Dave Bates' Poems


By David B. Bates

So yer tail is in a knot.
No idea where yer goin'.
'Cause you really don't give a squat!
Which way that life is flowin'.
Let it go!

Been this way a time or two?
Wanderin' down life's trail?
What, oh what am I gonna do?
Big success or doomed to fail?
Let it go!

Grab it tight! Hold on fellow!
The downpour won't last long.
Open up yer umbrella!
Come on strong!
Let it go!

Life always has it's ups 'n downs.
Careful, which way ya pick.
Show big smiles, lose the frowns.
Ya don't have to "be up the crick".
Let it go!

See how things improve
When finally, ya let things go.
Life, at last, is "in the groove"!
Sure looks like "Quid pro quo"!
Really great... to let things go!

"LET IT GO, LET IT GO!"  Copyright © 2017 by David B. Bates

Editor's Note:  This poem was written in response to Poetic Prompt #  31


By David B. Bates

Many years and decades ago,
In a kingdom* by the sea,
I met the best pal I ever had,
No, it wasn't Anna Belle Lee.

I was an Air Force lieutenant.
He was a doctor, new.
We were dating roommates,
Nurses, both quite the view.

I doubt there was a bar in town
That the four of us ever missed.
We often cruised "South Of Broad".
Our evenings closed down as we kissed.

Too many missteps kept us apart.
As the decades slipped away.
We somehow renewed our contact.
I will always remember that day.

Thank God for that fellow named Bell.
His gadget has renewed our bond.
Hopefully some day, sooner than later,
We're together before the beyond.

*Charleston, S.C.

By Dave Bates

Looking 'cross miles of blue water,
Strolling down a white sandy beach,
Under a sunset of red clouds.
Where and what am I trying to reach?

Red, white and blue are our colors.
From "Old Glory" to the depths of our souls.
Our country's defended and blessed us,
So why do we rake up the hot coals?

Hot coals of mass murders and mayhem!
Depravity! Can it get any worse?
We breeze along heading down deeper
To a depth we can't seem to reverse.

Folks die in uncounted numbers
They're robbed and beaten galore.
Why can't we see where we're heading?
It's not like we've been there before.

Our moral survival's in danger!
We stumble along day to day...
We've got to work harder and wiser,
Or we'll have the devil to pay.

The devil's the ultimate danger.
We'll never know all of his wiles.
In our country we're fighting each other,
While the old guy with horns sits and smiles.

Our enemies are thrilled 'bout our troubles.
Our friends, deeply worried, I'm sure.
As we flounder down paths of poor judgment,
We just have to find the right cure,

We must discover and conquer
The evils that drift 'long our streams.
But who do we ask, and where do we look?
To bring back the land of our dreams.

Hold high our famed Constitution,
And follow the path of our Lord!
Then we may find our solutions
And live life in peace and accord.


"CAN WE DO IT??," Copyright @ 2012 by Dave Bates
Posted December 24, 2012


By David B. Bates

We all come together on Monday nights
To follow our Jonathan's* lead.
We need all the help this fellow can give.
Is he good at this task? Yes indeed!
As there surely is, in most every tale,
Let's look hard for the villain!
For our doctors have told us, "We're fairly sure,
It's Parkinson's doing the killin'."
There's a whole bunch of potions and too many
That they promise will help us get better.
But, for the very best help we ever can get,
Our Jonathan fills to the letter.
Our taste buds are shot, we wobble a lot
And our memory keeps getting worse.
But as we all work together, we're full of the hope
That Jonathan's work slows this curse.

* Our exercise leader

"P.D.," Copyright © 2012 by David B. Bates
Posted August 30, 2012

By David B. Bates

A sense of peace
And a feeling of calm,
Rolls over me now
Like a healing balm.
A healing balm,
Chasing troubles away.
Such a wonderful blessing,
I pray it will stay.
I pray it will stay,
To guide me through life.
I far prefer peace,
To the fighting and strife.
The fighting and strife
Consume and delude.
I pray that I follow
My Lord and His rood.

"Peace," Copyright © 2012 by David B. Bates
Posted August 30, 2012

By Dave Bates

A blacksmith in northern New England
Brought me into this world one day.
How did I wind up in Mexico (Texas)?
It's surely a very long way.

