Cool air whisks through the trees.
Orange. Red. Yellow.
Streets on fire with bright leaves.
Yellow. Orange. Red.
Autumn leaves on my shirt.
Orange. Red. Yellow.
Real leaves make my eyes hurt.
Yellow. Orange. Red.
10/6/09
Sunday, October 11, 2009
Sunday, September 20, 2009
Class Notes (What the hell are we talking about?)
It's a little unpolished-but here it goes:
How did we get here?
The subject was so clear.
Respond to the reading,
express what we're feeling.
Where did it all go so wrong?
The conversation has taken a turn.
How are we to learn
When there is no focus or teaching.
Everyone talks, about what I know not:
I lost track three conversations ago.
7 o'clock. One hour is shot,
one article we have discussed.
Now we talk of assessment...
Your guess is my best guess
on how this subject is relevant.
What the hell does this have to do
with finding resources for you,
Oh scholar of the Humanities.
I shall not be rude, though I want to:
I just want to get up and leave.
9/09
How did we get here?
The subject was so clear.
Respond to the reading,
express what we're feeling.
Where did it all go so wrong?
The conversation has taken a turn.
How are we to learn
When there is no focus or teaching.
Everyone talks, about what I know not:
I lost track three conversations ago.
7 o'clock. One hour is shot,
one article we have discussed.
Now we talk of assessment...
Your guess is my best guess
on how this subject is relevant.
What the hell does this have to do
with finding resources for you,
Oh scholar of the Humanities.
I shall not be rude, though I want to:
I just want to get up and leave.
9/09
Saturday, July 25, 2009
Ode to Edith (Granger)
Edith Granger, man. Yeah.
She worked in a shop...
She couldn't find stock...
Her customers, they were annoyed.
She needed a fix...
Some kind of index...
Sell more books, remain employed.
She thought, "Poetry's hot!
We'll give it shot."
The rest is reference history.
By subject you search...
First line you can look...
Last line and words that are key.
Dear Edith is gone...
Her work still lives on...
In the Columbia Granger's Index.
It will help you find...
Poems that rhyme...
From epic, free verse or sonnet.
Edition number 8...
Seems almost like fate...
How easy it is to consult.
At the library you'll find...
Copies online and in bind...
Purchase at bookstore or Internet.
She worked in a shop...
She couldn't find stock...
Her customers, they were annoyed.
She needed a fix...
Some kind of index...
Sell more books, remain employed.
She thought, "Poetry's hot!
We'll give it shot."
The rest is reference history.
By subject you search...
First line you can look...
Last line and words that are key.
Dear Edith is gone...
Her work still lives on...
In the Columbia Granger's Index.
It will help you find...
Poems that rhyme...
From epic, free verse or sonnet.
Edition number 8...
Seems almost like fate...
How easy it is to consult.
At the library you'll find...
Copies online and in bind...
Purchase at bookstore or Internet.
Friday, July 24, 2009
Insomnia
I lay down to rest and
simultaneous images of
simultaneous happenings
flood behind my eyelids
as I lean one arm over
my bed cause I can't sleep.
I'm writing.
Sleep has to sneak
by the words.
Naps are best.
The words are resting.
Darkness hits and the words begin nesting in my brain, in
my heart. Running so fast I don't know where to start. Will I
remember these gems of wisdom in the morning?
No. Can I rest now? No... guess I'll keep writing.
11/99
simultaneous images of
simultaneous happenings
flood behind my eyelids
as I lean one arm over
my bed cause I can't sleep.
I'm writing.
Sleep has to sneak
by the words.
Naps are best.
The words are resting.
Darkness hits and the words begin nesting in my brain, in
my heart. Running so fast I don't know where to start. Will I
remember these gems of wisdom in the morning?
No. Can I rest now? No... guess I'll keep writing.
11/99
For Sisters, at Christmas
Even though you are miles away from me
I hold a picture of you in my heart,
and that image never fades or dims.
