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Two Poems

presented two ways

by David Chadwick



It's said there are more poets than readers of poetry these days. We're all in such a hurry and who has time to reflect on the deep sentiments contained in such inspired creations. I asked son Kelly if he noticed an underlying theme in the Valentine's Day poem for Katrinka and he said no. He was probably trimming a tree and didn't have time to let the spirit of the message penetrate. So I did some work on it and feature it here again along with a bonus poem. So please enjoy these two poems presented two ways. Probably best to skip to them both side by side below to facilitate groking how they relate to each other. - DC


Valentines Day Poem 2015

(for Katrinka)

 

 

A day to rejoice in the beating of our love

 

That soars to the clouds on the wings of a phoenix

 

It makes me some teary, please hand me a tissue

 

And after I've dabbed I'll lean over and kid her

 

So who owns this day in the Northern sphere's February

 

Not Shakyamuni nor the virgin Betty

 

Not Bill Gates or J Paul Revere

 

Not the mythic heroes of yesterday

 

Or the children in the yard at Rome

 

Or those who gather at home sweet spouse

 

Or the feline chasing after a moth

 

Or the dead lovers covered in cotton

 

Or the debt collectors long forbidden

 

Or the clowns who will not stop their kaleidoscopes

 

Or astronomers peering through their televisions

 

Nor the drunk drivers and their careless cremations

 

Not the oil companies with their service revolvers

 

Nor consulting firms with their problems all free 

 

Nor ontologists yappin to be or not to give

 

Nor the peacemakers with their live and left turned

 

Or the frugal of penny saved penny whistle

 

Or the lad with his bouquet of dried prickly shards

 

Not a day for the companies that sell greeting brandy

 

Or those pushing boxes of chocolates and canned laughter

 

It's a day for my love who knows just what I'm ap to want

 

Her eyes and her lips and her charms and her caresses


 

 


Note from the author: The above poem was sent to me by my ghostwriter along with this other poem she'd written for me to enter into a contest for profound poetry. A bunch of the words had fallen off the pages and were just in the envelope loose but I think I got them all back the way they were supposed to be. Here's that other poem below. It's called

 

 

Exactly Reflecting 

 

 

Blinded with great hope and hearts

 

Into the sun madly careened the dove

 

Incinerating its bones and Kleenex

 

Sally cried about it when big sis had to kiss you

 

It happened a day before March in winter

 

Sally's sister like Crocker was a Mary

 

She cooked with the kitchen ware brand Getty

 

Two days ago, the day before yesteryear

 

In the Texas town, not Italy's play

 

Her role was to be her husband's home

 

By day she was butterfly nightly a mouse

 

Which threatened the wool but not the cloth

 

Which was against the rules and strictly forgotten

 

Whereas the cylinder with mirrors or kidding

 

Was encouraged but not the boob tube telescopes

 

Which father burned in his Luddite collisions

 

And shot them repeatedly with his stations

 

Otherwise the kids were basically solvers

 

But were admonished definitely not to be

 

Away the tricycle because it couldn't be let live

 

And he'd call them for dinner with a two finger earned

 

Once it was so shrill it broke a teapot into thistle

 

And he'd sit by the fire late and sip his cards

 

He loved radio comedy with real not candy

 

We'd bring him his pipe which we knew he was after

 

And mom would come in and he loved her country


 

Author's note: Some people read better if the material is in columns. Here's that presentation

 

Valentines Day Poem 2015

(for Katrinka)

 

 

A day to rejoice in the beating of our love

 

That soars to the clouds on the wings of a phoenix

 

It makes me some teary, please hand me a tissue

 

And after I've dabbed I'll lean over and kid her

 

So who owns this day in the Northern sphere's February

 

Not Shakyamuni nor the virgin Betty

 

Not Bill Gates or J Paul Revere

 

Not the mythic heroes of yesterday

 

Or the children in the yard at Rome

 

Or those who gather at home sweet spouse

 

Or the feline chasing after a moth

 

Or the dead lovers covered in cotton

 

Or the debt collectors long forbidden

 

Or the clowns who will not stop their kaleidoscopes

 

Or astronomers peering through their televisions

 

Nor the drunk drivers and their careless cremations

 

Not the oil companies with their service revolvers

 

Nor consulting firms with their problems all free 

 

Nor ontologists yappin to be or not to give

 

Nor the peacemakers with their live and left turned

 

Or the frugal of penny saved penny whistle

 

Or the lad with his bouquet of dried prickly shards

 

Not a day for the companies that sell greeting brandy

 

Or those pushing boxes of chocolates and canned laughter

 

It's a day for my love who knows just what I'm ap to want

 

Her eyes and her lips and her charms and her caresses

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Exactly Reflecting

 

 

Blinded with great hope and hearts

 

Into the sun blindly careened the dove

 

Incinerating its bones and Kleenex

 

Sally cried about it when big sis had to kiss you

 

It happened a day before March in winter

 

Sally's sister like Crocker was a Mary

 

She cooked with the kitchen ware brand Getty

 

Two days ago, the day before yesteryear

 

In the Texas town, not Italy's play

 

Her role was to be her husband's home

 

By day she was butterfly nightly a mouse

 

Which threatened the wool but not the cloth

 

Which was against the rules and strictly forgotten

 

Whereas the cylinder with mirrors or kidding

 

Was encouraged but not the boob tube telescopes

 

Which father burned in his Luddite collusions

 

And shot them repeatedly with his stations

 

Otherwise the kids were basically solvers

 

But were admonished definitely not to be

 

Away the tricycle because it couldn't be let live

 

And he'd call them for dinner with a two finger earned

 

Once it was so shrill it broke a teapot into thistle

 

And he'd sit by the fire late and sip his cards

 

He loved radio comedy with real not candy

 

We'd bring him his pipe which we knew he was after

 

And mom would come in and he loved her country