K R Smith

Friday, April 22, 2016

Day 22 - One More For You

Human 76: A post-apocalyptic surprise is coming!

Google says it's Earth Day, so it must be true.

I saw a Tweet from Beth Rhodes asking what we (or me, for this blog post) did to protect the Earth.

Earth Day. My husband is a huge supporter of preserving Nature, protecting the Earth. I don't know why it... https://t.co/4DEbTVrJ5Y
— Beth Rhodes (@BethRhodes99) April 22, 2016

It brought back some memories. I "participated" in the first Earth Day. Yes, I'm old enough to have done that. In fact, I'd been around for a few years prior to that (April 22, 1970). Our school had a big to-do about it, and us kids, we didn't have a clue what was going on. I still don't have a clue about much of anything to this day—at least that's what most folks will tell you. It's something I'm good at.

What did we do? They had the police block the road with a patrol car while we all weeded dandelions from the edge of the road. Tied up traffic for some time. All those V-8 engines idling away burning leaded gas. I'm sure that helped save the world...

Allow me to pause for a brief wheeze.

I grew up spending every moment in the woods, or by the water, or both. I get good feeling when I'm in a natural environment, and that's becoming increasingly difficult to find in the Mid-Atlantic area. Of course, many kids spent time outdoors in the woods or fields when I was young. I don't see that interest in the younger folks these days, but I don't want to generalize too much. I haven't done any research into this that would stand up to scientific scrutiny. But when I go on hikes with local groups, it looks like we all came out of a retirement (nursing?) home. Just an observation.

I hear a lot of people are into recycling. That's nice as far as it goes, but it's probably better to buy/create things that don't need to be recycled so often, things that last longer before that recycling process has to start, or can be repaired. Recycling takes time and energy. Like some electronic devices that get shipped half-way around the world to a facility that handles them (and often in a not very environmentally friendly fashion). Do you really need that latest (fill in this part with the name of your latest gadget/item), or do you just want it? If you don't buy it, it doesn't need to be recycled. Take a moment to think about what you want and what you really need. That might protect the environment as much as anything, and it will certainly protect your wallet.

There are a lot of little things you can do if you want to make a difference. Right now I'm wearing pants (or trousers, if you're in the United Kingdom) that are made (partly) from recycled polyester. I know that sounds a little disgusting and perhaps a bit weird, but if they can stand up to the abuse my fat backside inflicts, they can't be all bad. And it might save a little bit of oil. Okay, with the size of my backside, a lot of oil.

I also like to garden, grow some of my own food, and I've done my share of composting when in a situation to do so. I'm not sure how much it helps the Earth, but it helps my mental state.

Just one more item - I really don't like the new plastic egg cartons. While they are easily recycled, they don't protect the eggs as well as the old paper ones. It doesn't help anyone if the product isn't as good. The paper ones could be recycled just as easily. They could even be composted. I want my paper egg cartons back. Or else.

Anyway, enough of the soap box, here's today's poem*. Then I'll go back and republish yesterday's poem when I get a chance. Had to edit it. That's what I get for trying to do all these poems in between working overtime, or on the train commuting. This has been a busy month (or three).

The Other World

Between the patches of trash-strewn ground,
Away from the walls of graffiti,
Are bits of the Earth that somehow survive
In an alternate-world reality.

Hidden by scrapyards
Stacked high with remains
Of yesterdays treasures
Now in disdain

There still is a place
Where a trout-lily blooms
And irises show off
Their tall purple plumes,

Where birds fly above
The tops of the trees
And dragonflies flash
Their blues and their greens.

Yes, this is where
I've been spending my day,
Though if anyone asks
I'd rather not say.

For if others discover
This wondrous display
They'd enjoy it so much
It would all go away.

K.R. Smith

*I'm trying to write a poem each day for National Poetry Month. It's difficult to come up with original titles (that are interesting) for each post. I chose silly instead.

