You See...There Was Just Too Many Of Us!
I smell my grandmother's molasses cookies.
Deep dish apple and peach pies.
And grape preserves she would make.
And my own mother's beautiful hair,
Before she grayed.
And 'overnight'...
Seemed to have aged.
As I sit and reminisce.
About so many things I miss!
I see my grandfather,
Working in the backyard.
In the shed.
Where he 'diagnosed' the engine...
Of an old truck.
With every part of it laid in pieces.
Each of them,
Carefully spread to keep them near.
'Don't...
Move,
A thing!
Or pick it up...
Because you're curious!
I got my eye on ya! '
I hear my father say...
'It is time to get your haircut, boy.
And when you sit in that barber's chair...
You bet not make a fuss!
And don't say nothing to annoy! '
I remember my aunts and uncles...
Rushing to pick apples, grapes and pears.
From an old pig farm,
Where Chappelle Gardens now sits.
In a neighborhood in Hartford, Connecticut.
I remember this as if yesterday!
And the whippings we all shared.
Regardless...
Of who or who was not actually there!
No one was spared.
'I don't care who did what!
All of you are getting it! '
My grandmother would say!
I remember rolling my eyes...
With wishes I could run away!
~Grandma, I didn't do anything.
It was her! ~
*No it wasn't it was him! *
**No it wasn't it was them! **
You see...
There was just too many of us!
And my grandmother didn't really care.
She just wanted all of us to know...
The punishment she dealt,
Would be quick.
Honest.
And fair!
Note:
Dedicated to my wonderful family.
When we (many of us) all lived in either Stowe Village,
And/or Bellevue Square.
Tenement projects.
In separate buildings AND apartments.
Back in 'the day'.
Love you!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Related quotes
My Grandmother Would Drive
My grandmother could make a biscuit taste like steak.
And she did everything from 'scratch'.
Including making her own soap too.
The only thing I disliked,
That my Grandmother Clara ever did...
Was to get her driver's license.
My grandmother would drive,
And have an entire conversation...
Without looking at the road!
I had heard rumors of this...
But to witness it,
Was right out of Six Flags.
Or Disney World.
Don't ask me how she did this.
I was too busy trying to keep myself alive.
That 'imaginary' brake on the passenger side,
Of my grandmother's car...
Had worn a hole through the carpeted car floor.
And my grandmother never got a speeding ticket either.
She turned to me and asked why I had the door handle,
In my hand when speeding along the highway.
I did not realize I had pulled the handle from the door.
She frightened the 'hell' out of me.
'Grandma, I gotta use the bathroom.'
~And...? ~
'Pee.'
~You bet not be doin' that in my car, boy!
Why didn't you say somethin' when we were at the carwash? ~
'I didn't think I had to THEN, grandma.
But driving with you has proved me wrong.
I think I've got to throw up too! '
The only thing I disliked,
That my Grandmother Clara ever did...
Was to get her driver's license.
She said she didn't need to wait,
For my grandfather to take her anywhere...
She wanted to go.
And rarely did I see my grandmother,
Using the rearview mirror.
Or...
Keep her eyes on the road.
'Grandma, I gotta use the bathroom.
I'm serious.'
~And...? ~
'Pee.'
~You bet not be doin' that in my car, boy!
Why didn't you say somethin' when we were at the carwash?
You slowing me. You slowing me down. Geeesssshhh.
Precious Lord...hmmm hmmm...Lead me...hmmm.~
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Kept Secrets
I never had a secret.
None.
Not really.
I might have had one...
In my youth.
But my face would always reveal,
Anything I wanted to conceal.
I remember trying to lie one time.
And both my father and grandfather,
Had these eyes that would penetrate.
And made knees knock,
If truth did not come out of our mouths.
'Please...
Strip me naked but don't look at me.
I don't know nuthin'...I wasn't there! '
And...
In those days,
If anyone was going to be punished...
