Apr 18

Regret – a Guest Poem by Dorsey Baker

Today we feature a guest poem submitted to us by Dorsey here on Wanderer Thoughts Poetry.

Regret

a guest poem by Dorsey Baker

regret like

steps walked in a run

like an ocean emptying itself

like a weeping willow

too mournful to weep

like a weight

too heavy to hold itself.

Thank you for reading today’s guest poem, please take the time to let our guest poet know what you thought of their work by leaving a comment.

Apr 12

Poem: Somebody’s Mother

Somebody’s Mother

The woman was old and ragged and gray
And bent with the chill of the Winter’s day.

The street was wet with a recent snow
And the woman’s feet were aged and slow.

She stood at the crossing and waited long,
Alone, uncared for, amid the throng

Of human beings who passed her by
Nor heeded the glance of her anxious eyes.

Down the street, with laughter and shout,
Glad in the freedom of ‘school let out,’

Came the boys like a flock of sheep,
Hailing the snow piled white and deep.

Past the woman so old and gray
Hastened the children on their way.

Nor offered a helping hand to her –
So meek, so timid, afraid to stir

Lest the carriage wheels or the horses’ feet
Should crowd her down in the slippery street.

At last came one of the merry troop,
The gayest laddie of all the group:

He paused beside her and whispered low,
‘I’ll help you cross, if you wish to go.’

Her aged hand on his strong young arm
She placed, and so, without hurt or harm,

He guided the trembling feet along,
Proud that his own were firm and strong.

Then back again to his friends he went,
His young heart happy and well content.

‘She’s somebody’s mother, boys, you know,
For all she’s aged and poor and slow.

‘And I hope some fellow will lend a hand
To help my mother, you understand,

‘If ever she’s poor and old and gray,
When her own dear boy is far away.’

And ‘somebody’s mother’ bowed low her head
In her home that night, and the prayer she said

Was ‘God be kind to the noble boy,
Who is somebody’s son, and pride and joy!’

~Mabel Down Northam Brine

Apr 09

The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost

My son was having to memorize Robert Frost’s The Road Not Taken for school, which was always a poem I remembered fondly when I read it as a kid.  So to help him I decided to record it and put it as an mp3 that he can listen to to help with memorization as well as to read.

Here is my recording of The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost.

 

The Road Not Taken

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
-Poem by Robert Frost

Mar 22

Poem: In the Bubbles

Few things are more relaxing and soothing than sitting in a hot spa at night soaking in the warm water and letting the massaging jets and bubbles melt away your stress and loosen your tight muscles.  This poem captures that evening alone soaking in a hot tub.

image

In The Bubbles

They come out and play
tiny worlds at my toes
collisions with bodies
soaking in the bubbles

Through heat and steam
serenity in a dream
at nightfall time
in a state sublime

Drinking bubbly to match
aches drain away
as fast as troubles
until a new day

-Poem by Justin Germino

Mar 17

Poem: Got No Imagination

In a world of black and white, all it takes is a little imagination to see the color for what it is. The colors that run around us and make us who we are.

 

Got No Imagination

Walking beside me are beings of black
deeds done in devils name
though white words are empty blades
we all fall through swords of hate

In titans the white ones pray
yet the white preach is true black
when chaos comes it is black and white
with sides chosen, no in between

When my children feast upon what I say
their hearts and minds grow black
another generation on the line
with the white swinging back

Those who call themselves middle or gray
are nothing more than siding with the black
only the purest of the mold the white true
can say they are of the purest virtue

-Poem by Justin Germino

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