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Best Poems Written by David Crandall

Below are the all-time best David Crandall poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | David Crandall Poem

Temporary Insanity

Afternoon musing, not quite content,
Wondering where the time all went -
The time not really given, only lent.

The first day of fourth grade,
In the next desk a new girl stayed,
With honey colored hair all in a braid.

It would not be easy to concentrate.
How could a teacher educate 
A boy so close to a pretty schoolmate?

Boys and girls about us knocked,
While we two, on the blacktop walked -
Of explorers seeking gold we talked.

I was only up to a grasshopper’s knee
And already sick with temporary insanity.

But in the blink of an eye, time unfroze,
And as fast as I grew into a new set of clothes,
I forgot that sweet girl by the school year’s close.

Into our sixth grade class, a new girl flew. 
In the wind, this tomboy’s long hair blew.
Like the sun in the sky, her smile shone true.

I dreamed of her both day and night
And contrived where I might of her catch sight - 
And so upward soared my heart like a kite.

It’s good that it did not hit a tree,
As I came down again from temporary insanity.

Time passes so quickly, it cannot delay
The tasks on fate’s calendar, which it must obey,
So I forgot her bright smile, in a swift summer day.

In Spanish class, fifteen years of age,
One day I looked up from the page,
With her laughing eyes I did engage -
And, so, for the first time, a girl I’d touch.
You couldn’t say, I did not like it much.
The feeling was otherworldly, such.

Next thing I knew, my heart took a leap,
But it fell into a hole so deep.
From it, it took some time to creep.

I’m sure that you will all agree,
It was a bad case of temporary insanity.

Unthinkable though it may be,
That young girl would not hear my plea. 
It was I who was forgot, not she.

My life would continue to unfold,
Like a sculptor, my life’s features fate would mold -
She doesn’t like a story, unshaped, untold. 

Ten years later, I would find
A brown-eyed treasure, God designed.
To love each other, we were inclined.

I was twenty-five and she nineteen.
She was a gift from heaven - unforeseen.
We’d go everywhere and back and in-between.

At least that was to be the plan,
Based on the way our story began.
To pass up this chance, I’d be a crazy man.

One day, on a bench in a mall I sat.
Joining me was an old lady that
Sat silently too.  We did not chat.

My sweetheart popped out from a store with a smile,
Proudly showing me shoes in the latest style.
She went back in, the old lady smiled: “keep her” (not just a while).

My heart confirmed the words of the lady grey,
But “be my wife”, I was afraid to say.
Was she the one that got away?

Maybe the day I set her free
Was my worst case of temporary insanity.

Once in a while in a memory so strong,
I hear her singing me a Christmas song.
Forty years later, and I now sing along.

Yes, despite the passing of many a moon,
Sometimes I still hear that tune -
No, time does not make me immune.

And now, to cut this story short,
Similar nonsense, I’ll not report.
Twice, the endings were in court.

A better man might look deeper than me,
And see more than just temporary insanity.

At least one thing time can’t destroy - 
The immutable everlasting joy
Which began, the day I was blessed with a boy.

I guess love makes the world go around.
Every boy and girl with gratitude must be bound,
Their existence owed to minds unsound.

But now, I think that I am finally free
With over four years of sobriety
From the dreaded scourge of temporary insanity. 

Now afternoon has gone to night.
My thoughts do my dreams incite.
And they are quite a fright.

I cannot tell if it’s long ago past,
Or if it’s more of a future forecast,
Or a repeat, many times amassed.

It might be that I’m at St. Peter’s gate,
Or maybe hoping to reincarnate, 
And the judge will soon decide my fate.

“Show me mercy, I know I’ve done bad.
Must your rules of judgment be ironclad?
It was temporary insanity I had”.

“That’s a sentence, not a plea.
You’ll serve a lifetime of temporary insanity.”