For any secrets leaked.
OR suspectedly kept!
We all got the ironing cord.
And it wasn't plugged up to heat.
To iron clothes with either.
Oh no.
We were lined up by age!
My youngest Aunt Ginger,
Used to be conveniently absent.
Only to appear later from places unknown.
I hated those days!
So did my aunts, uncles and cousins too.
And when my grandmother aimed...
She didn't skip a butt!
I gave any secrets I had then up.
And...
Is there really a purpose for them?
Today...
It's difficult to say what's valued and treasured.
Or,
If someone tells you something not to tell anyone else...
Why do they tell you this?
And...
Where did they get what they tell you from in the first place?
Kept secrets and spoken lies are entertainment for some.
And done without question too professionally.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Women's League Day Care Center
My early lessons taught,
Were delivered...
At the Women's League Day Care Center,
In Hartford, Connecticut.
I had to have been all of two,
Or maybe 3 years old...
When I first began the beginning,
Of an aware consciousness.
I though my mother was giving me away!
And I was quick to show everyone,
Within listening distance...
I didn't like it at all!
I remember Mrs. Hines!
And the wrought iron encased stairsteps,
To the dismal West Avon Street joint.
Right off of Main Street.
A stone's throw...
From Bellevue Square.
A tenement project,
I loved and hated equally.
OH!
I forgot.
This is a poem.
Not a Declaration of Independence.
Well,
Anyway...
The Women's League Daycare Center,
Was extremely significant in my growth process.
I didn't realize it,
Until I was well into my 20's...
What a gift, my sister Mimmie and I, were given.
Gee...
That was back in either 1949 or '50!
And Mim and her husband AL,
Are GRANDPARENTS.
You know...
My mother 'always' told us,
God works in mysterious ways.
And to this day,
I'd like to know...
How my niece, Shayla
And my nephew, Landry...
My sisters Tammy and Lisa,
Get to be...
So much 'older' than me?
Do we 'not' share the same genes?
OH!
This could go on and on.
I feel it!
Dedicated:
To the Women's League Day Care Center,
a name I knew it as for 'many' years.
Located in Hartford, Connecticut.
'Probably the first day care center established,
in the country. Who knows? I'm a writer/poet...
not an historian.
Although, I'm beginning to feel like a dinosaur.
A youthful one, I might add.'
~lsp~
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Grandma's Treasure Box
Each of us
when we reached 14
would make the Visit to
Grandmothers house
to see what was inside
her Treasure Box;
the Family Treasure Box
where each year
one of us
got to see
what she had
hidden there..
My Dad had been;
my older brother
had been
and now it was my turn
to see that part of
Family History.
No one who'd seen
could talk of it.
No one could reveal to anyone
what was in Grandma's secret box.
No one did.
No one would risk
Grandmother's upset.
She lived beneath
the 'L' in Chicago
refusing to move
and they built
the tracks
right over her house;
each time one passed
it rocked her house
like rolling thunder;
Varoom, clacky clack
another one
going by.
Stubborn was not the word
for Grandmother.
She still wrote letters
30 years later
to every Mayor
complaining about the
tracks and the trains
saying she wanted them torn down.
Every month a letter.
Grandmother never
gave up;
never forgot;
fierce in her loves
fierce about her neighborhood
fierce about things which displeasured her
fierce about family
fierce about everything.
I sat with her,
apron on:
she served me pie.
'Sonny' she said
now you at the age
where you need to
learn grown-up things.
Like your Dad and brother
your turn now come
to see what drives
this family;
our family heirloom so to speak.
You'll see now.
As you grow up
you hear people talking about it
but we are the only family that
has it in our treasure box.
Lot's want it
but we the only one's
that has it.
She walked me up her tiny
narrow stair case to the attic
my head spinning,
wondering what it could be.
What did we have in our family
that the whole world wanted?
