Category Archives: compared to a younger example

STRANGER THINGS…

Stranger outcomes happen,

When opportunity’s tapping,

Wanting in

And you begin

Writing ideas you’re trapping!

He’s written ’bout Christ and trains–

Weather seems worth one’s pains….

Fashion poems are new

As something to do,

And the challenge takes working brains!

I’d say it is channeling energy,

Most of which has left me….

Shapes and sizes

And stylish surmises,

Still need a bard’s entrĂ©e.

“An eye for the women.” one said,

Focusing on their clothes instead..

“Clothes make the man”

And women, and can

Leave little more to be said!

YET–a poet describes,

Details that emanate vibes…

Along a track

That likes feedback,

Both positive and wise!

–Jonathan Caswell

 

 

 

CHURCH ATTENDANCE–A HYPOTHETICAL POEM

He rarely attends now,

It’s gone and got diff’rent somehow…

He feels pushed aside

Not welcomed inside,

No one’s been direct with him, anyhow!

They used to go faithfully,

Found the spirit there strong and free…

The Pastor moved on

And a preacher took on

Things with his own personality.

With his circle of friends,

For our subject, being close to a pastor ends…

You know his pride

Didn’t like “outside”

But he wanted to attend.

Then he and his wife

Both saw ill health in life….

Comparison

With others is sin,

And churned up internal strife!

The preacher/teacher and he,

(Too much alike?) weren’t happy…

It shifted into

“An authority over you”

Which wasn’t as healthy!

Various dissatisfactions

Led to complaints and  feigned actions….

Poor communication

Led to frustration,

In mutual distraction.

So now he stays at home

Sundays, with his wife alone…

No need to go

Taken for granted so,

But he’s stuck–this was his church home.

Socially depended on her,

His wife, for communication stirred…

When she took ill

He didn’t have the will,

To see that his opening up occurred.

He’s given his life for her,

Literally as it were…

Goes it alone

Reaching out he’s done,

Elsewhere–little left at “home”.

Options to go elsewhere?

Feels bound by his wife–so there!

Decision paralyzed–

Easier to survive

By himself, ‘though few benefits to share!

A “hypothetical poem”–which means it is just a poem….!

–Jonathan Caswell

 

 

 

 

WHAT SAYS “NEW ENGLAND” ?

My model layout wanders it seems

Away from cherished themes…

What for you

Says “New England” too,

Beyond operational schemes?

 Does NISSEN BREAD,

MOXIE, barns red,

SPAGS and stores

With “colonial” decors,

Monuments to Revolutionary dead?

Dairies and granite quarries

In earlier days held stories…

Ice cream and views

Along the Turnpike count too,

And whaling ship stories!

Broad “a’s” in speech,

A Kennedy’s reach…

Where Plymouth Rock stays

And Sturbridge Village ways

Are preserved to history teach!

So for my small train set,

What industries are best…

Beverages and rock salt

Metals, food stuffs sought,

And historic touristy nests?

Gravel still travels by train,

Lumber and minerals same…

Environmental ire

Has dampened coal fired

Power plants, but garbage still flames!

A water-powered mill

And museum of trains fit the bill…

For small excursions

Of rich incursions into filling the local till!

Do you think I’ll have enough room,

I figure some things will die soon…

New England gives

And takes to live,

But survival cannot be assumed!

–Jonathan Caswell

BACK—TO A SCRAP METAL YARD!

Layout planning changes,

History one rearranges…

In the seventies around here

Boats to carry scrap appeared,

In Boston to be filled before market price changes.

When a boat arrived

all area scrap yards came alive…

To fill this boat

all would devote,

A few weeks and then stay alive.

Thus like grain or snow,

Scrapyards have seasonal flow…

Like winter for salt

In autumn would start,

Ship arrival told when to load.

Where was this metal heading,

Japanese car makers  getting…

Ready to sell

More cars that kept well,

Unlike the American vetting!

Rolling stock needed I’ll use,

Body shells from old “choo-choos”…

A yard with two tracks,

‘Though I might take one back,

Lots of switching for short line train crews!

