Poetry is in the eye of the beholder.  Have a blast with the material and then share it with others for the mutual benefit of society.   

Uncle Pete's Song 

This is the song that my nephew, Kenny,
Wrote for me after I have been dead for over a decade.
He identifies my sense of humor,
With the character of Groucho Marx.

What is the true meaning of his inquiries?
It must be something to do with a sense of loss in his life.
I learned over the years of my life,
How to save money and cut a little niche,
Out of life for myself.
 
I did pretty good with myself and married,
A good woman who I learned to love.
I missed her after she succumbed in our senior years,
To colon cancer.

We tried to have real relationship with her son and grandchild.
My wife, actually, was quite a young great-grandmother.
I enjoy the simple things now.
The tomato plants in our backyard.
Playing blocks with a young Kenny and his sister, Kristie.

I live in the words that Kenny is writing in this poemic,
Communication.

I worked hard when I was young and stumbled,
Into a pretty good thing for my life.
I can say that I was happy and satisfied,
With the life that I chose.
It was a dark day the night that I screamed for help all night.
I was glad that Nancy came to visit me and asked me,
If I was prepared to meet my Maker.

I told her that I was prepared.
She prayed for me.
Kenny was recuperating from having his appendix out,
A few weeks before I died.

I wished that I could have more time.
I did miss Myrtle.
I had to live on my watch and Kenny has to live,
With the moments he has been given.

I appreciated that he was able to enjoy some of my Navy,
Clothes.
I never had a son that anyone knew about.
It is always good to think that you have left some impression,
Upon someone before you die.

I did leave an impression on Kenny.
He even wrote a poem about all of us in his family,
Called, "Everyone Loves Kenny."
It is also on his poetry archive Web Site.

I must leave and return to the heavens.
Now how many kids would say that I came from the other place of weeping.
I never smoked a cigar in front of Kenny in those,
Old days.
I did wash the dishes with Myrtle after dinner.
I had a cane that I would use as a steadying tool when I walked around.

I drove a pale blue Volkswagen and went,
Shopping for Myrtle and Mildred at the Long Beach,
Navy base.
I think it a shame that the Shipyard and base has closed down.
I think it is a waste against our national defense.
Of course I was a Navy chief petty officer.

Kenny has a hard time explaining that his mother, Nancy,
Use to visit us when she was a little girl for the summer.
I guess that I loved having children around for a time in my life.
It helped to rub off the rough edges in my life.

I have a feeling that Kenny will do well in his life.
He does need to think about money a little more.
Well, I was the money man anyway.
I wish Kenny well;
Especially, as he is writing the script for my speaking parts in this poem.
I think that he is an alright kid.
I wish him well.
 

Jimmy Part I 

Jimmy had a desire to take a trip to the city of Paris.
He saved up his money,
His money,
His money,
Then took a flight on a United 767 to Paris.
The plane landed at Orly airport,
He took a taxi to his hotel.
The ride cost fifty dollars.

Jimmy was used to motel rooms from traveling in the States.
He never expected that a two hundred dollar room,
Would have half a bed and two toilets.
He did have a great view out of his window,
Of a back alley.
The streets were not too dirty,
And the bums were at a minimum.

Jimmy came to Paris by himself, as
He was sometimes considered a little different.
He sat at the cafes, waiting for a happening.
The waiters sneered at him and love to spill things,
On this "dumb" American.

Jimmy thought and dreamed for a kind soul,
To become his beautiful girl of Paris.
Jimmy never thought he would be alone in Paris.
He decided to buy a bus ticket to the south.
He arranged his trip to go to Libya.

He figured that a death in Africa was better than,
Watching his rotting flesh in his little,
Hometown in safe America where everyone thought he was,
Nothing and stupid.

He traveled to Libya through Algeria by bus.
Everyone on the bus touched some part of his body and gave him,
Gold coins.

