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Best Poems Written by Warren Dickman

Below are the all-time best Warren Dickman poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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Seize the Moment

Live for today, our wisdom cries,
On looking back through endless years
To youthful days with mackerel skies
When joy of living outweighed fears

Let's seize this moment while we can
Latch on to this day of life,
Those inner joys shared when a man
Does truly love his loving wife.

Leave old age for the elderly;
Let them reminisce
About the past, the things they've done,
The good old days they miss.

With age and wisdom as our forte
Let's love and laugh and roister.
Our ship has finally made the port;
The world's at last our oyster.

Our best of times ahead still lie
With greater happiness than ever.
Though yesterdays have all flown by
Tomorrow's dreams will last forever.

Details | Warren Dickman Poem

Love's Last Audit

For flowery words I have no gift
deep thoughts I'm rarely thinking
And when it comes to penmanship
my dear I fear I'm stinking
But none the less amid this mess
I'll sum up for your pleasure
Donations to our mutual fund
you've granted in full measure

In 'sixty-two who knew that you
would be my life-long buddy
We'd both tried once, struck out at love
our crystal ball was muddy
We'll make it work this time we said
but no one thought we meant it
The means it seems for life-long dreams
had not yet been invented

Of course I knew that you were who
I prayed would share my dreaming
Of mountain cabins babbling brooks
blue lakes with rainbows teeming
But you were from a Texas town
and I a guy from Brooklyn
So fat chance you and I would fly
where angels yearn to look in

Now reassessing all those years
of mutual indenture
The motorcycles horses boats
and trips of wild adventure
I know I owe it all to your
intrepid flexibility
That we hold these fond memories
to warm us through senility

Just another warrenpiece

Details | Warren Dickman Poem

The Fisherman and the Lady

'Twas April Fourteenth, Seventy-Eight.
Lest any should repudiate
what on this very special date
the two of them were doin',

Let's for a moment contemplate
their entry to the grand estate,
the legal right to procreate
through mutual "I Do"-in'.

Our hindsight intuition
says that he was probably wishin'
he was fishin', with precision
swishin' flies to waiting bass.

For he had but one ambition
and considered his commission
was to fishin' competition,
pulling lunkers from the grass.

But he set aside this mission
for submission to tradition,
and Patrician erudition
soon replaced his noble cause.

Now a maid with hair of titian
dishin' clams and oysters squishin'
and musician's compositions
may engender his applause.

The Mrs. was the perfect mate
to tolerate and moderate
that diehard fishing reprobate,
and of her own volition,

Found better ways to celebrate
and venerate their special date;
They'd renovate and recreate
the joys of goin' fishin'.

For many years ago this day
they both agreed to go their way
through life together come what may,
the good times or perdition.

And though it's now an old cliché,
the best times all the bad outweigh,
But those which in their hearts will stay
were spent when they went fishin'.

Just another Warrenpiece

Details | Warren Dickman Poem

The Real Poetry

With eloquent verbosity,
and pompous grandiosity,
he'll voice his bellicosity
to show his intellect.

Devoid of any symmetry,
he'll pass it off as poetry,
but may I beg to differ,
though I mean no disrespect.

Blank verse is what he'll call it,
but no matter how you drawl it,
Mister Webster says that verse
means metric writing.

Since blank means lack of color,
I'll bet two cents to a dollar,
it's not poetry at all
that he's reciting.

Way back when I wore knickers,
there were even then traffickers
in this beat-less rhyme-less writing,
goodness knows.

But things were simpler then, you see.
We never called it poetry.
If there's no rhyme or rhythm,
it's just prose.

They say I'm no romanticist,
and surely I'm no fantasist,
but somewhat a semanticist,
who loves to turn a phrase.

I like to rhyme in meter,
and for me there's nothing neater,
than a rhyming meter-beater,
bringing back those good old days.

Details | Warren Dickman Poem

The Ballad of Nelly and Me

Rolled about a bit I’d say
Since Nell and I first met
Denver down to Old Fort Lauderdale

Flatland fever hit one day and
Drowning in our sweat
Mountains pulled us up a dusty trail

Cut down trees and nested in
The Hills of Carolina
Dogs and cats and serendipity

People there talked funny and
We soon ran out of money
Greener pastures called from Tennessee

Love to gather Moss someday
Like other rocks we know but
Moss comes with a price it sure ain’t free

Far off places beckon
That’s when Nell and I must go
Life’s too short for stones like us you see
Too short for rolling stones like Nelly and me

Bogging down in Tennessee
The itch began returning
Folks stopped buying what I had to sell

Call from California came and
Set our hearts to burning
Westward roll might ease this itching spell

Packed it in and mapped our course
For warm Pacific shores
Winter snows brought some anxiety

Would be rough we knew it but
We’d plow our way right through it
Dreaming of the opportunity

Novato, Rohnert Park and then to
Morgan Hill down south
Loved it here we hate to have to roll

Push to shove you forfeit love 
Living hand to mouth but
Leaving leaves within our heart a hole

This time we’ll keep in touch for sure
That’s what we always say
True love’s here our hearts must still entwine

Every new U-Hauler sees
This world a little smaller with
Email, faxing, texting folks online.

Love to gather moss someday like
Other rocks we know but
Moss comes with a price it sure ain’t free.

