In response to “Stoic” by Ralph Heather
So much unseen amongst your green leaves.
In your proud boughs
you gather all the creatures
that I see with my ears:
Squirrels crunch nuts;
Blue jays squaw and screech;
Chickadees chime in;
Interrupting the blackbird’s speech.
And they give away
the spot where you play
A tree is a house, an umbrella and a playground,
the lives that exist within and around.
Ouch, a chestnut knocked upon my noggin!
And, I know that if a tree branch crashes to the ground,
it certainly makes a sound.
Can you see the forest for the trees?
Someone Else’s Problem (Dec. 2018)
Our Earth weeps
from the piles and the heaps,
on the land and in the seas;
Plastic mountains and plastic creeks.
“It’s just one cup,” said everyone, each.
But it all becomes whale sup.
And he’s dead on the beach.
Seagull is stuck, and not in the muck.
The rings on those things, they strangle,
at an unfortunate angle.
There’s poop on the stoop;
Branch attack, grocery sack,
Plastic debris flutters in the breeze.
Send it all to China! Nah,
Let’s put it in space.
Let it be free,
Not right in our face.
We are consuming like fire;
A situation most dire.
We can do better. We must.
I’ll write a letter and I’ll cause a fuss!
BASED UPON POE
fear the witches with the spells
what a thrill of detriment their remedy so smells!
how they, wrinkle, wrinkle, wrinkle,
in the mighty flare of light!
while guitars, that smoke and sprinkle
all the questions that dream to giggle
with a byzantine punchline:
feeling fine, fine, fine,
in a court of ironic time,
to the insubordination that so foolishly fells
from the spells, spells, spells, spells
Spells, spells, spells-
from the wiggling and the mingling of the spells.
(Prompt from somewhere & sometime — walk a mile in another's feet: an exploration of rhythm and nonsense... based on Poe's, "the Bells")
ODE TO POET SMURF
With a quill and a harp,
so witty and sharp.
Heralding the crowd,
So frighteningly, ferociously louder than loud.
Reciting and revelling,
the yelling is swelling.
Composing for the masses,
Truth Poetry he passes.
A friend to all,
always ahead of the ball.
A foe for none,
a prodigal son.
even what’s small.
Grateful for goodness,
mistaken for madness.
An innate ability to create positivity.
An opulent and radiant shiny bright light
amongst dark and dull, dreary life.
Realizing impossible is most certainly possible.
A kind and creative word-crafting poet,
ever so life-consumingly devoted.
Finding inspiration in everyday happenings,
wonder is found in your goings and comings.
Better to laugh rather than cry.
No one wants to be that dreary guy.
On the sunny side of the street
and on the light side of the moon,
life is so sweet
and he sings a joyful tune.
The grass is always greener
and we all should be dreamers.
Tears become giggles.
Be gone with those sniffles.
Even dire times are ironically, satirically funny.
Best get chummy with crumby.
Lean into the curve.
Don’t loose your nerve.
Animated emotions, emoting,
suddenly spewing forth, worth noting.
Fountains of fundamental prattling
about pedagogy and rhetoric rambling.
Political attitudes protrude in utmost rudity,
assaulting senses beautifully.
Trying to survive in trying times
means you’ve got to cross some lines.
Scrupulous stanzas simplify frenzied fixations,
sordid and complicated dramatic fictions.
Political parties, not even pretending
to reign in their extravagant spending,
or to be guardian angels for folks who vote --
Clumsy folks, putting all hope in hope
I'd love to sit and write all day
In fact, I would if I had my way!
I'd write me some poems that rhyme
But only sometimes; not all the time.
An alphabet poem or an acrostic
Ballad or blank verse, so dramatic
Like an elegy, epic or epitaph
Full of fancy flight,
a tone that's bright and light
Cinquains, centos or poems of chance,
Madrigal, fable or fairy-tale
Nonsense verse, hardly terse
Iambic, psalm, abstract or realistic,
Accent here, no stress it there!
Alliteration, allusion, or assonance,
caesura, consonance, enjambment
Hyperbole, irony – ironic
Personification and pun;
Poetry is so much fun!
I’m so punny
Light verse, limerick
Literal-ly, it's a parody
Or maybe an Allegory
I feel so free.
And that, just there, apostrophe.
I may say what I mean, or I may let you guess,
You might even think my point I did miss.
I might become an animal or another type of beast
A different type of person – other than myself, at least.
On the shelves, in the library, you may one day see,
The Great Anthology, written by me.