No Time

Rushing forward into the day, time compresses.

Approaching the maximum speed of my own life,

I feel the Dopler effect crushing against me.

Against this force, I can only reach backward,

Collecting what I can as this life speeds me away.

My Punishment

Okay Julie,

I finished my punishment poem. The format smacks way too much of the stuff I used to write when I was a kid (ie the unicorn poem), but I am more concerned that you set the poem to be about you. Though it could hint at a small vein of megalmania, because of my natural affinity for you I can't help but reinforce it. ;)

A Shade of Brown

A septic sense I get from thee,

gazing in thine eyes of hickory.

Though years have woven lives entwined,

the wisdom gained does not divine

what spark doth set a love to live,

a life that only seems to give.

What gift could set my spirit free?

Just this wife who married me.

1988

One day

in physics class

I pulled a string off the edge of my pencil case.

I dropped it

from a height of about six inches

and traced the pattern it made on my notepaper

before picking it up

and doing it again.

When the class was finished

what I had drawn

looked distressingly

like pubic hair.

Epic Flinch

Well,

After setting all of this up, I managed to miss the first deadline. Of course I won't offer excuses like "I had to work on report cards and Julie didn't" or "Julie was away for 3 days and I had to take care of the kids".

Nope. I don't roll like that.

Julie has decided I have to write a poem about her that is at least 4 rhyming couplets long.

Like all pressing homework, I'll do it tomorrow.

Haiku on the lasting effects of the flood

It is November.

In my bed, I listen yet

for mosquito buzz.

Spousal Blogetry

It has been a bit dry for me on the poetry writing front lately. Naturally, I turned to my muse, to whom I am conveniently married for some help. From our conversations and from the inspiration of people like John and Hank Green and our friend Kathleen, Julie and I are going to embark on a little journey we are calling...

well, actually. we have no idea what to call it. Heck, we don't have to call it anything, but here is how it will work...

Starting next week, and for an indefinite time, Julie and I are going to write at least one poem a week. It does not sound too hard, but the thing is the commitment.

Each week, on Friday, we will both publish at least one poem in this blog. They may be unrelated, or they may play off of each other. They may come seemingly from nowhere, or they may have obvious roots in the events of our lives. Who knows.

PUNISHMENTS - Stealing from the vlogbrothers, we will enforce a consequence on each other, should either of us fail to complete a poem AND get it up on the blog before Friday becomes Saturday. If one of us fails to do this, the other will be able to pick format and topic for the offending party's follow up poem. (I look forward to doing or assigning a video haiku about spaghetti).

The overall goal is to make the time to write more. Should be fun.

Law of Averages

Write poetry.

If you have to, write bad poetry.

I do.

Write bad poetry and read it to your cats. They look unimpressed anyway.

Put it on the Internet and assume it is has been critically acclaimed by infinitely shy shut-ins.

Read it at the family Christmas party, where people not only have to listen, but have to act as if they like it. It’s okay, you know better.

Write bad poetry and post it on the bus stop. Better yet:

stand up on the bus,

read it,

thank the crowd,

bow,

and sit down.

If you don’t write bad poetry, the law of averages dictates that you are not writing any poetry at all.

And good or bad, this world needs poetry.

Please.

Write poetry.

Bad poetry.