The Little Floating Clouds

The Little Floating Cloud

The little floating clouds
On the horizon, just above
Bring not rainstorms, dark and loud
Only whispered wisps of love

 
 

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An Ode to a First True Love… Selection

The books I loved best as a child
I bet were loved also by many of you.
They told of tales sweet, silly, and wild,
As penned by the great Sendak, Suess, and Reys, two.

But as the years passed and I grew a bit older
I left such childish tales behind.
As I grew fonder of stories much bolder
That came in the comic book kind.

And then soon comics I also outgrew
As I zipped through my age of the teens.
Words read in leisure were then but few
For leisure was found in new and various means.

In my twenties my first Literary Love was found,
And it is to this Love I tribute this ode.
Its author to the Beats he is bound
And its story will forever be On The Road.


(What a day…apologies for the delay)

So, who could objectively choose between two such different yet poetically perfect submissions?

They both speak to my subjective heart equally.

So it is to the Coin of Arbitration I must go…

Heads be Dancing Echo as she has the first submission;

And Tails be Josh Wrenn as there be no other choices for him to be.

And the flip…

And the catch…

And, on behalf of the Coin of Arbitration, it is my pleasure to present to you today’s MEMOIR MONDAY selection…


AN ODE TO A FIRST LOVE THAT AIN’T NO BALONEY
by Josh Wrenn

I must confess
To everyone here
They weren’t the best
Or anywhere near

Jets and sex
And war and guns
One book to the next
A series of fun

But in my young mind
Great works of art
A hero I’d find
In a world torn apart

What got me hooked?
It ain’t no baloney
The Wingman books
By Mack Maloney

myfridayblog.wordpress.com


Once again, a very big thank you to two powerfully prolific and most perfect of poets…

The Poem of Me

The poem of me from yesterday
Is not that which I am today

In many ways they may resemble
But don’t be fooled by what I say

Look closely at what you hear
Listen with more than just an ear

The poem of me from yesterday
Is not that which I am today

You think that you may know me
By the words I rhyme and sing

You think that you may know me
But of me you know not a thing

The poem of me I once sang for you
Then may have had lyrics true

But with each new day the words decay
And of that me from then — I bade adieu

 

❅ ❅ ❅ ❅

Poems from the River

POEMS FROM THE RIVER

Read the Reviews

 
 

Sorry

Sorry

Sorry ’bout the homework.
Sorry ’bout the room.
Sorry ’bout the mix up
With the chimney and the broom.

Sorry ’bout the hamster.
Sorry ’bout the bug.
Sorry ’bout the purple stain
In the middle of the rug.

Sorry ’bout the superglue.
Sorry ’bout the report card.
Sorry ’bout the neighbor’s cat
I buried in the yard.

Mom, I really am so sorry
For not behavin’ like I should.
And if you please just give me one more chance
I promise I’ll be good.

Oh yeah…sorry ’bout the china.
 

From Poem Man

 
 

Rainy Day Recess

Rainy Day Recess

Factoring formulas
And conjugating fables,
Taking tests
On Periodic Tables,
Sure is tough
And it ain’t always fun,
But it ain’t so bad
As long as there’s sun.

Cuz as long as there is sun
At least we’re sure
We can go outside
And let the sunshine cure
Our mathematics blues
And our scientific stress…
At least for a bit
During lunch recess.

But when the day is dark
And the raindrops are dumpin’,
And the sky is filled with sparks
And the thunder is a thumpin’,

We can’t go out,
We have to stay inside and—look.
Instead of kickball
We get to read a—book.
Or we can finish up our homework
Or silently sit and—think.

Sheesh, days like this
Sure do stink!

Stuck indoors
Can’t be healthy, that’s for sure.
Cuz trapped inside the school
We never can cure
Our mathematics blues
Or our scientific stress.

Will there ever be a cure
For a rainy day recess?
 

From Poem Man

My Friend, My Advisor

My Friend, My Advisor

You’re always giving me advice,
You must think that I’m really dumb.
Cuz you advise me on just about everything,
From books to bubble gum.

You know, I’m really not so clueless.
My head is not filled with just air.
Please stop telling me how to dress,
And how I should wear my hair.

To prove your point you’re willing to fight
About anything—even Parchezee!
You ALWAYS act as if you are ALWAYS right. . .
You know, it makes me rather queasy.

So please stop acting like my advisor,
And like you always know best.
And please just shut your mouth, that’s all,
So my ears can get some rest.

Well, you’ll be my advisor until the end,
In my mind there is no doubt.
Still, I do want to keep you as a friend,
It’s just your advice I can do without.

From Poem Man

 
 


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Onomatopoeia Flu

Blah!

A sniffle a snort
A wheeze and a sneeze
A belch a burp and a moan.

A slurp a sigh
A hiss and a buzz
A babble a wow and a groan.

An utter a sputter
A mumble and a grumble
A barf a spit and a spew.

A cough a hack
A hum and a yawn
A sheesh then finally…a whew!

There are flues that can make smoke float up,
And there are flues that can make folks lie down.
But the Onomatopoeia Flu is the only flu
That can make you make really weird sounds.

 
From Poem Man

 
 

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