New Poems (Feb/March 2025)
I wrote three new poems for the most recent meeting of my local poetry grroup. Originally scheduled in February, the prompt/theme was Love/Valentine’s Day. Not a good topic for me right now. But, I wanted to write something, so I got a little creative. After a bout of severe weather and scheduling conflicts, we finally met in early March. I wrote three new pieces: “Form,” “The Night,” and “The Love Gang (Of Two).”
I wrote many drafts of each one. Probably the hardest I’ve worked on poetry in a while.
Read them here on my Substack.
Substack Is Live
I’ve made the jump to Substack. I’m seeking out my Personal Monopoly, and I think blogging and writing about my interests will help me unearth it. So my posts will span the range of topics.
I’ve got five posts there already. Each one is a quick read because I’ve set a 500-word maximum for any one post.
My plan was to publish a link here to each new entry, but I sorta forgot about here. I need to be better at that.
So… Here are all five posts, in reverse chronological order.
I’m Learning to Draw: I found a fantastic website that teaches drawing. Yes… you CAN learn to draw, no matter how little talent you think you have. Watch Danny’s video, too. You’ll get inspired.
8-Bit Covers: Ever wondered what your favorite songs might sound like in a video game? Me, too.
Two New Poems: My original poetry written for my local poetry group.
10 Album Covers That Made Me Say, “Whoa.”: A series inspired by a regular feature on Muyse By Clio.
Part One; Part Two, Part Three
I hope you join me on Substack. If you do, post a comment there, and if you have a Substack of your own, I’ll follow you, too!
Writing Poetry From the Inside Out
“Writing Poetry From the Inside Out”
Here’s a great book I’ve been enjoying lately. I came across it highly recommended, and it doesn’t disappoint,
There are 981 blocks of four words in the rear of the book. Choose one. Write sentences, line fragments, phrases - anything - and use all four words.
This is a “poem skeleton,” as the author calls it.
Even writing out one block a day can yield great things.
I have been doing so for nearly a month. And then, today. a wonderful poem came out of my head.
Not ready if I’m ready to share it yet.
Sudden Death
On this day, the 40th anniversary of the death of John Lennon, I thought I’d write a poem about it.
Those watching the fourth quarter of the nationally broadcast Monday Night Football game between the New England Patriots and the Miami Dolphins were the first Americans to know. With the game near the end of regulation, the announcement came sometime before midnight, Eastern Standard Time.
The score was tied at 13, three seconds remained, and the Patriots were going to attempt a field goal for the win. Their place-kicker John Smith, a UK citizen who found himself playing American football for a paycheck, came out to kick the potential winning score. Smith also was a huge Beatles fan. His teammates would often get him to sing at meals, and he’d regale them with Beatles tunes.
If Smith missed the attempt, the game would go into overtime. The NFL had recently added overtime for regular season games, previously reserved only for the playoffs, as ties were not popular with fans. The rules were the first team to score in an extra period of 15 minutes would win the game. The popular term for this was “Sudden Death.”
There was a timeout called before the play, and ABC broadcaster Howard Cosell had ample time to make the short, yet tragic announcement. He begins as the cameras show Smith warming up on the New England sideline for the kick. Smith comes onto the field and the teams prepare for what could be the game’s deciding play. Cosell made the announcement with his trademark flair and phrasing.
And I watched it live.
It was the first time I had experienced a death of a cultural icon/hero. I was too young for Brian Jones, Jimi, and Janis, and I hadn’t discovered T. Rex/Marc Bolan yet. Well… there was Bon Scott (AC/DC), but I don’t think he’s in the same league.
SUDDEN DEATH
It’s now up to John Smith.
Wearing Number 1 for New England,
his left leg swishes once
on the sideline,
sending an imaginary ball to
victory.
With three seconds left,
game tied at 13, Smith,
an Englishman, who stumbled into
an American pro football career,
trots onto the Miami grass
on a December Monday night
leading the league in scoring.
Howard tells America, “Remember,
this is just
a
football
game…”
Smith’s stats for the game
appear on screen:
2/2, with a long of 33.
If it’s good, the Patriots win.
If not, Sudden Death.
An unspeakable tragedy
Is spoken.
“Shot twice in the back
… dead
on
arrival …”
The snap,
the hold,
the kick gets blocked
and now,
twice in short succession,
Sudden Death.
Smith’s life goes
on
while his
hero’s ends.
In Miami.
Outside the Dakota.
Sudden Death.
Post-Election Day, 2020
This post orginially appeared on my personal Facebook page on Nov. 3, 2020 - Election Day. I thought I would share it here, too. Here’s an image I like that spurred me on to write it.
I normally try to keep politics off FB. Not today. It’s too important. And five hours before the polls close, I hope you’ve already voted. I’m posting this link (image: found here) because it fits where I’m at today. Maybe I have too much time right now. Maybe you just don’t care.
Cocooning into our own echo chamber isn’t really healthy. Disagreement permeates here and in real life. On both inconsequential topics and very consequential ones. I think a lack of engagement with people who have differing views than us has led to such divisiveness.
Have we lost our will to listen? Or is it just because we would rather see our agenda implemented and we get angry when it isn’t?
I have friends/family here (on FB) who support Trump. I refuse to de-friend them or mute them, or whatever because of it. I like them as people. And some have helped me tremendously in various ways.