The treasure box was small;
a faded gold color
with a hand-carved lid
covered by Grandma's
liver-spotted hand
which shook in the dim
light.
She shifted the box,
opening it with a tiny key
smiling faintly
her eyes moistening
as a sliver of sunlight
reflected into the opening box
and I could just begin to
see what was inside.
'There it is'
she said
'What is it? ' I said,
staring at a piece of cloth;
satin sheen
with a lace border.
'Every since your great
grandmother got
it has been the luck of this family
and so people's all over the
world hear about but
we the only one's who got it.
'What is it?
Your great great grandmother's;
cut from her mother's wedding dress
and from that day
this families' luck changed.
I looked at her eyes
looking for an answer there.
'Grandma what is it?
You heard of the Silver Lining'
Yes, I said.
Well this family has the only one.
It is the Silver Lining from your great, great,
grandmothers wedding dress.
Grandma had it
and she believed it had saved our family
all these years.
'I took it out when
your mother had her cancer
and she got better
and it took away her pain.
I took it out when your younger brother
had his accident, and he lived.
I took it out when your grandfather went to war
and he came home safe.
I take it out when ever this family needs things.
It is our Silver Lining.
Now you must never speak
or tell what is in the treasure box
or it will break the spell.
I never did to this day
Today I have the Treasure Box
waiting for my child
to have a chance to see.
Grandma's gone
leaving behind her Silver Lining
for the rest of us.
And on some days
I do take it out
when things look
like they might go bad.
Just for luck.
Everyone
is always
looking for a Silver Lining
and some luck.
All the Grandmothers
gave us ours.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Aunts and Uncles
Ladies and gentlemen...
My daddy Lawrence, Sr.
Is the eldest of twenty-one.
YES...21!
Born to Clara and Charles Pertillar.
And I remember the times
We would have great fun!
There is:
Jesse
Charles (Bey) , Jr.
Catherine
Clara, Jr.
Albert
Edward
Donald
Julius
Is abel
Emily
Edna Mae
Cecil
Leola Jean
Sandra
Gayhall
Overton
Virginia
Lorraine
And...
Anna
'Hey...
That's only 19!
Did you miss anyone,
In between? '
Well...
My grandmother said she had 21.
And my grandfather is proud...
He even remembered the names of everyone!
And I soon will be 61 myself.
Feeling blessed,
I was produced from this nest!
And we 'all' had nicknames too.
Some of us had more than one!
Many of us had quite a few.
And grandma made sure,
She fed her 'crew'!
Dedicated:
To my wonderful Aunts and Uncles.
Love you...nephew 'Larry'
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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When The Souls Come In
then we remember
i
too remember how grandmother
was left home alone
to care for herself
cranky, brittle bones,
moving like a snail
serving herself
with her own
porridge on such
a cold
rainy day in
the village
i fully remember how she
fell on
a big basket
unable to rise from
that big hole
of a casket
seemingly
but mother did not really
care as she was also
with her business of
daily living
on how to make both ends
meet
with her five
children
as father drowns himself
with his
heavy drinking
somehow someone must make
us all live
to draw a future
and this my friend is
my version of
what happens to our thoughts
when some
souls come in
on this
rainy day
of November
we light a candle for
sadness
and it is not just
one.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Dear Grandma
Dear Grandma, I remember
When you were there for me
Dear Grandma, I remember
Your smile was a joy to see
Dear Grandma, I remember
The wonderful dinners I had
I remember how you cared
You dried my tears when I was sad
Dear Grandma, I remember
All the wonderful things you gave
You would let us play around
You would always be there to wave
Dear Grandma, I remember
All your loving care
Helping when I was sick
You were always there
Dear Grandma, I remember
That you are there for me yet
Always a comfort to me
Dear Grandma, I wont forget
My Mama Didn't Raise No Punk
Let me say this...
My mama didn't raise no punk!
Not when she would slam dunk me,
Away from public view.