It is eternal, a priceless work of art.
Christmas isn't just about giving and getting
or last minute trips to Wal-Mart.
It's about those whom we hold dear.
That is indeed the best part.
So Merry Christmas, my dear sisters
and although gifts for you haven't filled my cart
I hope this gift will hold some memories:
Not a lifetime's worth, but it's a start.
12/2000
I hold a picture of you in my heart,
and that image never fades or dims.
It is eternal, a priceless work of art.
Christmas isn't just about giving and getting
or last minute trips to Wal-Mart.
It's about those whom we hold dear.
That is indeed the best part.
So Merry Christmas, my dear sisters
and although gifts for you haven't filled my cart
I hope this gift will hold some memories:
Not a lifetime's worth, but it's a start.
12/2000
Monday, July 20, 2009
The warm weather acts like a beacon
leading all to it's bosom, outside.
Canines frolic, leaping into lakes,
hopping out, enjoying a good shake.
Happy threesomes lithely toss frisbees.
The wind catches it more ofter than not.
Mini tornadoes whip leaves around
the legs of the Great Outdoorsman.
It's a calm day, a peaceful day:
Warm, but not uncomfortably so.
Muscled midget men show off.
Well-dressed housewives do tooo.
The smell of poop competes with the
new scent of Spring.
Words and pictures document the
first great Saturday of the newborn season.
Eureka! She catches one. The wind has
lost that round. The frisbee falls.
"Poop free!," the exuberant cry.
The sun, which had been napping
behind a cloud stretches its sinews
and is ready to touch us again,
warming our winter frozen limbs.
Spring 2002
leading all to it's bosom, outside.
Canines frolic, leaping into lakes,
hopping out, enjoying a good shake.
Happy threesomes lithely toss frisbees.
The wind catches it more ofter than not.
Mini tornadoes whip leaves around
the legs of the Great Outdoorsman.
It's a calm day, a peaceful day:
Warm, but not uncomfortably so.
Muscled midget men show off.
Well-dressed housewives do tooo.
The smell of poop competes with the
new scent of Spring.
Words and pictures document the
first great Saturday of the newborn season.
Eureka! She catches one. The wind has
lost that round. The frisbee falls.
"Poop free!," the exuberant cry.
The sun, which had been napping
behind a cloud stretches its sinews
and is ready to touch us again,
warming our winter frozen limbs.
Spring 2002
Saturday, July 18, 2009
Joy, happiness, peace--the light of life shines bright.
The heart of man burns brighter than the day.
Do not despair. Do not give up the fight.
Life is beautiful in the creator's sight:
He created us to live in His way.
Joy, happiness, peace--the light of life shines bright.
The world has seen its share of plight.
Even a saint might be filled with dismay.
Do not despair. Do not give up the fight.
Heaven gleams an immaculate white.
Angels will greet you and say,
"Joy, happiness, peace--the light of life shines bright."
When the world is rough and the dog continues to bite,
think of the child born to sleep on hay one December night.
Do not despair. Do not give up the fight.
The Prince of Peace was born to cleanse our sins
And through His grace a place in Heaven win.
Joy, happiness, peace--the light of life shines bright.
Do not despair. Do not give up the fight.
The heart of man burns brighter than the day.
Do not despair. Do not give up the fight.
Life is beautiful in the creator's sight:
He created us to live in His way.
Joy, happiness, peace--the light of life shines bright.
The world has seen its share of plight.
Even a saint might be filled with dismay.
Do not despair. Do not give up the fight.
Heaven gleams an immaculate white.
Angels will greet you and say,
"Joy, happiness, peace--the light of life shines bright."
When the world is rough and the dog continues to bite,
think of the child born to sleep on hay one December night.
Do not despair. Do not give up the fight.
The Prince of Peace was born to cleanse our sins
And through His grace a place in Heaven win.
Joy, happiness, peace--the light of life shines bright.
Do not despair. Do not give up the fight.
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