A prompt poem

Photo by Markus Spiske on Unsplash

When you fall in love,
Isn’t the color the red
Of an all-consuming trove?

It eventually mellows to yellow
And fills with such delight
That you want to bellow.

Then on it goes to green
The color of new growth
That makes you want to preen.

But sometimes love turns blue
And when all seems gone
You wonder, could it be true?

Love too often ends in black
Gone the days of color
You wish you could go back.

But in the end you find yourself
And the emptiness that remains
You put upon a shelf.



An Awdl Gywydd poem

Photo by James Owen on Unsplash

He wanted to get away.
“Let me say,” she said, “You sin!”
And why do you glare at me?
Can you not even see the spin?

© 2021 Bob Jasper. All rights reserved

Awdl gywydd (pronounced “ow-dull gee-youth”) is a Welsh rhyme. This is my first attempt.

If you enjoyed this poem, you may also enjoy these:

And here is a story about the man who inspired me to begin writing poetry:

I’ve also been inspired by the work of the following poet-friends here on Medium, including:

Afiyah The Poet, Amy Marley, Ana-Maria Schweitzer, Annelise Lords, Aurora Eliam, CMP, Beth…

A tribute to Mom on Mother’s Day

Graduation photo of Mom from her collection

With Mother’s Day coming up, our thoughts turn naturally to our mothers. Mine was born on September 5, 1926 as Flora Alene Brooks. She grew up in central Florida in a small town surrounded by orange groves. After graduating from high school, she began working as a waitress in a coffee shop where she met Benn Harrison Jasper, the man who would become my Dad. He was a sergeant in the Army, and hailed from Susanville, a small logging community in northeastern California. They married after a short courtship.

I came along in January 1945, and within a year, my…

An encounter with an angel

Photo by Shalom de León on Unsplash

In the early 1990s, my wife and I hosted two young men from Guatemala, Hector and Israel. They came to the USA to study business at a vocational school near our home. We originally agreed to host one student, but the lady doing the arrangements convinced us to take two.

When we arrived at the orientation meeting, Hector and Israel, our two students, greeted us with broad smiles. Both spoke a little English, so we could communicate, but it sometimes took a while for us to understand each other.

Israel stood tall and handsome with sleek black hair combed back…


A late response to the final NaPoWriMo challenge — Memories

Photo by Belinda Fewings on Unsplash

One of the rewards of old age
Is having lots of memories.
The older we get the more memories,
Some happy, some sad, many in between.

But terror comes
When memories begin to fade.
Our youthful experience
Disappears into the fog of time.

We may remember
A time in our youth,
Spring perhaps,
When all the earth was fresh, the sky a deep blue.

But when it comes to yesterday
A gray mist rolls in;
We cannot recall a thing.
Where did it go? What happened?

© 2021 Bob Jasper. All rights reserved.

I penned most of this yesterday as…


It’s National Arbor Day and...

Photo by Andreas Schantl on Unsplash

I’m sure many of you know that today is National Arbor Day here in the US and perhaps elsewhere. But did you know that Bugs Bunny also has laid claim to this day? Yep, it’s National Bugs Bunny Day! “Eh, {chomp, chomp, chomp}, what’s up, Doc?”

I haven’t seen any sign of that wascal wabbit, but I know one thing: if Elmer Fudd catches him in his garden, the chase will be on. Of course, Bugs will outsmart Elmer Fudd and will be back in his garden munching carrots while Elmer Fudd is looking all over for him.

As a…


How does one do that?

Photo by Nick Fewings on Unsplash

Naomi was her name
And her cherished word
I would like to claim,
This is what I heard:

For hope to flourish
Treat it like a little baby
That you must nourish
So it will not be crabby.

But how to nourish hope?
What is this illusive thing
For the lack of which we mope?
What food will make it sing?

Hope is our heart’s desire
It lives in imaginations,
And how it does inspire.
Does it require some actions?

Of course we can pray
Pleading with the Divine
On each and every day.
Asking for a sign.

But where…


Poem Inspired from the prompt dewdrop

Photo by Ganapathy Kumar on Unsplash

My tears fall like dewdrops
On the grass below my feet.
Such was the love we had
In those days now long ago.

They say grief is the price we pay for love,
And the greater love produces greater grief.
Some days I cannot bear it, and yet your love seeps through
As tears stream down my cheeks and form a heavy dew.

Despite the sadness in my heart
I feel a warmth within
Stirred by memories
Of the love we had.

The sparkle of the morning dew
The gleaming of your eyes
The smile upon your face
All radiant in the…

A Thank You note

Photo by the author — 1963

Mr. Shepherd tops the list of my most memorable teachers. He taught third and fourth-year high school English. Poetry, drama, and debate were some of his favorite subjects. I remember him assigning tons of homework (like a section of our textbook every night which equated to an hour or two of work), but he corrected and graded not one bit of it.

I’m not sure about his thinking, but maybe it went something like this: if we wanted to learn, we would. Or maybe he just did it to comply with the State’s curriculum guidelines. Whatever his reason, it ruffled…

Bob Jasper

Poet-Experimenter | Prose Junky | Flash Fiction Aficionado | Medium Novice | Find me on Twitter https://twitter.com/bobjasper

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