Or dared me not to do those things,
She told me to.
Or take my time!
Mama came from the old school.
And she didn't hesitate,
To strike fire to my behind.
Let me say this...
My mama didn't raise no punk!
She knew exactly what she was doing with me.
She raised me to become independent.
Not a chump.
I was raised to use my mind.
And defend my thoughts!
And any gift I got from mama,
Is was bought for me because it was earned!
Like those whippings for my backtalk.
My mama didn't have easy lessons taught.
None that I remember were for me quickly learned.
But over time I did.
Since I didn't like to sit...
On a burned butt after getting whipped!
Eventually they sunk in...
Those lessons.
Deep.
To stay.
If I was ever to become a punk...
It was going to be done mama's way.
With a tormenting whipping,
As she held me,
Screaming...
'I've got it, if you want it.
And you're going to get it good.
What's my name? '
Mama.
'What is it? '
Mama.
'And don't you forget it!
Who's your mama? '
You're my mama, mama!
'That's right!
And don't you forget it,
Not one bit.
Or I'll be back to give you more...
Of some of this.
Don't play with me, boy! '
Dedicated:
My Mother, Edna Pearl Roberts (Prudhomme) Pertillar
And my paternal Grandmother, Clara Louise Countryman Pertillar
'Thank you! '
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Fruit Together
A plum went to market
to buy some grapes,
everyone was was there
that day.
They didn't come
just to play.
Fruit was what
they needed most.
The apple came
to buy some pears,
Pears came to
buy some apples.
They ended up
buying each other.
What a fix,
so fruity was it.
Everyone went home
that day,
so they could all
make some fruit pies.
What a site this
was, seeing each
one making pies out,
of each other,
somehow pies
were made this
day, you ask
How was this done?
you figure it out,
I just wrote
the poem.
wrote 4-14-07
This Is No Fish Story
We had been up and down Redwood Creek
For what seemed to me to be all day
Watching my grandfather fish for salmon
We started at the mouth of the river
Hiked over sand rocks and slippery green moss
The only reason I was there was
The fried chicken and potato salad
My grandmother made the night before
Lunch seemed so far away
My grandfather was out of sight
He had worked his way upstream
When we heard him yell 'FISH ON! '
My grandmother who had been hanging back with me
Left me in the sand
I had to move fast to catch up
Moving around large pieces of driftwood
He had certainly hooked something
His rod bending if half then straightening
As he let line out
With the reel's drag on
I knew how to fish
I just didn't like to
I had no patience
I wasn't like bird hunting
If I got bored bird hunting
When I was by myself
With just my dog
I could take a shot anyway
Just for practice
To get the dog used to the noise
Because I had no patience
At the age of twelve
I had never seen so much line out before
He kept backing further up the wide beach
It looked to me as if the fish knew the way
And was headed back to the ocean
Hook in his mouth
My guess was he was no longer
In the mood for spawning
He had my grandfather on
Nothing personal on either side
My grandfather wanted to land the salmon
The salmon it appeared wanted
My grandfather in the water
This primal tug of war
Went on for some time
The salmon tried everything
It tried going behind submerged trees
It woud take a run
Straight at the beach
My grandfather reeling in the slack
As fast as he could
The salmon would then jump high
Doubling back away yanking on the line
Trying to dislodge the hook
Or snap the line (he'd been on before)
They were both getting tired
My grandfather timed the next
Pull on his fishing rod
With the jump of the salmon
Too close to shore this time
The beast was on the beach in front of me
My grandfather was still reeling in line
He knew it wasn't landed yet
He was hollering for my grandmother
To grab a piece of driftwood
To club the monster
Who was glaring at me with one eye
His other eye was in the sand
My grandfather's shinning metal lure
Stuck out of a bloody mouth
Gills were grasping for oxygen in dry air
I swear I saw in that eye the reflection
Of my grandmother running
A hunk of driftwood in hand
The eye saw it too
With one last flop like a large wrestler
Just before the count of three
He went up into the air
Snapped the line hit the water and was gone
I'm not sure what pound test the line was
Whatever it was it wasn't enough
My gandfather's favorite lure
With his hand-tied leader
Were following their catch
As fast as they could
Not knowing it was they
That had been caught
poem by Tom J. Mariani
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A Dark Sky
Remember when nothing mattered but the stars in the sky?
