Tag: free verse

American Dream

Oddly enough this poem came to me while I was watching Ender’s Game on HBO this afternoon. In solidarity with my Texas relatives I’ve taken a snow day, plus I still have a nasty head cold, so watching HBO is probably therapeutic. 

Back to Ender’s Game–I was struck by how purposeful his education was and for the thousandth time reflected on how without purpose mine was. Yes, I was taught to read, write, and perform mathematics, but to what end? Upon graduation from high school I didn’t have a clue what I wanted to do or become.

When I went to college the first time, I was still purposeless. It seemed silly for me to continue spending my parents’ money on a big “if”.

Even when I returned to school I had no real desire to become a teacher; it just made sense for our family. I wonder, how do others deal with this lack of desire to be something specific. I know I had aspirations at one time, but I cannot remember them at all. 

American Dream 

She was smart,

But she held no purpose. 

Talented, 

Yet no audience. 

What benefit then 

Of all this hard work 

These accolades? 

That stellar GPA means 

Less than nothing now; 

Numbers on a printout. 

All for a scroll with 

Her name in tight
Script. 

 He was smart 

But not filled with grand 

Ideas. 

Tailored for 

Leadership through 

Genetics perhaps, and 

Hard work. 

No four year degree or 

Empty promises. 

Trials along his path 

Strengthened his 

Resolve, brought him 

Success. 

 American Dreamers 

Different paths 

Taken together. 

 Not the entire story, 

Neither is it at an end. 

Daily one or both 

Smile, slightly 

Dazed by their
Journey. 

 Remember? he’ll ask 

She always does. 

What next? She’ll wonder. 

Who knows? Says he.

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Peace, People!

Rules of Laundry

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Laundry Day Monday
Clothes grouped
Strictly in neat piles:
Whites with like
Darks the same.
Delicates,
Hand washables,
Unmentionables
Require special
Piles all their own.

Yet I’ve found the
Nearer I come to
Laundry Day’s end,
That some piles slyly
Begin to migrate,
Merging with similar
Neighbors
Cutting ten loads
Into five.

And only I know the
Rules have been broken.
I’m a bit of a maverick that way.
Shhhh.

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Starbucks Musings

Twenty-something mom
Dangles baby on her lap
Feeding chubby cheeks
Green beans from a
Tupperware dish.
Baby points to a brightly
Colored picture above their
Heads then reaches for a
Hug.

Businessmen, one a
Fast talker, both clear-eyed
Exchange a series of
Ideas in a flurry of
Serious conversation
Portfolio splayed before
Them. Fingers point for
Emphasis. Fast talker
Shrugs.

Two ladies my age
Highlighted hair
Bobbed expensively
Laugh as only truly
Good friends can
Sharing common
Experiences that are
Even better retold over
Scones.

Two pairs of young
Couples engage in
Rituals of courtship.
One seemingly new
From the awkwardness
Of their conversation.
The other pair might be
In love. They constantly
Touch.

There are other solos
Like me: an elderly man
Playing games on his iPad
Sound turned way up.
A career girl, wheeled
Briefcase at her feet,
Availing herself of free
Wifi on her laptop, reads
Email.

My venti chai latte
Keeps me warm on
This uncharacteristically
Cold Tallahassee day.
People watching keeps
Me amused. Wondering
About their lives outside
Starbucks keeps me
Writing.

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Clone Wars

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Clone Wars.”

Best not to clone me,
Two me’s would be too many;
Three, ridiculous.

Clone instead two men:
Harrison Ford and Tom Cruise,
Then share their cloned selves.

I get Mister Ford
You get Tom Cruise for yourself.
Or we could switch out.

I really don’t care,
After all cloning ensures
There will be plenty.

And what shall I do
With my hunky cloned Harry?
That’s too personal.

By the way, Tom Cruise
Gained mention because his name
Has two syllables.

Instead of more, like
Huey Lewis, George Clooney
And Paul McCartney.

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Anagram Poem–Matriculated–redux

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photo from scienceblogs.com

I tried to fashion an anagram poem after one of the bloggers I follow did so. Her name is Sam Rappaz, and you can read more of her work at tokillamimingbird.wordpress.com.

In an anagram poem each line must end with a word of four letters or more made from letters in the poem’s title. One may not add an “s” to the word, unless of course there is an “s” in the title. Verb tense must remain the same throughout.

I added a different twist and had each line begin with the consecutive letters in the name of my poem. I’ve read the darned thing thirty times or more since completing it. Sometimes I like it, sometimes it’s pure nonsense, but I did have a plan for what it’s worth. And, it was fun to craft a puzzle poem.