Forty-Two 
 
I, Percival of the Lakes, travel into a strange grotto,
Filled with the incense of a thousand ripened rose trees.
I feel empty of all that I have known; yet,
Alive more than any man can bear.
I sit down a nearby boulder and listen to the sounds from the quiet.

Remember the passion of the Mother for her God,
The passion of the Mother for her Son.
Drink the fruit of this vine to remember,
And not forget.

I am lying in a boat painted brown and white,
Floating on some stream within the grotto.
The woman sitting next to me is filled with brightness,
Her golden hair and smile and tender, fair eyes,
Give me a sense of peace.
I fall asleep and dream of only one thought.

The woman next calls my name.
I begin to awake from the other ways, daydreaming days.
I find her to be Rachel of the Seven Seas.
"Why are you hear with me?" I ask.
"Because you visited the Lion and the Lamb,
You have seen the Great Portion divided.
The little star has grown brighter in your eyes,
As you have traveled through the night."

Rachel gave me her hand and I walked with her from,
The water to the dry land.
I asked her for the Truth.
"I have always loved you from the day before your birth.
The angels cried when you came to earth,
They knew that someday you would find the Fire and Rain,
That would lead you to perish.
I have loved you from the beginning.
I will love you through until the end."

I took my sword and gave her the handle.
She kissed the blade.
"You will never see your family,
Nor visit your loving friends.
You will learn to love the battle,
Until the very end.
I will never let you fall,
Until you meet me in the house,
Of your fathers,
In the house of our love that you have drank,
From a cup of labor and daily bread."

Rachel kissed my lips,
She kissed my cheek,
She kissed my forehead.
She bid me farewell,
And told me that she would wait for me.
She told me that she loved me, loved me:
I would overcome for all times.

Every day I walk through the cities of men.
I travel in the boats of the gods.
I am fed by bountiful harvest of the daughters of Woman.
I can only share what I know, and what I have learned:

Remember the passion of the Mother for her God,
The passion of the Mother for her Son,
Drink the fruit of this boiling wine to remember,
And not regret.

The army was never forgotten.
The war was at an end.
The victor had received a crown.
I wish to share it with Rachel.

I love the blood,
The red cup filled with the,
Overflowing mass of goodness.
Golden goblets, or wooden chalices never mean as much,
As the bloody wine,
That changes my veins into,
Kettles.

I need the blood,
The blue berry cereal comes from the redness in your arms,
Your side.
Let me learn to love the blood.
The cup.
The bread.
The body broken,
Healed.

I need.
The Cup.
The Blood.
Blue berries.
Peach melba toast.
The Cup.
The Blood.
You.
 

Forty-Four 
 

It is eleven in the evening on Labor Day.
The day was spent in too much sleep,
With a little study and washing my laundry.

Tonight, I enjoy a little football,
While reading about editing words using grammar,
And word meaning.

I turn on a videorecording of two lost people,
Who found a friendship in each other.

While relaxing in the night,
I find that a cool wind is blowing into my bathroom.
I find the air is clear.
I feel that rest is near.

The air is coming.
It brings me to happiness.
 

Then we laugh.

As I look into your clear, brown eyes,
.

Roses
.

Forty-Eight 
 
Jimmy Part II 

I met a young woman the other night named Annie.
 

Won't you try to understand?

I feel the sunshine on the back of my neck.
I listen to the waves flowing,
Over the thin, sandy shore near my house.
Okay, so it just an apartment,
Of clothes and old furniture.

I want the wine that is rich and deep.
It is not just the hue of the liquid, but the rest
The river brings to my weary person.
I want to drink from the cup and eat the wafer,
But, instead I hold on to a set of values that advance my pain,
And sometime victory.

I want to sing in the choir,
Mow my lawn,
Kiss my dog.
The white fence needs to be whitewashed.
Can I paint, even the sepulchre.

I want to drink deeply of your love.
I need to forget the past and become a man.

Kiss my face and hold my hand.
I am willing to fight all Hell, if necessary.
I would rather watch the fights.

