Jerry Buckley Poems

Before Adam's first election
Must have been the thought of Eve
Nothing less than pure perfection
Should he so easily deceive
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Take my hand and hold it
You've already stolen my heart
Touch my life and mold it
May it complement yours equal part
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I can't remember, just now, whether or not,
or what sort of tulips I'd planted, last fall.
It's inexcusable to me, that I'd forgotten,
but my muddled memory evades recall.
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Happy Birthday to you, 'mon amie'
It's easier written down than said to wife
Happy Birthday to you every day
And to myself for being part of your life
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Thank God for grandbabies
And things that draw people together
Like hot pot-luck Sundays
And parades through nice weather
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Thrice blessed is she
Loved by her and him
and them and we
Until six times seven
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Pen up a poem to Shannon
Some wee warm words how I feel
Reverence every effervescence
Her SweeTart zest of citrus peel
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It isn't always pretty
Fact is can tend toward brutal
Between the teeth its gritty
Profanity mixed with mud-spittle
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You and me
1 + 1 = an integer undoubtedly > 2.
1 x 1 = something unmeasurably > 1.
What convoluted arithmetics
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Six starched pairs of cotton khakis slacks
Boots and belt and six crisp oxford shirts
Gone, and I don’t know when I'll back
Do you know how much this hurts?
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