Here are the links to the poems so far:

   Day 1 National Poetry Month - Kick-off (National Poetry Month)
   Day 2 Haiku, For You (Haiku)
   Day 3 A Poem For Free (The Good Morning Man)
   Day 4 Wait, There's Even More (Monday)
   Day 5 I'm Still Alive (TMI)
   Day 6 I'm Resorting To Tricks (A Walk Through Kipling's Wood)
   Day 7 It Almost Like Poetry Heaven (Metal Monsters)
   Day 8 I've Got A Lot On My Plate (The Ides Of April)
   Day 9 Another Poem Would Be Fine (Storm Spirit)
   Day 10 I'm At It Again (What A Tree Is Not)
   Day 11 Yes, Number Eleven (A U-Turn For The Worse)
   Day 12 I Feel Like One Of Santa's Elves (Avoiding The Plague Like The Plague)
   Day 13 By The Poetry Machine (Sounds Of A Spring Night)
   Day 14 Rhymes With Thirteen (Bluebells)
   Day 15 I'm Just Being Mean (No Poem Today)
   Day 16 And I'm Full Of Beans (Steel Circles)
   Day 17 I'm Getting The Hang Of This Routine (Of All Things)
   Day 18 As Words Careen (Swamped)
   Day 19 The Last Teen You'll Be Seein' (Haiku)
   Day 20 Poems? I've Got Plenty! (Sleeping On The Train)
   Day 21 A Poem For Fun (Drunk On Blogger)

Thursday, April 21, 2016

Day 21 - A Poem For Fun

Sometimes Blogger doesn't cooperate as well as I'd like...

I refuse to say anything more.

Drunk On Blogger

I was trying to write
A poem* here on Blogger
But the format came out
Looking like I was snoggered.

I took an old backup
And pasted it in.
When that didn't work,
I tried it again.

Nothing would line up,
Nothing would stay,
I'd type it all in
Then it'd all go away.

Opening the post
In pure HTML,
I soon realized
I'd descended into—well,

Let's just say
It was not a nice place.
I felt like slapping
My own stupid face.

Somehow, I'd pulled in
Formatting from Word
That tended to make
My vision go blurred.

So, I started typing
Right from the beginning.
I foolishly thought
I was finally winning.

Then I hit the button,
The one that says, "Save,"
Then hit it again
Like a Bloggerly knave,

But each time I tried
It came back with this text,
"An error has occurred."
I believed I was hexed.

I tried and I tried,
But the message came back.
I cursed the PC;
I gave it a whack.

And somehow that worked.
My file had been saved.
And you see it here,
Dutifully displayed.

K.R. Smith

Wednesday, April 20, 2016

Day 20 - Poems? I've Got Plenty!

Good poems? Not so much, but this is more of a writing exercise (and to show support for National Poetry Month*) than to win a prize. The point is to keep writing even though I don't have the time or energy to spare.

And now, for something completely different...

Sleeping On The Train

There are always seats when I get on;
I'm at the far end of the line.
They are not seats one could love,
The way they twist my spine,

And yet I find
A way to sleep,
More like a nap, though,
Not too deep

Until the daily journey ends
When I, and many others rise,
Trudging off to jobs
We despise.

Why do we do it
And suffer so?
Every morning
We get up and go

When we could easily find
Some other way to pass the day
Without having to ride
To some distant point in order to earn our pay.

I really think it is the train,
Although that may sound slightly insane
To think those seats that give us pain
Could somehow entice us back again.

But I would miss my naps.
And even if I could sleep in
It's not as much fun as waking up
In some place other than where you've been.

K.R. Smith

Tuesday, April 19, 2016

Day 19 - The Last Teen You'll Be Seein'

I can't wait for day twenty...

Since the summer is approaching, and I've just finished some lawn work, I thought I'd use that as inspiration for today's poem. Being about nature and such, I figured haiku would be appropriate. Or not.

I think three is enough. Probably more than enough.

Haiku #1

The grass trimmer whirs,
But the weeds ignore its song;
I am out of string.

Haiku #2

I pull the rope again
And curse the stubborn engine;
The sounds of summer.

Haiku #3

Sweat drips from my brow
As the rake grooms the green lawn;
I miss the winter.

K.R. Smith

Monday, April 18, 2016

Day 18 - As Words Careen

Yes, they are just flying out across the Internet in the general direction of my readers... some of them may actually make sense, but don't count on it. I'm referring to my words, not my readers. Well, in this particular case...

Free-form again, as inspired by my daily commute.

