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Best Poems Written by Mary Grace Dembeck

Below are the all-time best Mary Grace Dembeck poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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The Power of the Tron

The Power of the Tron 

Said the Big Computer to the Human Computee:
“Without me, sir, you must concur, 
Wherever would you be?
I tally all your numbers, and I even give advice,
Unlike you, I’m objective and predictably precise.

‘Way down my epicenter, I’ve a calculating brain
That can compile, compute, compound, expound, explore, explain.
Oh, don’t you wish you had my wits, if only an iota,
For I’ve more news than I can use - 
I'm programmed to my quota.”

And on and on it carried on, continuing to scoff,
Until the Human Computee reached down and turned it OFF.

And now The Big Computer sits there idle all the day,
Without a boasting, bragging, calculating thing to say,
While on the chair, beside it there, the Human Factor lingers,
Computing trig and calculus by counting on its fingers,
And when its used its fingers up, it can simply transpose
And still deduce, deduct, add up, by counting on its toes!

Take heed, you Mighty IBMs, and other pedigrees,
Before you get too taken with your capabilities –
You may have stores of knowledge; 
You may be an Alpha Tron,
But it’s the Human Digit 
Ultimately 
Turns 
You 
ON.

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Purr Verse

Purr Verse

Give me a mole or a moose or a mouse,
Make it quite small, or as big as a house,
Buy me a bear or a big ol' black bat,
But I beg you please, 
Do not give me a cat!

Mail me a whale or a wart hog or worm,
Something that crawls or that creeps or can squirm,
Pass me a buck! Send a hare out of place,
Or do a bad tern, 
But a cat I can't face!

A snake I can take, (though I quake at the thought),
Or a skunk or a hunk of some "gross" thing you've caught,
An eel or an owl or a newt or a gnat,
Or some fleas, if you please, 
Just don't give me a cat!

However, there's one thing that I dislike more
And that is a rat! Oh, a rat I'd abhor!
If I found just one little rat in my flat,
I know what I'd do -
I'd go get me … a cat!

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My Grandson, Tommy

TOMMY

Blessed are the souls that sing;
A smile their song, laughter their words, 
Whose hearts, though burdened, still take wing
Like radiant sunbirds.

Though Life could sink them with its weight, 
Or pinion them with care, 
And rein them Earthbound, chained by Fate, 
They much prefer the air.

In their bright, empyrean flight, 
They carry us along, 
And we, like tag tails, hang on tight – 
Enchanted by their song.

Details | Mary Grace Dembeck Poem

Cats

CATS

The only thing wrong
With a kitten, is that
Eventually
It becomes a CAT.

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Cat

CAT

A cat, unshy,
Will wander by
Eyeing with curiosity
The abject, bending,
Condescending
Object it perceives as me.
I bow and scrape
From knee to nape
Hoping to gain its amity,
But though I try
To win it, I
Know it still thinks 
The worst of me.

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Loss

LOSS

A tree came down in our front yard,
I’d never noticed it ‘til now,
Its rugged trunk, its ragged bough
Had kept the sun from shining hard.
It was this tree diffused the light,
Its limbs selecting out which beams
Should enter, in bright-ribbon streams,
Our fronted rooms, to light them right.
It served its purpose quietly –
Living, I never gave it aught
Except indifference, 
Never thought,
But dying, made its mark on me.

Details | Mary Grace Dembeck Poem

Bumbled Bees

BUMBLED BEES
by 
Mary Grace Dembeck

Bumblebee Bumblebee hated his name
'Cause the first and the last were exactly the same.
And in the middle was stuck a big *B*,
Which stood for –  you guessed it -
One more “Bumblebee”.
His mother, the Queen Bee, was Bumblebee Belle,
But Bumblebee was the one name she could spell,
So when her first wee little bee baby came,
She gave him three names she could spell – 
All the same.
It might not have mattered if there were no others,
But after him came lots more baby bee brothers,
And ALL of them also were named, (as was he),
Yes, DOZENS of brothers
All named “Bumblebee”.
And when one was naughty, their mom would exclaim
And, halting everything, call out his name -
It was “Bumblebee!” this, and “Oh, Bumblebee!” that,
But nobody knew who was called
Or for what,
So, when nobody answered 
And nobody came,
They ALL got punished
But which bee was to blame?
Finally, ALL the bees went rather nutty
And had to be taken to Doc Futty Dutty,
The doctor, in treating them though, was quite clever,
He called each by NUMBER, 
By “Bumblebee”, never!
Now, Bumblebee Bumblebee, Belle's firstborn son,
Is proud of his new name, 
(Which is “Number One”),
And though all the others recovered quite well,
See what can happen 
When someone can't spell?

Details | Mary Grace Dembeck Poem

The Alabaster Ball

THE ALABASTER BALL

Earth sent invitations
To a danse one night
Requesting all invited
Please – to come in white.

The glass-coached clouds assembled
And the Ebon Sky
Banked its brightest fire,
Snuffed each candled eye.

Then the Winds belled music
Set a whirling pace
And down the Heavens
Waltzed the Snows,
In their finest lace.

Details | Mary Grace Dembeck Poem

As I Live and Breathe

AS I LIVE AND BREATHE
by

Mary Grace Dembeck


As I live and breathe!

I turn on my TV, and I cannot

Believe what I watch:

A white police officer with his knee

Pressed on a black man's neck.

While the black man cries a plea.


And what's the black man's plea?

Simply: “I can't breathe!”

While, on his neck

The officer will not, cannot

Remove his knee

It gets so hard to watch!


And yet, I do watch,

Listen to the plea

As the officer's knee

Makes the black man so hard to breathe.

And he cannot

Move his tortured neck.


His poor, poor tortured neck.

Meanwhile 3 other cops just watch -

(How come they cannot,

Respond humanely to the black man's plea

Of “I can't breathe!”

While seeing the effects of that horrid knee?)


The cop, pressing his knee

Harder on the black man's neck,

Hears “I can't breathe!”

Cares not - continues to sullenly watch,

Shrugs off the gasping plea -

He doesn't care. I cannot.


Bear it anymore, yet I cannot

Take my eyes off that knee,

Close my ears to that plea

Watch that poor black man's neck

Collapse, and then I watch

The black man no longer breathe.


I turn off my TV, so that I cannot any longer see the black man's neck

Under the cop's knee, can no longer watch -

Nor hear the plea of “I can't breathe!”

Details | Mary Grace Dembeck Poem

Sermon On the Mouth

SERMON ON THE MOUTH
Mary Grace Dembeck

My ear is a garden I oft must weed out,
Lest all sorts of bract and wort blossom and sprout,
Purple-hued prose cultivates moss among us,
Encouraging lobes and canals to grow fungus.

It spreads creeping roots that encircle the brain,
Squeezing out any good thoughts that remain...
So please, when you're speaking, try not to be coarse,
You'll just generate spiny thistles and gorse.

Prune out your lingo, use less fertilizer,
When seeding my ears with your muck, 
Be a miser.
Vile language won't prove you're more ripe and mature
And you'll just attract maggots 
With all your manure.