Overdue #metoo

#metoo

Overdue #metoo

21 May 2018

It used to be you could

Blame the victim.

Male privilege would

Hand out the dictum.

Now we're claiming

Our worthiness by naming

The perps and reframing

The situation by proclaiming

An end to blaming and shaming.

Giving credit where it's due

And shining light on the issue

With the hashtag #metoo.

It's a topic that's long overdue

And talking about it's not taboo.

As victims we felt all alone.

Today we're setting a new tone.

Old ways are being overthrown.

Patriarchy isn't carved in stone.

We're showing some backbone.

Nostalgia doesn't cut it anymore.

No going back to the way it was before.

Our movement is too big to ignore.

We're fighting with words; and more

We're voting to make our voices roar.

Shoes Blues

Shoes Blues

11 March 2018

Holes in the soles of my shoes

Has me singing the blues.

After looking at the selection

Of shoes in the store's collection,

Each with its own appeal,

I chose a pair close to my ideal.

At first I liked the look and feel,

Then the flaws started to reveal.

Holes in the soles of my shoes

Has me singing the blues.

Cracks appeared where the uppers flexed.

I didn't see what happened next.

The tops seemed to go unchanged,

But the bottoms were becoming deranged.

That went unnoticed until it rained

And the wetness I felt was unexplained. 

Holes in the soles of my shoes

Has me singing the blues.

Much to my dismay, at home I looked at

My shoe bottoms and could see that

The soles had a crack across the ball.

That's why my socks were wet and all.

I'll have to buy some replacements,

Adding to my money disbursements. 

Holes in the soles of my shoes

Has me singing the blues.

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Personal note: There's been a lapse in my postings. In December 2017 I got a sore spot on my tongue that made it hard to talk and chew, so I went in to see the doctor. On the 2nd January 2018 the doctor called to say I had medium squamous cell carcinoma of the tongue. On January 21st I went to the hospital and fell among the surgeons. They knocked me out, yanked a tooth, cut out my tongue and slit my throat. The doctors were having such a good time they slit my throat twice, in front and down the side. After a week in Medical Intensive Care and 3 weeks in a skilled nursing facility, I came home. In the SNF I recovered enough to start talking again. On March 12th I started chemotherapy and radiation that will go on for six weeks. I get most of my nutrition thru a feeding tube. I can't wait until this is all over and I can come up with a funny way to tell my dramatic story.

Yearning For Returning

Biltmore House

Bass Pond

Begonia

Golden Azalea

Tulip

Wisteria

Pansies

Daisies

Orchids

Click on photo to enlarge.

Yearning For Returning

26 April 2017

I’d like to go back once more.
Tell the Inn to save me a room
To see flowers at the Biltmore
When the azaleas are in bloom.
Let me visit when the tulips blossom
And the hanging wisteria’s awesome.
I love the colors of the pansies
That match to hues of the daisies.
I want to explore the conservatory
That shows off varieties of hybrids,
Including an amazing begonia variety
And bountiful sprays of orchids.
Let me stroll down to the Bass Pond
To see the brick bridge reflected,
The calm water and the trees beyond;
So my joie de vivre gets resurrected.

Drowse Then Rouse

Click on the photo to enlarge

Drowse Then Rouse

18 June 2016

Rousing after a nap

In the late afternoon,

Losing the unawareness crap

From my drowsy swoon,

Thru a squinting eyeball

I see the light display.

Shadows on the far wall

Indicate the end of day.

Relaxing, stretched across my bed

At this time of adulthood,

This thought enters my head,

“By golly, life is good!”

Malign Turbine

This week one of my poems was published by my hometown newspaper. Last Fall wind turbines were installed and are now operational: http://sjrnews.com

Malign Turbine
1 April 2016

For some, turbines mean pollution for the eyes
In an effort to reduce pollution in the skies.

Wind turbines can be seen as towers with spikes
Which endanger flying birds with strikes,

Or they can be viewed in comparison
As graceful spinners turning in unison.

I have memories of the gusty wind blowing
Making it hard to get to where I was going.

The wind became an implacable foe,
Pushing me where it wanted me to go,

Always plucking at my hair and clothes.
Some relief came with sunset furloughs.

The wind still continues in its abuse,
But it’s finally been lassoed into some use.

Those who moan and wail about the view shed,
Won’t get much sympathy from us Monticello bred.

Creation Invocation

Creation Invocation
14 January 2016

Speak to me, Muse.
Inspire me to write
So that I feel of use
And not small or trite.
Help my preparation,
Thinking and exploration
In search of inspiration.
Speed up the period of incubation
In my subconscious foundation,
Of sorting and reaching validation.
I want instant illumination
A triggering of my imagination
To the point of forced creation.
Please, ease the implementation
Of my rhyming communication
Into a pleasing presentation.
Muse, please whisper in my ear.
Whisper enchanted communiqués
And the secrets I want to hear
To end this writer’s block phase.

Who Are You, Passing Thru?

Who Are You, Passing Thru?
17 Nov 2015

Wind, where are you going?
You came for a visit today.
Wind, why are you blowing?
You came, but didn’t stay.
You danced the leaves all around,
Touching everything exposed outside,
Then left the leaves all over the ground.
Such an irresponsible, messy joyride.
After gusting all day, you departed.
Where on earth did you go?
Where and how did you get started?
Wind tell me, I want to know.

