KAY KOEHLER'S VERSE AND PROSE
BESIDE THE FOAMY SEA, illustrated verse for children of all ages
Some of the above were originally published in the Little Rock Arkansas Gazette 1970-1976
All material on these pages
©2006 Kay Koehler
OTHER PEOPLE'S VERSE, KAY'S ILLUSTRATIONS
AT
THE SEASIDE (Stevenson)
THE
LOVESONG OF J. ALFRED PRUFROCK (Eliot)
THE
TEMPEST (Shakespeare)
PRETTY
HALCYON DAYS (Ogden Nash)
OGDEN
NASH'S SEA CRITTURS
A
SELECTION OF OTHER ART WORKSSEA PSALM
I worship in the water
that upholds me like the arms
of the One who walked upon it.I praise the One whose voice,
mighty and stentorian,
calmed the troubled seas
and whispers reassurance
to my heart.Borne up by buoying waves
whose tear-taste teaches me
that all joy must at last
evolve from pain,Like Peter, I lose faith
and start to flail,
and, sinking, find a handreaching out lifting me,
reminding me that for this
I learned to trust.Here in the sea,
resonating with whale-hymns,
where dolphins leap their praiseand starfish shine upon a host
of angelfish below
and surf resounds with alleluias,Here am I, wave-borne, reborn.
Renewed by this embrace
from One whose very breath,
caressing the unillumined seas,
brought forth a Trinity of
Light and Life and Love.
FORMULA
What if you've got a toddling tot
Whose hungry little mouth devours
Poker chips and plastic flowers--
Everything but spinach (strained)Who never will be potty-trained?
Who smears your walls with grimy goo?
Who ties hard knots in every shoe
(While wailing "Me can do myself!")?
Who finds upon your highest shelf
Bric-a-brac you know she'll break?
Who always turns up wide awake
When it's time to take her nap
And scrambles up into your lap
To hear, the eighty-seventh time,
Dr. Seuss's silly rhyme?Through every tantrum, tear and pout?
What do you do with a boy who
Keeps tadpoles in his toothbrush glass?Who can't be coaxed to cut the grass?
Who outgrows shoes he seldom wears
And just can't keep his socks in pairs?
Who brings home dogs with mange and fleas?
Who lives in jeans that have no knees?
Whose flowing locks defy a comb?
Who eats you out of house and home?
Whose TV idol is bionic?
Whose jokes all tend to be moronic?
Who never turns off any lights
And seems to thrive on sibling fights?
Whose pockets bulge with worms and bugs?
Who squirms away from Mother's hugs?How do you keep from going mad
Until he goes from worse to bad?How in the world do you cope with a girl
Who almost never wears a dress?
Who keeps her bedroom in a mess?
Who sometimes comes out with a word
That, at her age, you'd never heard?
Who gabs for hours on the phone?
Who says she can't wait 'til she's grown
But keeps on chewing bubble gum?
Who vacillates from glee to glum,
Adores one boy and then another,
Confides in everyone but Mother--
Indeed, sees parents as a hindrance
To her budding independence
(Except that Dad is tantamount
To an endless bank account)?
What will it take to get you through,
At least another year or two?The only answer I know of:
A little guts, a lot of love.
Originally published in The Arkansas Gazette, Little Rock, AR, the the column A New Leaf.
INDEX
Some moment when my back was turned
fall fell.
Pell mell,
the summer joys for which I yearned
fled in a flurry of shriveled leaves
to clog the gutters on my eaves...
Budding roses, sunburned noses,
children shouting, in and outing,
letter writing, blue bird sighting,
star-filled skies and dragonflies:
All must now be put behind me.
Chilly autumn morning finds me
scramble-egging while I'm begging
those still drowsing to be rousing;
letting toast burn judging whose turn
in the shower took an hour.
But whatever autumn reaves, still a special spell he weaves:
Sans haste, I taste the gentler joys fall has in store--
The solo stroll (good for the soul).
the wiener roast, the scholar's boast,
the first frost glaze, the fireplace blaze
for toasting feet and sipping sweet,
warm cups of cocoa
poco a poco
the bird songs fade and I must trade
summer's sprightly little scherzo
for the largo autumn dare so soon to
change his tune to.
Even as the shadows lengthen,
for me these days of autumn strengthen
a glimpse of truth: Summer's like youth:
her fragile joys and outgrown toys
have in their places special graces.
Like aging queans, once tender greens
now flaunt their whims in gold and crimson.
Like them, I am sure this time
was meant for me to make the most of,
not to sorrow for the ghosts of
summers I cannot reclaim,
to wear my changing leaves sans shame.
