The Poetry of Wayne Edwards
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Achievement
Very few writers avoid the indignities of rejection slips. I once threatened to paper my office with mine. Editors seem to care nothing about Save The Trees. My rejection slips alone have killed at least one pretty good-sized tree.
I finally discovered that the only thing that I could write that was guaranteed acceptance was the check to renew my subscription. I wrote that concept into a poem and called it ACHIEVEMENT.
Dedicated to you that are writers – you will understand!
I’ve finally written something,
The magazine accepted.
All my other efforts
Had been quickly rejected.
This time my writing effort,
They used without restriction.
It was the check I wrote them
For my year’s subscription.
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The Rhyme
Last night I wrote a poem
But the words just didn’t fit,
With syllables too many
And the meter off a bit.
A participle dangled
And an adjective displaced,
The metaphor intended
No longer could be traced.
The grammar was atrocious
And the similes a crime.
I am very proud of it
Because I made it rhyme.
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Dead Poets
Do you know a famous poet?
They are few and far between.
Dead poets are the only
Famous poets that I’ve seen.
So don’t ask me if I’m famous,
I hope I have a ways to go,
‘Cause dead poets are the only
Famous poets that I know.
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Free Verse
I read a poem
The other day,
It didn’t rhyme,
To my dismay.
You ask me how
Was one to know
It was a poem?
They told me so.
Scribed in lines
Both crude and terse,
They said that it
Was called free verse.
Why it was verse
Was hard to see
But one could tell
Why it was free.
I read it twice;
Lost time I spent.
I still don’t know
Just what it meant.
I think that it
Should be a crime
To write a poem
That doesn’t rhyme.
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Publishers
“Don’t write a book of poems,” they said,
“Right now we just don’t need it.”
“Don’t write a book of poems,” they said,
“Because no one will read it.”
“Don’t write a book of poems,” they said,
“It’s just a waste of time.”
“Don’t write a book of poems,” they said,
“Especially if they rhyme.”
“Don’t write a book of poems,” they said,
“Our best advice; you really need it.”
“Don’t write a book of poems,” they said.
Good advice; I didn’t heed it!
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Upon Writing My 1,000th Poem
How many poems do you have to write
Before you call yourself a poet?
How many poems do you have to write
Before they’re so good you know it?
How many poems do you have to write
Before agents beat down your door?
How many poems do you have to write?
I guess I’d better go write some more!
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“Rocket Scientists” is based on an old Aggie joke. All Texans know what an Aggie joke is, but for the rest of you, they are an attempt to make alumni of Texas A&M University look dumb. We Aggies, however, love to tell them on ourselves.
The joke was about the Aggie Aeronautical Engineering Department building a rocket to the sun. I thought that it would make a cute poem about kids. My fish farm partner’s sons turn everything into a space ship, even their tree house. It didn’t take much imagination for me to transform the mean-spirited joke into a cute kids’ poem.
Rocket Scientists
My brother and I
Are sure having fun.
We’re building a rocket
To go up to the sun.
They’ve already gone
To the moon and to Mars,
And driven around
In weird little cars.
But there’s nobody else
Who’s done what we’ve done.
‘Cause we’ve planned a trip
To go up to the sun!
We’re making our rocket
Out of real neat stuff.
When we get to the sun,
It’s got to be tough.
For the engine we used
Our old garbage can.
We’ve washed it out some
But we’ll still need a fan.
A big cardboard box
Will be our cockpit.
My brother is small
So we will both fit.
Our mother made lunch.
We’ll eat on the way.
There’s no room for Spot
So he’ll have to stay.
Now Billy the Bully,
Who thinks he’s so smart,
Made fun of our rocket
Right from the start.
He told us the sun
Is one hundred degrees!
He said it would cook us
Like Mama cooks peas.
But we’ve got a plan,
We’ll show him who’s right.
The sun won’t be hot;
We’re going at night!
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Bad Wilie-Joe
Willy Joe was my twin brother.
Willy Joe was an evil twin,
‘Cause everything that Willy did
Was either illegal, or a sin.
