Poetic Love Selections by Guy Graybill from his Book, Whimsy and Wry... Enjoy

Strength

There's a rule we should all glean from life,

Thoughful men, who are strong, avoid strife.

Weaker folks they respect.

They don't harm; they protect.

And they NEVER hurt children or wife!

~~~

Relative Time

"How it flies!" said the conquering Romans,

Offering comment on Time's rapid pace;

And they've no made a clock run by atoms,

Just to measure Time's passage through space.

Now, if life can flash by in an instant,

And the earth, in a twinkling, will burn;

Oh, then, why does an hour seem eternal,

While I'm waiting for you to return?

~~~



The Rain

If I can know the roof won't leak
And drenching waters won't remain,
I love to see the rain.

If I can know the earth will drink

And plants will sprout where seeds have lain,

To help all life to interlink,
I love to smell the rain.

If I can find a sheltered seat, 
As raindrops sound their blurred refrain,
My restful mood becomes complete,
I love to hear the rain.

If I can flout propriety
And eye convention with disdain;
And hear you say, "Come, walk with me,"
I love to feel the rain!

~~~

Vintage Hotel

Drab walls, with yellowing white paint.
One wall papered...and peeling,
Cracked plaster and transom air.
The bathroom's better...
Perhaps.

A rubber stopper in the sink.
The tub, old before Truman.
Bare bulb lighting a bare room.
Back to the bedroom...
Again.

Here, we'll observe our honeymoon.
Her robe, draped over a chair.
She wears only a peignoir;
Crimson and gauzy...
Waiting.

What a charming place!

~~~

We Will Never Forget...Memorial Day, 2016... Guy Graybill Shares One Story...

Battlefield Reunion

(Gettysburg, 1913)

Here we meet, don't you know? Comrades, now without foe.

Here we camp and recall battle scenes.

Now we sit by our tents, to compare past events,

As we feast on a soup made with beans.

Here we laugh and we sing while we have us a fling,

For tonight we will not have a care.
Yes, the kettles will steam and old comrades will beam,
While the mem'ries of combat we share.

So, we mingle, with pride and take again in stride.
Soon our spirits are fully restored.
Of our nation we brag and salute us a flag.
Then we pause to give thanks to the Lord.

But, I voice my dismay at the closing of day,
As we rest under moon's gentle light:
Should we not shed a tear for dead comrades, so dear,
Who still haunt our old campground each night?

Wall of Names by Guy Graybill in Whimsy and Wry-- We Mourn Them...

Wall of Names

Most walls are built to separate;

But, this wall's built to bind,

It brings together fallen souls

With loved ones left behind...

This wall will span the ocean's waves.

This wall will span the years;

And, though, it sheds the pounding rains,

It will absorb the tears.

One Man sees others place bouquets

And hears them softly cry,

While making tracings of the names,

His son was one to die.

His son, they said, stepped on a mine

That lay beneath the ground;

But, no remains were gathered then

And none were ever found.

They never sent a body bag,

No 'welcome' could occur.

He held a dismal service; but,

With nothing to inter.

He prays...and hopes to capture, here,

By copying the name,

The spirit of the loved one lost,

That he might hold and frame.

So he will trace the chiseled name,

Upon the sheet it's pressed.

And, if he's caught the troubled soul,

He'll take it home to rest.

And when, someday, we put aside

All campaigns, great and small, 

We'll know the world has finally learned...

The message of our wall.

~~~

The Apron from Whimsy and Wry by Guy Graybill - Memories and Thoughts of Mothers...

Note the Towell!

Or caring for animals...

Many wear routinely when working even outside

 The Apron

In our kitchen she reigned, a benevolent queen;

Although no royal cape on her shoulders was seen.

'Round her waist was an apron of white, trimmed in red,ut, her housekeeper's apron helped ease

Not of ermine, of course, but of muslin instead.

There were too many duties she couldn't omit;

But, her housekeeper's apron

helped ease them a bit.

With her apron she wiped the spilled stew from the pot;

And she used it to carry a pan that was hot.

She employed it to open a jar, tightly sealed

Or to carry some freshly-picked fruit to be peeled.

She wiped flour from her hands when she baked us our breadf;

From our cheeks she wiped most of the tears that we shed.

Now it's faded and frayed; a few stains it displays,

As it hangs on the peg, near the stove, where it stays.

Alas, decades of time their sweet victim have claimed,

 Leaving subjects to mourn
     and successor unnamed.
Though our sovereign is gone     now, for nearly a year, 
Her old apron might yet... wipe away...
one more tear.

                                                  ~~~

 

Happy Mother's Day to All Mothers Everywhere!

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