World Poetry Day 2017

A poem of the spring is what
   I've set my self to write —
Of gentle breezes, greening buds,
   And herons taking flight.

Happy spring, everybody!

But out my window, all I see
   Is cars and lots and rust,
And hear the wailing ambulance,
   And smell the drifting dust.

Writing poetry that's great
   Takes something I ain't got.
Sure, I've got the words, the rhymes,
   But inspiration? Not.

For this sad sot, his "poems" are
   Like home plumbing, I guess:
I can tinker with the pipes
   But I only make a mess.

So happy spring to those of you
   Whose minds are blue and clear,
And have a great World Poetry Day
   If I haven't ruined it here.

This Is My Letter to the World

The first two lines of this always stick out to me. I think all writers at some point get that feeling of writing to the world and never getting a reply. Of shouting into the wind. It's depressing, and it can lead to questioning why we even do what we do in the first place.

What's the point if everything we do never does anything but stay on a hard drive or in a closed notebook? Never touches anyone? Never makes someone's life even a little bit better?

I have to remind myself sometimes that this feeling — this lonely, disheartening feeling — is something that all writers understand and share. And remembering that and understanding that I'm not totally alone gets me going again.

At least, I hope that every writer has felt this. I would hate to think it's just me and poor Emily. Of course, Emily kept all her poems in a drawer in her room. I wonder sometimes what her life would have been like if she could have blogged.

Have you ever thought of giving up on writing? Have you ever actually given up? What kept you going or brought you back?

The Last Sonnet

Primavera (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

A month of poems posted daily could
Seem like success — a cause for celebration.
But no — I wasn't writing what I should,
These posts a paean to procrastination.
This sonnet marks a month of wasted time
I could have better spent composing prose.
I could have writ the one about the crime
Of hiding contraband inside one's nose;
The one about the man who lost his mind
When he discovered how to stop the din;
The one about the possum going blind;
The one about the girl with purple skin.

Alas, that time is lost. It's all gone by.
But I can write in May. (At least I'll try.)

God's Band

You think Clapton's God?
Everybody knows that God
Plays the clarinet.

A Walk in the Woods

I took a walk into the woods;
My walk became a sit.
The ancient bench was cracked and worn,
And green moss covered it.


My sit became a stay, my feet
Had sunk into the ground,
Rooted by the scented breeze
And nature's calming sound.

My stay became a stand, my back
Grew tall, my arms spread free.
I stood stock still beside that bench,
Became a stoic tree.

The sun rolled 'round, the decades passed,
And I stood stark and still
Through autumns, summers, winters, springs,
All alone until...

A woman walked into the woods
With sad and quiet grace.
The scented breeze curled through her hair
And brushed her gentle face.

She wandered to my glen and found
An old bench overgrown.
But still she sat. She stayed. She stood.
Now we are not alone.

View image | gettyimages.com

My Super Power

I leap no buildings, race no trains.
I use machines to fly.
I have no metal claws and shoot
No laser from my eye.

My brain has not been boosted by
Some alien device.
I burn if I touch fire and
I freeze if I touch ice.

A superhero I am not;
I'm made from mortal stuff.
I'm only father, man, and son,
But that should be enough.

Sad Piano

(Photo credit: Wikipedia)

This piano plays
Only in a minor key.
Art imitates life.

Who? What?

When I want strangers
To talk to me in the street,
I wear Doctor Who.

World Book Day

Photo by Bryan Rosengrant via Flickr

I've been to Iowa, New York,
And California, too.
I've seen Kilimanjaro and
Spent time in Xanadu.
I've wandered 'round Magrathea
Sipped wines in gay Par-ee,
And I have seen some brave new worlds
In Waldens one through three.
I've seen some horrors, too: the dark
Of Arkham, Panem's scars.
I've even seen the Earth explode
While standing safe on Mars.
Bursa, Turkey, wasn't nice --
I watched the city burn.
And what I found in Interzone
I never will unlearn.
I've been to Transylvania, where
The spawns of Satan dwell.
Been lost and scared in Wonderland...
I've even been the Hell.
I've roamed through places few have seen,
Like Oz, Tralfamadore,
Minas Tirith, Hogwarts, Xanth,
Asgaard and Yavin IV.
I've been down deep beneath the ground
And deep in outer space,
And if we'd only find the time
We could go anyplace.
It doesn't take a passport or
To win the lottery.
You only need a novel and
The local library.

Springtime Weather in Indiana

Image from the Herald Times

When springtime comes to my hometown
The weather never settles down.
The temperatures here fluctuate
From 26 to 98,
So one day we'll get snow and sleet;
The next we'll have a hellish heat.

This constant change is hard to bear
Because we don't know what to wear.
Forecasts clash, and so it goes,
We flip a coin to choose our clothes.
That's why you'll find at outdoor sports
Boys in winter coats and shorts.

Not to say that I'm complaining
(Except on days of nonstop raining),
But springtime weather's quite a bummer.
Still, it ain't as bad as summer.

Octopuses, or octopodes

No one ever asks
If the plural form of squid
Is squad or squidoo.

4/20

Today is 4/20, a pot celebration,
And if you might wonder if I feel the need,
Examine my gut. There's but one explanation:
I get the munchies without smoking weed.

Weekends Are...

English: Carousel slide projector. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Weekends are so short
Compared with a slide show by
Your mother-in-law.

Late-night Television

English: Animation of a T.V. set. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Gynecomastia, miracle ear,

A hose that will shrink down to store out of sight,

Bladders in slings and in meshes gone wrong:

This is TV on a Saturday night

Parenting

Photo credit: Wikipedia

The truth snuck up on me unseen:
My son is becoming a teen.
I asked him to shout
What I should write about.
"Death" he said with moody mien.

The Joy of Victory

The energy comes in a rush,
And I feel my cheeks starting to flush.
I jump from my seat
'Cause I finally beat
That tough level on Candy Crush.

Brake Work

Photo by Interiot via Flickr.

It's a stressful day for me indeed,
Having to pick the more important need:
A home with 'lectricity through and through,
Or a car that will stop when I need it to.
The choice is tough, but I've got to call it,
And either way I'm left with an empty wallet.

(There is a little hyperbole here,
but not enough to assuage my fear.)

An earlobe. Yes, an earlobe.

I asked a group of my friends to give me a topic for a poem, and someone shouted "earlobes!"

So, here. A haiku about earlobes.

Pierced earlobe (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

A thin velvet fuzz
O'er a soft, holey pillow:
Kissable earlobe.

The Week

Sunday: Clouds begin to build,
The gloom of what's to come.
Monday: All that gloom rains down.
Tuesday: Get things done.
Wednesday: Struggle past the hump.
Thursday: Make the call.
Friday: Staring down the clock.
Saturday: Shortest of all.

Spring Is Announced

(Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Spring is announced by
The rumblings that level lawns:
The first yard-mowing.