn and learn for learning's sake.
So open heart and open mind
Seek on. Seek out. It's learning time.
Copyright © David Brooks | Year Posted 2016
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David Brooks Poem
The Supper Table
by D.A. Brooks
Steam rising, sifting through
The kitchen air that we once knew.
Collards, peas and sweet iced tea,
Hoping they'd save some for me.
Sliced tomatoes, juicy red
Triangle cuts of hot cornbread
The smells from days so long ago
Still linger in my head you know.
Golden chicken, crispy fried
Countless veggies on the side
Knowing if we cleaned our plate
Our prize a slice of caramel cake.
The nine of us sat 'round each day
Waiting for a prayer to say
Then mannerly, we'd pass each dish
"A leg for me" was what I wished.
Now years have passed the four of us
Can fellowship and oft' discuss
Those simple times, those happy times
Those Momma, Daddy, Aunt Ruby times.
Now loud and laughing, fam'ly fables,
Around that supper table.
Copyright © David Brooks | Year Posted 2016
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David Brooks Poem
He raised his glass, then sipped his beer.
Gringos all then raised a cheer!
"To Mexico!" Hear them cry, "Oh!"
"Today is good old Cinco de Mayo!"
"To freedom for old Mexico!"
Their 4th of July so we've been told.
"The day they earned their independence."
"The day they won for their descendents!"
"Señor, I think your book has cracks.
I think you need to check your facts.
Our independence is in the Fall.
About us, you seem to have built a wall."
"Buenos dias, señor" he would say.
"And happy Battle of Puebla Day."
Oh my, who could ever tell?
"Happy Cinco de Mayo to you as well!"
Copyright © David Brooks | Year Posted 2016
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David Brooks Poem
Alone
Attentive, true
Watching, listening, alert
Not to be habitual
Solus
Copyright © David Brooks | Year Posted 2016
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David Brooks Poem
When your back it has an itch
and it's oh just out of reach.
And you sprain a muscle reaching.
Laugh out loud.
When you're dressing to the nines,
and your shirt's pressed just so fine.
Then discover buttons missing.
Laugh out loud.
Find the toilet in the dark,
begin to sit before you start.
But the toilet seat is up!
Laugh out loud.
Laugh at yourself each time
that you can't quite find the rhyme.
'Cause life can be a rhyme-less poem.
Laugh out loud.
The louder it can be
the better you will see.
That others join you in the fun, so
Laugh out loud.
Copyright © David Brooks | Year Posted 2016
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David Brooks Poem
There once was a driver named Dave,
Of his driving he often would rave.
Then one day on his own, drove and talked on his phone,
Now he's bragging about his new grave.
Copyright © David Brooks | Year Posted 2016
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David Brooks Poem
The delicate iris, long may it wave
through sun and rain, its blues to rave.
...rave on.
The steadfast rose, our eyes it pulls,
with reds so vivid, layers full.
...majestic always.
The varied and simple zinnia, sprites
with many friends. Many lights.
...countless colors.
The bellowing petunias in June.
Trumpeting its visual tune.
...sun lovers.
The sturdy pansie, defying its name.
Withstanding cold. Gaining fame.
...dying never.
And the violet snapdragon, arriving first.
Mid-March, attention its thirst
...sweet aroma.
Of all these little soldiers in her garden,
one outnumbered all.
Some stood short, some tall.
...she ruled.
She drew the butterflies, many friends
came calling, homage paid,
her nectar pungent, unafraid.
...blinding, bold.
O'er all the troops, she reigned.
Her yellows, truth foretold.
Brightest in the fold.
...the wondrous marigold.
More times than any other,
the favorite of my Mother.
More times the dinner's label.
Center of the table.
...the wondrous marigold.
Still to this day I see them,
and wish to go and free them,
from their tiny plastic cell.
...the wondrous marigold.
And still, I dream of that fair garden,
where love would surely smother
me with hugs from Mother.
...my wondrous, loving Mother.
...my loving marigold.
Copyright © David Brooks | Year Posted 2016
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David Brooks Poem
We fought, we laughed,
we wrestled in play.
For years, on the very same bed
we lay.
Into the night, we'd whisper and quiver,
under twenty quilts, we'd shiver.
Mom would always tuck us in
then the freezing cold began.
By three AM, she'd soon arrive
To see if we were still alive.
We shared one bed. One closet,
one chest
On which our Hai Karate rest.
Then summer came with heat
and sweat.
Whose pillow was whose,
we'd often fret.
Heat so hot, we bathed the sheets.
A fly and gnat and mosquito feast.
A window fan blew nice hot air.
That wet and humid room
we'd share.
That 'antique' bed, it creaked and dipped.
Under crispy sheets we slipped.
Jokes were told; prayers were said.
Thankful at least to share a bed.
Thankful at least to have a bed.
Copyright © David Brooks | Year Posted 2016
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David Brooks Poem
Stand and fight today?
But wait, for what do you say.
For the right?...Or nay?
Copyright © David Brooks | Year Posted 2016
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David Brooks Poem
If there's one thing
my parents knowed:
It was we had
a moral code.
Though mighty poor,
we behaved rich.
With manners taught
o'er a hickory switch.
At the table,
or sittin' on pews,
We sure as heck
knowed t'follow the rules.
Stealin ' and lyin'
just weren't a choice.
Nor cheatin' and fightin'
or raisin' our voice.
The children today're
no better or worse.
Though they might shout
And they might curse.
And though they might
have gone out and lied.
Fact is folks,
morals never have died.
Thankfully...
morals
never have
died.
Copyright © David Brooks | Year Posted 2016
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