When I was young I considered myself a poet of a sort. Today I recovered my childhood musings from its hiding place. The Lawyers Day Book dated 1952 houses 58 poems, mostly doggerel, remaining unpublishable except maybe for here. I will not bore my readers with all of them, though some are marginally worthy of appearing here. Many are not complete. The best of the bunch is not my own. It is said to be copied from a tombstone on Boot Hill.
"Here lies the body of Lester Moore
Shot twice in the back with a .44
No Les
No Moore"
— Author unknown
Limericks were my all time favorite since the seventh grade when I purchased Bennett Surf's book, "Out on a Limerick". The style is easily mastered and limericks fairly flowed from my pen. However I will leave the limericks for last.
The book opens with:
MY POEMS
Of all the poems in the world
The least liked ones have been hurled
Fresh off the press of the author's mind.
These are not the very best kind,
Written for money or for show unfurled.
Poems, like treasures, are a valuable find.
I want mine, in some hidden corner, curled,
In an old forgotten room where spiders wind,
To be found only when I'm dead,
So that I won't blush when they are read.
I don't know how valuable a find this was. My opinion of my work was overrated, and I thought more highly of it than I should have. I was also very introverted when I was young, and for most of my life. Little bothers me now — the least of which are these poems. They are no longer cause to blush. My introversion came from deeply rooted pride, which I held onto for decades before the Holy Spirit persuaded me to relinquish it to Him. I went through many hardships and troubles before I realized I was such a prideful person. And I still need to be reminded every now and then. Old habits die hard.
That pride can be seen in the original title of the following couplet, "A Beautiful Poem". I have dropped the adjective.
A POEM
A poem is a work of art
That comes from deep within the heart.
It is so simplistic it sounds like it must have been written centuries ago, and maybe it is a couplet from someone else that I heard and do not recall. If anyone recognizes it, please let me know.
The next one was not intended to be a prophesy. How could I at age 12 to 17 know how forgetful I would become in later years?
DAZE
A day is a thing soon forgot.
There are so many you see,
To remember them all would almost be
A most improbable lot!
And now for my favorite, the limerick. Sometimes I wince at spelling errors. A true limerick writer cannot allow himself to do that. Half the fun of limericks come from the odd spelling.
Two colts, a kid, and a calf
Got together to have a good lalf.
Said the colts, "Let us kid."
Said the kid, "You just did."
So they all had a lalf and a half.
There once was a man named Marlét
Who worked hard for his girl every dét.
"If given some time
I'd make her all mine,
But I can't because of the pét."
Have you heard of the woman of Geyser,
Who insisted she wasn't a meyser?
Her friends who knew
Didn't say boo,
And her husband was never the weyser!
Like my father, I love limerick and one thought myself a poet but I was over-rated. Cute stuff here. I enjoyed the read.
ReplyDeleteThanks BeckyJoie, you always have the nicest things to say!
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