James O'Donnell
Laguma Beach, California
James O'DonnellLaguma Beach, California |
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Jim has been writing most of his life, but recognizes that it is "telling stories" is where we are most successful. His success as an executive, management consultant, teacher of management, and author, has come as a result of telling stories to make his point. He is an active member of a family backpacking group, which reflects in his poetry. His poetry has been published in a local newspaper, and by the National Library of Poetry. Currently, he is working on a manuscript, which tells stories in verse, many of which are very humorous. Jim says, "writing poetry gives to me an opportunity to tell stories in which everyone can relate to or participate in." |
The Birds And The BeesOne afternoon in the Summertime,Locked in traffic, for quite sometime. With their older sister, our twins, Put their Mom on needles and pins. With their mother, so close and near, They asked, "How do babies get here?" A simple quest, by these girls of five, Not knowing, they stirred up a bee hive. A deep breath, their Mother did take. This subject, she did not want to fake. A teacher, she would tell it for real, Before the three sisters could appeal. From kisses, to love making, to birth, She talked and talked, for all she was worth. The twins moaned and groaned and gagged, As on and on, their Mother wagged. Each twin assured the other, They would never ever, be a Mother. Our seven year old, observed, she was so nice, "Well, after all, it only happened twice!" |
Making TracksHigh on a little hill,We found tracks with a will. Right there in the dust, In a hurry or bust. Tiny insect feet in a pair, A railroad track to no where, The tracks did crisscross, But, where was the boss? There were crazy eight's Without any debates, And a few curlicues, Without any clues. And some great loop-do-loops, No one was using hoops. Is this the human race, As seen from outer space? In our whole universe, Are we without a verse? |
Running WaterI love to hear, the running water sound,Bouncing down, in and out and all around, Slipping and sliding, in many a bound. From the tall mountains, it will tumble and pound. I love to hear, the running water noise, It runs and argues, just like little boys. With cheers, jeers, and shouts of unbridled joys, But with it comes, such elegance and poise. I love to lie beneath a green canopy, With maple, oak, and pine, for scenery. And a cold mountain stream, whispering to me. I love to sleep at night, in this serenity. |