The Poet's Parlor
Wednesday, December 9, 2020
The Missing Friend
I mourn for you in many ways
But I mourn for myself, the more
I miss our reckless teenage days;
the thrills each hour held in store
Through the years, the smiles and tears
through, love and loss and laughter
we lived our lives devoid of fear
in search of happily ever after
that’s the way of fairy tales
and fantasies we were spending;
certain in our younger days
life would have a happy ending
We built respect and trust, my brother
through hard work and dedication
always there for one another
no matter what the situation
We gained confidence and courage
impervious to every attack
we would take them on together
and I knew you always had my back
So you might call at three a.m.
For a friend you could rely on
knowing that I was on your side
and a shoulder you could cry on
without shame or condemnation
I gave you a part of my soul
and we treasured each other
through every occasion
Our friendship never grew old
There, when your first child born
And you were there for mine
Our two lives entwined as one
like twisting honeysuckle vine
We lost wives, nearly lost our minds
still our paths went on together
over dirt roads and through potholes;
through sun and stormy weather
The rugged years only made us strong
with grizzled cheeks and beards
though days and nights were sometimes long
we battled back the tears
But now I must go on alone
over many a silent, lonely mile
You live in my heart although you are gone
and your memory always makes me smile
Tuesday, December 1, 2020
Chick and Duck
There was a little duck
And a little chick
Quick,quack, quick
They rode upon a train
Choo,choo,choo
In the pouring rain
To see the coast of Spain
The little chick and duck
Click, clack, cluck
Thursday, November 26, 2020
Of Land and Sea
Fishermen go down to the sea
Calloused hands mend nets
Leather skin from sun and wind
The boats return at sunset
Farmers go into the fields
Rugged hands upon the plow
Land is turned while daylight burns
As the hours will allow
Dreamers look up to the stars
Hoping they might teach them
How they sparkle from afar
If only they could reach them
Lovers walk beneath the moon
And spill their glittering hearts
Hand in hand upon the sand
Where land and sea must part
The shining blue, drawn by the moon
Goes forth and returns with tides
Like men who toil in sea or soil
Yet, still, the earth abides
What have fishermen learned
If not where to find their catch?
The tide that pulls them from inside
Their strength and skill must match
What do the swarthy farmers know
If not how to grow their crops?
A time to reap; a time to sow
And the cycle never stops
You young dreamers, chasing stars
What do you hope to learn?
There is fire in each desire
That only sparkles because it burns
As for the lovers of romance
With hearts on sleeves to see
When forlorn, the sleeve is torn
And thus, the heart is bound to be
Go and return, sons and daughters
Apart or hand in hand
As fishermen upon the waters
Or those who harvest from the land
Tuesday, July 21, 2020
Tumbleweeds

Once children grew steady and strong
Nourished by roots of family history
growing in the orchard where they belonged
when the sweet fruit of life held mystery
The came the contagion of complacency
And the age of the wandering child
Torn loose from the roots of ancestry
No longer cultured, but growing wild
They had no roots to tie them down
But drifted away like dandelion seeds;
Scattered upon the desert ground,
Instead of flowers, thistles and weeds
Without the water of parental care
the fruit of life made them bitter
taught by a world with no love there
many a seedling died and withered
Others became like nomad branches;
life’s fruit poisoned by infectious deeds,
like nine lived cats with no more chances,
rolling in the dust like tumbleweeds
Oh, generation of tumbleweeds,
seeking revenge for continual hurt
feeling but never knowing your needs
you cannot but wallow in the dirt
You shouldn’t have left your orchard home
nor destroyed the roots by burning your past
the nourishment of your flesh and bone
is blown by whims that do not last
Missing and lost are the tender shoots
That grew in care of The Gardener’s love
But I will feed my orchard’s roots
With grace and peace from God above
Sunday, June 14, 2020
Scars

There are wounds in life that leave us weak
and every hurt takes time to heal
We, likewise, may inflict, through words we speak
forgetting the pain words made us feel
A scar can be carried within the heart
or worn like a tattoo, right on the skin
the latter, in ink, should make us think
to avoid those same old hurts again
Scars are unique, both tender and tough
Stretched taut where the healing begins
a testimony in flesh that is never enough
to remind the soul of its former sins
We all make mistakes, but not everyone learns
from things that brought such pain
an emotional neuropathy where cuts and burns
have left their marks, is all they gain
Each scar takes a little more feeling
until at last, there is nothing to feel
picking at scabs that should be healing
we draw our own blood in pictures too real
Memories, heartaches, lost love affairs;
flames extinguished and greatly missed
we clean those scars with the greatest care
and add those wounds to our list
But we all have scars, yes, everyone
and a closet full of hidden bones
some worn like medals from battles won,
others, watered with tears, when we are alone
Some carry their scars, complete, to their graves;
some carry them out to local bars
seeking justice for things that couldn't be saved
but make no mistake, we all have scars
Friday, June 12, 2020
Escape from Oz

The lion had no courage
The scarecrow had no brain
The tin man did not have a heart
And was rusted by the rain
But Dorothy; being tolerant
of qualities lacking in others;
and meeting them on the yellow brick road
took them as her brothers
And with frightened, witless companions
sought out her salvation
She even hoped the heartless
might rise above his station
The Wizard, steeped in subterfuge
Was ignorant of their cause
His title was quite misleading
As the wise, all knowing, Oz
The travelers suffered delirium
although they tried their best
They nearly succumbed to opium
of the wicked witch of the west
Beware the flying monkey hoards
And those who know too much
Beware the ulterior motives;
the revenge and applause of such
But look for Glenda The Good
for wherever you may roam,
to ruby slippers of childhood
there's just no place like home
Wednesday, June 10, 2020
So Very Berry True

The blackberry in his thorny crown
of verdant leaf and stem
saw the blueberry looking down
and condescended to him
"You are not as free as I
for I grow where I will."
But once prepared into a pie
he sat on the window sill
The poor blueberry, looking up
spoke gently to the pie,
"Now with your brothers from the cup
you are the same as I.
We shared the same blind, blessed ambition
we meet with a similar fate
with flour and sugar from the kitchen
We are both destined for the plate."
The blackberry, no answer, could he make
to the blueberry, still uncooked
for once he had been stewed and baked
things had a different look
It matters not how tall we grow
or what briers are our defense
for in the end, we must surely know
there isn't any difference!
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About Me

- Fabian G. Franklin
- Poet and musician Fabian G. Franklin invites you to join him on a poetic journey through the soul and nature.
