More Childhood Rhymes

Entrenched with the young and old poems that birth from that place which all life is created, I have decided to enclose some of my Childhood Rhymes along with my more recent material.

The Crow Sings (But Not For Long)

The Crow Sings
“Ka-Kaw! Ka-Kaw”!
That Crow is the blackest thing
That I ever did saw.
Up in the tree
“Ka-Kee! Ka-Kee!”
I point my rifle skyward
And set the crow’s soul free.

Published in: on October 28, 2010 at 7:34 am  Comments (4)  

Some Things That I Like

Yesterday, aboard my 18 foot retirement yacht (I’ve always wished to die upon a boat), I stared longingly at the sea, awaiting her sweet kiss of death. At 86 my life has seen its peak, and while the mountain climb is far over, an old man can only do but one thing: wish for death, and watch the tide.

As I felt the air rising in my sagging chest, I knew that while I wasn’t dead, my cells have been decomposing at alaming rates- for little attention has been paid to their upkeep. I heard the words in my mind: A shallow grave, the waters touch, too many to swim, but not too much… And I created an impromptu poem on the deck of my Yacht. I call it:

Some Things That I Like

A shallow grave

The Waters Touch

Too Many to swim

But not too much

For he who holds on

Is the fool who lives

Another day

Another day

Some things that I like

are carried away

away with the waves

Away with their graves

The decomposing soul

of a poets spark

fades brightly into the mist

then goes away dark

And he who knows

His final bell tolls

Will only knows

The chime of crows

And he who knows

His final bell tolls

Will never knows

Will never knows.

Published in: on October 28, 2010 at 7:27 am  Leave a Comment  

In The Hay For Baby

I wrote this in 1958 on my way from Kansas to Utah aboard a hay truck. 3 migrant farm workers and their daughter had hitched a ride on my caravan, and for three hours straight their daughter cried for she was allergic to hay. I wrote this in attempts to quell her cries:

In The Hay For Baby

The bumpiest ride and the quietest noise

The noise of a child crying

Will bring a grown man to his knees

Will bring the death to dying.

For she who sobs is one in many

Too fools have I once spoke

In times of needlessly undenying

Its her life that I should tolke.

Published in: on October 28, 2010 at 7:19 am  Comments (1)  

Some of the pieces I’m famous for-

On the Wikipedia, it is stated that I am widely known for my writings of the poetry for children, which is true. “Little Robin Redbreast” and “Up little baby” are some of the pieces I’m famous for, so it is in my best interest for nostalgic purposes to entertain this audience with these pieces.

Little Robin Redbreast

Little Robin Redbreast sat upon a tree,
Up went pussycat and down went he,
Down came pussycat, away Robin ran,
Says little Robin Redbreast, “Catch me if you can.”

Little Robin Redbreast jumped upon a wall,
Pussycat jumped after him, and almost had a fall.
Little Robin chirped and sang and what did pussy say?
Pussycat said “Meow”, and Robin flew away.

Up Little Baby

Up, little baby, stand up clear;
Mother will hold you, do not fear;
Dimple and smile, and chuckle and crow!
There, little baby, now you know!

Reading this at my old age, I realize how far my poetry has gone. But worry not, my young readers, there will be much more writing to come.

Published in: on October 28, 2010 at 7:09 am  Leave a Comment  

Blessings and greetings to my online source of inspiration

Hello, my dear friends. For many decades I have been a writer of poetry- and now, for the first time, I am publishing my pieces to this online source, this WordPress, this blog. I hope for all who comes to feel welcome in the presence of my poetry, the subtle words that leave my lips or depart from my fingertips into the spiraling abyss of the internet. For those who may not have heard of me, I can be found on Wikipedia- – although my birthing dates are all wrong. I have tried writing to this Wikipedia source, but they refuse my calls.

While I am known for my Childhood poetry, time has taken its toll on my abilities as a writer as I decided not to allow my poetry to be squandered away into the dirty and uneducated hands of children.

So, my dear friends, my poetry is now in your hands. Please wash them thoroughly or risk infection.

-Raymond Z. Kertezc

“The blessings one undertakes

Is the life in which he makes”


Published in: on October 28, 2010 at 7:00 am  Leave a Comment