Poems From the Porch 18

Have you noticed how actors often get typecast in a certain roll? Especially if they have played a character as iconic as say, James Bond, Superman and such. These roles are usually the ones that bring these actors initial success and define their careers, but often afterwards their career falters as audiences fail to see them as anything but the popular character they made their own.

So too, it can be with writers. we can become so well known at a certain type of writing that it becomes difficult for our audiences to take us seriously when we delve into a different genre or something they consider "out of character."

The problem with this is that as writers we want to continually improve, experiment, and develop our skills. I know personally that even though I prefer to write poetry, I still need to try my hand at other things like short stories, flash fiction, or the odd essay or article.

This series "Poems From the Porch" is all poetry but it still offers me the opportunity to show verse-atility because of the different topics and styles of poetry requested by my readers. The subjects are often ones I would never have chosen to write myself, and I find that refreshing. I don't really want to be typecast as simply a poet, but if I am I'd like to be seen as a versatile one.

"May I request a poem dedicated to my son, Todd, who passed from cancer, at the age of 42. He was the single father of 4 children (the mother abanded them all) and lived for those kids. He had a huge heart and took in any child who needed a place to stay or a meal to eat. (Just a little background.)"

Audrey, it was my pleasure to write this poem in dedication to your son Todd. I hope you find it suitable.

Todd Edward Hunt lived for his kids,

A single dad of four.

He had to raise them on his own,

That was no easy chore.

He'd take in any child in need

Of a place to sleep, or food.

His heart was always full of love,

And Todd Hunt's heart was huge.

He was one with the ocean

And loved to surf and swim,

But cancer has no empathy

And was not kind to him.

it took him much too early

For he had so much to do.

A brother, father, and a friend,

Dear son of Audrey too.

So, this short poem's a tribute

To say we don't forget

A life too short, but valued,

And the legacy he set.

"I hope I am able to make another new request. Nowadays something or the other happens to make my mood off but I try my best to uplift my spirits. I would, therefore, like a poem on happiness. The title would be, "How to Remain Happy Every Single Day"... I can't wait for my requested poem next week. Hopefully, I will be able to take away something concrete again."

Being happy all the time is something we'd all like to achieve Rosina. It is easier said than done, but I hope this poem helps.

It's easy to be happy

When everything goes right,

When every task you try works out

Without the need to fight.

But what about when life goes wrong

And nothing goes to plan,

When people seek to argue

Just because they can?

Sometimes it seems we're dealt bad cards

From the bottom of the deck.

This is when you need to shrug

And just say, "What the heck!"

Your attitude is up to you,

You have the power to choose

Whether to complain and sulk

Or let your smiles run loose.

A good mood is infectious,

it will chase the gloom away.

As the sun breaks through a cloudy sky,

A smile can change your day.

So, be with those who make you laugh,

Do things that give you joy.

Just tolerate the things that don't,

But don't let them destroy.

You can be happy every day,

It's not a crazy dream.

You've beaten problems in the past,

You'll do the same again.

So, don't be stressed or anxious,

Push angry thoughts aside,

Let happiness control your life,

It will be an awesome ride.

"I love this series and I'm in awe of your talent. My next request is........

drum roll, please.......MUD!"

Thanks a lot, Bill..."Mud"...sheesh! Not a problem, enjoy.

Mud is great and mud is good,

Mud is just misunderstood.

Don't eat mud-pies, kids are taught,

Mud truck racing is a sport.

I guess mud wrestling may be too,

But the truth of that is up to you.

Mud mask facials make skin soft,

Muddy boots need taking off.

"Mud Men" of the New Guinea highlands

Used to raid the other neighbouring clans,

Pretending to be evil demons

To steal their land and pigs and women.

So, mud is not just dirt that's wet,

When mud is dried like clay it sets.

Build eco-houses with mud bricks,

And when mud's flung it often sticks.

At one stage early on, after starting this series, I had so many requests for poems that I thought I'd never get through them all... but I have!

This week's poems are the last of those I have on my list. Even though there are only three, I am sure you'll agree they are quite diverse subjects.

If anyone has requested a poem that you haven't seen appear. or I may have forgotten, please let me know. Also, if I am going to keep the series going I urgently need new requests. I can extend it for a while by choosing to write on subjects of my own choosing but that takes away from the fun and the challenge.

I am sure some of you will come up with more ideas you'd like to see in poetry, and whether you have made previous requests or not doesn't matter. The more the merrier, and thank you in advance for helping Poems from the Porch keep on keeping on.