KLJ77 wrote: ↑Sat Mar 13, 2021 8:50 pm
On a lighter note, here's a poem I wrote for a co-worker when she was walking bare-foot and walked into the leg of her coffee table and broke one of her toes. Although she was in pain and discomfort for several weeks, she thoroughly enjoyed the poem and humor. She even had it framed as a reminder.
I'm sure every one of us has, at least one time in our life, done this and can relate quite well to the experience.
Beware...and enjoy!
TOES
We toes are just the little things
That help you walk the line
We make you stable and balanced
I’m sure glad I have mine
We love our socks and stockings
That warms us from the cold
Snuggled up within that shell
Within a cotton or silky fold
But there are times we tend to hurt
When choices you make and choose
We’ll make you scream in dire pain
When you put us in tight shoes
We’ll cry out, “Take them off!”
It’s just too tight of space
If you continue doing this
We’ll put you in your place
But the biggest thing we toes don’t like
When barefoot you tend to go
Is when you stub or hit us hard
You’ll put on quite a show
We toes don’t like the furniture
Coffee table, dresser or chair
So if you don’t have attentiveness
We’ll remind you that we’re bare
And then the shouting, crying comes
When you’re limping around at large
That single itty-bitty toe
Reminds you who’s in charge
And then the desperation starts
The pain is so intense
We’ll make you hop around and round
Acting like you have no sense
And then we’ll add on even more
We’ll make you pay your due
By swelling up and turning red
And then turn black and blue
You may even cause more harm
By breaking one of us
And if that happens, ‘oh stand by’
We’ll make you scream and cuss
So treat us like the kings we are
Even though a lower place
The more you chose to baby us
The better we’ll keep pace
That is an awesome heartfelt rendition of your love and emotions for your brother. And, it's NOT amateurish. When thoughts and words come from the heart, with pure love, you just can't ask for anything better.
Thank you for wanting to share this part of your life with us. You conveyed Love, Joy, Hope, Sincerity, Grief, and Faith, all wrapped up in one poem.
Stanwade wrote: ↑Sun Mar 14, 2021 6:51 am
Boy, there's a lot of really talented poets here. I've enjoyed reading this thread. I never felt comfortable sharing as I'm not much of a poet,
myself. Well I'd like to share this one today. It came to me fast, out of thin air in about 30 minutes. My brother passed away when I was 12 and yesterday was his birthday. I've been going down memory lane yesterday and today because of that and other reasons. So here's what I jotted down in memory of my brother. I think it's a little amateurish, but I like it.... thanks for reading.. Ryan
Very nice Ryan! Thanks for sharing that with us Buddy! You did a fine job!
For me, poems were always a way to capture or maybe to release the thoughts & feelings of a certain occasion or moment. A way of bringing my emotions to paper.
I read, hear, understand & feel what you said about going down memory lane. John's loss of his father has also sent me down memory lane this past week. Think I'll just leave it at that.
orvet wrote: ↑Sun Mar 14, 2021 6:35 pm
Ken,
Great humor. I have written a few pieces with a little humor by but nothing so epic. Nice work!
Ryan,
That was very touching, emotional and a bit raw, because I too lost a brother when I was young. He was about 4 years old and had severe cerebral palsy. He could never walk or talk but was very smart. I used to play with him and he would try to play too but couldn't control his muscles.
I am looking forward to seeing him in heaven, maybe we can wrestle like we could not do on this earth.
Another 'way back when' time involving co-workers who had Irish lineage. I wrote this on their behalf for St. Patrick's Day and presented it to them. Wow...where did all the years go?
“CATCH ME, IF YOU CAN”
With Ides of March upon us
This day of velvet green
Be sure to keep a wary eye
For a Leprechaun may be seen
He'll laugh and frolic round about
And dance his merry jig
Be careful you don't step on him
For he's not very big
He moves about with quickness
In clover fields serene
To try and catch the one off guard
Who isn't wearing green
But if you feel the luck, me Lad
And think today's a cinch
To forget about the clover leaf
Then you deserve a pinch
And even though it's making believe
The rainbow's Pot-of-Gold
With Leprechaun’s that disappear
And can never grab ahold
But if you’re lucky to catch this man
And receive your wishes thrice
Oh what a joy that would be
To live a life so nice
Or maybe he will kindly state
The hidden places told
Of rainbows end upon the hills
Where pots are filled with gold
Though you might not have the chance
To catch him unawares
The fun you’ll have just trying to
With all your friends to share
Don't be dismayed about this day
Just take it with the rest
For every day that's shiny green
You know that you've been blessed
So as his laughter fades away
He shouts with a waving hand
May all your moments be "Lucky Charms"
Catch Me, if you can...
