Jerry Buckley

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

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.

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

Take my hand and hold it
You've already stolen my heart
Touch my life and mold it
May it complement yours equal part

Thank God for grandbabies
And things that draw people together
Like hot pot-luck Sundays
And parades through nice weather

Thrice blessed is she
Loved by her and him
and them and we
Until six times seven

Pen up a poem to Shannon
Some wee warm words how I feel
Reverence every effervescence
Her SweeTart zest of citrus peel

It's out there now; soggy on the sprinkler soaked lawn.
What was once a nearly bursting bladder is now near totally deflated.
The red, white, and blue octagonal panels, scratched and sorely faded.

December sky morphs from sullen toward soggy
And woebegone eyes from forlorn toward foggy
My downcast visage sets up, distant to deeper
The simple truth is, I'm unworthy to keep her

Kneading you, again and anon.
Prodding and plying your defenses
with friction, with lubricant and pressure.
Wistful to compel your falling listless;

One long stemmed rose should indicate indifference
toward these my joys in you discovered.
No valentine's dozen, nor floral arrangement,
disposed to complement one another.

Knock-knock. Who's there?
Anyone I know behind that stare.
Knock-knock. Well then?
Still the same as it's ever been?


I'll whittle a heart out of ivory,
nearly pure as driven flake.
Latch it on shimmering serpentine,
slipped around your dainty neck.

Staged in horizontal rows: linear like so many Bradford pear trees
Beaming out at us from the 'Society' section of the Sunday newspaper
Complete with full frontal smiles of idealism grafted onto ignorance

Shrouded behind a pale and gloaming light
This fair evening has lost its appetite
But it's too lovely out to go inside
I'd much rather sit here alone and hide

My shadow hitch-hikes on ahead of me
on timid tippy-toes toward tomorrow.
As daylight dissapates beside the lee
so then settles sentiment's sad sorrow.


Ghostly sound, this sucking, this swirling
Such a hissing slow refrain
This filthy oil-skimmed scumb encircling
Slurping through my bathtub drain


Abide with my echo
Now my voice has gone quiet
Prospect for my shadow
While you still have the light

Whenever you've the need to vanquish a frown
or need something special to adorn your castle;
Just drive yourself over to a spot in midtown,
where there is never any hint of a hassle.

It seems to me, it skip a generation
As it leapfrogs towards some salient separation
She harbors few affinities for purebred prototypes
Just as soon create us ugly, and then listen to our gripes

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Before Adam

Before Adam's first election
Must have been the thought of Eve
Nothing less than pure perfection
Should he so easily deceive

Before Cain fain claimed his brother
There was gain and thus defeat
Before Jacob conned his feeble father
and Esau took that bite to eat

Before Aaron's staff stretched fateful
When a night light led the way
Only then a remnant are found faithful
And just those few allowed to stay

Before Moses dreaded Zion's thunders
There were visions of how it ends
We kick the pricks against our blunders
And refuse half the help he sends

'Voice of One'@ Jerry Buckley

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