Not Your Typical Watcher

Not Your Typical Watcher
10 Nov 2015

I spot the staid suburban sentinels
Posted out on their weekly missions,
They’re keeping this night’s vigils,
Standing by the curb like apparitions.
They’ll stand all night waiting strong
For the trucks and into the next day.
Then the garbage trucks’ll come along
And haul all the smelly trash away.

Ranked by Google

Oh my gosh, I was poking around the internet, doing Google searches and was pleasantly surprised by what came up. When I put "poem" in the search engine, this blog came up at the bottom of the first page.

Grandma's Poem

My poetry has been published by The Australia Times in their poetry magazine. A couple of issues back there was a poem by another poet titled, "The Farmer Feeds Them All." So I wrote to the editor that my grandmother had written a poem by the same title and sent a copy of the poem. The editor emailed back that she liked Grandma's poem & was going to publish it. Ellen Johanna Larson Smith's poem and bio were just published by The Australia Times: http://www.theaustraliatimes.com/magazine/poetry/issue/307/
If the link works, in the little box, top center, enter 46 to go directly to her poem.

Hard-core Chore

Hard-core Chore
24 Jan 2015

Looking at the task to be done,
Didn’t look like very much fun.
Setting about with determination
And stimulated by imagination,
She dug in where there was need.
Concentrating on doing the deed,
Incrementally making progress
While ignoring any stress,
Soon she could see results.
Double checking for faults,
The job didn’t seem megalithic.
Doing her best with a work ethic,
With what she knew and what she had
The final outcome wasn’t half bad.

Published by The Australia Times

One of my poems was published by The Australia Times (TAT) in their poetry magazine. I'm totally blown away, they used my photo and gave me a two-page spread. After clicking on the link below, in the lower right corner of the screen, you can enter page 62 to skip directly to my poem.
http://www.theaustraliatimes.com/magazine/poetry/issue/215/

Nightfall Overhaul

Nightfall Overhaul
10 June 2014

Good night, Paul, good night.
Time to turn out the light.
As you sleep tight,
I wish you sweet dreams.
In the glow of moonbeams,
May pleasant be the themes
Of the scenes in your mind.
As sleep helps you unwind,
Relaxation is assigned.

Morning Jog, Day's Prolog

Morning Jog, Day's Prolog
12 June 2014

Leap, run, run
Is my cadence
In the morning sun
Near my residence.
The sun on my skin
Feels warm and good.
A touch of silken
Breeze cools the neighborhood.
I wave at the neighbor
I see as I run past.
It adds to the caliber
Of my day's forecast.

Cream of Self-Esteem

Cream of Self-Esteem
9 June 2014

The old uptight me
Is now loose and free,
The way it ought to be.
After years of agony
I've broken from tyranny.

The tyranny of group think
That was way out of sync
So I felt like a rat fink
And brought me to the brink
Of almost no more pen and ink.

Pen and ink let me fully express
My inner self with success,
Without having to repress,
Confess or be a mess.
It's been a long process.

A process of listening and reading,
Uploading new ways of thinking.
By baby steps proceeding,
Getting results, not misleading,
Old ways gradually receding.

Australia Times Again

The Australia Times published one of my poems:
http://www.theaustraliatimes.com/emagazines/poetry/issue211/#p=26

Touch As Such

Touch As Such
23 May 2014

Your hand on my knee
Generates the calm
Of skin on skin.
The sensation pleases me,
To feel the palm
Of another human.
Let me soak in our alchemy
And focus on the balm
Of the touch vitamin.

For Mother's Day

Honor On Her
10 May 2014

As soon as she's pregnant
A prospective mother dreams.
Most of them are poignant
As she plans and schemes.
She has very high hopes
As she suffers and copes.

On this day we honor the women
Who labored to give us birth,
Who gave their all for our beginnin'
And fostered us on this earth.
The name I value above any other
Is the sacred name of Mother.

One Horseman's Son

One Horseman's Son
16 March 2014

On paper my father was a farmer
But that's something of a misnomer.
Although he spent time pulling plows
I never knew him to own any cows.
Proving as a groom that he was a generous gent,
He gave my mother a horse as a wedding present.
Around the time I came along
His horse herd was a dozen strong.
Among canyons and hills renowned
For expansive outdoor spaces,
Were acres and acres of playground
And an all-around view of faraway places.
I grew up riding horses on our days off.
We would see the them from a ways off
And approach with grain in a pail,
Shaking it to make the sale.
With their noses in the bucket, distracted,
It was easy to slip a loop around their neck
Before they caught on and reacted.
Just reins were all you needed, by heck,
To ride bareback and race with the wind.
Nothing more fun could be imagined.

How pleasant to wallow in the sentimentality
Of remembering youth in less than its totality.
I now live hours away in another state.
Growing up on a ranch didn't determine my fate.
My current lifestyle is different from then,
Very different from what might have been.
Hoeing beans and getting sunburned.
Was the very first money I earned.
I carefully accounted for every penny that came.
The values learned then are now lived the same.
Yes, much has changed over the many years,
But I'm still the horseman's son, my dears.

Published in Australia

One of my poems was published by the Australia Times, page 53.

http://www.theaustraliatimes.com/emagazines/poetry/issue203/#p=52