Passing in Review

Today's poem is another example of material ... fodder, if you will ... lurking almost anywhere.

Naturally, I keep an eye out for subject matter, possibilities for a small painting, perhaps, or even a poem, when I'm out walking ... when I'm sitting, waiting for a bus ... whatever.

In this instance, I had passed the flowers many times, casually observing their color, their sprightliness, but not feeling any particular connection with them ... until one day when there was a slight breeze. 

Their movement, "nodding their heads," caught my eye well before I was in front of them.

It was then, I think, that it seemed they were the "reviewing stand" and it was I, the lonely marcher, who was being inspected as I strode past.

Hardly more than a haiku moment, but that impression, that image, stuck with me all the way home, where I sat at the kitchen table and started writing.

The poem, originally published in Capper's:

PASSING IN REVIEW

Flowers arrayed

like a reviewing stand

in my neighbor's yard

seem to be nodding

recognition of me,

and perhaps they are,

for I march by twice

on my daily walk.

© 1995

Today's word: nodding

Ordinary Moments

(Just an ordinary gathering of leaves at curbside ... but they caught my eye with their colors, shapes, texture ... and I captured the moment with my camera)

Sometimes it seems that all my poems are rooted in memory.

This one is no exception.

From those distant beginnings ... the foundation stones of all those "ordinary moments" in a young boy's life ... to today ... there's a long bridge of discovered excitement, adventure.

I often go trudging back across that bridge, in search of those beginnings, because I see them now as more than just ordinary events.

Isn't that always the case?

The poem:

ORDINARY MOMENTS

... in which I discover

travel-rounded stones

on the meandering

creek bed of my mind,

each a found treasure

whirring me back

to rainy days spent

with musty books, nights

floating in wood smoke,

mornings with eggs

frying in a dark skillet,

moments when the world

seemed to be

just waiting for me

to kick off the covers,

resume my pursuit

of this great adventure.

© 2001

(originally published in Midwest Poetry Review)

Today's word: travel-rounded

Naming the Fish

Today's poem is based on a phone call from my son, describing how he had taken his son fishing for the first time.

I could say that I made up some of the details, but that wouldn't be true, exactly ... the feel of the rod, the quivering fish, the sights and sounds that go along with fishing ... are based on memories of outings I had with my own sons.

The poem, incidentally, is part of a manuscript in search of a publisher.

NAMING THE FISH

First, there was the long

practice, getting the feel of the rod,

the flick that would send the lure

spinning out across the expanse

of driveway toward the evening sun,

the steady clicking of retrieval,

another flick, and another.

And now the blue water dazzles,

an early sun glinting, wind-stirred

ripples moving in such a way that you

feel you are moving, instead, drifting

toward some vague destination.

The sheath is removed from the barbs

of the lure now, a soft hum of line

extending, the plop, the long wait.

Then the line goes suddenly taut,

tingling, the feeling of life

racing its length, bending the rod

until, finally, the water parts

and you’re holding a slippery,

wiggling, gasping fish, looking

into its large, imploring eyes,

giving it a name, a person’s name,

then letting it slip gently back

into the water and swim away.

© 2006

Today's word: spinning

Matter of View

The thrust of today's poem, I think, can be summed up in one word: perception.

When the crow's call interrupted whatever I was doing, I found it rather grating ... actually, quite grating. It was like fingernails scratching across a chalkboard.

But after I gave it a bit of thought, it occurred to me that there might be another viewpoint, another way of hearing the crow's call, of seeing it as a means of communication, much as we humans try to communicate thoughts or information to each other.

Perception. It can lead to a better understanding of the world around us, if we'll let it.

Now, the poem:

MATTER OF VIEW

A crow's carping call
comes tumbling in
at my open window,
drowning out songbirds,
grating on my ears.
But to another crow
it's probably as sweet
as a baby's gurgle.

© 1995

(originally published in Capper's)

Today's word: gurgle

Lost Pencils

Phyllis pretends she's not with me when I discover a pencil lying on the sidewalk. She knows I can't resist. I'll simply have to pause, pick it up and put it in my pocket.

I've learned not to do that with pens. Sometimes they leak.

But pencils?

There's something safe, reassuring about a pencil.

Even the most chewed up, stubbiest, disreputable looking pencil has the potential of a few more words, of writing a few lines, perhaps, that could someday turn into something big ... maybe a poem.

Here's one now:

LOST PENCILS

I find them during my walks
past schools, lying there, poor,
fallen things, pointing forlornly
to some vague destination.

Many bear the jagged markings
from anxious scholars' teeth,
some have been sharpened
to the point of extinction,

some are broken, and might not
write again, without my timely
arrival to bring them home.
Handling each with the care

one would accord a fallen bird,
I slide it into the warmth
of an inner pocket to keep
it safe, for this could be

the one I've always needed,
the one with something to say
that I really need to hear.

© 2000

(originally published in Midwest Poetry Review)

Today's word: potential

Discontent

Today's poem, I think, states the obvious. When we've always had little in the way of material things, we're content. Ah, but when we have more, the appetite is whetted. We want more.

I was interested in the content/discontent relationship as I jotted these few words on a scrap of paper. Later, it seemed to me that it had a certain feel, a certain sound ... a poem, perhaps.

Here it is:


DISCONTENT

I was content
with what I had,
until I had more.

After that,
I discovered,
I could not
be satisfied
with any less.
© 1996

(originally published in Capper's)


Today's word: satisfied

Clouds

Normally I prefer punctuation ... you know, those little road signs which tell us when to slow, yield, or stop ... in written matter. 

In this case, however, when I'd finished jotting some notes on a scrap of paper ... while sitting in a quiet room with a large picture window ... it occurred to me that what I'd written somehow reflected the clouds I'd been watching.

Left alone, I reasoned, that string of images, without any punctuation to tell the reader when to slow or stop, might present a different, changing, cloud-like poem with each reading.

I did a little tweaking, naturally, but pretty much left it as it had presented itself to me.

The result:

CLOUDS 

They slide by
shaping opinions
on the fly
trailering
into one great convoy
heading east
dominating
the great blue
highway
slowing my thoughts
to a crawl
fleecing
me of ambition
stealing
my thunder
an elephant
a dog
a big-eared sheep
a parade
strike up
the band
© 2003

(from my first collection of poems, Chance of Rain, published by Finishing Line Press, 2003)    

Today's word: fleecing