Details | David Crandall Poem

The Duckling - Apologies to Edgar Allan Poe

Warning - Don't read The Raven and Watch Hitchcock on the same night. 

Once before my bedtime, nearing, which I dreaded, fazed and fearing,  
Stories mother would read me before she closed and locked my bedroom door —
    While I washed up in the water, could mom have drawn it any hotter?
Before me swam a rubber duckling, chuckling as my mother shut the door 
“‘Tis some water fowl”, I muttered, “which mother bought me from the store.  
            Only this and nothing more.”

 Ah, distinctly I can place it - the sad night Mother would misplace it;   
Or entirely erase it; of her mind remaining nothing more.
    I lay in bed, mother tucking, on feathers of mother’s plucking
    Time for your book, said mother clucking, clucking as she locked the bedroom door —
I’ll read “Make Way for Ducklings” and then warm milk she began to pour -
            all across the bedroom floor. 

Assuredly, I felt no sorrow, as mother left me till the morrow
  Sighing -  buying time – which maybe I could only hope to borrow;
    I heard my monstrous mother screaming, or maybe Tippi Hedren streaming
    as Hitchcock’s “Birds” was beaming from the TV laying on the floor—
    “’Tis just Hitchcock’s “Birds” beaming from the TV laying on the floor” -
            This it is and nothing more.”

Inside that book peered at me smiling, a crazed duck that set me dialing
 911 and protective services to frantically implore  
   The feeling in my stomach sinking, “I need a friend”, I was thinking 
   Staring wildly at this ghastly mallard who chilled me to the core
Then, at once, I saw it, heard it, this grinning duck needn’t chill me to the core
           as he said, “I will be your friend forevermore”.

Details | David Crandall Poem

An Invitation to Reminisce

"Let's Tango"

Old friend, won’t you join me late tonight?
We can watch by dimming candlelight,
A play with young characters in motion, 
To their ideals and passions, such devotion.

Their lives filled with great meaning and import,
While not thinking too much that life is short,
We can watch as they love, fight, and make up.
One day it will be gone when they wake up.

We can sigh and cry and laugh till it’s late,
Though to these characters we can’t quite relate.
While the dramatic players on stage are us,
Their concerns tonight seem meaningless.

Details | David Crandall Poem

I am a Blue Sock

I am a blue sock.
I'm the bluest sock there ever was.
There never was a bluer sock, because
I lost my loving partner by the lint-screen fuzz.

We worked together as a pair.
We lived a life of quiet pride. 
We'd protect those two feet - me and 
My hundred percent cotton bride. 

Did this life of duty bore her?
Or make her want to play with fire? 
She followed her desire  - and so,
After work we went into the dryer.

She danced and played, rolled and tumbled 
With so many other socks that day. 
Then she paired up with another,
Leaving me to forever say...

I am a blue sock.
I'm the bluest sock there ever was.
There never was a bluer sock, because
I lost my loving partner by the lint-screen fuzz.

Details | David Crandall Poem

Wounded Sigh

A crumbling cabin, a jungle deep,
An old soldier trudging by,
Imagining he heard, in the breeze,
A ghostly, wounded sigh.

This elder sat 'neath a mangrove
To ease his creaking bones, 
His uneasy mind accompanied   
By the wind's eerie moans.

The groans metamorphosed to words,
As mournfully they spoke
About an injury so grave,
And a heart and soul, which broke.

"A strong youth, fastest in my school,  
Brimming with hope and fun,
I couldn't outrun a speeding bullet,
Blasted from a cruel gun.

Stripped of hope, left a broken cripple, 
Of no use to anyone,
I couldn't envision a future -
A day past twenty-one. 

It wasn't just a body blow,
But one to my emotions,
As a gap 'tween me and my mates
Grew as vast as oceans.

All the love I had to offer,
Were stained with weakness, and pain,
So, I was nothing more than a
Miserable ball and chain.

I slipped into the dark jungle,
All hidden and remote, 
Where nobody would need to hear
Cries issued from my throat.