Matriculated

Miraculously she came,
Arrived in this world to alert
Those who had no clue.
Rebelliously, she staked claim,
Imbued with grace, she cured.
Commandeered a minor cult,
Until those devotees raised alarm
Left others somewhat too late,
Angry, while many limped, lame.
Then enabled a facsimile of calm
Even through the storm irate
Dared to build a lasting dream.

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Bigot

He says he is no bigot
Yet each and every time
There is a but behind his
Phrase and a smirk beneath
His eyes.

“I’m no bigot, but there’s a
Place for folks like them. The
Poor, the immigrant, the
Black, the brown.
There’s a way for them to
Have the same rights as we,
Just follow our rules, believe
Our lies, jump through our
Hoops, and if they survive
We might let them in to the
Whites only club,
But, then again,
They won’t ever be one of
Us.”

He says he is no bigot
Yet each and every time
There is a but behind his
Phrase and a smirk beneath
His eyes.

This was prompted by a Facebook conversation with a friend of a friend of a friend who always maintains he’s no bigot–right before he rolls out evidence of his bigotry. He’ll never read this, but I needed to get it out.

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I Am Convinced

Love is the best
Four letter word.
I can tolerate
F-bombs and
Damn, hell and
Dang and S-H-I-T.
But hate, no doubt,
Hate is the worst.
Hate robs and steals,
Lies and deforms.
Hate starts wars and
Ends compassion,
Hate aggravates,
Exacerbates, harms,
Defeats.
Is it fair to say I
Hate hate, or is
Hate too strong a
Four letter word?

Castles

Hallways grand, roughly chiseled
Stone walls, tapestried, still allowed
Chill to seep into bones grown cold.
Flames sequestered in recessed
Walls burned day into night with no
Pause inside the draft-filled keep.

Lute played softly, backdrop for a
Feast served in trenchers. Crusty
Bread sopped in juices, shoveled
Indelicately, scraps left for serfs and
Canines to scrabble over long after
Feast’s end. Snarling dogs compete.

Lords, ladies, retreat to chambers
Above the hall, met by servants in
Rooms kept warm for master’s use.
Candles extinguished, madame
Feigns exhaustion sending her liege
To the dressing room, adjacent.

Silently, love’s scented mimic slides
‘Neath brocaded bedcovers worn
Soft as new-shorn sheep, seeking
Warmth as much as lust’s touch.
Whispers a welcome, shivers from
Pleasures greedily anticipated.

How’s that for an innocent poem about castles turning into a bit of lustful folly? When I started writing I had no intention of taking the poem to the bedroom. It wandered there all by itself. Naughty little thing.

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Things I Love: Studly’s Laugh

“Groundhog Day” is one of Studly’s favorite movies. On Tuesday evening as we watched Bill Murray’s character relive February 2nd over and over again, Studly kept up his running commentary during the film and laughed his wildly contagious laugh.

His laugh is one of the many things I love about him. When Studly finds something funny one might as well surrender to the hilarity and just move out of charm’s way.

And what does he find funny? His special weakness is sophomoric humor: “Animal House,” “Dumb and Dumber,” “Me, Myself, and Irene,” and the above mentioned “Groundhog Day.” He recently discovered “Tosh.0” on television and laughs himself silly every time he watches an episode.

I pretend to be above such nonsense, but when Studly starts laughing he breaks down all of my resolve. Maybe that’s part of loving someone–embracing all of their silliness as if it’s one’s own–while still remaining relatively sane.

When Studly Laughs

When Studly laughs
His whole body
Succumbs to waves of
Hilarity that begin in his eyes,
Travel to his cheeks, and
Explode from his generous
Mouth.

His arms cross his shaking
Chest, apparently attempting
To absorb the energy he
Expends when he is genuinely
Amused by a joke, or a pratfall,
Or gloriously, sometimes by
Me!

Nothing beats making Studly laugh.

Peace, People!

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Still

2015/01/img_2465.jpg photo by Kelly Cavitt Dupler

One of my friends took this picture of a little piece of snowy heaven from her ranch in New Mexico and posted it on her Facebook page last week. Isn’t it lovely? I wanted to work it into my Love Month theme.

Still Haiku 1

Breath calmed by snow’s depths
Frozen, a moment in time
Hush love, and be still

Still Haiku 2

White ‘scape nothing moves
Frozen still in this moment
Softly a branch bends