Tag Archives: poetry

As Long As You’re With Me

UPDATE (November 20th): I’ve been playing around with some home recording software.  Check out this site where I’ve posted an MP3 version of this song:  http://tinysong.com/NTTe

Hey all, remember me?  Sorry I haven’t been posting much lately.

I haven’t shared a song in a while.  Today is my 19th anniversary married to my amazing wife.  We’ve been together for about 25 years. Some of you may have read this poem that I wrote awhile back.  I’ve had a tune running through my head for months and one day it just came to me that this little poem might just fit perfectly into the tune. So I reworked the words a little bit to fit and came up with this song.  So HAPPY 19th Anniversary to my incredible wife.  Here’s to many more years… as long as you’re with me!

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The Sylvia Plath Effect

From the sick and twisted files…

There’s research ’bout writers, shall have you amazed.
People who write, they tend to be crazed.
Struggling with life, conflicted and torn.
From deep in their psyche, creativity’s born.

Specifically, something that shouldn’t surprise.
A dynamic most writers would likely surmise.
‘Tis based on the poet Sylvia Plath.
There’s a complex disorder, many poets does hath.

The Sylvia Plath Effect, what it’s been named.
Poets doth suffer, that’s what is claimed.
Depression and sadness and other conditions,
Drives all these folks to their writing ambitions.

The deep, inward thoughts they scroll on the pages.
Unquestionably not because of the wages.
Something compels them to write what they write.
To document all of their internal plight.

Now Sylvia Plath, couldn’t deal with her strife.
At the young age of thirty she ended her life.
Into her oven she placed down her head.
Turned on the gas and soon she was dead.

That set me to wonder, am I mad as a hatter?
I like to write verse, what does that matter?
They’re not really poems they’re just silly rhymes.
They make people chuckle most of the times.

Seuss wasn’t crazy, least not that I’ve heard.
His stories are poems, yet often preferred,
by children, worldwide, just starting to read.
One of the greatest, you’d surely concede.

So I think I’m okay, I’ve not been affected.
The Sylvia Plath Effect’s not been detected.
Some people may think I am slightly eclectic.
The good news, my oven runs on electric!

There is lots of fascinating information out there regarding the tendency of creative writers (and in general, artists, writers, musicians and other creative types) to suffer from all sorts of personality disorders and it begs the chicken and egg question… which comes first the creativity or the mental health issues?  Think how often someone posts about writing being therapeutic. What are your thoughts? Do you write because you’re crazy…. or does writing just drive you crazy? 🙂

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O’ Beautiful Corn

O’ Beautiful Corn, you grow so high.
Up to our knees by Fourth of July.
Up to our chest in August late.
Just in time for harvest date.

O’ Beautiful Corn, grown from the lands.
We buy you from the local stands.
A dozen ears won’t cost a lot.
Shall be enough to fill our pot.

O’ Beautiful Corn, in husks of green.
We peel them to reveal your sheen.
A job, our children we employ.
One of the jobs they do enjoy.

O’ Beautiful Corn, you precious food.
You always put me in the mood.
For friends and fun and barbeques.
And summer meals we can’t refuse.

O’ Beautiful Corn of shining Maize.
Your fresh picked taste on summer days.
Soaked in butter, sprinkled with salt.
Your goodness we should all exalt.

O’ Beautiful Corn, your cobs we strip.
With our teeth we tear and rip.
Like a typewriter moving ‘cross the page
That’s how it’s done at any age.

But Beautiful Corn, we must confess.
There’s a question we can only guess,
has been asked by people o’er and again,
even the pilgrims way back when.

See, Beautiful Corn, we are distressed.
Why your kernels, we cannot digest.
Every other food we turn to poo.
Why can’t we do the same with you?

The End (pun intended)! 🙂

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As long as you’re with me.

To my wife

If I could live in any place, which place would it be?
Paris, France or Ireland or Southern Italy?
Those would be nice, once or twice, but…
I’d choose Michigan, right where we’ve been, as long as you’re with me.

If I could live in any house, which house would it be?
A mansion in the mountains or a lighthouse by the sea?
Those would be nice, once or twice, but…
Our old house, is where I’d espouse, as long as you’re with me.

If I could drive in any car, which car would it be?
A Beamer on the Autobahn or a car in the Grand Prix?
Those would be nice, once or twice, but…
I’d pick my old truck, with any luck, as long as you’re with me.

If I could float in any boat, which boat would it be?
A paddlewheel on a river or a schooner on the sea?
Those would be nice, once or twice, but…
An old canoe, would certainly do, as long as you’re with me.

If I could rest in any chair, which chair would it be?
A throne inside a castle or a seat at the symphony?
Those would be nice, once or twice, but…
Nothing compares, to rocking chairs, as long as you’re with me.

If I could eat any meal, which meal would it be?
Boiled lobster on the beach or hors-d’oeuvres with wine and brie?
Those would be nice, once or twice, but…
I’d eat a PB&J, on a rainy day, as long as you’re with me.

If I could choose any drink, which drink would it be?
A Margarita by a sunny pool or a fruity Daiquiri?
Those would be nice, once or twice, but…
I’d just fill up, my coffee cup, as long as you’re with me.

If I could live to any age, which age would it be?
All the way to Ninety or perhaps One Hundred and Three?
Those would be nice, once or twice, but…
Age can’t be guessed, though I’ll be blessed, as long as you’re with me.

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