My cabin had enough space for
One table and one chair.
It was a blessed relief to know,
No one could find me there."

The glum words urged the drifter's heart
And drew him to the hut.
The image in the table's chair 
Then, punched him in the gut.

The old man's mournful, decaying face  
Stopped and froze him in place. 
The grim, unsettling vision was 
His own crestfallen face.

Details | David Crandall Poem

A Cup of Tea

The cars drive by in ones, twos, and threes.
Leaves gently flutter in the cool breeze.
I look to the street, then down, then up.
A sense of unease, I sip from my cup.

Outside folks walking slow and quick.
The watch on my wrist starts to loudly tick.
Inside the eyes seem to fall on me.
I drink and wonder where she could be.

I feel as though I’d like to hide
A secret - not to the world confide.
From my teacup, I take a drink
As my silly heart begins to sink.

And now from behind a barricade -
An unstoppable, rushing cascade -
The masquerade ends.  I gulp my tea,
and I can’t escape, but it is me. 

By a familiar feeling now I’m haunted -
that, alas, I am still unwanted.
Whoever she is, she never shows up.
But, I take wisdom from my teacup.

What I’ve got here with every fault
Is better than nothing by default.
It’s better than insincerity and fluff.
Myself and tea are quite enough.

Details | David Crandall Poem

Between the Lines

I sought the words for you, my lovely dear, 
To live in lines of melodious hue
Especially chosen for eye and ear
In hopes they’d ring so glorious, so true.

I fear, my love, such words do not exist.
These sentiments live outside the realm of words;
Instead, these tender feelings do persist  
Between the lines, or in the songs of birds.    

In life, as in verse, does meaning not lie 
Outside visible lines of daily life
Where things that matter do not meet the eye?
So let’s pierce these lines with the sharpest knife.

In the space betwixt when my heart will beat 
Someday, somewhere, between the lines we’ll meet.

Details | David Crandall Poem

Frisky

Welcome Frisky to your new home
Where happiness you’ll bring.
You’ll tug and catch and jump and roam,
And children’s hearts will sing.

Where happiness you’ll bring,
You’ll tug a rope and catch some bees,
And children’s hearts will sing.
You’ll catch the cat who likes to tease.

You’ll tug a rope and catch some bees,
And maybe when you’re still a pup,
You’ll catch the cat who likes to tease,
But then we’ll all grow up.

And maybe when you’re still a pup,
Laughing kids will chase you down the street,
But then we will all grow up
And forget to let you eat.

Laughing kids will chase you down the street.
Then they’ll desert you in your yard
And forget to let you eat.
Howling alone at night in pain is hard.

Then they’ll desert you in your yard.
To the great beyond you’ll now ascend.
Howling alone at night in pain is hard.
You were our best friend to the end.

To the great beyond you’ll now ascend.
You’ll tug and catch and jump and roam.
You were our best friend to the end.
Welcome Frisky to your new home.

Details | David Crandall Poem

The Cicada Rumble - or 1803 plus 13 times 17 equals 2024

It's been a long time since the cicadas rumbled.
History books say 'twas eighteen hundred and three
When war struck the trees where bees sometimes bumbled.

The seventeen and thirteen boys couldn't agree.
The horror of those days can't be told in rhyme,
But that war to end wars, we may again see.

I tell you children that it's once again time.
It's history that tells us and also some math - 
It's because thirteen and seventeen are prime.  

For the first time since, they're headed down that path 
With products and least common multiples the same, 
Their hatch cycles will line up in nature's cruel wrath.

In twenty twenty-four bugs will kill and they'll maim.  
Do they just need more food to all eat hearty
For them to be happy and peace to proclaim?

Details | David Crandall Poem

Note to Self

Grasshopper, you have learned in time,
All that’s poetry does not rhyme,
And now you must also learn to see -
All that rhymes is not poetry.