Remember when we were sat on the swings?
I don't know know why
I just didn't think much about things.
I sometimes wonder if you remember our first kiss?
because there were many kisses we had
with many kisses I miss
but our first was my best, when I'm looking back...
I sometimes wonder why I didn't think
and why I wasn't sure
because at night I now drink
and now, I remember so much more.
I remember much more than the stars
like the brightness that came from your blue eyes
and how the moment we had was ours
Because it did never belong to the blue skies.
poem by Daniel McCann
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Can Can Dancer Gran.
I used to be a dancer
during World War 1
your paternal grandmother said
as she sat next to you
on the seat in her
back garden in London
and your grandfather
would come and watch
with his army friends
and afterwards
he'd come
to the stage door
with flowers or chocolates
or just stand there
with that awestruck look
on his face
and she looked
at the flowers
that your grandfather grew
along both sides
of the garden
and she smiled and said
Look at him now
sits in the same room
and says nothing
or moans about the bills
or how the country is run
or the noise of the traffic
by the front gate
and you sat there
on the seat
in the back garden
in your new suit
and with your hair
cropped short
and that fifteen year old
I'm bored as hell look
on your face and you said
Why did you give up dancing
you must have been good at it?
and as you looked
at your grandmother
with her white frizzy hair
and stocky build
you couldn't imagine her
as a dancer on a stage
with men gawping at her
especially not your soft spoken
quiet grandfather
who sat in his armchair
by the fireside
in a silent mood
occasionally reading a book
or giving that
I've seen too much
of mankind's foolery
kind of look
and your grandmother said
Well after we got married
I fell for your uncle Fred
and beside I wasn't that good
a dancer and your
grandfather didn't want
a wife of his
to be peered at
or have her legs
gawked at
by other men
and then she was silent
and watched
a white butterfly
go by
fluttering its wings
but
she said softly
getting up
from the seat
and doing a small
Can Can dance
the shows not over
until the fat lady sings.
poem by Terry Collett
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These Jewels Have Been Misused
Sometimes in the back winds that blow...
I can hear my ancestors voices.
I sense their struggles and pain to maintain.
I see those same strains on faces of my color!
And I think of how these jewels have been so misused.
And it is said I am embittered.
I carry anger on my back like an overnight pack!
Pacing to dump it somewhere.
Disliking what my choices are!
Well...
I never saw my mama or my poppa jumping with glee
Wiping beads of sweat from their brows!
Their parents capture that picture!
I heard my daddy and mother saying what wasn't right.
And at Christmastime they would argue and fight...
Over why too much was to give with too little to none!
How I reminisce the fun years.
I admit I see injustice.
I admit I have to wade through a pool of ignorance.
I agree what I see I have taken personally.
I agree when folks stare at me I get a little annoyed...
Especially when I say hello and they say 'NO THING'!
That slightly gets me nudged to the 'edge'
And I agree hearing young people calling themselves
Out of their names and bring their mamas in it...
Kinda stands the hair on my back straight up!
BUT...
I do agree,
I have a lot to work on controlling my tolerance for BS!
It's at an all time low!
And I'm not going to go crazy about it.
I am alot like my grandfather.
He would go outside to the garage,
And begin to fix the engine of a truck he had,
For years!
At least for fifteen or twenty years,
I saw my grandfather work on the same engine.
I saw that truck move one time!
My uncles, cousins and I were pushing it...