Swamped

I look out the window.
It's early morning as the train passes
The marsh.

Mists, illuminated by the sun
Peeking over distant trees,
Hover above the dark waters.

I wonder how many secrets
Are hidden
Within it's shallow rivulets,

Or, owing to the proximity of civilization,
Empty beer cans
And rusted tricycles.

Still, my imagination
Calls forth cat-o-nine-tails
Red-winged blackbirds,

Frogs croaking,
And minnows swimming
In the shallows.

I hear
One of the other passengers
Say something about a swamp.

True,
An accurate description,
Even though it doesn't sound as nice,

For a marsh
Is just a swamp
Putting on airs.

As that forlorn patch of soggy ground
Disappears behind me,
My thoughts linger there.

On a higher level, of course,
In the marsh
And not the swamp.

K.R. Smith

Sunday, April 17, 2016

Day 17 - I'm Getting The Hang Of This Routine

I really think I am. Getting the routine, I mean. I'll probably have it down pat by day thirty.

Another free-form poem—to counter-balance the title, of course.

Of All Things

Of all the things
That make up a person,
Memories are the hardest for me to understand.

Not how memories saved within my brain
Or how they are recalled,
But which ones seem to come back so easily.

Why is it
That I can remember the exact smell
Of my grandmother's kitchen?

The toast,
The eggs fried in lard,
The blackberry jam she always had on the table

Are as fresh and clear
Today
As they were a half-century ago.

Why are the fragrances of fishing
Along the bay's backwaters
As pungent as it was when I was a child?

The brackish water,
The small white perch,
The breeze from the reed-covered shore

Are still so strong
Today
I can almost will myself backwards in time.

These aromas, and many others
Are locked into my subconscious,
Ready to erupt at the slightest prodding.

Nothing important happened
During those times,
There was no historical event

That occurred,
No milestone
Reached,

Except,
Perhaps,
That I was truly alive.

K.R. Smith

Saturday, April 16, 2016

Day 16 - And I'm Full Of Beans

No, I have no idea what the blog post title is supposed to mean.

But it does rhyme.

Sort of.

And, no, the poem* for today will not be about a musical fruit.

Unless, of course, I get very, very desperate.

Instead, I went a little steampunk.

Steel Circles

The man walked towards the worker.
"The gears must not be allowed to stop," said the supervisor.
"I understand," the workman replied.

"And I believe I have found the problem
As gear set B-28 must be replaced.
It splits the power from gear AJ-183
And reverses the direction
Before splitting it among two other sections."

"Can this be done without stopping the gears?"
"If I can by-pass the power
Via a temporary drive belt
To the other axle."
"Then do so, for the gears must not be allowed to stop."

As the worker unpacked the parts,
He looked up at the huge mass of machinery whirring,
Then, something within him stirring, turned to his supervisor.
"I hope this in not irreverent,
But I have a question, sir."

"I have never been out of this compound
Since I was old enough to work.
I see inputs and outputs and shafts of all sizes,
And pulleys and cogs and the belts that comprise this.
May ask what it is all for?"

There was a long pause,
A very long pause,
Then he stared straight at the workman
His eyes narrow,
His expression burning.

"That is not your concern—that is only for those at the top,
But the gears must not be allowed to stop."
And then he walked away.

K.R. Smith

Friday, April 15, 2016

Day 15 - I'm Just Being Mean

So sorry!

Today's poem* will be—well, it appears I've let you down!

No Poem Today

To all who read
This post today
There is no poem
I'm sad to say.

I really tried,
I really did,
I should do better,
I'm not a kid.

But life is too complex
These days.
My brain is just
A foggy haze

Of going here
And going there
While pulling out
My graying hair.

So, for those who've read my daily posts,
You've all been very kind,
But there is no—wait—

Oh, never mind...

K.R. Smith

Thursday, April 14, 2016

Day 14 - Rhymes With Thirteen

Human 76 - A post-apocalyptic secret is in store for you soon!

That's all I've got for today's title...

Again, today's poem* will be a short one about Virginia Bluebells. It's time for them start blooming.

This image, “Bluebells In The Wood,”
courtesy of Simon Howden
at FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Bluebells

Beneath the trees,
Over the hills,
Between the trillium they rise

Pushing stalks
With azure buds
Up towards the sky.

