Poems by Roberta
An Ode to the Commode
Oh, precious, porcelain vessel, So white and shining bright, You graciously
accept our offerings Both by day and
How can we live without you?
We'd be sorry if you weren't there.
Without the throne the reading room,
Would be empty, cold and bare.
Oh, incandescent fixture, Many worship at your feet.
You flush away the sins of man
When we bow to your seat.
Oh, lustrous bowl of water
It's time to claim your due.
You even provide a drinking place
For our doggies and kitties too!
I look for him always,
the little boy with the sun in his hair
and the sky in his eyes.
I look for his gren
that once was so natural.
I listen for his laughter
that still echoes through my memories.
Iwatch for the tears
that once came when the hurt was too much to bear alone.
And I ache to chase it away
as I once did with kisses and a hug.
But what I see now is tall and sullen.
No more sunlight.
No more blue skies.
Only a black thunderhead and grey fog.
No softness of childhood remains,
just hard angles and prickly thorns and "no admittance" in his eyes.
The childish hurt one felt in the heart is now rage and hard words
thrown like hatchets at any handy target.
Anger is is favorite garment,
worn clutched tightly around his heart.
Family ties are a hair shirt he
struggles constantly to remove.
I don't know him anymore.
He's moved to another zip code,
resides in a county I don't recognize.
And, I think he's forgotten how to smile
with his heart.
Biographical sketch: I'm 52 years young, have two adult children.
I'm building a new life form for
myself now that I'm no longer "child-bound>"
Listen to the Warm by Rod McKuen
Reason: I found this poetry in college lo these many years
ago. His poetry, though dated, has spoken to me many times.
Recommendations for writers:
Feel what you write. And have a sense of humor about yourself and