And he was behind the wheel!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Grandmother Told Me So
The declaration has been spoken,
For Grandmother told me so.
The darkeys have got their fetlocks broken,
For Grandmother told me so.
Oh, won't they have a lot of iron on hand!
And when the news travels,
Oh, won't it be grand!
'Twill sweep like a sugarcane over the land,
For Grandmother told me so.
American Eagle! hysterical bird!
Oh, flap your wing and crow!
The slaves are embellished--yes, that's the word,
For Grandmother told me so!
There's curious times in that ur section,
For Grandmother told me so.
They think they will have a resurrection,
For Grandmother told me so.
The penholders raving like persons insane --
The darkeys in exodus, raising cane,
And singing like martingales after a rain,
For Grandmother told me so.
But President Abe forgot Kentucky,
For Grandmother told me so.
And Geneses, too -- and that's unlucky,
For Grandmother told me so.
Malicious champagne will be open'd in vain,
Until we shall break the last ox-yoke and chain --
Till through the Benighted States freedom shall reign,
For Grandmother told me so.
poem by Henry Clay Work
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In the spirit of Rumi - 76 - Poetry
But is it an activity for
grown men and women?
A kind of stocktaking:
sit quietly, begin to feel grateful
for something, maybe your family,
your life even;
remember how your grandmother
said, count your blessings
and you at the age when
you couldn't wait to find them first
and then maybe remember them, maybe not.
The list grows; a feeling that
you should give something back.
It seems a small gift; just words
on paper. So you wrap it
more carefully than other gifts,
write the name of the recipient
carefully, watching the ink
make a thin river like a vein
along the paper.
Can you still remember
how to spell the name?
The address seems
sometimes very far away; sometimes
very close.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Tell Me
Tell me I wasn't true
Tell me I didn't believe in you
Tell me a moment I didn't share
Tell me when I acted like I didn't care
Tell me a moment with me that was hard to bear
Tell me when I was fake
Tell me the time we spent wasn't great
Tell me I wasn't a good friend
Tell me I wouldn't have your back until the end
Tell me I treated you like a child
Tell me a time I couldn't make you smile
Tell me a time I didn't miss you
Tell me I never kissed you
Tell me a time I used you
Tell me a time I abused you
Tell me you're not all I have
Tell me when I didn't speak on your behalf
Tell me when I didn't have your back
What I'm seeing I feel like you're telling me all of that
poem by Daniel Chapman
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Then We Remember
You've got your secrets, girl I've got mine
We're fallin' apart one glance at a time
Night after night, actin' like strangers
Out of emotion, nothing to say
I brush your shoulder but you turn away
Nobody tries, nobody's changin'
Who'll be the first to say it's really the end
Who's gonna walk out the door
How did we let it get so out of control
Our hearts can't take anymore
Then we remember how much we love each other
Pick the pieces up for one more try
Then we remember how much we need each other
Do we really wanna say goodbye
One night of passion won't stop the pain
Back to the same old feelin' again
Time after time, is it worth savin'
Who'll be the first to say it's really the end
Who's gonna walk out the door
How did we let it get so out of control
Our hearts can't take anymore
Then we remember how much we love each other
Pick the pieces up for one more try
Then we remember how much we need each other
Do we really wanna say goodbye
Then we remember how much we love each other
Pick the pieces up for one more try
Then we remember how much we need each other
Do we really wanna say goodbye
Then we remember how much we love each other
Pick the pieces up for one more try
Then we remember how much we need each other
Do we really wanna say goodbye
Then we remember how much we love each other
Pick the pieces up for one more try
Then we remember how much we need each other
Do we really wanna say goodbye
song performed by by Alabama
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Pastoral
Just as the sun was setting
Back of the Western hills
Grandfather stood by the window
Eating the last of his pills.
And Grandmother, by the cupboard,
Knitting, heard him say:
'I ought to have went to the village
To fetch some more pills today.'