Soon the Earth
Will match the heavens
For a little while

As swaying blooms
Dress the land
In formal floral style.

K.R. Smith

Wednesday, April 13, 2016

Day 13 - By The Poetry Machine

Okay, my machine might need a little oil—and a tune-up. But it rhymes, sort of...

Again, today's poem* will be a short one.

Sounds Of A Spring Night

Some say the noise keeps them awake,
But I hear a song
As tiny frogs peep late into the evening
Accompanied by a bird whose call echoes through the wood.

Even the train whistle in the distance
Seems a natural part of the night,
Carrying me slowly away
Towards sleep.

K.R. Smith

Tuesday, April 12, 2016

Day 12 - I Feel Like One Of Santa's Elves

Yeah, I had to stretch to make that title rhyme... But it is a bit like I'm on a production line here.

And because of that, today's poem* will be a short one.

Avoiding The Plague Like The Plague

My daily commute on the train takes me far
Though the journey is filled with such dread
As I invariably end up in the hospital car
With the sick, the dying, and (nearly) dead
Waiting for them to end up on the floor.

No matter which railcar I choose for my travels
There is always a passenger sniffling or sneezing,
And once their supply of tissue unravels,
They begin with the gasping and wheezing,
Occasionally doing all four.

I truly expect the conductor to enter
Dressed like the reaper,
With a sickle as scepter,
Scaring to death those few who can sleep here
Waking them up from a snore.

It's playing roulette
To commute with diseases,
So before I catch cold and break out in a sweat
There is much you can do to appease us
And not spread all the germs we abhor.

Just cover your coughs
And stifle your sneezes
It's those little things
That are things that will please us,
Or decide to stay home one day more.

So, heat up some soup
And take a few pills
When you're starting to droop
To help cure your ills
And not be the one we deplore.

K.R. Smith

Monday, April 11, 2016

Day 11 - Yes, Number Eleven

That title rhymes as badly as a title possibly can. It's really sad.

Also, I'd like to note that I've noticed an upsurge in the number of readers in Finland. I don't know why, but hei kaikille lukijoilleni in Suomi! (I think that means hello to all my readers in Finland. If not, I apologize...)

Anyway, it's been rather cold here. Unseasonably so. This has me thinking of summer. I'm getting older and the cold affects me more than it used to. I need warm, even hot, summer days to get me back on track. I'm getting anxious for them.

A U-Turn For The Worse

I close my eyes and face
Another blustery day
Wondering when the winter
Will finally go away.

I walk across the parking lot.
Quickly, I might add.
And once I climb into the train,
I'm glad.

Snuggling up against the vents
For any meager waft of heat,
I wish I'd worn my heavy coat
And boots upon my feet.

Just short of an hour,
I reach my destination.
I'm thrust back into the cold again,
Much to my consternation,

And begin the walk
Up the granite canyons of the city
Where the winds howl
And scream at me without pity.

The sun shines down,
But has little effect.
I wonder if it has
Some sort of defect.

Once inside the office,
I reluctantly undo my coat,
Unwrapping the scarf
From around my throat,

And settling in,
I take a moment to dream
Of large, steaming coffee with a hint of dark mocha
And a shot of whipped cream.

Then just as I lean back into my seat,
Finally taking it all in stride,
The alarms go off and my manager yells,
"It's a fire drill, folks. Everybody outside!"

K.R. Smith

Sunday, April 10, 2016

Day 10 - I'm At It Again

Every day during my commute I watch folks staring into their smartphone, oblivious to any part of the world around them that doesn't appear in that tiny portal. And before everyone thinks I'm a Luddite, I've made my living over these many years writing code for various computer systems from mainframes to PCs. And I, too, own a smartphone. But I've learned there's more to life than the latest gadget and whatever ad-filled prose is dumped at you. ( My writings are an exception, however, and are required material. ) Another thing—you really don't have to document every waking moment of your life with a Tweet or a selfie. Just enjoy it.

What A Tree Is Not

The child pointed to the picture
On the glassy surface of the tablet
and said, "That's a tree!"

I did not wish to interfere
With the time the young mother
was spending with her child.