–Jonathan Caswell

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–Jonathan Caswell

MAY I INTERJECT

May I interject

An opinion that some suspect…

Judgmental at heart

But I would impart

Wisdom  that trend setters reject?

What is the desire to share

The latest in underwear…

Out in plain

Sight–what’s the game?

Are you trying to lose it that night?

As a guy, satin lace,

Is groovy but out of place?

Why advertise

The pleasant surprise–

I know, with the trends to keep pace!

Femininity in the open,

Are designers secretly hoping…

Planned Parenthood

Makes out good,

As result of a young man’s groping?

Ah yes, but it’s the style,

Sit down and listen a while?

Men will be men–

Do you realize you’ve been

An open invitation for his guile?

Yes, guys do think like that,

Canoodling after…a twat…

Give guys a mile

And they’ll make you smile,

Excuses won’t rectify that.

–Jonathan Caswell

POET…AFTER (A) FASHION!

He calls himself “fashion poet”,

One or two others know it…

In pursuits

Avoiding lawsuits,

He certainly doesn’t want to blow it!

Him being man and all,

Must carefully judge his call…

With less passion

Than stereotypical fashion,

Not being the Beast at the ball.

Gender matters to him,

Especially if women…

They’re the kind

He most has in mind,

Do they mind if he tiptoes in?

–Jonathan Caswell

A TOAST TO FRIENDS PRESENT AND MISSING…AT CHRISTMAS TIME!

People we miss and love,

Missing or taken above…

Oh how we miss

Their joy or hiss,

Their gentle comments or rough!

Among them is Esther Ling,

She was in the lesbian thing…

Opposite were we

But she was a Mommy,

Ran to her when figuratively I needed mothering!

Numerous friends I had in school,

Have slipped or drove away (I’m the fool)…

Some I drove away

Or ignored to this day,

Elementary through college kept only two

Bloggers–many follow some not–

Never sure of how many give you thought…

Over a thousand mine

To whom I give little time,

Just a handful  of their blogs I’ve sought!

Surrounded by my family we are,

Been slow to contact any (my par)…

Younger ones I don’t know

As familiar ones go,

What can I do, having delayed thus far?

Does any of this make sense,

Is loss of your friends as immense…

I’m sure it is–

Friends we miss,

We remember  our friends in the past tense!

–Jonathan Caswell

HE COULD BE SHOT…!

The Poet could be shot,

Will be, likely as not…

Suggesting bras

Have their flaws,

For the well-endowed are healthy and hot!

Those “bouncing” videos

Combined with torn muscle throes…

Unless contained

Could cause real pain,

Suff’ring of which somebody knows.

Foreigners complain that we,

Over-emphasize  effacey…

Of the bra

For every flaw,

It shapes “them” daintily.

“Lift and separate”…*

Room to breathe is great,

Constricting–yes–

But look at the “bless”,

With others you comiserate!

–Jonathan Caswell

*A motto of PLAYTEX bras, if I remember!

A VISIT TO ALCO #11 IN NEW YORK STATE!

I often wanted a model

Of this one engine to throttle…

But the full size is hard

With no back yard,

Not as rich as Onassis, Aristotle!

On the MIDDLETOWN AND NEW JERSEY,

It was being rebuilt–no hurry–

On an engine house visit

They let me go in it,

To take my pictures–no worry!

I was taking color slides,

Harder to share, besides…

My pictures are locked

In a photo slide box,

Converting to the cyber world…dollars and time.

I learned of Number Eleven,

Reading a book–rail fan heaven–

The Narragansett Pier

And Bath and Hammondsport near here,

And Rail City Museum given.

Until in New York State,

Where the B & H and Rail City wait…

She went to Middletown,

New York, I was around,

But in Pennsylvania she’s running great!!!

–Jonathan Caswell

ANYBODY LISTENING?

A tartan pencil skirt,

Is any out there alert…

Nice to see

Fashionably,

I remember a teacher so girt.

While strict, she had her charm,

Frequent knits to stay warm…

Knee-length hems

I considered gems,

A high-pitched voice when in alarm!

For a Junior High School boy,

Her outfits were sources of joy…

Modest, severe,

But oh what a year,

With some imagination…oh boy!

–Jonathan Caswell