HUNKER IN THE BUNKER

Since this is National Poetry Month and some of you are still in quarantine, I thought I would share again a little verse. This piece originally appeared last year on SERENDIPITY.

A Viral Verse, by Rich Paschall

It’s time to hunker in your Bunker.
But don’t sequester next to Lester.
He might have the virus.
He’s been sitting close to Iris.

And stay away from Bill,
He thinks he’s got a chill.
And you will have a pain
If you’re listening to Jane.

Jim has not been cool,
Had a party at his school.
And just to add a bonus,
He invited his friend Jonas.
They had a lot of folks,
Telling many dirty jokes.
He picked up a quick a kiss
From his handsome buddy Chris.

Some have not been seen,
Must be in the quarantine.
We will say it quick,
We hope they are not sick.
Others are at the store,
And invited several more.
They didn’t hear or care,
They shouldn’t be out there.
May we just repeat,
To keep at least six feet.

Still, there’s some resistance,
About keeping a good distance.
Heed the advice of your physician,
Not some wealthy politician.

 

Growing Up

I read so slowly,
Falling behind in everything.
My friends are on the next book;
I’m still on Chapter 2.
They say it is about hate, sex, war,
The downfall of society.
I thought it was about love, childhood,
Playing games.
Maybe they taught something
The day I was absent.

Books, creative commons license

Old friends are no longer close to me.
I thought they were standing still.
Now I meet new people.
Should I move on anyway?

Why do they run when
Walking is much easier?
They are calling for me to catch up.
I can’t turn the pages that fast.

Maybe I’ll buy the “notes.”

 

All Rights Reserved

 April is National Poetry Month.

 

Grandma’s Gone Home

When my grandmother passed away many years ago, we had a wake here in Chicago and again two days later in her hometown of Martin, Tennessee. In between her remains were flown to Memphis and then driven up to Martin. We took the long drive to Martin from Chicago to attend the wake and then the burial next to my grandfather.  Shortly after my return home, I wrote the following.

I

Grandma (left)

You flew home.
We drove –
Across long, lonely Sunday highways.
The sky glared down at us
Through hazy eyes.
The air was filled with static
And thoughts of bears and bird dogs.
The road led us past sights
No longer familiar.
Time has no sympathy for trips like these.
Still, we must go home again.

II

You waited peacefully.
We came in our Sunday best.
Friends and relatives gathered
From places you’d been years earlier.
Some held vague remembrances
Of family experiences.
Some wore faces no longer familiar.
Time gives no comfort at occasions like these.
Still, we will come home again.

III

You led the way.
As always, we followed.
Slowly you took us
Across streets wet with morning rain.
The air was heavy
With memories we couldn’t express.
The clouds had gone but
The mist stayed in our eyes.
On a hilltop you joined
Friends and relatives who left years earlier.
Although carved in stone,
Some held names no longer familiar.
Time moves on toward days like these,
When we’ll all go home again.

 

Copyright Richard Paschall

April is National Poetry Month

SUBTLE AND NOT SO SUBTLE – POETRY

April is National Poetry Month. I hasten to point out that this was written for SERENDIPITY a few years ago so that you don’t think I am advocating that you run down to the local coffee house for a poetry reading. Be sure to click on “View original post” at the bottom to head over to SERENDIPITY to view original poems.

SERENDIPITY: SEEKING INTELLIGENT LIFE ON EARTH

National Poetry Month, Rich Paschall

---

There seems to be a day, a week or even a month for just about everything.  It is quite interesting the types of things for which mayors, governors and even presidents are willing to present a proclamation.  Did you miss One Cent Day April 1st?  No joke, it is a day to commemorate the history of the penny.  I guess it is not worth much anymore.

Certainly you did not miss out on the fact that April 1 is also Sourdough Bread Day.  No Foolin’!  The stuff has been around a long time.  I guess it deserves an entire day, especially when you consider some of the other things that get a day.  Perhaps I should make a point to buy some, or not.

Poetry gets all of April.   That’s seems fair when you consider the vast amount of poetry in the world that most students try to avoid reading.  Maybe…

View original post 554 more words

HUNKER IN THE BUNKER – RICH PASCHALL

As April is National Poetry Month, I offer you a new poem. Be sure to click “View original post” at the bottom to head over to SERENDIPITY for the rest of this timely verse.

SERENDIPITY: SEEKING INTELLIGENT LIFE ON EARTH

A Viral Verse, by Rich Paschall

It’s time to hunker in your Bunker.
But don’t sequester next to Lester.
He might have the virus.
He’s been sitting close to Iris.

And stay away from Bill,
He thinks he’s got a chill.
And you will have a pain
If you’re listening to Jane.

Jim has not been cool,
Had a party at his school.
And just to add a bonus,
He invited his friend Jonas.
They had a lot of folks,
Telling many dirty jokes.
He picked up a quick a kiss
From his handsome buddy Chris.

