For many years, Ben has been writing rhymes and poems. He began by calling them ditties but after exploring the accepted forms of poetry realized that his ditties were what the mainstream call limericks. Ben is musical, as a youth he sung in church choirs and played drums since grade school. In his world, music must have a melodic line and a definite beat, and so must his poetry. Here are just a few of Ben’s efforts:
Skin tells the story
Of your aging and your life,
Skin gets thin responding
To the good times and the strife.
Ageing comes on slowly
But it really comes on fast,
Your skin tells the story
Of your life that’s in the past.
Looking at your elbows
As you rest them on a chair,
Your skin tells the story,
As you sit there and just stare.
Your skin is full of ridges
And also full of folds,
It sags at your elbows
As your very life it holds.
God gave you cover,
And someone named it skin,
It starts at your temple
And it sags at your chin.
It covers your aging chest,
And your aging arms, and
It ends up at your feet,
Supporting your aging charm.
Once a year or more often
You take it to your doc,
She freezes off the bad stuff
From your face down to your hocks.
As you stand they fully naked
And she does her doctor thing,
You listen very carefully,
As your old ears start to ring.
You get the annul lecture
To avoid the sun and surf
And all the while you stand there
You know you’re on her turf.
When the lecture is finally over
And your skin is once more yours,
You go back to your world,
And resume your outdoor chores.
by Ben Echeverria
I’m sure you’ve seen the sticker that may have made you snicker,
Well go ahead and snicker, with your humor there’s no bicker,
Just remember there are laws against the cruel.
Cruelty to a canine is punished as a crime,
so it’s best to always follow the Golden Rule.
Treat all curs with gentle caring for you never know the paring,
when arriving at Heaven’s Doggie Gates.
When the Lord of all us creatures calls forth our special features,
and with our dogs we are paired as mortal mates.
It sits on my desk as it did on my mother’s.
Face down, it is just another rock.
Face up, the cut side revealed,
it is testament to our Creator.
Blue encasement terminating in a white window,
surrounded by lava brown.
The lapidary’s tools, cutting and polishing,
revealing its inner majesty.
Born with the earth long ago,
a window to eternity.
I wonder if turtles wear girdles?
To keep them in place when they move?
And I wonder if inside their hard shells,
Tiny straps are suspended in groves?
I marvel at the ground that they cover,
As they move slowly along on their way,
And I wonder if their steady progress
Is because they don’t stop much to play?
They swim without fear of the water
With head extended out far,
But when they go out on the hard street,
They’re at risk of being hit by a car.
A turtle’s a very serious creature,
All tucked up tight in his shell,
Just remember his race with the rabbit,
When he beat the poor bunny, quite well.
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