Poem for the Clan by Bhaktimarga Swami


Answering to belated birthday messages is a pleasurable task, really, and in the midst of it I managed to pull together, within minutes, a poem about my still-living siblings and I. There’s no real spiritual content here. It’s light and it serves a purpose. Untitled, here it is.

We’re just a bunch of peachy, beachy kids

“Peach” because we picked them before they hit the skids

We harvested just about everything, you bet

And “beach” because our summers meant getting wet

We had a blast at playing marbles, baseball, hula hoops

Connie once fell into the sewer, the ultimate oops

We built forts, hay tunnels, played cops and robbers

Jerry and I were in the manure, the field, hence clodhoppers

It was sweet Rose Ann’s birthday when JFK died

The twins were adorable lying side-by-side

Paul sucked his thumb while Pauline felt two fingers are better

That was in their phase beyond being bed-wetters

For television we watched Tarzan and curly Shirley

High school dances let us loose to move quite squirrely

We liked Dylan, Joni, Jethro, Motown, the British invasion

A mild counter-culture impacted our pervasion

And Mum and Dad, we loved them despite the gen gap

The sacrifice they gave – hard to find on today’s maps

They had the Dutch touch, told stories of the war

And the Depression, intriguing, we’d ask for more

We had our ups and downs – the way of the world

Seasons were of sun, rain, snow, and a wind that swirled

We remain connected, our peachy beachy bunch

Sometimes get together for a veggie lunch

Beliefs vary, but that’s okay, we’re Canadian, human

Boys and girls, souls who grew up on cheese with cumin

Source: http://thewalkingmonk.blogspot.com/2021/10/thursday-october-7-2021.html

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