| This was written by my Great Grandfather Flies By John I. Brown July 1929 Little dogs delight to bark and bite, and little birds to sing, but all that flies can find to do, is sit on everything. They buzz around from morn �till night and do not rest a bit, except it be a moment when they stop to take a sit. In every room about the house you�ll find the pesky fly And there they sit and sit For sit they take the cake. They gather round the poor dead fly and there they sit and sit. They crown him over with a golden crown All garnished over with :::. These Poems were written by my Great Grandmother ON HAPPINESS ISLE By Lavon Brown I came to the �crossroads in life� one day And took the wrong turn, that is true, And shortly, I came to a little stream Too deep for just wading through. I tried to swim to the other side But the current was much too strong, And I drifted down stream, so very far, I knew I was lost, before long. In sheer desperation, I cried out for help, And then at last I did see The banks lined up with others Who�d been foolish, the same as me. They called out to me, to show me the way, And stretched out their arms to aid, As I , haltingly took the simple Twelve Steps That my fellow-travelers had made. I�m here, at last, on �Happiness Isle.� By these twelve simple steps I will live, And thank God, daily, for serenity The AA plan does give. Pittsburg By Lavone Brown When Pittsburg was a little town, oh many years ago, My grandpa and his family moved there, to help it grow. My father peddled flowers, along the �old boardwalk�; He picked the splinters from his feet, and with the neighbors talked. Grandpa ran the sprinkler, the first in town, But then for all of this, there was no great renown. The years rolled by, and sis and I, to K.S.T.C. did go, To get an education, of some kind, don�t you know. My kids were born in Kansas, but they did not stay too long; They came to California to grow up strong. We love dear old Pittsburg, and memories oft return, But to go back and live there, we none of us do yearn. This is the story of our Tribe, since 1886, And from the looks of things, my friends, you�re in the same blamed fix; So shake hands with your neighbor and to him say �hello� He may have lived next door to you, in Pittsburgh, long ago. San Fernando Valley Folks By Lavon Brown From a mansion to the poorest home that you could think or name, Folks from every county, to this lovely valley, came; Once they�d seen it in it�s splendor, and breathed it�s pure, fresh air. They stayed, to build their homes, here, and each other�s problems share. It�s true, the winding highways would sometimes get them lost. Dead-end streets and transportation, their patience would accost. But where could they find more beauty and more friendly people meet, Than in San Fernando Valley, regardless of the street? Each day, one sees them building new homes by the score For folks who want to live here, and share it�s wondrous store Of friendships, peace and beauty, that freely, here abound; Nowhere else can all of this, in one lovely spot, be found. �Wild Red� Berry by Lavon Brown There�s a man who made good, in his Wrestling Career. A man who never has known any fear; He has wrestled opponents of every kind, No matter how large, they can�t read his mind. He comes from Kansas, the Sunflower State, And folks, from Pittsburgh, know he is great; Quick-thinking, fast-noting, as you can see, He�s the one with the SUPER MENTALITY. It is not a matter of who is the strongest, Or who can keep a hold, the longest, But who has the brain, to �outsmart� his quarry; The one who can do it is �WILD RED� BERRY. Revised By Lou Smith Oct. 14,1978 These were written by my Grandmother I�m really trying very hard to modernize myself. To bring my wardrobe up to date and sweep me off that shelf. I find it�s not so very hard to step into a skirt And leave on hangers all those slacks and boyish looking shirts. Somewhere in all the pantsuit craze I lost my womanhood. That swinging walk and girlish traits so delicate and sweet. Replaced by swaggering blue jeans, a working girl�s defeat. That�s what there is to work with. The mold has grown obscure. It�s bound to take a lot of work Revising, that�s for sure. So if my rights are wisely used and wrongs obliterated, I just might have a chance to see this woman liberated. Liberated from myself, there�s no one else to blame If I refuse the right to be a woman without shame. So in the name of womanhood with courage newly owned I vow to exercise my right to leave my bra at home. Handicap By Lou Smith I drove around the parking lot Searching for a space, Three times �round and I could see It was a hopeless case. At last a car was backing out! I eagerly awaited But pulling in I saw a sign, And so I hesitated. The space was for the Handicapped, And so I drove away. I'm lucky that I have two legs I�d walk a bit today. A car pulled in that parking space So recently vacated. My good deed left me curious And so I watched and waited. There was no wheel chair in that car Or crutch of any kind. The space was for the Handicapped. I guess the guy was blind! The Oreo Cookie vs. Chips Ahoy Written By K Reyes This is my mother�s poem An Oreo cookie, made just for me, This black and white cookie, I�m happy to see. This three-layer cookie is a delight, With its chocolate and frosting in every bite. You can twist or pull or break it apart, For its sugary center, that is the heart. In milk, when you dunk, it passes the test, It won�t get to soggy in milk, like the rest. I eat one or two, or sometimes eat four, �Cus an Oreo Cookie leaves me wanting for more. Chips Ahoy cookies are boring and flat, This light brown cookie will not interest my cat. I see chocolate chips and think, Oh, Boy, But one bite and I know, yuck, it�s Chips Ahoy. It melts in your lunch box, oh what a mess, Hands sticky and messy, I really detest. It�s bitter and sweet when you chew, and chew, I prefer a cookie that�s sweet through and through. I�ll pass up this cookie, when I go to the store, It�s the Oreo Cookie that I want more. |
| Family Poems |
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