Morning Nonet

 April. Saturday morning breakfast.
Sun shines on mostly leafless trees
and through our kitchen windows.
Eight days until Easter.
Your eyes widen as
the light gets dim,
and you say,
"Is that
snow?" - Jeff Barnes

Wally Cox

Some folks only measure their worth
by their bank accounts' size.
They want mansions, yachts, and limos.
They have dollar signs in their eyes.
They dream of having more gold
than is stored at Fort Knox.
But what I am striving for
is to be Wally Cox.

Some folks want to be rock stars

and have groupies by the score.

They want to sell a million albums

and then a million more.

They want to be rich and famous

and live high on the hog.

The most excitement I want from life

is to be the voice of Underdog.

My father wanted me to be an athlete,

but I thought that was absurd.

I don't belong on the playing field.

I'm just a bookish nerd.

I don't want to be in a locker room,

hanging out with jocks.

That was never my goal in life.

I just want to be Wally Cox. - Jeff Barnes

Deep Thoughts

To the world you are one person
but to one person, you could be the world,
especially if that person is your stalker.

Early to bed and early to rise

might make you healthy, wealthy,  and wise,

but what if you are a sleepwalker?

Good things come to those who wait,

but there just might be something

awful out there that awaits you.

Everything might happen for a reason

but have you wondered if that reason

is that the universe simply hates you?

A Rolling Stone may gather no moss

but then again,

neither will a Beatle.

A stitch in time may save nine,

but what are you going to do

if you don't have a needle?

Blood may be

thicker than water,

but it's not as thick as molasses.

Beauty may be 

in the eye of the beholder

unless, of course, he has forgotten his glasses.

It's wise to keep your enemies 

closer than your friends,

but first you have to know 'em.

All good things must come to an end

and so must the bad ones

like, for example, this poem. - Jeff Barnes

April

 A few years ago (see post for January 25th, 2019), I posted a shovel poem, inspired by Charles Simic's poem, "Watermelons."

Here's an explanation of  shovel (or golden shovel) poetry:

The "golden shovel" is a fun poetic form to work with.

Here are the rules for the Golden Shovel:
Take a line (or lines) from a poem you admire.
Use each word in the line (or lines) as an end word in your poem.
Keep the end words in order.
Give credit to the poet who originally wrote the line (or lines).
The new poem does not have to be about the same subject as the poem that offers the end words.
If you pull a line with six words, your poem would be six lines long. If you pull a stanza with 24 words, your poem would be 24 lines long. And so on.

Well, today I have done the opposite, with the same poem, but instead of using the poems words to end each line, I used them to begin each line so that, if you read the first word of each line downwards, you will read the original poem.  First, the original:

Watermelons

by Charles Simic

Green Buddhas

On the fruit stand.

We eat the smile

And spit out the teeth.

And now my poem:

April

Green creeps slowly in. Trees wait patiently as

Buddhas for leaves to sprout

on their branches.
The bark shimmers in the rain, as we await

fruit which still seems a lifetime away. We'll

stand in the warm drizzle that 

we so looked forward to, after endless snow,

eat ice cream at the stand, after

the cold months of waiting,

smile at the parade of children, old folks, bikers

and bankers, lining up for their treats.  The sky may

spit snow now and then, but cold days are on the way

out, at least until Halloween season, when

the pumpkins, with their glowing eyes and grinning

teeth, will light the coming darkness. - Jeff Barnes 

Douglas & Me

I have no brothers or sisters.
I am an only child.
But ever since Douglas arrived
I'm never a lonely child.

My family was on vacation

when I wandered from the campground.

Douglas found me, lost in the woods,

walking aimlessly around.

His feet are 20 inches long

and he is nine feet tall.

You might think that he scared me,

but he didn't, not at all.

His body is covered with fur,

so he never has to get dressed.

Douglas is a sasquatch,

in case you haven't guessed.

He took me back to my parents.

They were glad I was safe and sound.

Dad said it might be a good thing

to always have Douglas around.

So he invited Douglas to live with us.

Douglas said, "That sounds very good.

I am tired of living alone

way out here in the woods."

When Douglas came home with us

he said, "This is very appealing!

Not only do you have a big backyard

but your house has  very high ceilings!"

When Douglas walks through a doorway,

it's the only time he has to bend.

I'm glad to have Douglas with us.

I've never had a better friend.

He walks me to school every day

and then he walks me home.

I'm not afraid of bullies anymore.

Now they all leave me alone. - Jeff Barnes

Today's Poetry Prompt

Get an empty jar
and a butterfly net.
Walk down the busiest street
of the city you live in
and use the net to catch the words
of everyone who passes by
and put the words in the jar.
Seal the jar when it is full.

Go home and bake a cake

(any flavor you wish),

stirring all the words you caught

into the batter.

Eat one piece of the cake every day

until you have eaten it all.

When you next go to sleep

the most important words

will come to you in a dream.

Write those words on a sheet of paper

when you wake up.

Burn the paper

but keep the ashes.

Spread the ashes on top of the grave

of someone who was dear to you in life.

Go home, but come back the next day.

When you come back, a rose bush

will have grown up out of the grave.

Pick one rose and take it home.

Prick your finger with one of its thorns

and let the drops of your blood

drip onto a blank sheet of paper.

Fold the paper and put it

into an envelope.

Address the envelope to yourself,

put a stamp on it,

and drop it into the nearest mail box.

When the envelope is delivered to you,

open it and unfold the paper.

There is your poem. - Jeff Barnes

Dusk

Patches of dirt
and fractured concrete
cover this lot
where grass once grew.

Afternoon grows late

and the red sunset sky

dissolves by degrees

into icy blue.

The old man

looks out the window

and thinks about a past

that he never knew. - Jeff Barnes