Lucretia Osborn McKleroy Poetry
Immortality
My son, you are now a part of all
that’s beautiful in the world
The wonders of nature are unfurled
By you
I feel your spirit from my heart
In the opening bud
of a yellow rose In the garden
the pale green wet moss
On the terrace
senses its loss
Of the footprints
that were yours and I know
That the humming bird
over the fuchsia tree
Is bursting
with your inquisitive vitality
And you are in tune
with everything that grows
The glimpse from your window
of the Bridge
Beckons me
to come away with you
To lose myself
in the spectacular view
Golden in the sunset
against the mountain ridge
The tall, straight buildings
of glass and stone
That reflect the sunlight across the Bay
Inspire me to praise the way
The architect planned,
but he will no longer be alone
You will be with him
as you had hoped to be
An even greater architect than he
In creating edifices
that set the tone
Of future cities
I see your face
in cloud formations.
Sometimes you
are crouched low, knee high
As if to race down
the slalom course of the sky
Challenging the universe
rather than nations
God created in you
a sweetness of soul
A Joyousness, a vibrancy
that cannot die
But must be a part of
the earth and sky.
Immortality of spirit
is man’s ultimate goal
My son, you are now a part
Of all that’s beautiful
in the world.
I see your smile
in the opening bud
of a white rose in the garden
The pale green, wet moss on the patio
senses the loss
of your footprints
and the humming bird
Hovering over the fuchsia tree
Is bursting
with your inquisitive vitality
And you are one
with everything that grows.
God created in you
a sweetness of soul,
A joyousness, an energy
that cannot die
But must be a part of earth and sky
forever
(On the loss of her eldest son Harry, by auto accident Christmas Day, 1969)
Greek Landscape
High on a hill
Stands a deserted temple
Where marble columns
Touch the sky
The Gods are there
Breathing the air of Greece
The cypress grows tall
Above the olive tree Whose leaves flutter
Shine like silver with the wind.
The cypress stands alone
Again in groups
Of two or three
Sometimes an army of cypress
March up a hillside
In their green uniforms
To silently guard
The ancient temple
The Angry Young Man (a song written about late 60’s youth turmoil)
There once was a man
So young, so fair
With penetrating eyes
And shoulder length hair
Who viewed his world
With a questioning gaze
And wondered
what could be done
To change people’s ways
Chorus
The angry young man
With the questioning gaze
Wondered what could be done
Io change people’s ways
He spoke his mind
And his friends agreed
But there were others much older
Who paid him no heed,
So he yelled and he marched
And he protested with vim
Until his friends became bolder
And took up the cause with him.
Chorus
The angry young man
With the questioning gaze
Wondered what could be done
Io change people’s ways.
The angry young man
Because of their youth
And their incomparable style
They were branded as rebels
For a very long while.
They were hounded and silenced
And many were jailed
But wise men began to listen
And the message was hailed.
Chorus
The angry young man
With the questioning gaze
Wondered what could be done
Io change people’s ways.
why the smog?
Why the poor?
Why the inequalities of race?
Why the crowds? Why the cars.
Jamming highways at death pace?
Why some had to starve
While others were overfed to become
lazy and fat
And dull in the head
Chorus
The angry young man
With the questioning gaze
Wondered what could be done
Io change people’s ways.
Why wars had to be fought
And people had to die
Why some children were not taught
They only learned how to cry.
Where was God? Where was peace?
Where was the land of the free?
When would horror ever cease?
The young man asked impatiently
Chorus
The angry young man
With the questioning gaze
Wondered what could be done
Io change people’s ways
Six Precious Jewels
I have six precious jewels
I hold close to my heart
My husband, a brilliant diamond,
Sparkling with many facets
Of kindness, humor, love
My oldest boy, the moonstone,
A dreamer he, a night sun
With thoughts as bright as the milky way.
second boy a sapphire
Bright, blue as the sky
He is now part of,
No longer of this earth
The third boy pure gold
Steadfast, reliable, constant
As spring rain
My fourth son a ruby
Warm, red blooded, energetic
Bubbling with laughter
My youngest,
my baby girl Is effervescent, shining,
My beautiful pearl
Loved one
I wish we were twenty years younger
And our love was a burning star
Passionate, all encompassing
We have given our youth
to our young
And now our love is like a quilt
To cover us always
As we lie secure
In each other’s arms
A Child is Born
Many Christmases I have shored
With loving family who have cared
Each for the other through good times and bed
Through days of happiness and days that were sad
This year a grandchild was born to me,
The smallest twig on the family tree
Who Wiggled her way into my heart
A soul of goodness frum the start.
A now life is always a precious gift,
A moment of gladness as special lift
(1976 For baby Alison, Merry Christmas—Happy New Year)
Sonnet: Sir Winston Churchill
The brave and gallant heart gave up the strife
The brilliant, versatile mind, the will so strong
But now his soul has left this mortal life.
The ebbing tide he could no more prolong.
The heart of England was, the strength and faith
That held the battle lines while soldiers fought
To beat a cruel foe who bombed and strafed
Their quiet homes in war they had not sought
He won for Englishman the yearned-for peace
His peace in heaven he will forever find.
The sturdy, beating heart has finally ceased.
Els God now cares for him who loved mankind
Ine black, cold lonely night, the endless sleep
Envelopes the tired heart while men’s eyes weep
(Published in San Francisco Magazine May 1965)
Christmas Thoughts
This is the crystal time of year
When memories, like diamond prisms
Flash across the inner eye
This is the giving time of year
When love, like the smoldering log
Warms man’s thoughts
On high the angels sing
And the heavens ring
Again with the joy of Christmas
The kindness of man
As a moth’s fluttering life
Shines briefly then fades
Into the good intentions of the New Year
Winter Kill
From out of the hawk’s beak
a chipmunk hits
the ground stunned
and left on the mountain to die.
His coat of brown with
blood stripes shrivel closer
to his body
His hazel eyes are dull
with a violent burst of energy
He tries to move but fails.
He lies there as dusting
of snow covers him
and cool evening
comes with the light
as it pales
and the cold evening
light pales