Shall I soar to the moon with you, my darling?
The moon could make a nice picnic site.
I don't care about anything else, Baby.
I must drink with you until I fall asleep.
Weep after the cows have come home.

I must drink.

The singer, Eric, tries to remember a normal life.
He never thought that making money and doing videos,
Would make him famous.
He does not want to be a "one hit wonder."
He, also, does not want to lose his childhood sweatheart,
That he has never stopped loving.
 
Eric signs a contract to do one hundred shows a year,
At the Las Vegas Sands Hotel.
He thinks about the state of his career,
Is he a "Pop" star anymore?

His last concert four years later was almost empty.
His agent never calls anymore,
The chicks mock his long hair and wrinkle filled face.
It is true he has a few houses left,
But his life is empty.
Karen called last Christmas and wished him the best.
She talked of the PTA and her two children attending,
Elementary school.
Eric realizes the fame was not enough.

The next year the Internal Revenue Service forced him,
To sell off all of his property to pay his back taxes.
He still has an apartment in Pittsburgh,
And struggles to make a living hosting Karaoke bars,
Seven nights a week.

He has cut off all his hair,
Works in a soup kitchen in Chicago.
The alcohol consumption and cigarettes finally killed his,
Golden Voice.
His wife threw him out of the apartment, after he cussed her out,
For throwing away his old albums.

He looks in the mirror at himself.
He has lost all of his teeth,
Stole the shoes he is wearing,
And contemplates robbing a liquor store for something cheap,
He remembers President Kennedy and the shows he sang.
He cusses himself and then sings,
For strangers on the street.
He notices that the day is extremely hot in New York this afternoon.
He takes a nap.

The police foot-patrolman calls the Morgue to hall the body away.
He hates to see the city streets littered with the, "Fucking piece of,
Crap trash that nobody Goddamn wants."
The body is deposited in a final unmarked grave.
The city goes on with the normal day's business.

Eric notices that he feels young again.
He can breathe and sing.
He does not understand what happened to him until,
He saw his body cold and stiff.
He begins to shake, wondering
What destiny is before him?

He hears a voice that he remembers as his childhood sweetheart, Karen.
He feels tears on his eyes,
Start saying, "I want to see her, I want to see her."
All of sudden he notices the smell of her perfume and a,
Turkey.
He did not feel hungry, but he wanted to eat the turkey,
To feel normal, like he was alive.

Karen was cleaning up the kitchen with,
Her granddaughters and daughter-in-laws.
The Christmas dinners had been a success.
Her sons asked her if they could throw away her records,
As they bought her a new compact disc player,
And replaced most of the records with the newer versions.

She had a mist in her eyes,
As she looked at the Eric the Postman records.
She told her offspring that she once knew the man on the record.
Karen told them about how she once accepted his marriage,
Proposal only to see his career become more important,
Than her.
She had always wished the best for him.
She never from him since the sixties.

Her son, Archie, came to her and put his arm around her.
He told her that there was a recent bit of news:
Eric had died in a street in New York, homeless.

Karen looked at her son and kissed him on the face.
"Maybe Eric will have more peace in the next life,
I heard it was difficult for him to live in this one!
We played together as children,
Went together during high school.
He was like candy to me, your father was a man to me.
Let us all wish Eric the best in the times to come.
Now let us go in and sing some Christmas songs.  It is
Funny that a song that Eric wrote is now one of the most,
Popular Christmas songs in the 1990's.

The children sang.
Eric saw that the darkness was engulfing him,
He saw the flames and in a surrealistic fashion,
Heard Karen and her family singing one of his songs:

"I'll be walking with my sweetheart along the Christmas,
Trail.
I'll kiss her lovely cheek with my heart.
We'll pass the Christchild's home,
And ride a Santa sleigh,
We'll be home before New Year's day.

We'll spend Christmas together.
We'll see and love our families.
I will never regret the beauty of being with you.

We'll spend Christmas together.
We'll see and love our families.
We'll never forget, nor regret the beauty of,
Christmas together."

[Dedicated to Chris and Annie Christopherson]
 

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