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  Mar 2020 John parker
At what point do you finally give up?
When can you say you’ve had enough?
When nothing ever goes right,
Why bother to keep going?
John parker Mar 2020

  Mar 2020 John parker
The man was leaning back in his fancy wheelchair
So much that he was almost parallel with the ground,
And while everyone else who was
There for the church service was freaking out,
He was as still as a gym before a free throw.
His left leg was not present, his right one at an unnatural angle,
And my mind started to conjure up a bomb
That had thrown him through the air,
Away from his friends, his commander, away
From his life as he had known it.
He had large homemade, not quite mittens,
But knit sock-like articles over his hands,
Alternating orange and black yarn with only a couple of
Cute errors where orange touched orange or black touched black.
A slight grunt, a swift motion, and the mittens were off,
Revealing a left hand twisted into a fist and a right hand
In a white cast, hanging limp at his side.
His soft peppermint scent, large wrinkly face, and wispy
White beard was reminiscent of Santa Claus in the mall,
Though Old Saint Nick was never that far back in his chair.
His assistant was a frantic college girl who looked like she had lost a child at the park
And was trying to decide whether to ask for help or
Continue to struggle helplessly on her own.
Each turn of a dial or press of a button pushed the man farther down,
Until his feet were almost higher than his head.
Yet on the man’s face was the type of smile that a grandpa has
When he’s about to checkmate his grandson in a game of chess;
Triumphant, knowing, loving.
He must have seen me openly staring at his cruelly funny dilemma,
For he turned to me and grinned,
“Don’t worry about it; makes life interesting.”
I smiled back, not knowing what else to do.
As suddenly as a pitcher throws to first,
The man jolted upward, and his chair returned
To its normal angle.
With the crisis averted, church
Began, and although I tried to focus on the preacher,
My eyes and mind kept wandering to my veteran.
His one leg tapped to his own drum,
His strong voice belting out the melody on the hymns,
And a hard “Amen!” was heard every other sentence.
He was happy.
He had one leg, two useless hands, was living in a place away
From family and friends, with much of the joys
Of his youth over, past, gone,
But my veteran was happy.
His frantic college assistant seemed very pleased
That his chair didn’t have a repeat episode on the way out
Of the chapel after church.
He shot me a quick nod as he was wheeled out,
His wisp of a beard bouncing on his chest.
Perhaps he would have been a Santa Claus at a mall
In a different life, one without war, sadness, pain, hardship.
Maybe he could have been a more active grandpa to his grandkids,
If he had them; he could have played football catch in the yard,
Secretly baked cookies for Grandma with them at two in the morning,
Get on the roof and scare his kids hanging Christmas lights.
Maybe he could have done and been all these things, but for the
War, sadness, pain, hardship.
I know what the veteran would say to that though:
“Don’t worry about it; makes life interesting.”
Thought I'd write about a character I saw at a veterans' home church service this Sunday.  I thought he had a good lesson to teach, although he wasn't aware he was teaching.
John parker Mar 2020
I Loved her!
He drugged her!
He stamped all over her!

He killed her.
R.I.P sweetheart ❤❤
John parker Mar 2020
She lied there that day. All I now picture, is blood stains from unwanted needle work, and eyes redly diluted from sufferd pain.

She starved herself that day!
Not from food!
But Hypoxia. ❤❤
John parker Mar 2020
A for Anne Sexton, again and again!
The love and the anger had come back again!
B for Bob Dylan, ballad of a thin man!
Walk into a room with a pencil in your hand!
C for Charles Baudelaire, am not shore on his French!
D for Dylan Thomas, that child's Christmas made sense!
E for Edgar Allan Poe Annabel Lee!
It was a many a many a year ago, in a kingdom by the sea!
F for Francisco de Quevedo, the Spanish I couldn't understand!
G for George Eliot, her proper names Mary Anne!
H for homer the Iliad book 13!
Wolfs in the Forrest, and the battle could be seen!
I for Isabella Velancy Crawford, A Harvest song!
Her poetry was so lovely, and nothing spelt wrong!
J for Jim Morrison, My bestest poet of all!
Is music is "king" his rock stood so tall!
K for Kahlil Gibran, I awaken I stare at the sun!
An artist, a poet, a writer, but sadly all his works been done!
L for Lewis Carrol, the hunting of the snark!
M for Matsuo Basho, the true master of his heart!
N for Nizar Qabbani, a poet that was so sweet!
A diplomat a publisher, I hope you R.I.P.
O for Oscar Wilde, in the good room - A Harmony!
Ivory hands, on the Ivory keys!
Strayed in a fitful fantasy!
P for Pablo Picasso, the morning of the world!
A painter, a sculptor, a print maker, a ceramicist not known to us all!
Q for Quincy Troupe, skulls along the river!
What a greater poet, and what a greater performer!
R for Robert Frost, nothing gold can stay!
1864 - 1963!
S for Sylvia Plath, she wrote love is a parallax!
She also got found with her head in the oven, the poor soul died of inhaling gas R.I.P
T for Ted Hughes, a poet and children's writer!
U for all you poets!
Your futures looking brighter!
V for Victor Hugo, the grave and the Rose!
He wrote about the Dews of dawn!
And always mentioned his Rose!
W for William Shakespeare, a poet that he was!
He'll be up there somewhere special!
Playing and writing for the Gods!
X for --xtra space, I couldn't leave it blank!
Y for Yoda Buson!
And Z will have to stay blank-----------
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