Poem: Autumn Commotion

Autumn Commotion

From sunshine we are bereft of the warmth

As through the eaves you hear the commotion

Endlessly moaning, the sounds of the wind

Pushing through trees coloring them with cold

They begin dropping, falling, yet swirling.

I light the fire and watch flames swirling

As we all gather round to feel its warmth

Sheltering us all from the autumn cold

And we hear the wood’s popping commotion

As the smoke goes whorling into the wind.

We anticipate some snow on the wind

Replacing the motion of leaves swirling

To white out blizzards making commotion

So, we add another log for more warmth

Though, as yet, we only imagine cold

Knowing full well the freeze of real cold

Blown onto the hills by the raging winds

So strong you have to chop more wood for warmth

And moving like leaves or snowflakes swirling

Because warmth also comes from commotion.

November 2022

About This Poem

The abrupt weather change this year from summer to fall (much needed for the fires) made me think of this poem. While it was written in November, it seems appropriate for this year here in Idaho. It's the season of running (XC), cutting wood, and moving around outdoors enjoying everything autumn while also getting cozy inside and that's what this poem is about. The picture is one of a hiker in September in Kaslo, British Columbia. I thought it represented the idea of Autumn Commotion.

 

Poem: The Lonely Runner

The Lonely Runner

The whole street’s abuzz

With bees in the maple trees

As I walk along singing the song

Of the lonely runner.

Spring is sublime in time

When winter’s grapple must topple

And I regain the refrain

Of the lonely runner.

The ground now abounds

In the brown drain of rain

Drying now ‘neath the feet

Of the lonely runner.

Gaining speed through greed

As the bees in the trees 

Buzz at the sounds

Of the lonely runner.

April 2025

About This Poem

I wrote this poem following the patterns of my own running by the seasons, hence the four stanzas. It, like running, is somewhat rhythmical and I chose to rhyme internally rather than end rhyme so that it can sound sing songy without looking that way. I wanted to play with poetic sound effects, just like I like to play around while I'm running. Right now, I have a knee injury and can't run so when I ran across this poem it rang true. I was really hoping to do a fall half marathon, but alas... The picture is self-explanatory. St. George was the marathon I ran that qualified me for Boston which I did run the next year in 1988. I found it hard to find a picture of a "lonely" runner since I don't typically take pictures of people running alone.

 

Poem: September 11

September 11

I come home from work

And my wife has made pasta for dinner.

Our oldest boy sits down to eat

And we lift the baby to

The table and talk about the day

Where planes collided with buildings

That fell while people died

And the baby eats and 

Then eats more

And sorrow weighs most 

Heavily on us as he weakens

Even as he consumes the 

Sorrows of the world 

and the stars seem 

Aligned to topple us all

As the heavens erupt into the scattered 

Summer fruit left over on the table

Reminding us of the whole 

Universe.

April 2025

About This Poem

I think this one is a work in progress. September has all kinds of emotions in it, from the end of summer to the beginning of fall, and the worst day in the USA so far (hopefully for all of it) in this century. But it is achingly beautiful anyway. Our family went through some real trials during that year when the towers fell and that's the reference I make to the baby. I don't know if this poem completely meets the emotions I want to convey about September, but it's a start. The picture is on Kootenay Lake and the Selkirk Mountains in British Columbia (a lake safe from being renamed by a tyrannical American president). I think it's appropriate to have Canada included in my September emotions because we often vacation on this very lake in September. And like September, this shot is achingly beautiful.

Poem: Time

 

Time

The powerful fire of the dragon

Spewing forth from its enraged mouth

Singeing and burning all in its reach

Is how I feel about the relentless

Ticking of the clock measuring that

Which is impossible to stop—

Not a stopwatch that one can pause,

No, but a ticking watch that refuses 

To stop. Steamrollers are more forgiving

And here I am, sizzling in the flames

Hair colored as ash unable to stop 

The relentless flames of that dragon

Ticking away as it flies over us all

Tock if you will but tick marks

Are not merit but tock of ending

Tick Tock Tick Tock sizzling flames

That serve me less than being 

Smashed into the pavement

By that steamroller, kind ever pressing

Instead of insidiously ticking

Tocking in the unbearable flames 

Of an angry dragon. Time.