I wrote this poem about 1994 shortly before the 20th anniversary of the fall of Saigon. It could've been written slightly before that but the Word document says that it originated in 1994, which was about the time I got my first computer so I may have copied this down from a handwritten note book. Anyway this poem was written approximately 20 years give or take a year or two after the Vietnam War.
In retrospect, after years of working with veterans I can say that I was dealing with repressed emotions, among other issues. I know that now, but I didn't know it at the time I wrote this.
Alice Miller, a Polish – Swiss psychologist, psychoanalyst and philosopher is quoted as saying; "The stronger a prisoner is, the thicker the prison walls have to be, which impede or completely prevent later emotional growth."
A lot of Miller's work was with children, often ones that have had an abusive childhood. That type of abuse as a child can create some of the same sort of issues a veteran faces when he or she comes home.
My prison walls were very thick. Fortunately once the dam burst, I found that the walls were water-soluble, or at least tear soluble.
I hope you enjoyed the poem.
PRISONER OF TEARS
I am a prisoner,
of the tears I never cried.
I have twenty years of crying,
all bottled up inside.
Twenty years of tears
that the laughter cannot hide,
Tears of pain, of rage, of grief,
all tears I haven't cried.
But tears don't come easy,
for a man such as I,
cause even a Boot knows,
that a Marine won't ever cry.
It doesn't seem to matter
what he has done or seen,
No one expects to see tears,
from a United States Marine.
Twenty years is a long time
for any man not cry,
Sometimes I think it'd be better
if I could just lay down and die.
Twenty years is a long time
for a man to be alone.
Twenty years of alienation,
from his family & his home.
Twenty years of tears
from a war we didn't win,
Tears that won't stop falling
if they ever do begin.
Twenty years of tears all bottled up inside,
Twenty years of tears that I have never cried.
Twenty years of crying won't catch me up to them.
But Lord,
How I wish I could begin.
Dale, Thank you once again for sharing your inner self. I can't even begin to imagine what you have dealt with due to your Vietnam experiences, along with mentoring Vietnam Vets over the years. I'm glad you have experienced that sweet release. Your poem speaks for itself, for many of us have had pent up frustrations and experiences that were not easy to let go of. I know I've had mine.
LJ
"The problems we face today are there because the people who work for a living are now outnumbered by those that vote for a living."
orvet wrote: ↑Tue Mar 16, 2021 7:15 am PRISONER OF TEARS
I am a prisoner,
of the tears I never cried.
I have twenty years of crying,
all bottled up inside.
Twenty years of tears
that the laughter cannot hide,
Tears of pain, of rage, of grief,
all tears I haven't cried.
But tears don't come easy,
for a man such as I,
cause even a Boot knows,
that a Marine won't ever cry.
It doesn't seem to matter
what he has done or seen,
No one expects to see tears,
from a United States Marine.
Twenty years is a long time
for any man not cry,
Sometimes I think it'd be better
if I could just lay down and die.
Twenty years is a long time
for a man to be alone.
Twenty years of alienation,
from his family & his home.
Twenty years of tears
from a war we didn't win,
Tears that won't stop falling
if they ever do begin.
Twenty years of tears all bottled up inside,
Twenty years of tears that I have never cried.
Twenty years of crying won't catch me up to them.
But Lord,
How I wish I could begin.
Dale Vincent
circa 1994
David Roberts
U.S. Navy and D/FW International Airport Board Retired
Prayer Changes Everything
orvet wrote: ↑Tue Mar 16, 2021 7:15 am
I wrote this poem about 1994 shortly before the 20th anniversary of the fall of Saigon. It could've been written slightly before that but the Word document says that it originated in 1994, which was about the time I got my first computer so I may have copied this down from a handwritten note book. Anyway this poem was written approximately 20 years give or take a year or two after the Vietnam War.
In retrospect, after years of working with veterans I can say that I was dealing with repressed emotions, among other issues. I know that now, but I didn't know it at the time I wrote this.
Alice Miller, a Polish – Swiss psychologist, psychoanalyst and philosopher is quoted as saying; "The stronger a prisoner is, the thicker the prison walls have to be, which impede or completely prevent later emotional growth."