I said nothing,
Though I wanted so terribly
To correct the little girl.

That is not a tree.
That is an image
Of a tree.

An image of one particular tree,
Too small to tell
Its genus or species.

You cannot feel the bark
To tell if it is rough
Or smooth.

You cannot touch
The lichen growing on it,
The color of copper exposed to salt air.

You cannot smell
The earthy fragrance
Of the leaves that fell the year before.

You cannot see the wind
Cause the leaves to twist and turn
Or tremble before a coming storm.

You cannot see how the roots
Have meandered between the rocks in the soil,
Spreading in search of food and water.

You cannot watch
An insect crawling up the trunk
Only to crawl back down again.

You cannot hear the bird singing
In the top, hidden by leaves,
Or see the color of the eggs in its nest.

It will neither shelter you
From a gentle spring shower
Nor the mid-summer's sun.

It is just an image,
Most likely forgotten
When the next image appears.

There are trees, however,
That have a place in my life,
And in my world.

I will visit them again,
And feel sorrow when they perish,
Returning to the soil.

That is a tree, like the one they sit beneath,
Ignored,
Viewing that insignificant image.

K.R. Smith

Saturday, April 9, 2016

Day 9 - Another Poem Would Be Fine

Time for a darker poem. I due claim to be a writer of horror, given the chance. Hopefully, this will be posted before midnight and thus finished before the day is officially over*.

Storm Spirit

I swear I felt a chill,
A chill I'd felt before.
It was not from the winds of this dark storm
Beating against my door
That stirred this feeling

No, the crackling fire
Is quite enough to warm me.
Yet I feel the cold surround my body,
Penetrating to such a degree
That, at times, I shudder uncontrollably.

And, no, not this storm,
Nor any like it since that night
When Fletcher, a man I knew well,
Disappeared from sight
Beneath a storm-tossed sea.

I swear, I did not believe
That we could find him in such a tempest.
And I, being captain of that ill-dated vessel,
Ordered that we should not test
The small ship's integrity against such a thunderous gale.

I could not risk the other men aboard, could I?
Your understanding is all I ask.
And his, though on such nights as this
I sense his presence approaching, taking me to task
For his gelid demise.

I know he waits for me
In the shadows, cold and wet.
I spy the gloomy adumbration
Of his spirit that I cannot forget
Even when the sun return to my eyes.

I hear him, too,
In each hum and hiss of the wind
That whispers my name in his voice.
If I could live that night again and rescind
That fateful order, I surely would, if only for my own sanity.

And more than once
I considered that a pistol's fiery blast at my head
Might finally silence
The whisperings, the howlings of the dead,
But I am unsure if this is true.

I pull the blanket over me
Sitting in my chair,
Lifting a brandy to my lips
Fending off the icy wetness in my hair,
Dripping from my pores.

No, it is not the sheets of rain,
But my own sweat
That dampens my body with salty water,
The same as he surely felt, and yet
My torment never ends.

Yes, I get a reprieve
With the end of each storm,
Though even as the sun rises
I can close my eyes and envision his form
Slipping under the waves.

And though I can see a faint lightening of the sky
As the night ends,
I cannot rejoice as I am without hope
That I can make meaning amends
Before the next storm—and Fletcher—comes again.

K.R. Smith

Friday, April 8, 2016

Day 8 - I've Got A Lot On My Plate

I've just filed my 2015 income tax. That's the subject for today*. I had to squeeze in filing them between all of the other jobs I have (hence, the title).

It's a free-form poem, as are the tax forms I've filled out. Not only do they not rhyme, they have no reason.

I am referring to both the tax forms and the poem. Believe me, I tried...

The Ides Of April

It's that time again.
Time to make a confession.
The IRS awaits.

It is written that April is the cruelest month
Though I doubt
This is what Mr. Elliot had in mind.

Why does the mere mention
Of auditors stir visions
Of the Grimm Reaper within my brain?

I have this ingrained, genetic fear
Of filling out forms
For review by a stranger,

Or worse yet,
The digital cyborg
That passes a heartless judgment on my sins.

I thought after finishing school
The dread that awakened with every quiz and test
Would disappear.

I was wrong.
Not only does it stalk my very being,
It is so much worse.