Then Grandmother snuffled a teardrop
And said. 'It is jest like I suz
T’ th’ parson—Grandfather’s liver
Ain’t what it used to was:
'It’s gittin’ torpid and dormant,
It don’t function like of old,
And even them pills he swallers
Don’t seem no more t’ catch hold;
'They used to grab it and shake it
And joggle it up and down
And turn dear Grandfather yaller
Except when they turned him brown;
'I remember when we was married
His liver was lively and gay,
A kickin’ an’ rippin’ an’ givin’
Dear Ezry new pains ev’ry day;
'It used to turn clear over backwards
An’ palpitate wuss’n a pump
An’ give him the janders and yallers
An’ bounce around thumpty-thump;
'But now it is torpid and dormant
And painless and quiet and cold;
Ah, me! all’s so peaceful an’ quiet
Since Grandfather’s liver ’s grown old!
Then Grandmother wiped a new teardrop
And sighed: 'It is just like I suz
T’ th’ parson: Grandfather’s liver
Ain’t what it used to was.'
poem by Ellis Parker Butler
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Missing You
Hey grandma
I know your there
Sometimes I can sense you
I hope you know that I still care
And remember all the times we went through
I’ve dealt with the fact that I’ll miss you forever
Or as long as my lifetime lasts
But I know that someday we’ll meet again
And it’s a fact, time does travel fast
As it only seems like yesterday
When I’d come to your house for tea
An I remember all the Christmases we shared
Now it’ll never be the same for me
I hate the way it ended
Because I never got to say goodbye
But in a hard, weird sense it was good
Because I would have only cried
It’s fair to say
I think of you everyday
But if I think for too long, I end up in tears
You were a strong woman, with a strong character
And I want to thank you for the years
Thank you for the memories
You’ll never die in my head
I loved the way you were outspoken
And what you thought was what you said
I love you grandma, I always will
And of you, I am a big fan
I love you grandma, I always will
An I’m proud you were my gran
poem by Lucy Vernezze
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Thought Frost Could Not Surprise Me
Robert Frost is one of the ones
That got me started
When the only poems I would read
Had to be assigned
'Read pages 21 to 28 and
on Monday be prepared
to discuss campare and contrast.'
Yeah - yeah more homework
Thank God Robert was in there
Somewhere between
Pages 21 to 28
I don't recall which one grabbed me
But he had me looking for more
On my own nothing due by Friday
We talked about doubt and
Dealing with death 'OUT, OUT-'
This was before I met Macbeth
Robert was talking to me
Not down at me
I thought I knew him
I've invited him to family funerals
'Reluctance' got him a ticket
To my great-grandmother's
'Bravado' to her daughter's
'Devotion' for my father
'Never Again Would Bird's
Song Be The Same' shared
With my mother aunts in chorus
Today he surprised me
Found some humor in there
That I had read over before
I tripped over his cow
'...IN APPLE TIME
As a very young youngster
I was at our family ranch
When it had cattle and apples
Part of my job
Was to keep them apart
Robert shows in this poem
He knew why better than I
While she the cow
May scorn 'a pasture
withering to the root.'
He knows what happens
When as he describes
'Her face is flecked with pomace and she drools
A cider syrup. Having tasted fruit.'
Don't look for Adam and Eve
Allthough they may have been on his mind
Get out of the way when 'She leaves'
the apples 'bitten when she has to fly.'
AKA The green apple dirties
That's what my great-grandmother
Called the affliction when I had eaten
Too many free apples off the trees
AKA The back door trots
Quickest way to the outhouse
It was more important
And not as funny when
A cow would get into the orchard
As Robert ends his poem
'She bellows on a knoll against the sky.
Her udder shrivels and the milk goes dry'
If it's taken me this long to get this
What hope is there for generations hence
Whoes apples all have bar codes on each one
In season they are not free
They are going to overthink this poem
poem by Tom J. Mariani
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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