March 2025

About This Poem:

I could say this poem is about aging, but it really isn't. I think everyone at any age can feel the pressure of time passing too quickly. Infants being told not to do something and hesitating, then doing it anyway only to get burned in some way. Kids playing basketball and not sure who to throw the ball to, so they hesitate. Adults watching their children grow too fast. Those moments can consume us, burning us in shame or terror or something else. So, time is like a dragon ready to burn us all. That's what had me think about this poem. The photo is a local sunset that I just thought appropriate in representing time. For whatever reason, I don't have any dragon photos...

Poem: Sipping on Generosity

Sipping on Generosity

Sometimes we just sit around and tell tales,

Tales of warning from times gone by or tales

Of love and pleasure from days now long past,

Sipping our coffee or imbibing our

Wine or maybe whiskey while we begin

Our work of saving the world from ourselves

And our less than better angels, demons

Really, that we harbor deep in ourselves.

How does one shake all of that to make this

A world safe for everyone, not just

Our friends gathered here in the tavern or 

Round the kitchen table? We cast out imps

That in us dwell. We build friendships that last

Longer than any mistrust we harbor.

We share food that we ourselves have prepared

In love of all the variety of 

Flavors in the world for every type

Of person, sipping on generosity.

March 2025

About This Poem:

I wrote this poem after having had a gathering of friends for dinner or something--maybe just a drink--and it just seemed like so many problems melt away when you spend time over food and drink with people. So I wrote this poem. The picture is of my family in Connecticut back in the forties gathered for some meal outdoors. I see my grandmother, great grandfather, and an aunt that I recognize, but it was before my time, so I don't really recognize most of them except their familial resemblances. I just thought it seemed appropriate to this poem. That and I just like it.

 

Poem: A Jog with Friends

 

A Jog with Friends

Once we ran like the raging winds,

Fast and furious, tearing down

Anything in our way, jumping

Over obstacles to finish

The race we set out to run, win.

Now we run as gently as a

Summer breeze, stopping now and then

To admire roadside splendors

Or simple conversation, a

Breath or two caught between us from

The speed we no longer have or

Want. Earlier in time we may

Have pushed the other aside to

Get to the finish first but now

We know it’s not a race between

Rivals, no, but a jog with friends

Discussing the speed at which our

World seems to want to destroy its

Very self and we will, with feet

Stable, stand to protect it from

Those raging winds that lead to naught

But bruised and anguished muscle aches.

 

March 2025

About This Poem:

I just found this poem, and it seems appropriate for today when I'm laid up with a knee injury and Cross-Country season has begun. I'm not much of a competitive runner anymore, but there was a time. But I do love going on runs with friends and this poem is about that and our conversations that are solving all of the world's problems. The picture is an old snap of some of my cross-country kids during practice.

Poem: August Prayer

August Prayer

Thank you, Lord, for this day,

A day in which I’ll have lots to say.

What, in your plan, needs to make it so hot?

Not gonna lie, I think it’s a lot of rot.

I know it’s not really my place

To complain of the heat in your grace,

But you even named Jacob

“Wrestles with God,” and hot it is, God.

But maybe that is part of your plan

Because in this heat I do sweat, man.

Not likely to get me wrestling well

When I’m slick as grease. Oh hell,

You make it just as hot as you please

And I’ll figure a way to cool a spot. Geeze.

I know you care for the sparrow that falls

And in this heat, you got a lot of gall

To make so many of those little ones fall

And my morning whining is just my call.

Thank you for September when it cools

And you don’t have to hear this whining fool.

August 2022

About this Poem: 

It's August and it's hot. I assume that is what inspired this poem some four years ago. I also enjoy playing with forms and rhyme, even when it's not my typical form. This is an example of that with a touch of humor, somewhat religious in nature, I suppose. Living in the west also has the added distraction of smoke from wildfires. The photo is an example of that from the other day just outside my backdoor.