Will an errant zero
Haunt my life forever,
Following me to my grave?

Will some obscure rule
Plunge my life
Into despair?

There is darkness at work here.
I press the button and the forms,
As a smallish batch of electrons,

Are transmitted
To some distant office
Sealing my fate.

I am doomed.
There will be no refund
This year.

K.R. Smith

Wednesday, April 6, 2016

Day 6 - I'm Resorting To Tricks

I'll do anything to keep these silly titles going.

But another poem* has been finished. Only 24 more to go*. God help me...

A Walk Through Kipling's Wood

Waterfall In Thailand,
courtesy of markuso at FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Oak, ash, thorn;
That's where they say the fairies live
Deep within the wood.
Thought I've not seen them here today
I have no doubt they could.

A toadstool sits within the glade
Surrounded by a fairy ring
Near where tiny lilies sprout,
Just the size for elves with wings,
Still glistening with the dew.

Above the pond
The dragonflies
Hover near the lily pads.
Surely naiads wait nearby
Just beyond my view.

What was that child-like laughter
Somewhere beyond the trees?
And could a fairy's wings have caused
That fragrant stirring of the breeze
Tinged with mallow and feverfew?

Oak, ash, thorn;
That's where they say the fairies live
Deep within the wood.
And as I end my walk today
I think that if they don't, they should.

K.R. Smith

Tuesday, April 5, 2016

Day 5 - I'm Still Alive

Yes, another poem (with bad blog page title) is here for Day 5 of National Poetry Month.

My parents had a Nash many years ago. Two, in fact, though not both at once. So here is one, in my poem.

TMI

Old Mr. Harper, emptying trash,
Stopped in his driveway, admired his Nash,
And spotting a smudge
On the hard metal dash
Polished it up till it glowed

When a very small boy
With a curious face
Appeared in the chrome
Of his very big toy
And asked him, "How does it go?"

"It's really quite simple,"
He said to the child.
Then the man scratched his head
And fondled his dimple
While thinking out what he would say.

"There's a motor right here under the hood
That burns up some gas
To make all the power
To spin the rear wheels, if everything's good,
Sending you on your way!"

Mr. Harper then waited, his breath nearly bated,
For the boy to respond to his speech.
But he seemed unimpressed,
And, though his ego deflated,
The old man continued right on.

"Perhaps all you need
To bring you to speed
Are a few more brief facts,"
Mr. Harper proceeded
As the wee lad stifled a yawn.

"So when I twist the key
The starter will turn,
Spinning the crank
In the engine, you see,
So the pistons will go and not stop.

Then, before top dead center,
The spark plugs will spark
Igniting the fuel,
Which has already entered
From the carb that's mounted atop.

Now, pointing inside
To a long, black-knobbed lever,
Said, "Then, using this
You may easily slide
The transmission right into gear.

The gears spin a shaft,
By the ratio chosen,
Attached to the wheels
Placed conveniently aft,
Of which, you can see, are here.

With both hands on the wheel,
You take off the brake,
Then press on the gas
With your toe, not your heel,
And away down the road you will go."

With nary the hint of a trace of a smile,
The child looked up at the man,
Then eyeing the car from the front to the back,
And speaking not even a word for a while,
Replied with the question, "So?"

"I'm sorry, dear boy, if I've failed
To explain all of the workings and mechanical quirkings
In a way that you might understand."
He straightened his back, deeply inhaled,
And rested a hand on the Nash by his side.

The tiny young boy heaved a big, heavy sigh,
Shuffled his feet,
Trying hard not to cry
Before giving in and rolling his eyes.
"I just wanted to go for a ride."

"Oh."

K.R. Smith

*I'm trying to write a poem each day for National Poetry Month.

Here are the links to the poems so far:

   Day 1 National Poetry Month - Kick-off
   Day 2 Haiku, For You
   Day 3 A Poem For Free
   Day 4 Wait, There's Even More

Monday, April 4, 2016

Day 4 - Wait, There's Even More

Just a reminder: It's okay to leave comments!

Poetry that, is...

I can't help myself when making up silly titles for my blog posts. After all, I'm going to need thirty of these things* and I don't have a lot of spare time to fool with them. Please don't expect greatness and I promise not to disappoint you!

