Two Moons

Posted: July 30, 2015 in creative writing

It seems I am the one that always has to bring this up, but tonight or early tomorrow morning, the Moon will be or when you look at it it will seem to be full. One big frickin’ full Moon. Capital “M”. Because this one will be a Blue Moon, capital “B”. The second Full Moon, capital “F” capital “M”, within the month of July. That’s a Blue Moon, a month with two Full Moons in it. It doesn’t happen that often, maybe once in a year or two. Hell I’m no astrophysicist, Shit, I can’t even spell astrophysicist. And I’m surely not a mathematician, shit, you don’t even expect a mathematician to be able to spell mathematician. It’s the other side of the brain ya know. But I have no idea how to figure or predict when a Blue Moon will orbit around again. The best I can do is say “it happens once in a Blue Moon”, that should be sufficient.

So get your arse outdoors and stare at the Blue Moon tonight or this morning, whenever it swings its way around to you. It’s pretty and unusual.

(No, I’m not going to show you another goddamn Moon picture, you know what they look like)

E

Not Knowing

Posted: July 29, 2015 in poem, poet, poetry
Tags: , ,

Not knowing, not caring
Either ignorance or bliss
Reaching a state of perfect happiness,
being oblivious of everything else.
We trust our happiness so readily
We crave it so
Like the bear scooping up salmon
and stripping the skin and the flesh.
Wasting so much but still so anxious
to grab another from the rapids.
Leaving the crumbs of his satisfaction
to the scavengers that circle above.
Those waiting to pick the bones of his never sated appetite.
Depending on the seasonal run of the salmon
and their unquenchable desire to spawn
We are the bear, we are the scavengers.
We are the fish.
We crave it so.

DSS

Doubts

Posted: July 24, 2015 in poem, poet, poetry
Tags: ,

Put doubt away if you dare
So easy to do
Within your head
Stashed away real deep
way down deep in your skull
The doubt you know is true
the foolish notion
that is swept under that grey magic carpet of matter
Believing what are just foolish lies
Pretending the truth is not there
Whistling through the day
believing in steaming vapor
But you so much want it to be true
As if wishing makes it less of a lie.
As if lying doesn’t hurt others.

DSS

Bird Baths

Posted: July 21, 2015 in creative writing

Watching the storms pass, slowly moving south of us, we are untouched by the rain. No winds will blow or moisture lost to us today. We will be dry and only watch the skies and measure the cracks across our yards and stare at the empty rain gauges and pot holes.The birds patiently sit at the rim of their baths waiting for the tank to be filled. It will be again today, but only by the hand of man.

DSS

32

Posted: July 15, 2015 in poem, poetry
Tags: , ,

What is 32
a number
no months have that number of days
or days or nights the hours
No years have that many weeks
no decades the years
32, just a title for the day
I’d like to have 32 dollar bills
what a wad of money that would be
it would make the wallet swell
no twenties or tens or fives
just 32 dollar bills
I will bet no one else would be carrying
32 dollar bills
that’s a real wad of cash
sort of unhandy to count
and fold and press out the wrinkles
but a hell of a lot better than
32 quarters
Now that’s a pocket full number

DSS

Just a Few Words

Posted: July 9, 2015 in poem, poetry
Tags: ,

Finding the phrase
the few right words that sing
that tell the tale
to explain everything
answers the question
brings bright light from the dark
that heals the wound
of the thoughtless remark
Just a few words
that have never been said
just the right words
that have never been read
Words to be found
that will make right from wrong
Just a few words
that turn sentence to song
the phrase will be silent
no words pressed to a page
look to my eyes
Watch the Shakespearean stage.

DSS

We the People

Posted: July 4, 2015 in poem, poetry, politics
Tags: , ,

Happy 4th of July, Independence Day!
I will be eating a few hot dogs, exploding a couple of bags of fireworks with my Granddaughter this evening and stopping to ponder periodically through the day on the significance of what we are creating here. This country is still being created. What the founding fathers did on this day over two hundred years ago was only planting a seed, one hell of a big seed, but a seed none the less. This country is passed on to each generation. And when we are handed that baton it is up to us to run with it. We should take that responsibility seriously. It is not a game, it is not politics and it is not the one that makes the most money wins. It takes all of us to make this country great.

What we have can be taken from us in a manner of months. Our defense is not against foreign powers. Our defense is not against splinter religious fanatics. What we defend are our ideals. And we should protect them. We should not let our ideals that this country was built on be distorted. Not distorted for political, corporate or personal gain. We are all in this together, United. Even for the smallest minority. In our Republic we do things for all men and let no one be left behind. We are a country that is flexible enough to sacrifice for the good of others not just ourselves. The majority may get the most votes but we can never force our rule if it is unfair for any other man. A lot of times we get that majority rules thing a little mixed up. That’s why we have the Bill of Rights, the Constitution and the Amendments. If we see that any of these documents start stepping on We the People, we are smart enough to give a little in the argument to be fair to everyone. In our struggles of war and defense of our ideals, the minority and the less fortunate were up there on the front lines and in the production factories in as great or greater force than those that felt they were more. We the people, the ones that remember, know this.

We the People

We the People, we who remember.
We are the pushed, the shaken and the torn.
The good are taken from us,
some taken to lead,
some to do our bidding
some to succeed,
some to die.
We the People, we who remember.
We are the hard-working and the builders,
the unspoken, the wholehearted.
We the tolerant, the patient, the taken advantage of.
Quiet with ideals too hard to express,
We the People, we who remember
the good of every man, of every good cause, of every dream.
We, the Children of the Mother of Exiles,
the mother who stands with silent lips.

DSS Posted 7/4/2011

Why the Night

Posted: July 3, 2015 in poem, poetry
Tags: ,

Why the darkness
why the night
These endless days without the light
Oh shine the sun
shadows cast
If only sights of brightness past
Days of blindness
nothing seen
What does all this darkness mean
With opened eyes
scan the dark
Catch a glimpse of just one brief spark
Grab and hold it
grasp in hand
Disappears like fine slipping sand
Why the darkness
why no light
These endless days of endless nights

DSS

 

Day Break Run

Posted: June 30, 2015 in free verse

The joggers jog but can hardly walk
with Ace bandages pulled tight
arms high, shoulders bent forward
and shoes scuffing the asphalt

Men’s shirts eschew and women’s tits bouncing.
asses bound tight in light yoga pants
and men in their Lycra compression shorts.
For god’s sake man, get a jock..

Pumping the heart, watching the pulse
and breathing at least 20 times a minute
Don’t forget to breathe and
Very important, keep the heart beating
Please remember that.
Especially while you are in front of my house.

E.

Shanondowee Shores

Posted: June 27, 2015 in freeverse, poem, poetry
Tags:

The other day I went to the Shanondowee shores
to learn the ways of the Shanondowian man,
how he carved his moose and deer and eagle figurines.
But I could only watch and listen.

If I had the blade I would have carved it well
But I only watched the eagles fly and studied the deer hoof tracks
and listened as the moose mourned his song.
Down on the banks of the Shanondowee.

Maybe I’ll get that blade and remember this day
And carve like the man of the Shanondowee.

Of how the eagles soared, the deer cautiously pranced
and the out-stretched neck of the moose’s mourn,
There, on the shores of the Shanondowee.

DSS