Pull away from the screen
Put on your ramblin’ shoes
Get yourself outside
Or you’re gonna blow a fuse
Say hello to your body
Run and jump around
Try and race your shadow
To the other end of town
Take a walk in the forest
And hug the nearest tree
If you listen it will tell you
How to set your spirit free
The world is interactive
And the graphics are sublime
Open up your senses
And hear the cosmos chime
by Richard W. Bray
A good athlete must have that harmony of movements or rhythm, which is called “form”….From pitch, to swing, to ball, a whole series of rhythms are set off, one rhythm, or one motion, starting another. So it is in life—from sun, to moon, to earth, to night, to day, to you getting up in the morning and going out to play a game of ball. All the rhythms of life are in some way related, one to another. You, your baseball, and the universe are brothers through rhythms.
—Langston Hughes, The First Book of Rhythm
Get in sync
And harmonize
Earth and moon
And sun and sky
All the rhythms
Are connected
Ain’t a body
Unaffected
Sun ashinin’
Earth aspinnin’
Live the motion
Breathe the rhythm
by Richard W. Bray
Don’t wake me up for anything
Don’t even say my name
This ain’t the time for pestering
My weak and weary frame
Don’t wake me up for anything
My bedroom is a shrine
Don’t disrupt my napping
My stupor is divine
Don’t wake me up for anything
Don’t halt my brief vacation
No good comes from bedeviling
My blesséd hibernation
Don’t wake me up for anything
I can’t afford to lose
Time set aside for slumbering
Don’t interrupt my snooze
Don’t wake me up for anything
My dreams are grandiose
If the world is ending
Just leave me comatose
by Richard W. Bray
Fresh and springy
Sunny day
Flowers pushing
Up to say
“Live your
Happy-spangled day
And mosey on
Your special way”
Burst it out
And don’t be coy
Smell the colors
Live the joy
Be a playful
Bouncy boy
The universe
Will be your toy
by Richard W. Bray
Moochers
Hey, watch out!
Here they come
What ya’ got?
They want some
Must be that time of year
Cuz the moochers are all here
They show up at your dwelling
When you’re getting set to eat
Boldly they will tell you
That you owe them all a seat
Once they fill their innards
They’ll discreetly slip away
You’ll be doing all those dishes
While they run around and play
As if your possessions
Really should be theirs
Moochers love to “borrow”
Your money, books and chairs
The dude who recommended
“Never a lender be”
Probably let a moocher
“Borrow” his tv
Yesterday a moocher
Knocked upon my door
And asked if he could come inside
And watch me do my chores
I said that this would seem to be
A silly waste of time
“Watching others work,” he said
“Makes me feel sublime”
I was raised to be unselfish
And always lend a hand
I know that this is right
But I still don’t understand
Those people who would rather
Waste the livelong day
Living off of others
Instead of making their own way
So if you see them coming
Turn off all your lights
And hide down in the basement
Until they’re out of sight
by Richard W. Bray
Not Amused
Was not amused when you used
My shirt to wash your car
You left it thrashed, torn and trashed
An ugly ball of tar
Wasn’t pleased when you seized
My favorite possessions
I can’t believe the way you thieve
You need sophistication lessons
I’m not impressed how you guessed
And opened up my locker
You took the shorts I wear for sports
So I could not play soccer
I’m glad to say you soon will pay
It fills me with elation
I booked you a season with the French Foreign Legion
You really needed a vacation
by Richard W. Bray
Leave me Alone
I don’t want to eat my spinach
I don’t want to do my chores
I don’t want to clean the bathroom
I just want to eat some s’mores
I don’t want to iron my trousers
I don’t want to cut the lawn
I don’t want to do my homework
I just want to play till dawn
I don’t want to plant a garden
I don’t want to wash the car
I don’t want to do the dishes
I just want to look at stars
I don’t want to work for money
I don’t want to paint my home
I don’t want to fix the plumbing
I just want to be alone
by Richard W. Bray
Ghosts
Sleeping in my chamber
I was awakened by a sound
Oblivious to danger
I got up to look around
Darkly beckoned onward
I chased a ghost that night
It led me down a hallway
I could not contain my fright
It hovered near a doorway
And exploded on the floor
And a thousand little spirits
Scampered neath the door
Hesitating for a moment
I summoned all my guts
And thought, “If I’m not dreaming
I must be going nuts.”
Placing hand on doorknob
I pushed open the creaking door
I didn’t know what I was seeking
I had no wish to explore—
The room was filled with goblins
And other creatures of lore
I tried to avert my eyeballs
As the specter began to pour
Red liquid into a chalice
But it did not look like wine
I wondered whose house this was
Surely it couldn’t be mine
I walked up to the fellow, knees quaking
It was time to make a stand
And with my fist ashaking
I said, “I do demand
That you and ghoulish posse
Vacate my home forthwith
I’m not one to be haunted
By creatures out of myth!”
Suddenly there was silence
All eyes affixed to me
I feared they’d do me violence
It seemed an eternity
The specter appeared to smile
And with a wave of his hand
He sent the other monsters
To some foreign land
He looked straight in my eye
And said, “Let me explain
My creepy friends and I
Live inside of your brain”
Then I was awakened
By a ringing telephone
I jumped up forsaken
No time to be alone
I picked up the receiver
A voice much like my own:
“Now you can be a believer”
Static. Click. Dial tone.
by Richard W. Bray
(Since it’s that season, you can find more scary poems here, here, here, and here)
Creatures
Creatures you’ll meet
Out on my street:
Goblins, vampires
Shrunken head buyers
Gargoyles, zombies
Brain-dead mummies
Giant spiders
Headless riders
Grimmer Reapers
Crawly creepers
Werewolves, Frank Stein
Are not friends mine
No joy for me
Just lost my key
Locked out, late night
Cold air, fresh fright
Who could this be?
Someone help me
It’s moved closer
I’m safe? No, sir
Mommy, save me
It might grave me
Neighbor Louise
With my spare keys
“Thank you!” I gush
Inside. Big rush
by Richard W. Bray
Mud
Mary McCrae sent her son out to play
One sunny afternoon
Timmy McCrae and his friends they did stray
To a grimy green lagoon
They slithered and slid and crawled and hid
Among the muddy dunes
Digging and rigging and slopping and glopping
They built a loam pontoon
In a puddle of silt by the boat they had built
Timmy tried to douse
Some of the slime, mud, muck and grime
Before he reached his house
But he could not lose the trail of ooze
Which steadily grew behind him
(I could run away his mind did stray
But someone surely would find him)
As his house appeared poor Timmy feared
His mother would no doubt remind him
The new school threads laid out on his bed
Which Mary had bought for her son
Were not meant for play and there was no way
To explain what he had done
He couldn’t get away or sheepishly say
“Mom, I was just having fun!”
Correctly he guessed, she wouldn’t be impressed
If he told her that his side had won
Poor Timmy shuddered, his little heart sputtered
As he reached his front door
He wouldn’t be acquitted, nor even permitted
To play outside any more
He entered his house, mute as a mouse
His mother let out a great roar
But when she recovered, Timmy discovered
She did not completely deplore
The layers of slime, mud, muck, and grime
Encompassing her child
For in her own day Mary MaCrae
Was known to be a tad wild
by Richard W. Bray