We’d always looked so much alike,
Even our folks would mix us up.
I asked for a dog for Christmas
But brother Willy got the pup.
In the end it didn’t matter
I used the trick that Willy used.
I told the dog that I was Will
And to this day, he’s still confused.
One time, when we were still quite small,
I ate a thing that made me ill.
The doctor almost let me die
Because he treated brother Will.
Willy often broke the law
They always caught him without fail;
But when the policemen came for Will,
I was the one they took to jail.
The day I died, I got revenge,
Poor Willy wasn’t even ill,
It took a week before they noticed
Instead of me, they’d buried Will.
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I was an officer in the United States Air Force for twenty years. Somehow I was always promoted in rank, according to schedule, without ever playing a single game of golf. Maybe I was successful because, by not playing golf, I never beat a superior officer. At any rate, I spent twenty years of listening to game after game being rehashed on Monday mornings. Golf more than any other game can become an obsession; golfers are easy to pick on because there are so many of them. Here I turn an old joke into a poem which I hope my golfing friends will enjoy.
No matter how great heaven might seem to us, we are always a little hesitant about taking the trip. In Obsession I wonder which is appreciated more, the good news or the bad news?
Obsession
My friend was quite young
When he took up the game.
His life since that time
Has not been the same.
Each waking hour
He talked of the green,
Of the woods and the putters
And the irons that he’d seen.
Golf had so quickly
Become an obsession,
To miss just one game
Would cause him depression.
Then he had a problem,
They said was his heart.
He must change his life.
Was it too late to start?
His thoughts turned to heaven
And what he’d do there,
How could he play golf
Way up in the air?
It filled every thought
From morning ’til night.
He continuously told
All his friends of his plight.
They joked and they told him
Of a course down below,
Where you must play golf
With balls made of snow.
The game is so fast
You can’t call it playing.
It results in frustration
And one well known saying.
He couldn’t go there
He told his young wife,
So he started to plan
The change in his life.
The church down the street,
He’d give it a try,
Though it’s tough for a golfer,
That can’t tell a lie.
A Christian he’d be,
Their most faithful member,
In church every Sunday
And not just in December.
He’d put others first
In the things he would do.
He’d even let little
Old ladies play through.
He was sure he’d make heaven.
It only seemed fair,
So he asked Pastor John,
Were there courses up there?
John said, “I can find out,
Tonight when I pray.
I’ll tell you what God says
The very next day.”
All night, without sleep,
My friend tossed and turned.
Then he called Brother John
To see what he’d learned.
“I’ve good news and bad news,
” John told him right off.
“There’s a great course in heaven
Where you can play golf.”
Now he could grow old
With a goal in his sight.
He’d live a good life.
He’d do everything right.
Oh it would be great,
So happy and free.
“So give me the bad news,
How bad can it be?”
The preacher said sadly,
With much hesitation,
“God told me to tell you,
Of your reservation.
You must understand,
It’s God’s word not mine.
Your playing tomorrow,
You’ve a tee time at nine!”
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I read an article in a weekly magazine that said modern Christians would be more comfortable if the Ten Commandments were called the Ten Suggestions. It made me start thinking just how each one could be modernized. Once more our conservative friends liked the poem that I penned.
The Ten Commandments, A letter to God, got a little lengthy. But, after all, there were ten commandments and I’ve included them all. It could be that some of us might have one or two that we would like to see left out!
The Ten Commandments
(A letter to God)
The ten commandments are changing,
I’m sure it is to Your dismay.
They are not the same commandments
That they were in Moses’ day.
Your “No other Gods before me,”
Is surely not a modern rule.
I am sure that You remember,
We can’t mention You in school.
The manger scene and David’s Star
Have now been ruled to be taboo.
Darwin’s puny explanations
Are what school teachers teach as true.
The world is full of earthly gods
That cost too much not to be first.
And for the God who gave us life,
No longer does all mankind thirst.
Your “No other gods before me,”
Is in need of a change or two.
The term “gods” must be clarified
By the mighty A C L U.
Your rule that graven images
Are things we should not ever build,
Is a rule that is outdated,
And covers ‘way too large a field.