Far-off places beckon
That’s when Nell and I must go
Life’s too short for stones like us you see
Too short for rolling stones like Nelly and me.

Just another Warrenpiece

Details | Warren Dickman Poem

Your Hard-Top 88

Can this really be year fifty-five that we now celebrate
That day of endless pleasure in your Hard-Top Eighty-Eight?
Old Fred had said to see him wed I’d have to bring a date
Then you were there with flaming hair and Hard-Top Eighty-Eight.

Though six years old it shined like new and you at twenty-four
The loveliest of redheads were, so then and there I swore
That somewhere I would find the nerve to ask you for a date
And one day you and I would fly that Hard-Top Eighty-Eight.

Was that way back in sixty-one? My how the years flew by.
It seems like only yesterday we told old Fred good-bye.
Though that party ended early our trip home would have to wait;
A night of romance beckoned from your Hard-Top Eighty-Eight.

Cross town to Eddie Bohn’s we flew, then Pat and Pat’s till dark,
Then up into the mountains searching out a place to park.
But none could know that night there, nor even speculate
What sparks we would ignite there in your Hard-Top Eighty-Eight.

For that night sparked an inferno that still blazes to this day,
Though some details may be sketchy if not lost along the way.
Yet as dreams rekindle memories may the world commemorate
That birthplace of our endless love, your Hard-Top Eighty-Eight.

Details | Warren Dickman Poem

The Murder of the Mimes

With painted face and silent smiles they light the night so dim,
Oblivious to their stalker and his diabolic whim.
They'd come to sunny Florida to flee Maine's winter snow
And play their silent pantomimes on sidewalks as they go.

But the analyst has programs and experiments to run;
Methodic’ly he thus connects the silencer and gun.
Onlookers claim the analyst did murder them that night,
Then calmly pulled his pencil out, his test's results to write.

But as for wherefores and the whys, when asked of him a reason,
If these are not fair game, he cries, Why call this 'Tourist Season'?
His court appointed council does the best that he is able
To win the jury's pity for this client so unstable.

This man, his sobbing lawyer pleads, was brilliant as a child.
He never was a vicious lad, and next to most, quite mild.
Such things he pondered others wondered, if indeed they never spoke them,
As, to what hue those Smurfs, now blue, would turn, were one to choke them.

The lawyer then begins to quote behavior science stats
Of those who make their living pulling habits out of rats.
If in his heart a man resorts to rationalization
A wrong might seem a right when there's sufficient provocation.

As situations worsen and confusion grows with time;
Seems right, when with a silencer, one shoots a silent mime.
If innocent is how you find there's none 'twould you disparage,
For squelching this inquiring mind would be a grave miscarriage.

Those murders were experiments, not born of animosity;
Performed were they to satisfy a morbid curiosity.
Still the jury found him guilty and to ease his troubled brain,
Ordered soon a lethal potion be injected in his vein.

When asked before the gavel rapped for any final comment,
The killer scratched his head as if his muddled mind to foment.
Yes just one further question in this form of execution
do they disinfect the needle in a sterilized solution?

Details | Warren Dickman Poem

For the Love of Cake

WHAT'S THAT YA SAY, YER DIETIN'?
AINCHA HEERED ABOUT OLE JAKE?
HE THOUGHT HE MIGHT COULD GIT A GAL
BY JUS' CUTTIN' BACK ON CAKE

WELL HE KEP' A-GITTIN' THINNER
TILL WE ALL BEGUN TA FEAR
IF WE DIDN'T GIT SOME CAKE IN HIM
HE'D UP 'N' DISAPPEAR 

THEY SAY A WORD SAID TA THE WISE
HAD OUGHTA BE SUFFICIENT...
DON'T GIVE UP CAKE OR JUS' LIKE JAKE
YA'LL END UP FAT DEFICIENT!

Just another Warrenpiece

Details | Warren Dickman Poem

Churchy Chicanery

The Easter Celebration
is a day of purest gold
for many sincere people
who believe what they've been told

"The Resurrection of Our Lord
occurred upon this day
and not to recognize it
would be sacrilege," some say.

"The Easter Bunny brought those eggs,"
is what we tell our youth,
for this is so much easier
than teaching them the truth.

Encyclopedias tell us of
a pagan celebration,
a rite of early spring to hail
the rebirth of creation.

The egg is emblematic of
spring's germinating life,
a fresh start from the winter's cold,
its blizzards and its strife.

The rabbit is an ancient sign,
the symbol of fertility;
In sex worship it symbolizes
man's insatiability.

So what if ancient pagans
used this day, protests the pastor,
to feast the Goddess of the Dawn
the Teutons called Eastre.

It's important to remember that
our Lord rose from the grave,
and thus a hope for resurrection
of the dead he gave.

So, a rabbit laying eggs was part
of ancient pagan rite?
He's just the Easter Bunny now
who brings our kids delight.

So what, the clerics cry,
if things we're teaching children might
have come from Devil Worship?
Do I hear, Amen?  ...Yeah, Right!

Just another Warrenpiece

Details | Warren Dickman Poem

Gardens of the Heart

That tender gaze from cross the room,
The reaching out of hand so warm,
A phone call in the afternoon,
For comfort midst imagined storm.
Such trivial seeds when sown apart,
Beneath the surface soon mature
To cherished gardens of the heart
Where true loves flourish and endure.

Warren Dickman

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