A lot of Miller's work was with children, often ones that have had an abusive childhood. That type of abuse as a child can create some of the same sort of issues a veteran faces when he or she comes home.
My prison walls were very thick. Fortunately once the dam burst, I found that the walls were water-soluble, or at least tear soluble.
I hope you enjoyed the poem.
PRISONER OF TEARS
I am a prisoner,
of the tears I never cried.
I have twenty years of crying,
all bottled up inside.
Twenty years of tears
that the laughter cannot hide,
Tears of pain, of rage, of grief,
all tears I haven't cried.
But tears don't come easy,
for a man such as I,
cause even a Boot knows,
that a Marine won't ever cry.
It doesn't seem to matter
what he has done or seen,
No one expects to see tears,
from a United States Marine.
Twenty years is a long time
for any man not cry,
Sometimes I think it'd be better
if I could just lay down and die.
Twenty years is a long time
for a man to be alone.
Twenty years of alienation,
from his family & his home.
Twenty years of tears
from a war we didn't win,
Tears that won't stop falling
if they ever do begin.
Twenty years of tears all bottled up inside,
Twenty years of tears that I have never cried.
Twenty years of crying won't catch me up to them.
But Lord,
How I wish I could begin.
orvet wrote: ↑Tue Mar 16, 2021 7:15 am
I wrote this poem about 1994 shortly before the 20th anniversary of the fall of Saigon. It could've been written slightly before that but the Word document says that it originated in 1994, which was about the time I got my first computer so I may have copied this down from a handwritten note book. Anyway this poem was written approximately 20 years give or take a year or two after the Vietnam War.
In retrospect, after years of working with veterans I can say that I was dealing with repressed emotions, among other issues. I know that now, but I didn't know it at the time I wrote this.
Alice Miller, a Polish – Swiss psychologist, psychoanalyst and philosopher is quoted as saying; "The stronger a prisoner is, the thicker the prison walls have to be, which impede or completely prevent later emotional growth."
A lot of Miller's work was with children, often ones that have had an abusive childhood. That type of abuse as a child can create some of the same sort of issues a veteran faces when he or she comes home.
My prison walls were very thick. Fortunately once the dam burst, I found that the walls were water-soluble, or at least tear soluble.
I hope you enjoyed the poem.
PRISONER OF TEARS
I am a prisoner,
of the tears I never cried.
I have twenty years of crying,
all bottled up inside.
Twenty years of tears
that the laughter cannot hide,
Tears of pain, of rage, of grief,
all tears I haven't cried.
But tears don't come easy,
for a man such as I,
cause even a Boot knows,
that a Marine won't ever cry.
It doesn't seem to matter
what he has done or seen,
No one expects to see tears,
from a United States Marine.
Twenty years is a long time
for any man not cry,
Sometimes I think it'd be better
if I could just lay down and die.
Twenty years is a long time
for a man to be alone.
Twenty years of alienation,
from his family & his home.
Twenty years of tears
from a war we didn't win,
Tears that won't stop falling
if they ever do begin.
Twenty years of tears all bottled up inside,
Twenty years of tears that I have never cried.
Twenty years of crying won't catch me up to them.
But Lord,
How I wish I could begin.
Dale Vincent
circa 1994
God bless you Dale, thank you so much for sharing brother.
This is a poem I wrote back in February 2018 about a little guy who just about didn't make it. Let me set the stage for the poem, so you'll get the gist of what I'm conveying.
My wife and I have had feral cats that come and go out of our backyard, and we've 'socialized' many of them to where we can pet them and treat them as our own, albeit, they remain outside. One of the older females has had at least a dozen litters over the past 8 years, of which we've found homes for most of them, if the mother kept them around long enough. One of her female kittens grew up and decided she would 'hang around' and be comfortable with being fed and treated like a queen. (We named her Zella) Well, Zella, being a feral cat, got hooked up with one of the feral males...and guess what? Yep, nine weeks later, she has a litter of four at the young age of less than a year old.