Some have not been seen,
Must be in the quarantine.
We will say it quick,
We hope they are not sick.
Others are at the store,
And invited several more.
They didn’t hear or care,
They shouldn’t be out there.
May we just repeat,
To keep at least six feet.

Still, there’s some resistance,

View original post 15 more words

Look at Me

Look at me,
That’s what my life has been saying.
Notice me,
That’s what my whole soul is praying.

Those who see me as I am
Do not understand
What my life is really about.
Those who look upon this face
Think I’ve found my place.
They don’t know me.

Take my hand.
My life is in need of guidance.
Make a stand.
I can no longer hide it.

Those who see me as I am
Do not understand.
They think I’m so very happy.
Those who see this smiling face
Have made a great mistake.
They don’t know me.

Look at me.
I am asking you to notice,
Please love me.
I am asking you to show it.

Those who see me as I am
Do not understand
Why I do the things that I do.
Those who think that I am smart,
That I have a happy heart
Do not know me.

Look at Me.

Notice me.

Look at me.

All rights reserved

April is National Poetry month.  Did you read or write any poems this months?

Growing Up

I read so slowly,
Falling behind in everything.
My friends are on the next book;
I’m still on Chapter 2.
They say it is about hate, sex, war,
The downfall of society.
I thought it was about love, childhood,
Playing games.
Maybe they taught something
The day I was absent.

Books, creative commons license

Old friends are no longer close to me.
I thought they were standing still.
Now I meet new people.
Should I move on anyway?

Why do they run when
Walking is much easier?
They are calling for me to catch up.
I can’t turn the pages that fast.

Maybe I’ll buy the “notes.”

 

All Rights Reserved

 April is National Poetry Month.

 

National Poetry Month Continues

Have you been reading your poetry?  Why not?  After all it is National Poetry Month.
Since you have not been out looking for poems, I see I have an effort from long past on the shelf. I am pleased to share it with you.  

You Were the One

You were the one
with the sparkling eyes
Alive whenever they
looked into mine,
But they no longer shine
like they used to do.
Now the just give me
the blues.

You were the one

You were the one
who smiled with ease,
Knew when to laugh,
knew how to please,
But you no longer smile
like you used to do.
Now it just gives me
the blues.

I still see the places
we spent so much time.
I still pass the inns
where we wined and we dined.
And all of these things
that remind me of you
Are all of the things
that give me the blues.

You were the one
with the tender touch,
That made me feel good;
that I wanted so much.
You no longer touch me
like you used to do.
It’s loss just gives me
the blues.

You were the one
with the right things to say,
That had soothed my soul
almost every day,
But your voice doesn’t sound
quite the way it used to.
The words no longer
ring true.

I still see the friends
we cherished so much.
I still have the gifts
you gave me with love,
But all of these things
that remind me of you,
Are all of the things
that give me the blues.

Copyright Richard Paschall

Photo credit: By Mike DelGaudio (Flickr) [CC-BY-2.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0)%5D, via Wikimedia Commons

National Poetry Month

April is National Poetry month.  Herein you may find my humble contribution, based on ideas taken from Shelley’s “Ode to the West Wind.”

The South Wind

Not from the West as they had said
Or from the North as we had thought,
But from the South you gently came
Bringing the comfort we have sought.

Your presence felt upon the earth,
Though you arrived and were not seen,
An angel on a cloud of hope,
In answer to a summer dream.

Oh hear – the wind is blowing,
A spirit moving everywhere.
Glad are we that you are near us.
Glad are we that you are there.

No storm’s commotion you announced.
No lightning broke the evening skies.
No rain had fallen down on us,
Or stole the glow of our sunrise.

The year has come alive with song,
And peace will rest within my soul.
A life of happiness abounds,
More precious than the world’s gold.

Oh hear – the wind is blowing,
with power more than it would seem,
Destroyer of the world’s pain,
Preserver of the world’s dream.

You waken nature from her sleep
With a voice that softly sings
The seeds we’ve planted start to grow
In the courage that you bring.

Play thy lyre, play they tune;
Let us hear your melody.
You drive away unhappy sounds
To bring us love and harmony.

Oh hear – the wind is blowing;
A message calls to you and me.
Listen close and you’ll discover
The trumpet of a prophecy.

Copyright by Richard Paschall

See also: “YOU, A LIBERATION LYRIC,” SERENDIPITY

Growing Up

I read so slowly,
Falling behind in everything.
My friends are on the next book;
I’m still on Chapter 2.
They say it is about hate, sex, war,
The downfall of society.
I thought it was about love, childhood,
Playing games.
Maybe they taught something
The day I was absent.

Old friends are no longer close to me.
I thought they were standing still.
Now I meet new people.
Should I move on anyway?

Why do they run when
Walking is much easier?
They are calling for me to catch up.
I can’t turn the pages that fast.

Maybe I’ll buy the “notes.”

 

All Rights Reserved

April is National Poetry Month