Big Guy on a Bicycle: Poetry

PT / Monthly Doggerel

Wed, 26 Jul 2006 01:00:48 GMT

I went to Physical Therapy this afternoon. I'm still a bit sore from that, so I really don't feel like typing a whole lot tonight. Tune in tomorrow instead.

Still, I suppose I could cut and paste the monthly poem...

I wrote this one well before my recent spate of injuries, so don't go thinking that's what this is all about.

Damage

I may have done (myself) some damage

Trying too hard to keep up

Like as an injury to the body

A sprain or strain

To an elbow or a knee

Such hurts are long to heal

And long painful

As I fear is the damage I may have done

As it is with the body, it is sometimes possible

To go beyond normal limitations

For a time

Though trying to keep such a pace

For longer, and then longer still

Will often lead to ultimate breakdown

As the systems of checks and balances

Reassert themselves

Often dramatically.

No longer can I see myself keeping up

Was I a fool to think otherwise?

Or was I more akin to the proverbial moth

To the proverbial flame

Or bonfire, perhaps

Or conflagration, if more appropriate

No longer can I keep up

Or even see the other

That has disappeared in the distance

So great a distance now

So now it comes to it, and I pause

And assess my state of being

And perhaps begin to see my folly

For folly or fool’s errand it may be

Though perhaps painful beyond expectation

I rest and lick my wounds

And try to answer the burning query,

What it is worth to try to exceed your bounds

If falling gracelessly is the only likely reward?

Likely? There’s the thing, isn’t it?

One for the Caffeine-Inclined

Sat, 24 Jun 2006 23:33:48 GMT

It's June, and I haven't thrown any poetry across the (fire)wall yet this month. I guess I'll do that today.

Elixir

Morning sun slices into my bedroom

Harsh, unbidden, stabbing at my eyes

Stiffened joints and muscles join

In a cacophony of pain and ache

As I struggle and stumble from my overnight lair

The discordant screams of pain rise

As I strike my toe on the bureau corner

Inspiring a dervish across the bedroom floor

Cold bathroom tile rob my feet of feeling

A numbness almost welcome

Yet irksome in its own right

The shower stings my skin

The levers completely inadequate

To control the temperature except by

“Too hot,” or “too cold”

I opt for the former, choosing instead

To freeze only while drying off

Nothing in the closet matches…or fits

My socks all have holes

My “best” shoes bear only “minimal”

Tooth marks from the dog

I lurch into the kitchen

With the baleful glow of flourescent light

And stand sentinel before Mr. Coffee

Thinking how badly the day’s begun

A dark omen, to be sure, and…

Ah, coffee’s ready

…...

Man! What a beautiful day!

I can’t wait to get out there this morning!

Time to grab life by the horns!

Carpe diem!

OW!!!

Oh, sorry dear. Here’s your cup. You can let go of my neck now.

Please...

I wrote this one a while back after a conversation with a co-worker about the effects of her first cup in the morning and the powderkeg she was without it. Anyone out there recognize anyone they know? Bueller? Bueller?

Oh, and Happy Birthday to my Dad and to my niece (dwcrx's kid#2).

Monthly Doggerel

Mon, 15 May 2006 23:04:18 GMT

Busy tonight. Way too busy. No time for a proper post, so instead I'll throw out the monthly poem for your consideration. Enjoy, lather, rinse, repeat.

I Feel...

You ask how I feel, but that doesn’t lend to rhetoric

Made pensive by the query, lost within I speak not

I search for allegory, drifting through the jumble

Of random and scattered emotion and thought

How can I tell you of something I don’t know myself?

But the question has within me elusive struggle wrought

Worried concern crosses your face as you gaze

Perhaps sensing the divides and eddies betwixt I’m caught

So thought cycles ‘round and having no honest response

I come forth now with the answer perhaps you’ve sought

“Fine, dear, I feel fine. How are you feeling?”

Poem for April

Sat, 08 Apr 2006 03:49:16 GMT

This is one of the oldest serious poems I've written since I was in school (and it wasn't as much fun then because I had to do it). I wrote it just after I was first assigned to go to a job site in Massena, New York for six months back in 1995. I rewrote it the next year after I was re-assigned to Massena. Then I scrapped the re-write and tweaked the original until it became what you see below. It's the only poem I've ever entered into competition, and I got a share of 3rd Place with about a dozen other people (kinda makes you wonder how sincere that '3rd Place' really is). Anyway, it's one of my favorites, so here it is...

Sojourney

A far mile trek did undertake
to see the sea 's the reason
from far atop my mountain's home
in Terra's sweltery season

Did fall beneath the briny wave
to speak with Davy Jones
within the Mother Ocean
where she does keep his bones

We passed around the bottle, boys
and raised up a most raucous noise
and spoke of all our earthly joys
of sailing ships, and other toys

When conversation turns to round
and leave at dear man's beck
and next to night did undertake
to go return the trek

Evening Jog

Thu, 09 Mar 2006 00:39:30 GMT

Man, am I tired tonight. I got home from work and was so exhausted that I fell asleep while putting stamps on some letters we're sending out. I likely would have stayed asleep if the guy helping with our landscaping hadn't called on the phone. I need to wake up some to get the stuff I need to do tonight done. The best way I can think of to wake myself up for a while is to go for a run around the block, which is a nice segue into...

...a poem I wrote back in 1999 or 2000 while I was working in Huntsville, Alabama. I was a contractor out at Redstone Arsenal (US Army base), and thus had access to the base grounds pretty much anytime I needed it. Among other amenities they had a nice system of running trails which I made use of from time to time. The following was inspired one evening as I was out running on my favorite loop trail out there. I hope you enjoy it.

Evening Jog

The clouds loom dark as I run along

moving westward now I pick it up a little

and out to the horizon a tiny band of blue

where the clouds don’t quite reach ground.

