Poems by Leonard Bischel

In Memoriam

Leonard F. Bischel, Jr., educator and veteran (AEM3, US Navy & Capt. US Army), served in World War II, Korea, and the Vietnam era. He became a Coordinator of Gifted Children's Programs for Greater Phoenix Mensa and was listed in Who's Who Among America's Teachers. Leonard held executive offices for the United Poets Laureate International, the World Congress of Poets, the Arizona State Poetry Society, and the East Valley Poets. His honors include: NDEA Fellow, Fellow of International Academy of Poetry, Poet Laureate Man of Letters, Century Poets Award, and the Exemplary Services Award for World Brotherhood and Peace. b. September 11,1928. d. April 9, 2012.

Please listen to Leonard's poems Untitled & The Road of Life, recited by Mrs. Arlin "Edith" Bischel [12/1/1930 - 5/12/2017]

Lonely People

See the sign?

Like a beacon it shines,

Promising a welcome

With neon lines.

Cocktails we have—

And beer and wines!

Come inside!

Be lonely no more.

This is fun!

Just open the door.

(Dark hides the dirt

And sawdust Floor.)

Pour your loneliness

Out to us.

We’ll commiserate

And make a fuss!

You’re right, my friend,

Just lean on us!

We’ll pour you drinks

All night Long

Provide the music,

And maybe a song

Until closing time;

Then you’re gone.

The next day— you’re lonely?

Well, come with me—

Back to the shadows

Where laughter’s free.

We’ll fill you with spirits,

But then you’ll see—

No amount of booze

Can help your loneliness!

May 11, 2000

Tiny Gardens

Tiny Gardens on a shelf,

Built with such great care,

Each piece placed so lovingly

By hiker with white hair.

Memories of an earlier walk

Along a wooded path,

Along a quiet shore somewhere,

Safe from nature’s wrath.

A granite rock from mountain’s top,

A cone from nearby pine,

Each a memory of a walk,

Frozen now in time.

A tiny garden of memories,

Of days and events long past,

Each a time of happiness,

That she hoped would last.

The tiny garden’s left alone,

Its owner passed away.

The garden’s now a monument

To an earlier day.

It still holds its memories,

Though it’s growing old,

Of those golden sunlit days,

And their stories told.

July 4, 2002

Goin’ Home

The brandin’ irons are cold and black,

The brandin’ fires are cold too.

Cookie an’ the chuck wagon’r back t’ the barn,

An’ the steers are gone from view.

The last roundup fer this ol’ hand,

My days of wranglin’ are past.

Arthritis got so bad this fall

Couldn’t close my hands, the last.

Couldn’t do what I’m paid to do,

Joints hurtin’ all the time.

Cold didn’t help—I knowed that too.

Gonna have ta change my clime.

Goin’ ta live with son at his place.

They’re fixin’ a room fer me there,

Won’t have chores ta do each day,

Won’t have ta climb any stair.

Be able ta do most things I please,

Except the things I want most.

Won’t have my horse ta saddle each day,

Won’t dig no holes fer a post.

Just sit around and watch T.V.,

An’ ride this old rockin’ chair.

They think it’s kindness ta treat me this way.

‘Bout more than I can bear.

I’ll miss the air so fresh an’ clean

Y’were glad ta be alive.

An’ sharin’ yer job with a real fine hoss,

An’ the pards with whom you strive.

Ta do each job so it’s well done,

That made me feel good, too.

An’ ridin’ home at sunset time,

Quietly enjoyin’ the view.

I gotta ride my rockin’ chair—

Four walls 'er what I see,

My only chore is makin’ my bed.

Boredom is killing me.

I’d give it all fer one last ride

Among them purple hills,

An’ seein’ the sunset one last time.

That’d cure ‘bout all my ills.

That’s all I ask, one last ride.

It’s not ta be, I know.

I’ll do that ride in my dreams some night,

An’ durin’ that dream I’ll just –go.

September 9, 1999

Copyright ©. Rights to individual poems are retained. All rights reserved, except as otherwise noted. Reproduction done for other than personal or internal reference use without expressed permission is prohibited.

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