This a poem about Monday because—well, because it's Monday and that's all I could come up with.

This image, Writing on Notepad,
courtesy of David Castillo Dominici at FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Monday

It's not a day that many love.
Often blue, or sad,
Or leading to something bad.

You just knew Kristofferson
Would have a Monday frown
After dealing with Sunday mornin' comin' down.

Maybe it's the weekly cycle
Of starting another work-week grind
That brings these feelings to mind.

As I board the train,
"Happy Monday," the conductor sings
As if there is such a thing.

Then, settling in for the long ride ahead,
I close my eyes as we pull away
To sleep, perchance to dream of Friday**.

K.R. Smith

*I'm trying to write a poem each day for National Poetry Month.

Here are the poems so far:

   Day 1 National Poetry Month - Kick-off
   Day 2 Haiku, For You
   Day 3 A Poem For Free

** Yeah, I know. It sounds vaguely familiar to me, too.

Sunday, April 3, 2016

Day 3 - A Poem For Free

Just a reminder: It's okay to leave comments!

Yeah, I did it again with the title. Sorry.

This is a free-form poem taken right from the streets of Washington, DC.

Every day I pass a man who sit on the corner of K and 15th streets. He is the unofficial greeter of McPherson Square. For those unfamiliar with DC, that is just a few blocks north of the White House. It can be cold and rainy or pleasant and sunny, but he's there each morning with a smile and a polite, if loud, welcome.

And there he is, sitting by the stop light,

made famous by Google Street View...

The Good Morning Man

He's an early riser for sure,
Already at his spot by the time I get off the subway
From Union Station.

I can hear him two blocks away:
"Good morning! Good morning!"

The greeting pierces the chill air over McPherson Square,
And as the young professionals zoom by on their rented bikes,
He greets every passing pedaler*.

Though mostly indifferent to his efforts, he still calls out:
"Good morning! Good morning, bicycle ri-ders!"

I wave to him and he says "Good morning, sir!"
I smile. He does, too, before continuing his routine
For the next group of sleepy-faced commuters.

Most walk past with their faces buried in a smartphone.
"Good morning! Good morning!"

He never begs for money, or refuses an offer.
Disturbingly happy, perhaps he knows the answer
While the rest of us are still searching for the right question.

As I continue on to work, I hear him behind me and think about that.
"Good morning. It's Fri-day!"

And so it is.
A good morning.
And Friday.

K.R. Smith

* Oddly, the word pedaler is missing from many dictionaries (like Blogger's spell checker), but it is in The Free Dictionary.

Saturday, April 2, 2016

Day 2 - Haiku, For You

Just a reminder: It's okay to leave comments!

Technically, I could leave this page blank. The title of this post is a little rhyme in itself!

So, okay! I'm done!

Just kidding.

While yesterday's poem may have set literature back several decades, I thought I'd do something a bit more serious today. In the DC area, it's Cherry Blossom Festival time. Tourists are everywhere. We're also having a Nuclear Summit. If two events could ever go together better than these, I don't know what they'd be.

Just kidding. Again.

Anyway, cherry blossoms (or just blossoms) are key words used in traditional haiku to designate the season of spring. Considering the local festival that's going on right now, a haiku (or two) along that line seemed appropriate.

This image, Sakura Cherry Blossom,
courtesy of phaendin at FreeDigitalPhotos.net

April raindrops wash
Over pale cherry blossoms;
A splash of perfume

Soft petals dropping
Return blossoms to the Earth;
Snowy drifts of white

Friday, April 22, 2016

Thursday, April 21, 2016

Wednesday, April 20, 2016

Tuesday, April 19, 2016

Monday, April 18, 2016

Sunday, April 17, 2016

Saturday, April 16, 2016

Friday, April 15, 2016

Thursday, April 14, 2016

Wednesday, April 13, 2016

Tuesday, April 12, 2016

Monday, April 11, 2016

Sunday, April 10, 2016

Saturday, April 9, 2016

Friday, April 8, 2016

Wednesday, April 6, 2016

Tuesday, April 5, 2016

Monday, April 4, 2016

Sunday, April 3, 2016

Saturday, April 2, 2016

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