Biography of Fred Babbin
I am a retired school-teacher. Email me if you want my address. My poems are rather gritty for the most part, because my life has been rather gritty.
I am a member of the Buddhist Temple of Chicago. 'God' is not one of my priorities, and we are in constant confrontation. I became interested in writing poetry in September 2007, so I would not climb the walls, because I had nothing else to do when I began.
Writing poetry is the best excuse for wasting time that I can think of. I can wool-gather and sit for hours, because I am 'creating'; at least that's what my wife thinks. So I have no guilt about what I am doing.
I save my cutenes, such as it is, for my poetry.
Fred Babbin's Works:
Fred Babbin Poems
A Thought On Thought
I think that all higher animals - primates, mammalian and ornithic pets, etc. 'think' to a certain extent. Why do I think? There is no alternative.
A Photo Of An Old Grave (Courtesy Of Da...
A PHOTO OF AN OLD GRAVE (Courtesy of Danny Reynolds) This was once a very grand grave,
With Apologies to Oliver Twist and everybody else. Football, glorious football. Don't care what it looks like -.
Am I O.K., Jack?
Our heating system speaks but I can't understand the words – yet. And the the toilet flush sounds like advertising on TV,
I Love You, I Love You, I Love You, I Lo...
There is a rat I call Depression
I’m O.K. Jack
Death be nimble, Death be quick, Death blow out My mortal wick.
57th And Kenwood
The neighborhood described in this poem is in the University of Chicago area, as it existed over 60 years ago. Most of it no longer exists, due to one of the first Urban Renewal programs in the United States. The 'Bomb' refers to the atom bomb, of which the University had a large part in the planning. I worked there for a short time. I wanted a picture of that corner for my poem 'Lost', and Ms. Schlesinger kindly sent it to me, so I wrote this poem. Dear, Dear, Ms. Schlesinger You are the messenger
Dearest Ruth You are my Breath
The Poetry Of Hope And Hopelessness
I went into the Internet To see what I could find And so much poetry I saw Seemed written by the blind.
And our lives do indeed do the tango to the music of God and the Devil. Our lives dance to their music, at the basic, vibrational level,
Poetry – this madness This feeling-thought that looks like thought that holds my brain
Eggplant And Elephants
I see that you are making eggplant
Another Therapeutic Poem
I’m pregnant again with you my poems My thoughts and feelings Have screwed my brain
I’m O.K. Jack
Death be nimble,
Death be quick,
Death blow out
My mortal wick.
Death and the Woman
Death was not nimble,
Death was not quick,
But death blew out
Her mortal wick