I started my work in Virginia,
In the far western part of the state.
I helped a young farmer and family
Build in seventeen sixty eight.

After only a few short years,
I survived the flame and the smoke
And moved on down to Tennessee
To a but made out of hard oak.

We stayed there almost three decades,
As I held our but together.
Then, again, I felt the scorching heat,
Again, we broke a long tether.

We're now in the Arkansas hills.
We finished a fine, loving home.
How long before the next burn?
And we start another far roam.

Here I am in north Mexico (Texas),
Being hammered into scrub pine.
Maybe, just maybe we'll stay here.
The place seems to be really sublime.

For nearly two centuries we've been here.
Generations come and then go.
I've worked as the blacksmith intended.
I'm a scorched, sturdy, worn nail, you know.

"How Did I Get Here?" Copyright © 2012 by David B. Bates

Author's Note: During the long, hard, dangerous push westward, our brave and resourceful ancestors had plenty of resources to built their cabins and huts. What was the sole thing they lacked? Precious, priceless, irreplaceable, unavailable NAILS.

Before starting their journeys west, they had to stock up with a goodly supply of nails. They built their shelters, barns, etc. with these nails. When they decided to move further west, or south, they burned all their buildings and very, very carefully recovered every nail and then moved on. Settle...build ...live ...burn ....move ...settle ...build ...live ...burn ...move... settle...build ...live ...burn ...move ...settle ...build ...live

By David B. Bates

Let me see…
A number meaning lots to me?
In the hills, or out at sea.
What, I ask, can it ever be?
Now my mind has found the key!
O it fills my heart with glee!
As I sit on the mountain's lea
Under the shade of my favorite tree
What in the hell rhymes with e-e-e-e?
Got it! The number is thirty three!
Now, yes now, my mind's set free.

Why the number thirty three?
It's the year, dear folks, I came to be.

This poem written as a response to Poetry Prompt #3 click here to see that promptt

Member Comments
Fun poem. I don't think I will ever see that singular number again without thinking of you.
We are glad you came to be
in that special year thirty three
But wouldn't have been blue
if it had been year thirty two.
-Comment from Glenn Currier


By David B. Bates

Along the streets and byways,
I see red, white and blue.
Freedom's colors flying,
All for me and you.

The Rotary and Boy Scouts
Been busy 'round the town.
We put them up on Friday,
Tomorrow, take them down.

Yet in our minds we see them.
Though they be out of sight.
We always will remember
Our country and its might.

"Our Colors" Copyright © 2011 By David B. Bates

By David B. Bates

Image: Roamin - poem by Dave Bates

By David B. Bates

I long to roam through the country side
When the leaves come a tumblin' down,
And the Master Designer has beautified
His woods in a dazzlin' gown
The shellbark is stained in a golden hue,
The maple's a mantle of red.
The glories of nature are on review
In the colors of leaves oer head.
The woodlot at dawn is shrouded in fog.
A spider's web's pearly with dew.
I'll sit on an ancient and mossy log,
And revive my soul with the view.
I'll walk with Him in the woodland
Far from the clattering mills
Away from the world and its contraband
I'll find… myself… in the hills.

"Roamin," Copyright © 2011 by David B. Bates
Re-posted March 1, 2016

Member Comments
Dave who could ever forget your poems about the seasons with the beautiful pictures "Roamin" is my favorite of those. 
- Comment from Elizabeth Hobbs

On Silvered Wings
By: Dave Bates

On silvered wings of memory
The gallant warriors came.
From Normandy to Tokyo,
They'd earned undying fame.

From Anzio to Saipan,
They'd fought through death strewn skies,
I watched them as they touched down,
Through proud and tear filled eyes.

Their crews, our gallant brothers,
Though head and chin be grey.
We're guardians of their legacy,
Down to this very day.

Member Comments
Dave, Tthis poem has a ring and a sort of etherial march to it. As I read it I can see you marching, proudly saluting those gallant brothers all, with through streaming tears. I honor you, your service to our nation, and the respect you show to our living and fallen soldiers in your poetry.
- Comment from Glenn Currier


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