Cinquains by Pat and friends--Ted Badger & the late Lew Taylor

BIOGRAPHY
His dog
walked him to school,
and many years later,
one lay beside his bed until
he died.
--PL, from an obit
~ ~ ~ ~

BLIP ON THE SCREN
Life is
transitory--
a wisp of smoke soon gone.
Best then focus energies to
seek love.
--Ted O. Badger
~ ~ ~ ~

BREAKING WRITERS BLOCK
Write poems
like you pick plums.
Glean all that come to you.
Sort out the ones with flaws and worms
later.
--Lew Taylor
~ ~ ~ ~

CAROUSEL
Shuffling
the wooden herd
between storage spaces
resulted in the loss of one
pony.
---PL
~ ~ ~ ~

DOMINANT TRAIT
Science
can't abolish
our fallibility
because human nature always
prevails.
--TB
~ ~ ~ ~

DR. JOHNNY WINK, OBU
Satchel
in his right hand
paper in the other,
he walked to class memorizing
poems.
--PL
~ ~ ~ ~

EVOLUTION CONTINUES
Early
worms sometimes meet
birds, becoming breakfasts.
Some day hence all worms will be late
sleepers.
--LT
~ ~ ~ ~

c 2018, PL d/b/a/ lovepat press, Benton AR

Poems from a dedicated service person and poet: Lew Taylor, deceased

Lewis B. Taylor, R.I.P.

THE OLD VETERAN

I was born in this house on a country lane

that has become a four-lane pavement

across fields my ancestors cleared

and my father farmed during all his years.

I have lived my years in this self-same house

at peace with all men, except when called to war

to defend the land my forebears built.

I was proud to fight, preserving the land I knew.

Now, I die in a land I do not know.

This is not the land my father built.

It is not the land I fought to save.

It is a foreign land, with ways I cannot comprehend.

Is it the fate of generations

to die in lands they never knew?

--Lewis B. Taylor, from Lees in the Pail, 2009

~~~

ON THE COPTS IN EGYPT

All light is lovely in darkness.

A candle can be a beacon on a starless night.

They who trim the flickering wicks

May light a whole land.

One who travels in reflected brilliance

Never knows the worth of one long candle.

Then, moving from light to darkness,

He gropes to find familiar forms.

Holding no candle of his own, he gropes.

And then at last he sees.

The source of brilliance is the shining of a million candles

Each held proudly high

By solitary trimmers of wicks.

--Lew Taylor, from Drippings in the Pail, 1995

de TOCQUEVILLE WAS RIGHT

He said,

Americans

Will prosper until they

Vote themselves money from public

Coffers.

POLITICAL CORRECTNESS

Orwell

Saw it clearly,

A vociferous few

Can make themselves more equal than

Others.

--Lew Taylor, from Cinquains Caught in my Pail, 1998

AT THE FIFTIETH REUNION

(of the Class of '47, U. S. Naval Academy)

The Class

has seen a life of forty-thousand years

nurtured from more than eight-hundred roots,

each anchored here in honored ground.

Uncommon men united in common cause,

gathered from around the earth,

began here the voyage of The Class;

a voyage on eight-hundred compass headings

that embarked from our hallowed yard fifty years ago.

Mystic ties unseen join this now-shrinking band.

So long as survivors range the earth

they are The Class, wherever each may be.

There will be no new recruits.

And the loss of each man in his turn is mourned

in each remaining heart.

Service--honor--country

bound these men with lines too strong for breaking.

The link in the chain has been tested:

it beareth the strain.

--Lew Taylor, from Leaked from the Pail, 2003

c 2017 PL

IN MEMORY OF LEW TAYLOR - POET AND FRIEND

LEWIS BUTLER TAYLOR - 1925 - 2014

 

My writing drips from off my pen,

or, on rare occasions, pours,

as case may be.

While either betides I hardly sleep,

but hold my pail to catch such drippings as I can.

 

I do not turn the spigot on,

I do not know who mans the tap,

but since each drop may be the last,

I try to save whatever I can

before the tap runs dry.

 

LT- from "Author's Preface" to Leaked From the Pail, 2003, edited/ published by Lovepat Press, Benton Arkansas

 

~~

 

PET BURIAL

 

This little grave I dig will hold

the dachshund form of my shadow

for the last fourteen years.

Each spade of earth rekindles another memory

. . . .

I dig to rock.

His place dug here

is like the hole left in my life.

I ponder whether my going to join him

will leave as large a hole in any life.

 

I wrap him in his blanket

and bid a teary goodbye,

each of my tears mourning loss,

but also my own mortality.

 

LT - Ibid, p. 8.

 

LIFE TREE

 

Autumn

years are golden?

Autumn leaves are golden

just before they sere, to fall from

the tree.

 

LT - Ibid, p. 28.

 

PASSAGE

 

Autumn

spreads sere brown leaves

on pasture, field and lawn.

Fall moves from then to then. Thus, too,

we go.

 

LT - Ibid, p. 39.

 

 

Rest in Peace, my dear friend Lew.