SLATE RUN TALISMAN
I know a place
Across the creek
Where you can wade to on a hot
summer's day
When the water runs low in its banks
Where you can sneak up to the
train tracks
Staying hidden by tall marsh grass
And, when the train's not looking
Steal a penny onto its track
To be smashed flat when the train
Hurrying to be on time
Fails to see it lying there
Quietly
Waiting with anticipation
And to skip along with it in
your pocket
Feeling the smoothness against
your palm
Knowing its been to a place where
you can't tread
Ah, the joys of youth
To take such delight
In flat pennies.
INITIAL EXPERIMENTS
We honor our youthful scientists who
after careful experimentation
deduced
That quartzite
crushed ever so finely
layered lightly atop
garden soil
containing only minimal amounts
of sand or shale
could be spread evenly over earth
with a high oil content
usually scraped from beneath the
family car
To make the most wonderful
mud pies.
TIMESCAPE
One has only to sit
along the shore
and gaze intently
at that unfathomable horizon
to become
a time traveler.
ERIK
With a giggle
he takes his rake and playfully
scatters the leaves in all directions.
He looks like quite the character
with his grandfather's cap
six times too large for him
haphazardly perched
atop his head.
Stumbling on an untied shoelace
he drops the rake and races off
toward the trees
an imagined safe haven
from the friendly ghoul
who gives chase.
But luck is not with him.
The monster charges and with a grin
lifts him into the air
scantly four steps from the shelter
of a big maple tree.
Amid strains of laughter
he and his grandfather
roll onto the ground
throwing the once-raked leaves
toward each other,
Accumulating mud and grass stains
on their knees.
GREG
I had to laugh
a moment ago
as I watched your tiny feet
still uncoordinated
and not too helpful
trying to run along the beach
joyfully chasing shells
before the waves
could carry them away
your little suit falling
down around your ankles
Yet I sense fear
as your watchful eyes gaze
over those crashing waves
never venturing too far
not wanting Daddy to wade
towards that watery horizon
as you sit
perched upon his shoulders
Fear not, little one
you may find as you grow older
the sea holds the answers
to many of life's questions
if you sit beside her long enough
and wait.
ALONE
Alone
I sit under a dark cloud of doubt
Yet, as I look up
I see untold billions of stars
Each glancing down with a contented glow
I wonder
Are we the only living things in this universe?
Small blobs of protoplasm bouncing around
Each tending his own business
With no concern for each other?
I know
That we are not the only things in this universe
It was not created for us alone
For as many stars there are, so too
May there be
Habitable plants.
Alone
I sit, yet not alone
For as I look up at untold
Billions of stars
I know there are untold
Billions of eyes
Looking back
At me.
Monday, May 4, 2015
Friday, May 1, 2015
In Pursuit of Self-Expression
I have a friend whom I follow on Facebook. I knew her in the military--a street-savvy, "say-what-you-think" African American nurse from Philadelphia who now works at the Philadelphia Veterans Administration Hospital. She is very active in her church and in social issues, such as raising money to feed the hungry and homeless in her city. A few years ago she became interested in poetry. Poetry? I never pictured her reading poetry, let alone writing it.
We all pursue self-expression, and it becomes manifest in many ways. One of my own expressions, as many of you know, is through photography. I also had a bout of poetry writing myself, mostly from the time I was at Lycoming College through the time I was stationed at Tinker AFB in Oklahoma. I was rummaging through a box a few days ago to see what I had packed away over 11 years ago, and I found a notebook in which I had carefully typed poems and writings by different authors that I particularly liked. My rather amateurish poems were in the same book. Some are sort of cute, many are very dark. I am a "thinker," a "5" on the Enneagram scale, so I often contemplate heavy subjects--it's just who I am. So many of these poems are somewhat esoteric and difficult to follow. A lot deal with God, the Spirit, and death, because those are the things that I care about, believe in, and are interested in. Although they seem to be dark, I found in re-reading them, there is almost always hope in the message.
I decided to post these poems just for kicks. Years ago I would have never shared them out of embarrassment, or whatever. Now, I'm not as concerned, so I decided to post some of them. I haven't written poetry for many years. I just don't take the time and now use other outlets for self-expression. Whoever you are and whatever you do, I hope you take the time to contemplate life and find some creative way to express your inner poet.
AQUILA
He finds no confidence in stone
or strut
Immobile mountain cliffs
where only thunder or earthquake
has shuddered
Yet lifts his wings and floats
on scattered molecules of air
With only starlight and wind
to direct his dreaming.
(This is the first poem I ever wrote, at Lycoming College in a freshman writing class. Years later in Kingman, AZ, I dedicated it to Donna Meyer, my flight instructor, who "gave me the gift of wings.")
