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Robert P. Fitton Poems |
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This Fitton Book is available as an e-book via $ 6.99 portal membership. |
From life to death and love to lost love, over 140 Robert P. Fitton poems are included. Adobe versions are loaded with poem photographs. Fitton's passion for the themes of his own life are revealed in even stronger terms in his poems. A few selections are included below. |
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A Snowflake Angel
In a quiet corner resides Sunlit wedges where I alone abide. Affixed; transfixed to the window's harbor spit. Our days are gone: There is nothing left.
The flash was sudden-sudden-sudden. My heart was severely bludgeoned. My future flailed and flattened. What else really matters?
Moonbeams scattered like souls atop water. Solitary hours marked that endless night. As workers dredged the twisted rubble, Terror spread rapidly from the site.
Spotlights shone over the fallen towers Where the dead lay buried on nine-eleven. But rising from the smoldering ash heap ruin A snowflake angel winged to heaven.
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Listen To The Plow
Listen, listen, I hear the plow It's been snowing past an hour now Only a couple of inches on the ground Comes the rumbling, tumbling sound
Round and round goes the flashing light Sifting flakes falling in the night They say the driver's had a few The night is long and it gets him through
The plow was always worth waiting for A portent of innocent conclusions I'd draw When school was called off for the day I grabbed my sled and slid away
When everything stopped or was shut down Nothing stirring in the town The future was a passing, unimportant thought As in its grip I now am caught
Once my skates cut the glassy ice And my childhood had no stated price Complications in my life so heavy now Oh, how I love to listen to the plow
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Welcome to my Nightmare
Welcome to my nightmare Staring all of us A comical rendition called life On the decorated stage The players are sliding toward the edge Such feeble attempts to prolong the show
Ready: Action: Camera What do you see? Act one, scene one What will you be?
Welcome to my nightmare With everyone listed above I want to be a dancer With nary a single clue Waltzing in syncopation Toward nowhere Until I'm done
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The Christmas's Yet to be
Here's to the Christmas's yet to be Sounds of little children round the tree Sharing the joy of the season and each other All the aunts and uncles, fathers and mothers
Here's to the years unfolding as they should Snowflakes falling in field and wood Christmas goodies in the kitchen oven Steam on windows, turkey set for stuffing
Here's to us all happy and together Toast another year through wintry weather Food for feasting with Cranberry sauce It's almost time for Santa Claus
Here's to all the wide eyed girls and boys When Santa unpacks his sack of toys All wishes, hopes and prayers have been answered The joy of giving is the spirit of Santa
Here's to the twenty-fifth day near end of year May Peace and Happiness always be here Love is the one and only key Of all the Christmas's yet to be
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Pass me a Summer's Day
Pass me a summer's day I've been longing to travel away That day we disappeared Down the Berkshire highway When the air was warm And clouds promptly parted Remember that day?
We hauled our packs Past the cranberry pond Through the forest tunnel Up and over the rocky slope With pounding hearts and sweaty brows On the way to the top
Remember that day? From the fire tower's view A haze hung over the valley And over me When winter is cold and gray And so are we Oft I will ask you: Pass me a summer's day
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The Greatest
The kid came into town Cocky and brash Punching holes in the air He challenged them all In a continual tirade Two hundred and ten pounds- The kid
8 to 1 on The Bear He had scowling, growling eyes A mauler, he stood face to face- With the kid He was mean and he meant To pummel and smash the kid To the canvas floor
The kid he jabbed, he jabbed A left stunning jab He wore the mauler Wore him down Cut his face and the scowl He could not be caught- The kid As he danced around the ring
The rounds went by And they blinded his eyes But he crossed and counter-punched A failing upper cut And when they called for the seventh round The Bear sat on a wooden stool He never came out And the kid was the champion of the world -----------------
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