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This is a poem which I wrote many long years ago. To give it some context, I have had the frog in question following me around for all of my adult (not grown-up) life and it's orgins were back in my childhood. I was raised in Northern Minnesota not terribly far from where my father grew up. My mother was a southern girl from the state of Virginia and endured the northern climes, but we regularly vacationed in the south and were always surrounded by her large and loving family. My grandparents were working class folks and had 8 children who grew to adulthood and had their own large broods resulting in a plethora of grandchildren at every family gathering. My grandfather, Ira Lloyd Worley, was a somewhat patient, ever practical man that found himself the patriarch of these teeming dozens of kinfolk and found it easiest to refer to every male child in the group as John. This was ironic in that there wasn't a single John amongst us, but it seemed to work well for him. With all the ruckus, rigamarole,and general ado that comes with so many grandchildren, there will always be some squabbling and sorting out to do and my grandfather when posed with solving any given dilemma which would inevitably have a "if Mike had done this" or if Kathy had done that" involved, would state matter-of -factly, "If a frog had wings, he wouldn't bump his ass when he hops." So stated, nobody could (or can) argue with this adage and that bit of down home wisdom has followed me throughout my life to the point that I began to draw this frog many years ago in a wide variety of poses and circumstances. I even gave him a name. He is called Ehf, which is short for Ehfahrohgee. This just seemed to be apropo and eventually after writing a poem about this frog, I even named my photography business after him. This notion tickles my mother and when ever people ask me about the name I get to tell them this story and it brings my grandfather right back to life up out of my heart and memory and the man has been gone from this earth since 1968. To say I value this story is an understatement. So, having explained all of that I give you my poetic opus entitled;

* "Frog With Wings"

a poem by boB Meyer

No such things

As frogs with wings

It's something that cannot be

To believe you really saw it

Is just craziness you see

Seeing them a-hoppin'

And crawling through the brush

Is more sensible than thinking

they

fly by you in a rush

Their green skins glisten wetly

And their croaking voices sound

But no frog that ever I saw

Could go gliding 'cross the

ground

If wings they have to fly with

And soar above the trees

Then why is it that I've never seen

Them sailing in the breeze?

If wings it was they grew for

Getting from far to near

Then why is it that I've never

seen

A frog that looks so queer?

Now someday I'll feel funny

If I should accidentally find

A frog that glides just like a bird

Without bumping his behind!

* copyright 1982

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Comment by Robert P. Meyer Jr. on October 10, 2010 at 11:33am
Thanks Carissa! I take that as very high praise! Dr. Seuss has always been a particular favorite of mine. Always a good lesson.
Comment by Carissa Galow on October 9, 2010 at 5:42pm
It makes me think of Dr. Seuss :) I really like this poem.
Comment by Robert P. Meyer Jr. on October 1, 2010 at 10:51am
Yup, he was. I'm honored to have known the man. Oh yeah, thanks for the pun too!
Comment by Dorraine Darden on September 30, 2010 at 8:59pm
Your grandfather sounds like a hoot! What a great hop to a memory!
Comment by Robert P. Meyer Jr. on September 30, 2010 at 4:18pm
Yeah, sometimes I do forget just how wonderful this little slice o' life is. I cherish all these little life lessons, but I don't think that I appreciate them enough. It's like Lisa said about not hiding your light. I just have to share things like this out. Mayhaps I've been inspired to blog a bit? Hmm...I think that I'll give it a whirl at least. Prepare to be bored-ed! It's likely that I will pun-ish everyone unwise enough to read what they find here, but for my own sake maybe it won't be too terribly bad. I'll try to go easy on the blah-blah-blah. Wish me luck!
Comment by Maggie Friend on September 30, 2010 at 2:45pm
I like the poem and like best its context! What a great story (and memory)!
Comment by wiffledust on September 30, 2010 at 1:16pm
oh i think we are all really critical of ourselves and our art. but that's the thing about art. it's really for SOMEONE ELSE to see, not us. they will decide if it's art and even then only FOR THEM. at least that is my thought. it's wrong to hide your light under a bushell!
Comment by Robert P. Meyer Jr. on September 30, 2010 at 12:46pm
Thanks Lisa! This is just part of who I am and I have to admit that I've never put this out there for just anybody to see before. Since I've started selling my photography I have found that I just have to trust that people won't be as judgemental of me as I am of myself. I am my own worst critic! Such is the lot of the creative huh? boB
Comment by wiffledust on September 30, 2010 at 12:00pm
brilliant...love this!

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