Expressed Request

After listening to songs from musicals, here's a poem for Valentine's day.

Expressed Request
9 February 2013

Just a thought
On the spot
Why not
Give it a shot?
Asking in advance,
Does your stance
And side-long glance
Mean taking a chance
On a new romance?
You wanna dance?

Dance with me baby?
Now's your time to speak.
Say "yes," not "maybe."
Let's dance cheek to cheek.
Starting might be hit or miss,
But after we've begun
With some diligent practice
We'll be dancing as one.
As we waltz across the floor
To the beat of the score,
It makes my heart soar
To be with the one I adore.
Dance with me
And let's see
If we can be
In harmony.

When I Heard at the Coming of Twilight

When I first read this poem, it impacted me. On reflection, I wondered if it could be improved by rhyming.

When I Heard at the Coming of Twilight
14 January 2013
Original by Walt Whitman

When I heard with the coming of twilight
How my name had been received as luminary
In the capitol, still it was not a happy night
For me that followed; and else, when I made merry
Or when my plans were fully completed
Still I was not entirely glad.
But the day when I rose at dawn from the bed
Of perfect health, refreshed, singing,
Drinking in all that was to be had
Of the ripe breath of autumn's bringing,
When I saw the full moon above the land
Grow pale and disappear in the morning light,
When I wandered alone over the seastrand
And undressing, bathed, laughing with delight
In the cool waters, and saw the sun rise,
And when I thought of how my dear friend,
My lover, was on his way, a prize,
Oh, then I was happy to no end.
Then each breath tasted much sweeter—
And all that day my food nourished
Me more—and the beautiful day passed fleeter,
And the next came equally flourished—
And with the next, at evening, ecstasy,
My friend came. Later as an underscore,
While all was still, I heard the sea
Roll slowly, continually up the shore.
I heard the hissing, rustling liquidly
Upon the sands, as directed to me, murmuring
To congratulate me, for the one I love avidly
Lay sleeping by me under the same covering.
In the cool of the night, without sound,
In the autumn moonbeams, his face was inclined
Towards me, and his arm lay lightly around
My breast—and that night was happiness enshrined.


When I heard at the Close of the Day
(No. 11, from ‘Calamus’ written circa 1859)
by Walt Whitman (1819-1892)

WHEN I heard at the close of the day how my name had been receiv'd
        with plaudits in the capitol, still it was not a happy night
        for me that follow'd;
And else, when I carous'd, or when my plans were accomplish'd, still
        I was not happy;
But the day when I rose at dawn from the bed of perfect health,
        refresh'd, singing, inhaling the ripe breath of autumn,
When I saw the full moon in the west grow pale and disappear in the
        morning light,
When I wander'd alone over the beach, and undressing, bathed,
        laughing with the cool waters, and saw the sun rise,
And when I thought how my dear friend, my lover, was on his way
        coming, O then I was happy;
O then each breath tasted sweeter—and all that day my food nourish'd
        me more—and the beautiful day pass'd well,
And the next came with equal joy—and with the next, at evening, came
        my friend;
And that night, while all was still, I heard the waters roll slowly
        continually up the shores,
I heard the hissing rustle of the liquid and sands, as directed to
        me, whispering, to congratulate me,                        


For the one I love most lay sleeping by me under the same cover in
        the cool night,
In the stillness, in the autumn moonbeams, his face was inclined
        toward me,
And his arm lay lightly around my breast—and that night I was happy.

Competition Disposition

Last year I won the first place gold medal prize from World Poetry Movement. Recently I got an email requesting a submission for this year. I looked thru the poems I had written in 2012 and narrowed my choice down to three: Afternoon Swoon, Resident's Absence and View Adieu.


Competition Disposition
Original by Robert Frost
14 January 2013

Three poems lay on my desk of wood
And sorry I could not submit them all,
Limited to one entry as I understood,
I read them and thought as hard as I could
About which to send in answer to the call.

Each having its own rhythm and rhyme
And all equally appealing
As suited to the subject and paradigm
Of a requested poem at this time,
My quandary proved to be revealing.

The more I looked the less I was sure
Of which was the best to submit
And which one had the most allure.
So I tried the familiar procedure
Of asking the people most proximate.

I shall be telling with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Three poems lay on wood and I --
I used my own judgement to go by
And that has made all the difference.
_______________________________

The Road Not Taken
Robert Frost (1920)

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

Reform By Rainstorm

Reform By Rainstorm
30 December 2012

Darkness gathers at noon
From the clouds of a monsoon.
I watch the heavy rain
From my upper windowpane,
Looking at the cars dash
Down the street with a splash.
The drops coming in sputters
Overflow and fill the gutters.
As the water gushes and sloshes
It thoroughly rinses and washes.
Afterwards the yards'll appear
With a fresh-scrubbed atmosphere.
The air'll smell pure and clean,
Invigorating and pristine.
On Facebook, I'm glad to get by
Inside where it's warm and dry.