And next the sun begins to descend

out of the clouds almost as it begins

to settle below the distant hills

casting the horizon with a characteristic orange glow.

I maintain my stride as I watch, as if the Sun

were rising and setting at the same time

and above me on the bumpy cloudscape

an eerie Halloweenish scene in orange and black.

I revel in this moment, so clear and pure

as the rain begins, and I don’t mind much

but I’m still a mile from my car

and my running shoes aren’t waterproof.

(squish, squish, squish, squish, ……..)

License

Sun, 12 Feb 2006 21:26:13 GMT

In response to the Lilac Penguin's question about my last post, I am drafting a new post in response. However, it won't go out today (too much domestic stuff to do). Instead, I will post my monthly doggerel for your enjoyment. Unless you don't enjoy it. Well, I can't please everyone.

License

I got my poetic license today,

so I can think and feel,

because I never could quite think and feel before.

I picked it up downtown,

now I can speak of flowers,

and sunrise/sunset,

and love,

as if I am the only one who truly,

Truly,

understands their significance.

And I can speak of sorrow,

and loss,

and despair,

since only now can I talk about

angst or malaise,

and know that others listen,

hanging on every word.

My friends will stare in awe and wonder,

as I go on about emotion and beauty,

and strangers will know that mine,

Mine,

is the voice of truth and meaning,

as my words touch their very souls

with blinding clarity.

And to think it only cost me $16.95.

The Monthly Poem

Mon, 09 Jan 2006 02:48:38 GMT

I don't have time to do a real post tonight (out taking in live music). I'll just have to post my monthly poem. It's the most recent one I wrote, but that was sometime last summer. My muse is very fickle.

Stillness Practiced

It’s nice to know my dog has come to trust me

As I step over her prostrate form lying on the bedroom floor

On my way between the laundry basket, the dresser, and the closet

No longer does she flinch, but maybe arch an eyebrow once in a while

Not like years ago, when merely moving in her direction

Was cause for rapid evasive action, darting and scrambling

One way or another…or another...or another

What was it that scarred her so

Back in her formative years before she came to us?

Maybe a tail or paw stepped on once too often, or even only once perhaps

How like her are we?

As we move through life avoiding dangerous situations

And what gets us past the instant reaction of panic?

Faith and trust?

Or the complacent laziness that comes with age?

"Outside of a dog, a book is man's best friend. Inside of a dog it's too dark to read." - Grouch Marx

Poem

Tue, 20 Dec 2005 23:26:02 GMT

Warriors, We

In Winter, snow would crunch

‘neath our booted feet as we marched

off to war

engaged in battles

from behind hastily constructed barricades

lobbing our artillery in great arcs

hoping to clear the battlements

of the chosen enemies of the day

and perchance, if luck held

to assail our foes with cold doom

raining from the sky

striking unprotected flesh

for maximum effect.

Battles stretched for what seemed like days

stalemates reached, truces proposed

but none would last longer than

the time required to acquire fresh ammo

unless…

Maybe Tim’s mom, or maybe Mike’s

would call to us all, both warring factions

with an offer of midday sustenance

and off we’d march

(with maybe a final volley exchanged)

dutifully into the house

where we would regale each other

with tales of prowess and bravery

upon the field of honour

while sopping up the last of our soup

with the crusts from our sandwiches

and with a final gulp of juice or soda

go marching back

back to our backyard war.

The bicycle, the bicycle surely, should always be the vehicle of novelists and poets. ~ Christopher Morley

Dirge

Wed, 16 Nov 2005 00:00:42 GMT

Short post tonight. Sorry. I've already got the next couple prepared to keep from missing any.

I don't usually post poetry. I made one exception in October. I'm making another one tonight. I wrote this earlier today.

Dirge

Six months dry at mid-life

The struggle clearly taking its toll

His vacant expression contrasted

By green eyes that stared black bullets

He’d taken command, made the change

Looking back on life wasted

And wasted, and wasted

Damage done to all involved

“The wife left in month two,

Too rattled by the thought

Of who I would be if I failed

Or who I might be if I didn’t”

Into territory unfamiliar

Onto uncommon ground

Still stumbling with learning

To navigate life without liquid assistance

I offered support for my old friend

And gained a promise of a call

Solicitation if needed

If only a strong, dry shoulder

Rolling with punches

Two months more by

Progress, slow progress

Until one punch too many

“The wife came back”

And brought the bottle with her

Within two weeks

My new old friend was gone

And then he was gone.

That's all I've got for tonight.

...3, 2, 1, Ugh

Thu, 20 Oct 2005 20:56:03 GMT

I am typing this while on medication, so forgive any glaring erors. I can barely focus right now, but I'm guessing that's a medication side effect.

The surgery went well. My right shoulder region is very painful, but the pain will fade soon. Meanwhile, I'm taking it easy (per doctor's orders)

Man, I'm really groggy. I was staring at the screen and suddenly had that 'you were asleep just then' feeling. I'm sure there's a word for that.

Here's a poem to consider:

Gap

-----------------

I slip into the space between moments

Suspended in the gap

Unaware that I exist there at all

Or anywhere else

Like a palpable lapse of consciousness

Until I fall back out into the world

Aware not of the width of the space

but only the change of continuity.

Trivia for 10/20

1. What kind of car (make and model) was James Dean driving when he was killed?

2. Who was Johnny Carson's side-kick?

3. How many lights did Paul Revere see hanging in the bell tower?

4. Which company is resposible for bringing us the iPod? (easy one)

5. What four herbs were Paul Simon and Art Garfunkel famous for singing about, and what was the name of the song?

That's enough typing for me today. Tomorrow I'll try to post some trivia answers from two weeks ago.