Archive for September, 2016

Days of Went

Posted: September 26, 2016 in poem, poet, poetry
Tags: , , ,

While others ponder, frown and squint
I wonder  where, the days of went
Of bare-foot toes and soiled clay
Of corn stalks high and alfalfa hay
Rolled in grass with Sheppard pup
Drank from the well of the windmill’s cup
When I stood fast , refused to talk
And stood my ground on Mounting Rock

Worn ripped shirt and patched blue pants
Mush, cold eggs or pancakes – can’t
Brother, sisters many fed
climbed board ladder to their bed
That’s all there was , there was no more
In a sawed board house with linoleum floor
But our 5 foot 2, our Mother Nurse
Saved us all from that poor-house curse.

E.

Peanut Butter

Posted: September 22, 2016 in free verse, poem, poet, poetry

04:17 AM, dark, quiet, only the glow of the laptop illuminates my fingers as I write. My eyes sting and water, from the contrast light and tears roll down my cheeks. Removing my glasses helps a little but the eye strain of tired eyes may force me to lean to the side of the couch, shut them and catch a few moments of rest. Sleep, glorious sleep, I’ve forgotten how.  How can a man forget how to sleep peacefully. How can he put aside the previous day and stop planning the next. How fast can the mind run from one subject to the next , retracing what he has done and placing in order  all the things that need done the next day. Hell, the next week, the next month, the next year. When did sleep turn into only rest?

04:33 AM, I’m reminiscing  about the year spent in Colorado, re-drove the trip I took to Seneca, KS yesterday, every turn, every road, every quick stop that I had passed. The medium black coffee I picked up at the drive through cost $1.07. Gas was $2.08.9. The date …..the 21st. Sun straight out of the east, Equinox is tomorrow, wait Equinox is  today. The street light is intermittently turning on and off. Why is my mind racing? Why do I feel so alive?

04:43AM It is so quiet, my mind is producing its own sounds . Man can not stand total quiet. Try it the next time you find yourself without the surrounding noises of life and the world around you. You must wait until after midnight, usually by 3:00AM most noise stops in my area.  But the next time you are left with no outside noise, listen , not hard just listen, you may hear yourself, your stomach growls, your heart beat, your breath. You may even hear what I call your mind sounds, listen, there may be squeaks, pops, level tones or hums.. Your mind makes them because it is not getting any outside stimuli . When you are going deaf, your mind makes up for the loss by making its own noise and perhaps mourns the loss of  it..  But if you are hearing voices……. well, we all know what that means.

04:56 AM   Maybe if I would just listen to some music.

05:07 AM Enough with the music… why is it OK to get stuck with and hear repeated music in your mind but it is a sign of craziness to hear voices? Hummm, I’ll have to look that one up.

05:12 Well, time for coffee, toast and jelly today or toast and peanut butter?  Peanut butter.

 

 

 

My Piece of Joy Pie.

Posted: September 7, 2016 in free verse, poem, poet, poetry
Tags: , , , , ,

I’m not sure what is going on out there. It may be the weather. It may be this dumb founded election season or maybe it’s just life, the way things are. Hell, for all I know it may be frickin’ magic.

We are born, we grow up, we get married, we have kids, land that job that can support the whole clan, move to a location because that’s where the job is, not particularly where you wanted to settle but it will do, the kids get through school, they marry, have our grandkids and the cycle continues with them.

In between, we mow our lawns, wash our cars, go to weddings, school graduations, buy insurance, move a couple of times, change jobs, lose jobs, get sick, go to hospitals, get well, have hobbies, make friends, lose friends, go to funerals of friends and parents and grandmas and grandpas and uncles and aunts and brothers and sisters. Life then no life.

We try to laugh as much as we can, even though there’s not really that much to laugh about. So we tell jokes, pull pranks on one another, laugh at how people look, dress, walk and talk. We are constantly looking for something or someone to laugh at. That’s why sports, television and the internet ( or what ever else that you get a few jollies from) were invented, we needed to find laughter and joy in what otherwise would be a pretty dull, hum-drum, hard existence.

What can I say, it’s life. We need food and shelter and clothes on our backs in the hemisphere that I’ve landed on. There is no way around it. But we need that one other thing, just as much as we need water to drink , food to eat or shelter to keep us warm, we need joy. Just a couple of moments of joy each day or month or sometime in our life. Just something that happened or something we saw or read or noticed or someone we talked to that we can look back on and say, “You know what? I had fun that day”.

When I was a confused teenager and was feeling down on some old lonely Wednesday night, a stick of Juicy Fruit gum and an 8 oz. bottle of Coke was enough joy to keep me going for the rest of the week, I still search for those props. It doesn’t take much and a little joy can go a long ways. Every once in a while, we need to find that piece of joy, that one little piece out of life’s joy pie. It’s there, it may be hard to find, don’t expect it to be big, it will probably be very little. But you need just a tad. Search for it, just like we search in the refrigerator for that last piece of dessert, roast beef or left-over chili. Open those doors and peek around every old bottle of mustard and ketchup, keep looking, it’s there. Hell, it’s fun just looking for it, that piece of joy.

Such is the life of John

 

Well, the Dog Days have got me. I’m taking a few days from work and maybe I will write a little. Until the inspiration hits me or my muse slaps my lazy face and throws out a juicy bone that I must gnaw on and hopefully it has enough meat on  it to give me a few paragraphs, I will have to settle on a re-blog of a piece I posted a couple of years ago.  I think there are still a few billion people who haven’t read it yet.

Really, I’m trying, I really am. It’s the Dog Days for gods’ sake, I have about 30 drafts started but so far I’ve got nothing. Nothin’ I tell ya! This will have to do for now. OK, I may add a picture or something.

The kid and his pet chicken.

The kid and his pet chicken.

Dog Days
1 : the period between early July and early September when the hot sultry weather of summer usually occurs in the northern hemisphere
2 : a period of stagnation or inactivity

The Dog Days of Summer. That’s where we are in time and space, the Dog Days. In my space and at my latitude the corn is just starting to naturally dry. Kids are walking to school again, some enthusiastically, some more reluctantly. The drone of the air conditioner is still common, continuous and mostly unnoticed. The morning rains are light and the winds are southern. Weather only reaches boiling point in late afternoon when the sun, the breeze and what little moisture in the air mix into a concoction of violent storms. Then afterwards turns into sultry heat before the sun starts to go down.

Summer projects should now be well underway and reaching completion, certainly if not started by now they will soon be kicked out of the schedule, whether it’s for new pavement, back porch or swimming pool. I get the sense of winding down, although I’m as busy now as anytime of the year. But the sense of having finally settled into the year is dominant and the realization that we, with just a little more luck, have probably made it through another 12 months. People have just learned to slow down and tolerate the heat but must soon ramp up and prepare for the hustle and bustle of school activities. Those with and without children are thinking about what fall will bring and are instinctively musing of exchanging mower for rake and later snow shovel. The smart ones are preparing for winter. If we were squirrels, we would be starting to work at a feverish pace.

Such is the life of John