Poem Home

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Welcome to our landing spot highlighting the many poems from Flominic, who also is known as Dominic Farrenkopf. His poems will appear here regularly through the year. Weekly you can also find a printed copy at Chapter One Book Store in Hamilton. For many, many other poems check his website.

Doom

I was eating breakfast
this fine Saturday morning
when my mom struck me with news
that came without warning.
***
“You, young man, when you finish
eating your Frootie-Oh’s
are going straight to your room
and putting on old clothes.”
***
“Yes, Son, we’re adventuring
into a cold, dark tomb.”
I looked up excited.
“Yes, we’re cleaning out your room.”
***
My hopes and dreams were crushed
I was resigned to my fate.
I finished my cereal
and the toast on my plate.
***
With my chin on my chest
I marched slowly to my room.
My mom followed, whistling,
and dragging the vacuum.
***
She went straight to my dresser
And right before my eyes
she started tossing things
that were no longer my size.
***
My first T-ball jersey,
my green and blue swimming shorts,
my red hoodie and more
went to a rag bag of sorts.
***
The next thing I knew,
my mom was underneath my bed.
Into the trash went toys
and comics I hadn’t read.
***
Next she turned her full attention
to my coat closet.
My windbreaker and some shoes
made the trash deposit.
***
She went straight through my room
like a whirling tornado.
She even tossed out my gun
that shoots a potato.
***
An old baseball, a checker game
with pieces missing
and a whole lot more
that to goodbye, I was kissing.
***
One sure way to have your best stuff
meet a dreadful doom,
is to have your dear mother...
help clean up your bedroom!

Dominic“Flominic” Farrenkopf
thesepoemsneedhomes@live.com
flominic.com

Hunches

I walked ‘round the farm today
just doing my thing.
I was having a hunch
that soon it would be spring.
***
My first hunch seen
was Mama Hen having a scratch.
Soon she’d be sitting on
‘bout eighteen eggs to hatch.
***
I walked past the pigpen
and there was Mama Swine.
Soon she’d be having piglets
I hunched about nine.
***
Out in the pasture, just grazing,
was Mama Sheep.
I hunched she’d have two lambs
a regular Bo Peep.
***
Mama Cow was in the barn
standing in her stall.
I had a hunch that this year
her calf would be small.
***
Out at the corral
Mama Horse jumped with a jolt.
The way she’d been acting
I hunched she’d have a colt.
***
The pond was melting,
Mama Duck liked that just fine.
I hunched she’d have ten ducklings
following in line.
***
Mama Goat was jumping
on and off the shed lid.
I hunched she’d soon do this
‘long with a crazy kid.
***
I walked past my flower bed
and there in the snow,
were green shoots popping up
that turned my “hunch” to “ know”.
***
I know that soon Mama Spring
will bring forth her young,
‘cause Mama Daffodil...
is poking up her tongue!

Dominic “Flominic” Farrenkopf
thesepoemsneedhomes@live.com
flominic.com

Sought

Here in mid-February
love is being sought.
Many ladies are hoping
a man will be caught.
***
Some girls are lucky
and have a man on their arm,
all handsome, courteous,
loyal and full of charm.
***
Attending a tea party
is a special treat.
Her gentle, dear beau
will always pull out her seat.
***
He’s a great table guest
and quick to make you laugh.
They divide the cake,
he gives her the better half.
***
There are flowers on the table,
he pulls one out.
It goes in her hair.
He’s number one, there’s no doubt.
***
They go for a relaxed stroll
through the city park.
He whistles tunes to her
she’s happy as a lark.
***
For a fountain wish
he gives her a copper coin.
She wishes that
a forever union they’ll join.
***
He buys her cotton candy
from the candy man.
He puts a pinch on her lips.
Oh, she’s such a fan!
***
She takes him out shopping
to try on some new hats,
and then maybe shoe browsing
for some pumps or flats.
***
He smiles at her choices
and carries the bags.
Later on, on the phone,
to her girlfriends she brags.
***
Who are these young ladies
deep in love without cares?
Why, they’re just tots....
with Valentines as teddy bears!

Dominic “Flominic” Farrrenkopf
thesepoemsneedhomes@live.com
flominic.com

Treatments

I grew up in the countryside
when I was just a lad.
I was primarily raised up
by my mom and dad.
***
But when sickness came
I was cared for by another.
The one who cared for me
was my dear, sweet grandmother.
***
For each injury
she had a poultice or powder.
For each ailment
She had a tonic or chowder.
***
I remember as a child
a bout with the flu.
Grandma spoon fed me
a puffball and pine beetle stew.
***
I got over the flu
in a mighty big hurry.
To prevent its return,
she served me duckling curry.
***
We kids went for a dip
in the irrigation ditch.
She rubbed us with a cayenne cream
for our swimmer’s itch.
***
But hotter than the cream
came on all of our bee stings.
A stinging nettle
smeared with horseradish and fly wings.
***
A sprained wrist would be treated
with a maple branch splint,
and for pink eye she’d rub mud on
with a black stone flint.
***
Bellyaches meant licorice bark,
headaches, rambutan tea.
Her cure for a cold was secret,
but given for free.
***
She could pull out teeth and tonsils
and cure the black mumps.
She made salves, creams and pastes
for our burns, scratches and bumps.
***
If one of Grannies treatments
wasn’t going just so,
she’d try another one
and shift as the wind does blow.
***
Yes, people would come
from miles and miles around
to seek out my grandmother
and a cure to be found.
***
There’s no single doctor
in the entire nation,
that could compete with...
Grandma’s mountain medication!

Dominic “Flominic” Farrenkopf
thesepoemsneedhomes@live.com
flominic.com