Let My Record Show

Although I might deal with deceit,
And did some individual wrong.
Just let my record show,
I can still sing my song.

My advice wasn’t always innoxious,
When I was required to be bright.
But let my record show,
I told all what was basically right.

At times I may have told a woman
That her beauty left no doubt.
Still let my record show,
I only tried to ask her out.

Occasionally I may have reaped,
Where someone else had seeded.
However let my record show,
I took no more than what was needed.

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poem by Albert Price
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An Ode To Mother

It seems the angels were singing a song,
And their melody pleased God’s ears;
Singing of to whom such love belong,
They could subdue all pain and fears.
He asked them about who became
Possessed of a kind of love so grand.
He was told of the sweetest mortal name
That ever satisfied the hearts of man.
The dear name “Mother” God then heard,
It giving sound to the throb of His heart,
As if such a title was that preferred,
And such a figure so honored in classic art.
My own dear mother was second to none,
And enjoys her deserved Elysian rest.
Thus since down from heaven came the Son,
Her role and function is eternally blessed.

poem by Albert Price
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Barelegged Charm

Along the sidewalk, strolls my dimpled dear,

Below a cloudy sky of pink and lime.

Her legs, ringing a bell my senses longed to hear,

Gives a celestial performance so divine and sublime.

A pair of sculptured complementing visions,

Creating a fervor within, one can feel to the bone.

Obliging my superego to handle decisions

About whether I see an angel from the rarified zone.

Such heavenly limbs should head the epicure’s list,

Being so divine as dove wings in the skies.

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poem by Albert Price
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Albert's Dry Bones

My ship reached your lush and comforting shore,

But my flesh had no more left than dry bones.

And these bones could remember no more

The warm breezes that now gave unheard moans.

But GOD can make these dry bones live,

As Ezekiel saw in Babylon one airy day.

And my dry bones seek for GOD to give

A body divine in which they desire to stay,

And roam the mountains that cool the air,

Collecting fruit so lavish and so ripe.

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poem by Albert Price
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Looking Myself In The Eye

My life must be steadied by real meaning,
‘Cause I hate that feeling of leaning.
My true self I wish not to belie,
So I can always look myself in the eye.
When I douse the lamp for the night,
I desire to know that I have done right,
Realizing that it is a lot to expect,
I still enjoy the hope for every man's respect.

In the daily contest for success and fame,
I want no more than being proud of my name.
Some may show the world a deceitful façade,
They spend their days with acts to defraud.
I wish nothing to hide from others to see,
And most of all not hide my true self from me.
Irregardless may my conscience always be clear,
So glaring at myself will ever be reason to cheer.

poem by Albert Price
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Susy

Her company I always splendidly enjoy,
For her natural beauty is something sublime,
And her manner is forever excitingly coy,
Enticing lustful emotion as if it's no crime.
Her warm, glowing, and captivating eyes
Briefly distract me from her startling bod.
Her upper parts' ability to inherently arise
Could only be crafted by an artful God.
And below her comely bust and shoulders,
He blessed her with a perfectly tapered waist.
The lady's cheeks are like a pair of boulders,
Continually and sensually rolling into place.
Her buxomness she flaunts for my pleasure,
So she is forever a vision of my esteem.
Images of her marvelous nakedness I treasure,
And she will reign as the milkmaid of my dream.

poem by Albert Price
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Death's Severed Head

Death now goes about without it's head,
Lurking around in the shadow depraved.
But now unable to aim it's sharp sting
And to claim it's infamous victory at the grave.
All it does now is invade our innocent youth
And tries to afflict them with lust and hate.
It burdens them with hopelessness and despair
And ruins minds while holding wide the devil's gate.
It met the people trekking through the Sinai,
Seeking the glorious life of the Promised Land.
It turned back their minds to the fleshpots of Egypt
And took the gold they had brought from their hand.
No more let death be the darkener your heart,
Nor bend your image and steal your youth.
‘Cause death and it's head was made to part,
And now eternally drips its blood in truth.

poem by Albert Price
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Lovers' Stroll

Along the riverbank, I happily strolled forth,
Learning for all the world, what a flash of joy is worth.
I walked with one I loved, in the years long gone by,
Absorbing a breeze as sweet as the wind in the western sky.

Along the riverbank, casually I strolled,
As the sky above unfurled a cloudy scroll.
Bending gingerly below the lowest bough,
I went leaning to and fro through vine and flower.

Along the riverbank, I strolled with one dear,
As the western breeze conveyed the crest of joy near.
Each step now pass bud and sweet blossom
Brought back memories wild-eyed and awesome.

Along the riverbank, by rock and bud and tree,
I walked with one very dear to me.
And on we walked following the Creator’s plan,
Giving nature and life our praises hand in hand.

poem by Albert Price
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Cathedral Essence

Before the promised coming of the Messiah,
Men sought shelter in caves near the sacred sea.
Rites of purification they practiced there,
Seeking for a new light to set them free.

We prepare a shrine worthy of Him,
For He is the communion of our dreams.
His are the Holy Elements we seek,
About which all earthly loveliness streams.

Every daybreak, the sun holds his devotions.
The horizon his altar for God's praise.
And for its blessed holy sacrament,
It distributes its brilliant erubescent rays.

Robins and buntings in feathery robes
With rapture ring their silver bells

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poem by Albert Price
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Ode to Weight-watchers

We are weight-watchers
And we are the tasters of dreams,
Escaping irresistible sweets
With mere disdain, it seems,
Contemplating mounds of vanilla,
On which caramel sauces tease.
Any two of us can fancy a tasty thriller,
If the other tacitly agrees.

What wonderful triple cracklin’ goodness
Comprise the greatness of our appetites.
What a fabulous story of quaintness,
Fashioned by our culinary delights.
For each aroma drifting from the cottage eaves,
A rhyme could flutter in the evening breeze.

On a day when the air is cold and dense,
When the streets are snowed upon,
Would anyone see the macaroon stuck in the fence
Through which my calorie-hungry structure may run.

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poem by Albert Price
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