With our kiddy shows and costumes,
We try to start our young off right,
To celebrate the evil one,
The one you call the Prince of Night.
We had to change Commandment Two
In such a way that never fails.
We make no graven images
Unless they increase our sales.
Now we know that we mustn’t take
The name of You dear God in vain.
But this limits conversation,
And limits what we yell in pain.
We know that curse words always make
The holy name of God less regal.
It’s the only way in public,
We can mention you that’s legal.
So God, give us a little slack,
Because sometimes we tend to blurt.
Add, it’s all right when we’re angry,
And also times when we get hurt.
Which brings us to the Sabbath Day
And just how holy it must be.
Why can’t we show our love for You
Those times we set our ball to tee?
Or out sitting in a bass boat,
On a lake that You’ve created,
Surely must demonstrate to You
That Your work’s appreciated.
So can’t we change the words a bit,
So that they’re better understood,
To, “We must observe the Sabbath,
Unless the weather has turned good?”
Now we must honor our father,
And we must honor our mother.
But it seems that they no longer
Need to honor one another.
‘Cause mothers may be several,
And change throughout a person’s life.
So let’s change, “to honor mother,”
To read, “to honor father’s wife.”
And father may be anyone,
Somebody we may never see.
So a simple definition,
Of the word “father” cannot be.
It is now more complicated,
Though I’m sure it was not your plan,
But your father may be female
And your mother may be a man.
So we made the rules more simple
And cut out all the fancy frills.
We should only have to honor,
The one who pays most of the bills.
“Thou shalt not kill,” is way too vague
And right now it needs explaining.
That life does not begin ‘til BIRTH,
Should be every student’s training.
A woman’s choice always comes first.
Sometimes babies are a bother.
And every man that sows wild oats
Shouldn’t have to be a father.
You must rewrite the Sixth Commandment,
Give the feminists a gesture.
Thou shalt not kill except within
First, second, or third trimester.
Now Your rule about adultery,
We need to take a look at next,
Because those mighty words of Yours
I’m sure were taken out of text.
Dumb vows we spoke at weddings,
I’m sure You know we didn’t mean,
And You must exclude politicians
And the families of the Queen.
So just add a small disclaimer
So as to make it understood.
You can’t commit adultery
Except to make your karma good.
We can’t tolerate the next one.
The one that says we shouldn’t steal.
That really sounds a little vague
And makes me think that it’s not real.
Should a little creative work
On last year’s income tax return,
Be enough to make one worry,
That in Hell’s fire he’ll have to burn?
So give a little leeway, God.
Make a much better rule by far.
We’ll only steal from government,
Or people richer than we are.
Now, “You mustn’t bear false witness,”
Is your commandment number nine.
Bet you’d never run for office,
When you thought up that little line.
Politics are necessary,
They are what makes our country run.
One has to tell the rotten things
That his no good opponent’s done.
So we never bear false witness
Unless it’s just so we can win.
If it elects the man we want.
Then of course it won’t be a sin.
Number ten, “Thou shalt not covet,”
Is Your very last petition.
Now God, You’ve got to understand,
It’s just simple competition.
When You look down, You surely see,
That it is our only basis
To make someone’s wealth important
And to separate the races.
Our whole economic system
Would surely go from good to bad,
If nobody ever wanted
The things that other people had.
So one commandment we can’t fix.
But surely you will understand,
When we come knocking on Your gate,
Arriving in Your promised land.
Some know that you created us
And some still have their doubts it’s true,
But to be a modern father
There are some things You’ll have to do.
The word “command” is way too harsh,
One modern fathers have not used.
Because it hinders self-esteem
And makes your children feel abused.
“THE TEN TENTATIVE SUGGESTIONS,”
Would make us feel so much better,
Because we wouldn’t be required
To follow each one to the letter.
Now we’ve made these dumb suggestions,
You know we made them all in jest.
We know You are our creator
And that You know for us what’s best.
And those who think you’re quick to change,
To meet their ever changing whim,
Make the promise of salvation
So difficult for folks like them.
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enough