So comes 12 December of 2018, a very cold and bitterly freezing day. I'm out in my shed (which is heated by an electric oil heater) doing something and heard little bitty cries. I'm looking and looking, suspecting Zella is hidden somewhere with her litter she just had. (we were expecting it anytime) So, with flashlight in hand, I finally find her in an old milk crate that had a burlap sack inside it. There she was, snuggled in. But then, Zella got spooked and took off. So I looked in the crate, and there were four little babies...not more than two hours old. Now, as mentioned above, this was a freezing cold day, and even with the heater on, it wasn't strong enough to keep the temps inside the shed above freezing. Sadly, two of the babies had already succumbed to the cold, and the other two, a grey male and a white male were barely hanging on to life. I got my wife and we wrapped them up in a warm soft towel and took them inside the house. They would not have lasted another hour in the shed, for their little bodies were already turning cold and in danger of hypothermia.
We had feeding bottles, due to other litters we've cared for, so my wife fixed some warm 'kitty milk' while I kept warming up soft towels in the dryer to bring their body temp up. Moving forward...three days later, the grey became too weak from not taking the milk regularly and his system began shutting down. I also suspect the cold had already internally damaged his system and we just were not aware of it. All I could do was gently caress him as he passed away in my hands. I buried him alongside his other kitty mates. The white male was strong...and getting stronger, crying every two hours to be fed. My wife, bless her heart, took care of this little one every day and night. She was a trooper...and I helped by staying 'out of her way.'
After eight weeks, we started looking for a home for this Snow White boy. One day, my wife was talking to her primary care doctor (female) who loved cats. My wife sent photos to her...and the rest is history. We completed the adoption on 24 February 2018, ten and a half weeks from the day he was born. We told them the story about this little guy...and the doctor ended up naming him "Solo".
PS: As to Zella...we took her to the vet, got her spayed, and now she lives 'inside' the house with us. What a precious little gal she turned out to be. Every one of our feline babies have been rescues. We've found homes for over 20 kittens born in our backyard. We've had several other females spayed, and they still hang around with us outside. They all get along and stay in the shed, where there is food, fresh water, kitty beds, litter boxes, etc. Yeah, they're spoiled just like the indoor fur babies. I wouldn't have it any other way.
So...here's the poem and some photos of the handsome little guy. The photos are of him at 24 hours old, 8 - 10 weeks old and as he grew up in the doctors home.
’S O L O’
Freezing temperatures, December cold
Recently born, only hours old
Hearing them crying, inside the shed
As cold as it was, they would soon be dead
Trying to find them, in the dark hardly see
So many places where they could be
Finally with light, peered in the back
Inside a crate with an old burlap sack
Mother was there, unsure of us
She got up without a fuss
Shining light into the crate
Only to discover the little ones fate
Two were still moving, two very still
Please let them live, my silent will
Picked up a white one, then a grey
Next to the heater, gently lay
Reaching back in for the other two
Upon my touch, I immediately knew
Freezing temps, way too late
Cold and hunger caused their fate
White and grey, with living will
Yet so cold, bodies stiff and still
Time against them, minutes away
Count their blessings, lucky day
Wrapped in blankets to keep them warm
Tiny movements, wiggling form
Body temperature rising high
Hungry babies, thankful cry
Nursing bottles, milk and care
Hours later, looking fair
Going to make it, feeding well
One long night, saved by the bell
Three days later, coughing grey
Struggling to live, there he lay
The cold and hunger taken toll
One last gasp, bless his soul
One white male, from a litter of four
Strong enough to cheat death’s door
With caring hands, a will to live
She nourished him, with love to give
Eight weeks later, who’d of thought
The kind of life this young one brought
A ball of fur, a snow white boy
So laid back and full of joy
A word was mentioned, pictures shown
Oh, look how much he’s grown
“We’ll take him,” said a wanting cry
“We’ll bring him by,” was our reply
And so it was, a destiny nigh
Becoming such a handsome guy
From a group of four, only one
A solo baby, ‘Forever Home’
KLJ77 wrote: ↑Mon Mar 22, 2021 11:22 pm
Putting words to photos, Tom. You're sooooo flowery.
Not sure if that's a compliment. Never been called that before. Oh well...
I'll just pretend that's a good thing to be.
Thank you, Garry, Tom & Dale.
Tom...yes, it is a compliment, but may not have come across as such. You wrote about "Daffodils", so "flowery" seemed appropriate. I guess I should have said; "you're so flowery with words." No offense intended. I always enjoy your writings.
LJ
"The problems we face today are there because the people who work for a living are now outnumbered by those that vote for a living."
Very good my friend! 
Thanks for sharing that with us Buddy! 
You did a fine job! 
or maybe to release 
Never been called that before. 