"To everything there is a season..."
Now I understand the reason.
Ecclesiastes, or the Preacher,
had a wise and worthy teacher:
Autumn taught him.
Originally published in The Arkansas Gazette, Little Rock, AR, the the column A New Leaf
trapped for forty days and nights of rain
aboard the Ark, had to contend with fights between
simian siblings while two squirrels scrapped over
a mess of acorns and sweeping up their nibblings
she tripped over an aardvark (one of a pair of course)
someone forgot to put away.
She had to pitch the hay for the horse
and mare (also a pair) and the zebras and unicorns,
not to mention the buffaloes, and blow the nose
of an elephant who caught a cold
and treat sore throats in a pair of giraffe
while milking the Herefords (polled)
and angora goats and frankly the laugh
of a hyena or two was just too much
while she cleaned the hutch of a pair of bunnies
that somehow grew to more than two
nor did she think it funny
when Shem, Ham and What's-his-name, bored
with tormenting the baby lamb, asked each other
"What's gnu?" "What's gnu with you?"
and she wondered why Noah thought
the Lord by "creeping things" meant vermin
and some days she wished she's married Herman
and gone to live in Arizona
where it's dry.
Originally published in The Arkansas Gazette, Little Rock, AR, the the column A New Leaf
MAYDAY
(which, as everyone knows,is an international distress call)
Every year about this time
I get a notion grim:
I realize one more than I'm
not ready for the swim.
In last year's suit, it's plain to see
before the bathroom mirror
there's less of suit - or more of me -
the latter would seem clearer.
Within another week or so
cool water will be beckoning
and with Memorial Day I know
will come the day of reckoning
Much like an early Christian saint
approaching the arena
I'll walk with admirable restraint
and dignified demeanor
down to the watery Coliseum
where lissome lions prowl.
(Just as soon as I can see'em
I huddle in my towel.)
This pride of girls, bikini-clad,
(who haven't any tummies)
will flock around the sun-bronzed lad.
(Someone should tell their mummies!)
These supple girls are to my eye
the lions by whom I'm beaten
(although it's all to plain that
I am eater, not the eaten).
Quo vadis, hearty appetite?
It does not take three guesses
To know it's time to put the bite
on gloria in excesses.
Vale, cake and chocolate bar,
cream pie and other goo, too.
Ave, season, we who are
about to diet salute you.
Originally published in The Arkansas Gazette, Little Rock, AR, the the column A New Leaf
ESSAY ON FATHERS
Fathers, like mothers, come in
Different colors, shapes and sizes
Some are better than others
(Just like mothers)
Some fathers like to whistle,
Others go for hummin';
Some do lots of exercises
And some need lots of restSome fathers think a kiss'll
Solve their children's woes,
And then there are those
Who think a lecture's bestSome fathers are generous, others Scotchy
Some like Brooks and Dunn, some "Pagliacci,"
Some fathers like to build things out of wood
While others are no goodAt all at putting things together
(Especially unassembled trikes and bikes)
But almost every father I know likes
To see the man on TV give the weatherSome fathers have no faces,
Only briefcases,
And that's too bad,
Because a dad
Is almost always better than a mother
(Not to mention
A sister or brother)
At paying attention
When something real important's on your mindYou usually find
That fathers take you seriously
And somehow mysteriously
Understand your problem isn't funny
And fathers often give you money
When your piggy bank runs out,
Although they sometimes shout
About the way it doesn't grow on treesFathers like to sit you on their knees
And tell you how it was when they were your ageTo be a father these days
Calls for lots of courage:
Not just the bills he pays
And worrying about
Putting his girls and boys through college,
But things he can't put a price tag on
Like having to acknowledge
That how those kids turn out
Reflects on himAnd while he counts on them
To accomplish lots of things that he can brag on,
He knows he must be ready to forgive,
Even when he doesn't understandIt seems that God or Nature planned
That parents should be two of
Both to teach us how to live
And to double what we learn of love.
Originally published in The Arkansas Gazette, Little Rock, AR, the the column A New Leaf
INDEX STAR CHILD
"We are all made of starstuff"--Carl Sagan I, plummeting through corridors, cloud-hung,
cast one last look at distant galaxies,
the nebulae that doored my way, as flung
from spirals spattered on infinity
to Earth, I acquiesce to gravity,
accept with grace that, double-helix-damned,
I must relinquish immortality
and learn at last to measure time in sand.I, fettered now in flesh and magneted
to sod, forget the fire-tailed colt that bore
me swift on courses with my sibling stars.
They, too, remain forgotten overhead
until, astonished, I meet them once more
quivering on a sea that tastes of tears.
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