View Adieu

View Adieu
22 December 2012

By a series of jerks and tugs,
The old man awkwardly lugs
His familiar rocking chair
From it's usual spot to where
The best view appears.
Then he takes down the sheers
For an unobstructed sight
Of the winter solstice sunset.
He sits to catch the daylight,
Then he half-stands to reset
The rocker with a final salvo
So the sun is centered in his window.
He didn't always get to enjoy sunsets.
Much of life was earning a livelihood,
One of his best retirement assets
Is having time to enjoy as he should.
Only by glances can he watch the grand show.
On this eve of the longest darkness,
This late in the day, the sun's glow
Hurts his eyes to look at its starkness.
When the sun goes behind a tree.
The light decreases slightly.
Moving at its own stately pace,
The sun slowly slides with grace
Paralleling a palm tree trunk.
When the sun's two-thirds shrunk,
He stands to watch the radiance
Gradually diminish in brilliance.
Finally, the last sunbeams peek
Thru a tree branch's leak.
When the show's over, he tows
His chair back to where it goes.

Actually, he's not like he's made out to be
Because he's really just little ol' me.

Decide Suicide?

My heart goes out to all the families and victims of the Sandy Hook school. This poem is totally unrelated to that event, just happened to get published on the same day.

Decide Suicide?
14 December 2012

I tried my best to be good,
According to how I was taught,
In the way I understood,
Behaving as I ought.
That finally reached a point
Of diminishing positive returns.
My thinking became counterpoint
To considering suicide concerns.
Other people in my situation
Chose bringing to completion
An end of the aggravation
By despairing self-deletion.
My try resulted in a broken bone,
So I survived to live another day.
Slowly I got stronger on my own.
Now, I'm happily living my way.
I wear what pleases me.
Perhaps it's questionable
To the greater society,
But it makes me whole.
I think modesty is a false value
So there are holes in my clothes.
That might bring shame to you,
But men like that are my heroes.

Guider and Cider

On Monday I had coffee with a Facebook friend who is a life coach.


Guider and Cider
11 December 2012

I enjoyed chatting over coffee,
Although we had chocolate and cider.
Thanks for the time and talking to me
Like a confidential insider.
The conversational incentive
Covering of topics was satisfactory.
Thanks for being attentive
While I bragged about my poetry.
I felt uplifted and challenged,
While discussing your approach
And my internal peace was impinged,
By your thoughts on being a life coach.
Since kinesthetic learning is my style,
I didn't feel the full consequences
Until I started moving around after a while.
As I understand the sequences
A good life coach influences
Finding your passion and voice.
I think I'm already there.
My passion is poetry and my choice
Is to make it a business affair.
At this point I need help with advertising.
Can you help me with that or refer me
To someone who's good at publicizing,
Whose personality would prefer me?

Decoration Commemoration

Decoration Commemoration
4 December 2012

The heavy box makes it awkward
To haul down the fake evergreen.
Place the base and set it upward,
Then adjust the tips in between
The lights with just the right flair.
Retrieve the ornaments from storage.
Unbox and unwrap, handling with care,
Then hang, being attentive to moorage.
Nostalgia comes from old ornaments
Like a set of angels from coworker
Who since died, evoking sentiments
Of sadness but not a real tearjerker.
A recent acquisition of woven cloth,
Ribbon and stick pins, the prettiest
Given by its maker who is no sloth.
He has since passed the bar test
The most sentimental is from an ex.
It brings back memories of visiting.
Glass crystals catching light reflects
My mood to make the occasion exciting.

Requiescat For Matt

My former roomate's brother collapsed at work, then died at the hospital.

Requiescat For Matt
17 November 2012

Like a blow that takes your breath away,
I just don't know what to say.
He died? Matt, your brother?
You're sure it was him and not some other?
Help me find a chair.
I'm fighting for air,
Descending into despair.
The world's gone mad, I swear.
It wasn't his turn to die,
He was younger than I.
Woe unto me!
How can this be?
There's a hole in my heart,
An absence on his part.
I'm perplexed,
What's next?
How can life go on
Now that he's gone?
Like a blow that takes your breath away,
I just don't know what to say.

Resident's Absence

Resident's Absence
9 November 2012

The place seems empty without you
And the kitties miss you, too. Mew.
Something's missing when you're gone
Like an animating spirit's withdrawn.
Car and street noises are amplified
And the house creaking is personified.
Tic-tock echoing marks the passing of time.
When the wind-up clock begins to chime,
The sounds have a hollow reverberation,
An aberration lasting for the duration
Of your absence and separation.
I just don't know exactly what changes,
But when you come home everything rearranges.