Hi, friends. I can't resist sharing a few more ballad type poems here.

HIDDEN TREASURE

Pirate, come and find the gold

You buried long ago in me

Spread it on a blanket

For everyone to see.

It’s just a beggar’s market

And students going by

Say “something’s wrong with it”

And meanwhile shade their eyes.

On us the sunlight dances

Fleas can sting in vain

My King delights in diadems

That Trumps disdain.

The competent forsake you –

Where would I ever go?

Come, fold me up at evening.

We’ll feast on snow.

  

THE ISLAND

Until the storms we lived at peace

Encircled by the sea

Our beaches laved by waves at dawn

A small eternity.

The fish and crab were unafraid

The rabbits multiplied

Our houses like our very selves

Were warm and safe inside.

Then came the storms, and fearsome floods

That tore our houses down

Reduced our farms to salty swamps

And caused our lights to drown

And finally covered all the land

Until we had to leave

And live in boats as aliens

Whom no one would believe –

Until they noticed in our eyes

A certain shade of blue,

A bit of home that still remained

In all this weary crew,

And how at times a child would gaze

So very far away,

Like one who peers through murky clouds

To recollect the day.

  

LEAD SOLDIERS

Someone has to be to blame –

John has sucked upon the head

Of a soldier in his game

And was injured by the lead.

Punish then the older boys

And the store where toys are bought;

Punish all the future toys.

Thus the blame is neatly caught.

Never more allow the fun

Of uniforms and strategy,

Learning battles lost and won,

Learning life in effigy.

Boys will punish when they lose

And curse the dirt for being dirt,

Knowing that they cannot choose,

Nor by accident be hurt.

+

P.S., I wrote the "Trumps" line many years ago, referring only to a man who was super-rich and had his name on everything and seemed kind of pompous. And of course a "trump" is a winner. Who knew? At the same time I mock "students" who assume that the work of a loser selling things on a sidewalk (which I did many years ago) can't possibly be good. Those who know Emily Dickinson's work will find an echo in this poem, written while taking a class on theological ideas in great literature. If you try to understand ED's theological ideas, you will go insane. Fortunately, most of us just enjoy her "naughtiness" and leave it at that.

Love, Barbara