Category Archives: Poetry – The Stuff of Life

It’s Metapoetic

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7

~ I try to write.     I cannot write. I try  to write down   a poem.   The words,    too trite;   ideas,    so slight; I question  sometimes     what I’m doing.   In rhythm and rhyme,     I concoct a line. And I try     to keep  […] Continue reading →

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iris-eyed p’ups

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3

 ah   silly Croci ‘tis you I espy on a corner somewhere under tree   is there more to this winter you can defy   your purple-plush flower stands firm to air       everywhere in February   there must be some mix up   too early to show up   though here you are single eye […] Continue reading →

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Unwritten

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1

  What is not writ nor put in a book is the why and the where of which follows:   She left not just once;      the second time, twice.         And the third was the icing of cake.   You knew that she would.         Turn the […] Continue reading →

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Superstitious

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2

My mother would walk,    bearing  close by.   “Don’t ever let objects    between us.”   “Bad luck,” she would say;    though, I’d never ask why.   But now that she’s long gone – Believe us!         ©2013, Marvin Loyd Welborn

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Why I Don’t Count

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5

  Some people keep track     of their dates as they went;   I don’t.   And others take care     with the time they have spent;   I won’t.     I don’t know….I don’t count….it’s been many a year,   sometime back when      I was 21.     I […] Continue reading →

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Before the Rough Stuff

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2

    could someone please tell me,     would someone please do, why angels have wings     for the good that they do? and why are they feathered?     for a metaphor?   someone sings orbs,     spheres that make tunes – do you think that John Denver     makes […] Continue reading →

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In Some Nambulence Social

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9

~ Awake! at 3:30   it’s way much too early for a still world outside,   dark and plain.   I look out my window and every tenth window,   one out of ten, is the same.   A face at each window, checking the windows of others, to see   who’s germane.   We […] Continue reading →

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Mending Light

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1

  I went to a Poetry Reading, where a Philosopher     sat in the troupe. When the conversation     turned to the ‘Truth,’ it changed the whole venue     and meaning.   “Truth,” said the wise-man,     “is like a Noon day Sun: When too bright, it is too blinding;   […] Continue reading →

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Nine Times in Ten

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0

  It’s hard   to stop a train.   A moving machine   wholesome & clean; metal on metal,   a clankity-clang –   Nine times in ten   and a-shambles again, compared to    a stopping a train.     Of two aunts once left,   begone,      bereft, of the consaguine   […] Continue reading →

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1970

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2

…. Cold is the color     of mid-winter hoar; gold is a feeling     I felt once before.   Nineteen-seventy     I hereby declare the end of involvement,    unfairness of war.   So near and so far,     too close for some, one dearly departed     from what once […] Continue reading →

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Mixing My Metaphors

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I sit in my old car, a ninety-eight and listen not close to the music. The weather is cold, it’s January; and the sound, I guess, could be classic. I think of the meter as I write down, anapestic, or maybe iambic. Now, I know, you’ll stop and count out each line; if you’re like […] Continue reading →

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In Real Life

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     In real life   we Tarzans    don’t swing from a vine, and plainly   those Janies    wouldn’t give us the time.   When I was a poor boy,    white hats were all in   for heroes, all sunshine;   black hats for bad men.   In real life   the […] Continue reading →

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Meta Rhyme

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20

~ ~ Sometimes it’s hard, So hard to find, The right words that fall into measure. Sometimes it’s hard For song-sounding rhyme, To fit all the right words Together. Oft times they come; But then there are some That fall into place Like treasure. At most times, Like children, They like to be chased – […] Continue reading →

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Hair of the Hound

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1

~ My old dogs are chums, the best chums of mine; I have not just one, but of two. They’re both a kind quite fine I find – at my age, good friends are few. We’re walking the block, our diurnal walk, down a street that all call Calhoon, when all of a sudden, from […] Continue reading →

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