Poems |
The following poems were written as school excercises. In 1963 I was 13 years old! |
May 13, 1963 "How will it be?" |
What will it be like, Oh how will it be, When the cats and the dogs And the birds and the bees, And all other life From a man to a lice, Will live no more, To the soil return, Oh how will it be, I want to learn! |
"What will be said?" |
What will be said When the future has come Of times long forgotten Of wars never won? Of times in the past That we know of not? What will be said Of the things we forgot?
|
"Just Wishing" |
I wish I had a time maschine To travel to the past. I'd travel down to Egypt My first trip, not my last.
I would see Cleopatra, Is she pretty, is she not? The truth that I unfold in the present won't be forgot.
I'd travel to the future To see what it'll be like. Maybe see the whole world end Or to the planets, take a hike.
|
"The Monster" |
Listen!
I have a story to tell, A story that you Probably know not well.
For it was I That this thing came upon, This dreary thing, that came out of the pond!
It was a cold night, With fierce wind blowing, The monster came forth Without me knowing.
It is hard to tell What the creature is like, For shadows from trees Kept him covered all night.
But of what I did see, Of this horrible thing, Were the eyes of a demon, Like a fiery ring.
I found he was there By the pond on that night, When I heard but his roar That meant he was right At coming forth, from the pond I do say, For he is the king Of the monsters this day!
I hurried on out With a torch in my hand, When I heard him walking Like a quake in the land.
He was big, I could tell, But I didn't believe That a creature so big Did not make me grieve For the peaceful old times Before this had come, This horrible thing Which looked like a crumb.
When he died and was gone By the very next day...... This is the end, I have nothing more to say.
|
Date unknown, perhaps 1967 untitled short poems
Watermelon, cantelope, pickles, and peas, All of which I digest with ease. But tell me this, oh will you please Why is it that They make me sneeze?
Out in the vastness of outer space I know that there must be a place Where Martians dance and Venusians sing And Earthlings could do most anything!
What is this place of joy and cheer? And what's that music that I hear? Where people dace both soft and hearty Why! Of cours! It's a folk dance party!
To those who brave a foreign shore During times of war and strife, No one am I proud of more Cause for their country they may give their life.
There is a girl I know With green eyes like a cat With hair that in the breeze does blow Like silk attached to a hat.
I saw a star above this night It shined the deepest blue, And as I gazed upon its light, I could only think of you!
A boy and girl go walking, A boy and girl go talking. I wish they were you and me Strolling along that sea!
A lot of boys pass by me, But I ignore them so completely, 'Cause at Fort Ord* there's a guy That I adore so sweetly!
The radio blares in my ear But its noise I do not hear, Your words in a recent letter, Fit the moment much better!
|
* My girl friend, Terry, had a boyfriend, Cody, who was stationed at Fort Ord. I guess I wrote this for her.. |
April 26, 1968 Untitled short poems
Never shall I se a foot Upon a hill so green, Away from foul air and soot, Where people are so mean.
The city is a dreadful place, A place of rush and hurry, Where news travels at a fast pace, Where all nice things you bury.
How I'd love to travel To a place where birds may sing, And though it hurts you marvel, At the feel of a single bee's sting.
I'd love to play among the trees So tall and so majestic, And pick the flowers that in the breeze Sway as the winds arrest it.
Why can't I join the creatures there That live each day of life Like no human lives a life somewhere, For humans live in war and strife.
|
date unknown, perhaps 1968 "Witchcraft of Salem Village"
|
Witchcraft was strong, In this Massachusetts place, Started by some girls Who got dirt all over their face, From rolling and squirming Upon the dirty ground, And nineteen people were hanged, As witches they had found.
Both men and women alike, Were accused as witch and wizards, And were kept in dirty prisons, Through snow and terrible blizzards.
One hundred and fifty accused, But only nineteen died, Caused by some playful girls, Who all the time had lied!
They were stuck with pins and bitten, Which they said the witches did, The people were determined, To be the witches rid.
|