Saturday, April 30, 2016

Goodbye poetry month with 2 last ones---#34 & #35!

Not my most profound month of poetry. I just feel so dry and struggle to focus these thoughts. But here are the last two for this month of poetry. Until I write some more next year in April or the random post of a poem, if it is any good, at other times of year.

Chicken Face-Off at Sunset
One solo feathered feature
Sits quietly half cooing and half clucking
Her thoughts out into the deepening twilight
She surveys her tiny fiefdom
From up top of our chicken coop
Tonight she is ready
She guards the yard from dangers
Says our boy to all who ask
I think she is exploring her freedom
And it is fun to have her feathers ruffle
In the night air as the stars struggle
To be noticed from behind the cloud cover
She remembers the day and the two hours
That she is allowed to roam with her sisters
And fellow cooped up conspirators
That competes for bugs, slugs, and other
Creepy crawly delicious delectable
That enhances her diet and entertainment
The sounds she makes now is her satisfied humming
That tells us she doesn’t care to go anywhere
Until we get out the yellow toy shovel
To dislodge her daring
And send her back up the stairs
To what is a forced march
Our warrior chicken
Will face off with us tomorrow
In a match of magnitude
Swelling her chicken pride and heart

Before I Forget Again
I found a message in the bottom of my bag
I wanted a piece of paper
To jot down some thoughts
It was blank on one side
Perfect for that
I unfolded it and inside
The note struck a tone
Of a difficult time
That someone had reached out
On this paper opined
And written contact information
Asking me to write
I have not
I put it in my bag with that intent
Wanted to honor every bit of it
Now, a scrap, waiting for me to remember
I don’t remember what I was going to write down
The moment is gone and it doesn’t matter
I must write now
The note I did not
Before I forget

Friday, April 29, 2016

Poem #32 on this 29th day

Mega Monkey on Our Backs
Noah is more than the story
He has much to say
Than just debate today
There are animals galore
On a distant shore
But how did they get there?
The dinosaurs are mighty hard to ignore
The bones that are dug up from every floor
The ones that study them know much,
Except where did they go?
God spoke and behold the universe in place
Still, scientists are finding new things in space
Was God’s voice the explosion that began
All of this in motion?
It is difficult to discern
Against what we learned
Some want to burn
The opposite theory
Which makes me so weary
I believe God is larger
Than all of this arguing
He doesn’t need the bargaining
It takes faith to believe
In him or not
The anger changes
Not even one small jot

Thursday, April 28, 2016

Another blast from the past poem

Rub-a-dub-dub
Three men named “Bub”…. Yep, I got lots of nothing tonight! Posting an old poem pulled from a random journal pull off my shelf. From August 2006

Book Bound
I collect experiences on my bookshelf
Dusty and forgotten or neglected
Never read but purchased with great intentions
To excel, succeed, and move beyond
This moment’s notice
To unstick my slow footed soul
From “habitual quick sand”
I pick up a title that particularly
Taunts my sensibilities
Looking over the title page
I find the chapter I most need
Tossing aside an hour I indulge
Playing into advice that
Formulates a new plan of sincere action
I write my list,
Stick it to my fridge
Amongst a sea of witnesses
Favorite photos of my far away family and friends
Tomorrow I shall write them about the plan
That will be forgotten by week’s end
When the book is misplaced or re-shelved
As the action plan is in my way
Of today’s work that has to get done
The books look great to those visitors
Who don’t know me
And have time to kill
They peruse my office
With the many volumes from yesteryear


Wednesday, April 27, 2016

Poem #32 "Walking with Angels into the Night"

Walking with Angels into the Night
Rubbing eyes and head
To find that one more ounce
Of electric shock to keep going
My mind fuzzy from too many
Sudden jolts that come
Every hour of every day
I long for sleep
But when presented with it
I scoff at the notion
Of going there
No, there must be one more
Time, place, person, or word
To burn the night off
And see the charred beauty
After the fire takes
Everything else away
My bones sing and dance
Up from the sand
Reanimated with soul and sun
I stroll willingly into the furnace
walking with angels

