Really Is A Shame

Poem By Robert Rorabeck

Can I forget my mother’s cooking skills,
Her punishments and kind advice at times?
Can I forget the games at school and drills,
My kindergarten teacher who taught rhymes?

Can I forget my siblings and my friends,
My father’s knowledge great that goaded me?
Can I forget my sins and my amends,
And how I asked God’s forgiveness dearly?

Can I forget the mosquitoes and ants,
That bit each one of us in yester-life?
Can I forget my hunger-pangs, half-pants,
My walks to school in rain and sun and strife?

My childhood years were filled with sadness, joys,
Innocent mistakes, tears and not much toys!

Dedicated to all today, on Mother Mary’s birthday
Copyright by Dr John Celes 9-8-2005

Comments about Really Is A Shame

There is no comment submitted by members.

Rating Card

5 out of 5
0 total ratings

Other poems of RORABECK

A Flower In The Rain

I want to fall on you like rain
upon a wildflower
Opening new reason from you
Scaring all the old bees away from

Alice And The Spooks

Little girls in little blonde curls
In reddish frilly messes
Eat their lunch alone,
Served by brunette waitresses

A Single Kiss

Well, it is raining, and the raindrops make
Furtive areolas in the puddles of muddy bellies,
And their mists are like nebulous shrouds,
And unfertilized thoughts of maidens dreaming of

According To Death

With others old and gray,
Or not so old at all—Maybe they will
Mostly be fair haired and young,
If it should be a tragedy. Who knows?


When you are on the highway
going down the lines like
words of the poem pull over
for the ambulance her red light

Dorothy In The New America

When Dorothy got to Oz,
She crawled out her window and said,
“Is this still America? ”
Because she felt so strange,