An Edgar A. Guest poem for the holiday

THE BOY AND THE FLAG

Edgar A Guest

I want my boy to love his home,

His Mother, yes, and me:

I want him, wheresoe'er he'll roam,

With us in thought to be.

I want him to love what is fine,

Nor let his standards drag,

But, Oh! I want that boy of mine

To love his country's flag!

I want him when he older grows

To love all things of earth;

And Oh! I want him, when he knows,

To choose the things of worth.

I want him to the heights to climb

Nor let ambition lag;

But, Oh! I want him all the time

To love his country's flag.

I want my boy to know the best,

I want him to be great;

I want him in Life's distant West,

Prepared for any fate.

I want him to be simple, too,

Though clever, ne'er to brag,

But, Oh! I want him, through and through,

To love his country's flag.

I want my boy to be a man,

And yet, in distant years,

I pray that he'll have eyes that can

Not quite keep back the tears

When, coming from some foreign shore

And alien scenes that gag,

Borne on its native breeze, once more

He sees his country's flag.

From Collected verse of EDGAR A. GUEST, published 1934 by Contemporary Books, Inc.

Just in the past few days. . . poems/ photos

First day

of summer, yet

the pansies, though leggy,

still show off their multicolored

faces.

~ ~ ~

Purple
jew coexists
with coreopsis, cone
flower, dianthus, oxalis,
stone crop.
~ ~ ~ ~

Close up
of bronzy 'mums
blooming for the second
year in Mom's ancient concrete porch
planter.
~ ~ ~

c 2017 PL

Sights, sounds, smells - POEMS

Yellow
blooms of lance-leaved
coreopsis litter
the lawn. Son says "Leave them." Brother:
"They're weeds!"
~ ~ ~

Fragrance

of gardenias

another perk of porch-

sitting early in the morning's

coolness.

~ ~ ~

MOM! DAD! HELP!

Its first

trip to the bird-

bath? "Now that I'm here, what

do I do?" It wades in and sips,

then stands.

~ ~ ~

Orange
canna blossom
stands as an overlord
above the mandevilla's two
pink blooms.
~ ~ ~

Bluejay

squawks, "No suet

in this feeder, lady!

and I could use some sustenance."

"Soon, sir."

~ ~ ~

First time

in a long time

I see althea blooms.

Demise of hackberry-tree shade

the cause?

~ ~ ~

Barely
audible this
early, nearly-summer
morning, a freight train trundles toward
Texas.
~ ~ ~
c 2017, PL - dba lovepat press

Memories of a writers retreat experience

 Karen, Carolyn, Deanna at a book signing by Ruth Hawkins

At the Hemingway-Pfeiffer Museum
--a senryu sequence

Hasten, hasten all
writers –you who’re interested
in ‘one true sentence.’

Come to the old barn
where E. H. once wrote
parts of A Farewell . . .

Surrounded by ghosts,
his typewriter, leopard skin
rugs, whispers of lust

we focus efforts
to learn to write like Papa,
stark words, whittled to

the pith, gist and gut.
Imaginations flit, soar,
breaking boundaries

found in home, office,
school. Like doves released, we fly,
fill page upon page,

exult in fatigue:
a story begun, finished.
To Papa! Hear, hear!

 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

[10:24 pm, 1.21.14, Tuesday]

[Pat Laster

To the state critic, 1.16.14

Revised ala critic, 1.21.14]