Yorkville, Toronto
Poem for the Clan
Answering to belated birthday messages is a
pleasurable task, really, and in the midst of it I managed to pull together,
within minutes, a poem about my still-living siblings and I. There’s no real
spiritual content here. It’s light and it serves a purpose. Untitled, here it
is.
We’re just a bunch of peachy, beachy kids
“Peach” because we picked them before they hit the skids
We harvested just about everything, you bet
And “beach” because our summers meant getting wet
We had a blast at playing marbles, baseball, hula hoops
Connie once fell into the sewer, the ultimate oops
We built forts, hay tunnels, played cops and robbers
Jerry and I were in the manure, the field, hence clodhoppers
It was sweet Rose Ann’s birthday when JFK died
The twins were adorable lying side-by-side
Paul sucked his thumb while Pauline felt two fingers are better
That was in their phase beyond being bed-wetters
For television we watched Tarzan and curly Shirley
High school dances let us loose to move quite squirrely
We liked Dylan, Joni, Jethro, Motown, the British invasion
A mild counter-culture impacted our pervasion
And Mum and Dad, we loved them despite the gen gap
The sacrifice they gave – hard to find on today’s maps
They had the Dutch touch, told stories of the war
And the Depression, intriguing, we’d ask for more
We had our ups and downs – the way of the world
Seasons were of sun, rain, snow, and a wind that swirled
We remain connected, our peachy beachy bunch
Sometimes get together for a veggie lunch
Beliefs vary, but that’s okay, we’re Canadian, human
Boys and girls, souls who grew up on cheese with cumin
-Composed by Bhaktimarga Swami, The Walking Monk©
May the Source be with you!
3 km
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