SNOW
It is snowing
And as I look outside
Wonder engulfs me
It is the first snow
Yet not really
For as time ticks by
Seasons come and go
There is no first snow
Nor last snow
But one continuous snow
With short interludes of warming sunshine
The flakes dance before my eyes
Displaying their natural uniqueness
Each one falls gracefully
Each one different
But as they land
All uniqueness is lost in one
Eurytopic uniformity
The sun comes and all starts
To slowly seep into the ground
Yet the earth's never-ceasing rotation
Slowly carries the waters away
From the sun's warming rays
The waters freeze
The day ends
On the horizon new clouds form
Blotting out the glimmering stars
A chilled wind blows
While icy clouds creep forward
It is snowing
And as I look outside
Wonder engulfs me
(I love snow! Written at Lycoming College in Rich Hall, 1978, for the same freshman writing class.)
The Cockroach
Eternally lost,
The stagnant, moldering air
of summer
Contaminated
By raging particles
too deadly for life to bear.
All is erased.
All is gone.
Only the wind and rain
persist
To disturb earth's final
enduring
legacy.
(For the same class. Scientists always said that if we wipe out life on this earth by using nuclear weapons, the cockroach will be the thing that will happily live on.)
We all pursue self-expression, and it becomes manifest in many ways. One of my own expressions, as many of you know, is through photography. I also had a bout of poetry writing myself, mostly from the time I was at Lycoming College through the time I was stationed at Tinker AFB in Oklahoma. I was rummaging through a box a few days ago to see what I had packed away over 11 years ago, and I found a notebook in which I had carefully typed poems and writings by different authors that I particularly liked. My rather amateurish poems were in the same book. Some are sort of cute, many are very dark. I am a "thinker," a "5" on the Enneagram scale, so I often contemplate heavy subjects--it's just who I am. So many of these poems are somewhat esoteric and difficult to follow. A lot deal with God, the Spirit, and death, because those are the things that I care about, believe in, and are interested in. Although they seem to be dark, I found in re-reading them, there is almost always hope in the message.
I decided to post these poems just for kicks. Years ago I would have never shared them out of embarrassment, or whatever. Now, I'm not as concerned, so I decided to post some of them. I haven't written poetry for many years. I just don't take the time and now use other outlets for self-expression. Whoever you are and whatever you do, I hope you take the time to contemplate life and find some creative way to express your inner poet.
AQUILA
He finds no confidence in stone
or strut
Immobile mountain cliffs
where only thunder or earthquake
has shuddered
Yet lifts his wings and floats
on scattered molecules of air
With only starlight and wind
to direct his dreaming.
(This is the first poem I ever wrote, at Lycoming College in a freshman writing class. Years later in Kingman, AZ, I dedicated it to Donna Meyer, my flight instructor, who "gave me the gift of wings.")
SNOW
It is snowing
And as I look outside
Wonder engulfs me
It is the first snow
Yet not really
For as time ticks by
Seasons come and go
There is no first snow
Nor last snow
But one continuous snow
With short interludes of warming sunshine
The flakes dance before my eyes
Displaying their natural uniqueness
Each one falls gracefully
Each one different
But as they land
All uniqueness is lost in one
Eurytopic uniformity
The sun comes and all starts
To slowly seep into the ground
Yet the earth's never-ceasing rotation
Slowly carries the waters away
From the sun's warming rays
The waters freeze
The day ends
On the horizon new clouds form
Blotting out the glimmering stars
A chilled wind blows
While icy clouds creep forward
It is snowing
And as I look outside
Wonder engulfs me
(I love snow! Written at Lycoming College in Rich Hall, 1978, for the same freshman writing class.)
The Cockroach
Eternally lost,
The stagnant, moldering air
of summer
Contaminated
By raging particles
too deadly for life to bear.
All is erased.
All is gone.
Only the wind and rain
persist
To disturb earth's final
enduring
legacy.
(For the same class. Scientists always said that if we wipe out life on this earth by using nuclear weapons, the cockroach will be the thing that will happily live on.)
Saturday, February 21, 2015
VIDEO: Oscar Parody
I couldn't find a video that my nephew, Daniel, was in alone. The only one I could find is this Oscar "Gonna Win" parody of the movies from this year. Daniel is the "middle aged bald man with a chair." Jo is in this one as well, at the end with "Steven Hawking." The only movie I recognize is American Sniper, and it is hard to miss the actors playing Steven Hawking and Martin Luther King. Other than that I have no idea what any of the other scenes represent, even the one Daniel is in. I have absolutely no idea what the guy in his underwear in the middle of Hollywood is doing.
Friday, February 20, 2015
VIDEO: The Happiest Birthday
I love this video. My nephew, Sean Hackman, wrote it and I love his humor (most of the time)! He also plays the main character and narrates the video.
Thursday, February 19, 2015
VIDEO: Jo's Glasses Commercial
I love my family and am proud of their accomplishments. I just wanted to share a video of my nephew's (Daniel) wife, Joanna. I think she does a great job here. Love you, Jo!
Saturday, January 31, 2015
Things We Can Learn From a Dog
Never pass up the opportunity to go for a joyride.
Allow the experience of fresh air and the wind in your face to be pure ecstasy.