Tuesday, April 26, 2016

Poem #31 this month

When life gives you another kick in the head (read job rejection) write a poem!
A Path So Traveled
The walkway up to my front door
is paved with disappointments
Each stone is set in a cement mixture
of fear, anger, and dashed hopes
Somedays all I see is the path
leading to and away from my home
The path doesn’t change
but which direction I head does
When I walk away from the place I love best
it is dark and I cannot see
where I’m headed at all
I want to stay right where I am
And never stray beyond my yard
When I know it leads inside
Safe warm walls that protect
And allow me time to grieve, grow, or groan,
Till the walls close in
And I must open up the door
Then I see a bright path leading out
Into a garden, a new mountain to climb,
Somewhere beyond my little path
That is stuck in the ground
Immovable and there to keep me
Out of the mud and muck
Something to get me
From one place to another
Then I can step down
Stomp down, solid,
And dance away from home
With a new song
Joy washing all the
Desperate, doubtful, dubious, debris away
Making the path safe with no obstacles
To run back and forth on
Without slipping or new injury

Monday, April 25, 2016

Poem #30 thoughts on Dad

Since I only work about 10 minutes on most of these poem attempts, this one has some good ideas, but it is terrible form. Does it want to rhyme or not? It is clumsy and I’d need to work on it a while to get it into any kind of shape, but I think that is where my process of thinking about my Daddy is right now too---detailed, but not knowing what shape to be. Miss you, Daddy!
Fly Away Doc
My father was a funny bird
That flew the coop at a very young age
Not before working hard
At being a man while in child’s clothing
He taught his own father to read
By reading to him and teaching
A man more stubborn than
a country mule stuck in the mud
to open up his mind and become
someone totally different by believing
in what they read together
God’s word pried them both open
To the possibilities of loving
Each other and those around
Even though all they had known
Pulling up coal from the ground
Hands, faces, and insides black
They were scrubbed down
And found a way to relate
Dad still wanted more
He traveled to a distant shore
Not his choice, but the war
Dragged him onto a boat
That floated away his location
But never his ambition
He laid bets with those vets
Finding the bulk of his tuition
And the GI bill funded the rest
He did his best and became a doctor
His father found this less than fair
As he believed now that only God
Would heal him both spiritual
And physical and everything else a fraud
The thing that brought them together
Broke them apart at the start
In the end my father flew back
To Kentucky and his Dad
When his mother was sick
And his Dad was sad
Wanting anything to heal her
My father came in to assist
She didn’t make it
But it was for his and her sake
He came back to the nest
To give them both rest
And be the good number one son
When all things were done

Sunday, April 24, 2016

Alone poem #29

I saw more homeless people today in a short span of time in my suburb than I had seen before. I felt helpless and overwhelmed to try to help them. I failed miserably in doing much of anything.
The other night, I was talking to a long-time acquaintance/friend, she struck me as more lonely than I’d ever thought before and I tried harder to connect to her, but it wasn’t easy. Again, it seemed ineffectual.
I watched an episode of the History Channel’s show Alone and I thought about what surviving in this world takes and how we now deem that as “entertainment” and I felt like this is a very strange culture we live in. And a conversation with another mother talking about how hard it is to “change a culture”---all of this funneled through my thoughts tonight to form a poem to remind me that things do need to change for all our survival. I need to do more than just survive.
Lost in the Wilderness
In among the trees
Bear scat is everywhere
Showing that they live there
No person ventures here
Except creatures that growl or howl
Cold wet woods or on concreate
A man holding a homemade sign
With one word “hungry”
Looks past those that pass
Hurried customers reading the sign
Not checking-in with the man
Who holds it so tight
Night falls deep and fast
A woman types “like”
Clicking right and left
Too far away friends
Who “get” her but
She never sees in real time
She is glued to this one spot
Hoping the phone will ring
It almost never does
She sighs as tomorrow
She will walk past
The familiar spot at the store
Where that man waits
To be fed
She will run in quick
To get supplies
For her camp out with kids
that she teaches
And she knows everything
About them
But they don’t know one thing
About her
She goes out another door
So she doesn’t have to see
The hungry man again
He just wants a warm greeting
A place to wash
He wants real meeting of just one
Other person today
She has no time
To really talk and he could
Keep her too long
Though he is an expert
On how to avoid the bears
And things that go bump
In the night
She has fright
Of another kind
that the kindness
Will be taken wrong
And somehow he will tangle up
Her life and she’ll fall in a trap
By saying “hello” or “what’s your name?”
An unwritten contract will be signed
Ironclad and she’ll not know
How to end it
No, she has children waiting,
Students she has promised to teach
How to survive
In this vast wilderness