When loved ones come home, always run to greet them.
When it's in your best interest, practice obedience.
Let others know when they've invaded your territory.
Take naps and stretch before rising.
Run, romp, and play daily.
Eat with gusto and enthusiasm.
Be loyal.
Never pretend to be something you're not.
If what you want lies buried, dig until you find it.
When someone is having a bad day, be silent, sit close by and nuzzle him or her gently.
Thrive on attention and let people touch you.
Avoid biting when a simple growl will do.
On hot days, drink lots of water and lie under a shady tree.
When you're happy, dance around and way your entire body.
No matter how often you're scolded, don't buy into the guilt thing and pout...run right back and make friends.
Delight in the simple joys of long walks.
--author unknown--
Allow the experience of fresh air and the wind in your face to be pure ecstasy.
When loved ones come home, always run to greet them.
When it's in your best interest, practice obedience.
Let others know when they've invaded your territory.
Take naps and stretch before rising.
Run, romp, and play daily.
Be loyal.
Never pretend to be something you're not.
If what you want lies buried, dig until you find it.
When someone is having a bad day, be silent, sit close by and nuzzle him or her gently.
Thrive on attention and let people touch you.
Avoid biting when a simple growl will do.
On hot days, drink lots of water and lie under a shady tree.
When you're happy, dance around and way your entire body.
No matter how often you're scolded, don't buy into the guilt thing and pout...run right back and make friends.
Delight in the simple joys of long walks.
--author unknown--
Friday, January 30, 2015
More Bad Musician Jokes
What's the difference between a dead snake in the road and a dead trombonist in the road?
Skid marks in front of the snake.
What's the difference between a dead trombonist in the road and a dead country singer in the road?
The country singer may have been headed to a recording session.
What's the range of a good tuba?
Ten yards, if you have a good arm.
What do you call someone who hangs around with musicians?
A drummer.
What does a timpanist say when he gets to his gig?
"Would you like fries with that?"
How many drummers does it take to change a light bulb?
None...they have computers to do that now.
What did the timpanist write on his IQ test?
Nothing at all.
What's the definition of a quarter tone?
A harpist tuning his unison strings.
How can you tell if a violin is out of tune?
The bow is moving.
What do violinists use for birth control?
Their personalities.
How do you make a violin sound like a viola?
Sit in the back and don't play.
What's the difference between a violist and a dog?
The dog knows when to stop scratching.
How do you get a violist to play downbow staccato?
Put a tenuto mark over a whole note and mark it "solo."
Why are violins smaller than violas?
They are really the same size...violinists' heads are larger.
What's the difference between a cello and a coffin?
The coffin has the corpse inside.
Why are orchestra intermissions limited to 20 minutes?
So you don't have to re-train the cellists.
Why did the bass player get mad at the timpanist?
He turned a peg and wouldn't tell him which one.
How many sopranos does it take to change a light bulb?
One...she just holds on and the world revolves around her.
What's the difference between a soprano and the PLO?
You can negotiate with the PLO.
A musician calls that symphony office to talk to the conductor and is told he is dead. He calls back 25 times and receives the same message from the receptionist, who finally asks why he keeps calling. "I just like to hear you say it."
"Hey buddy, how late does the band play?"
"Oh, about a half beat behind the drummer."
Skid marks in front of the snake.
What's the difference between a dead trombonist in the road and a dead country singer in the road?
The country singer may have been headed to a recording session.
What's the range of a good tuba?
Ten yards, if you have a good arm.
What do you call someone who hangs around with musicians?
A drummer.
What does a timpanist say when he gets to his gig?
"Would you like fries with that?"
How many drummers does it take to change a light bulb?
None...they have computers to do that now.
What did the timpanist write on his IQ test?
Nothing at all.
What's the definition of a quarter tone?
A harpist tuning his unison strings.
How can you tell if a violin is out of tune?
The bow is moving.
What do violinists use for birth control?
Their personalities.
How do you make a violin sound like a viola?
Sit in the back and don't play.
What's the difference between a violist and a dog?
The dog knows when to stop scratching.
How do you get a violist to play downbow staccato?
Put a tenuto mark over a whole note and mark it "solo."
Why are violins smaller than violas?
They are really the same size...violinists' heads are larger.
What's the difference between a cello and a coffin?
The coffin has the corpse inside.
Why are orchestra intermissions limited to 20 minutes?
So you don't have to re-train the cellists.
Why did the bass player get mad at the timpanist?
He turned a peg and wouldn't tell him which one.
How many sopranos does it take to change a light bulb?
One...she just holds on and the world revolves around her.
What's the difference between a soprano and the PLO?
You can negotiate with the PLO.
A musician calls that symphony office to talk to the conductor and is told he is dead. He calls back 25 times and receives the same message from the receptionist, who finally asks why he keeps calling. "I just like to hear you say it."
"Hey buddy, how late does the band play?"
"Oh, about a half beat behind the drummer."
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)