Here’s where I fall. If you didn’t already know, I’m what most would call an evangelical Christian. Yes, one of *those*. And as one who follows Jesus, I must say that Trump is NOT a Christian. Though he panders to them.
And because I will, on occasion, forsake my own playlists and listen to Christian radio in the car, I’ve heard some Christian talk radio hosts admit to as much. But then they say, “He cares about what Christians care about.”
I don’t agree.
45 cares about one person and one person only. No one else. And it ain’t you and it ain’t me.
My church leadership encourages civic participation. It is our duty as Christians to be involved in civic/government issues. Earnestly pray about it. Let the Holy Spirit guide you. And go vote. I’ve been exhorted to vote “kingdom values.” I know some will roll your eyes at that. But I will vote kingdom values. When I compare the two candidates, I ask myself, “Which one more resembles Christ?” In their word, in their action, in their demeanor. In their use of Twitter (sorry, couldn’t resist that).
That leaves only one.
Now, I’m not down with everything about Joe. But this country needs healing - both physical and mental, on many fronts. We need more civility. We need more respect. We need more face-to-face conversations over coffee or at the kitchen table. If so, maybe there’d be fewer posts like this one.
And that’s where I am at.
Goodnight.
The Four-Minute Diary
Here’s a post on the magic of broken links.
I’m a big fan of Austin Kleon. He’s written several short books on creativity. I highly suggest them. Through his newsletter received last Friday, I came across Lynda Barry. Ms. Barry is known as a cartoonist, writer, and teacher. She has written a few books herself. Anyway, the link from Kleon’s email I wanted to look at (Lynda Barry’s “Bag of Words” exercise; Ray Bradbury had used a similar exercise) was broken. Well, not really broken. The video was showing as unavailable. Three other videos were suggested. I clicked on the one called The Four-Minute Diary.
The premise is simple: Split a page with a vertical line. Head the column on the left with Remembered. Head the column on the right with Saw. Set a timer for two minutes and write down everything you remember about yesterday. Then, re-set the timer and write down everything you saw yesterday. As in details. The teeth on the guy you saw walking his dog. The cardinal you saw in your front tree. The rusty blue pickup that was trailing blue smoke on your way to work. The jewelry on the barista that served your morning coffee. Stuff like that.
As a poet, observing small details serves me well. Ted Kooser urges poets to be observant in this manner. In his poetry guide, “The Poetry Home Repair Manual,” he advises, “notice six things a day.” And I’ve tried to list out those six things a day, but I have failed miserably. Up until the past couple of days that I’ve done the Four-Minute Diary. Even better, I’ve found I notice MORE than six things a day. Which is great.
I have added The Four-Minute Diary to my daily writing regimen. And I’ve subscribed to Lynda’s YouTube channel.
I hope you get as much out this exercise as I have.
Black Lives Matter
Let me begin by saying this.
I am white. I am a middle-aged man. I did not grow up around blacks. I think in all my years of public schooling, I had one African-American schoolmate. Maybe two.
That's not how I wanted it. But I also did not want to grow up in the suburbia in which I did. I longed to be in a school with a much more culturally diversified student body. In a bigger city. Or at least in a more racially diverse section of town.
After high school, I attended the University of Nebraska for two years. While there, I had more exposure to African-Americans, but most people in my dorms and classes were white.
Fast forward to 2015. After the deaths of Trayvon Martin and Michael Brown and the public protests and unrest regarding them, I began seeing the phrase Black Lives Matter on social media. I sympathized with the protestors. I sensed that blacks were being singled out by governmental bodies such as the police. I had heard of racial profiling since the '90s, and it, unfortunately, rang true African-Americans would be targeted for pull-overs and searches based on only one thing - their race - by police.
Even though I felt sympathy for blacks and knew they were still, some fifty-plus years after desegregation, being treated unfairly by not only police but American society as a whole, I failed to understand the full meaning of Black Lives Matter. One problem is that I have some family members and friends who also do not understand this phrase.
Once Black Lives Matter began gaining traction online and became more visible to whites like me, there was a certain pushback by some with the phrase All Lives Matter. And while that phrase isn't wrong in and of itself, using that phrase is still insensitive.
Now, let me be clear. I am a Christian. Or how I like to put it is that I am "a Jesus follower." And it pains me that many responding to Black Lives Matter with All Lives Matter also describe themselves as Christian. Their thinking for using that phrase is this: all people are precious in God's sight (even racists, for example, though He does not condone racism).
For a long while, I was conflicted about where to land on this. Then, a year or so ago, I read something that convinced me to fully embrace Black Lives Matter. I don't remember when and where, or who wrote it, but the thought is this: To respond to Black Lives Matter with All Lives Matter is to turn a deaf ear to and be complicit with the systematic racism perpetrated upon black people in this country for the last 400 years.
After reading that, I felt a conviction I am not proud of. I felt ashamed I did not get behind or fully understand the meaning of Black Lives Matter sooner. It seems pretty obvious today, doesn't it? When people say "Black Lives Matter," they aren't saying that just black lives matter.
All lives DO matter to God. That's why he sent Jesus to walk the earth as a human and put him on the cross to pay the penalty for sin that humans cannot. Those that matter to God? Murderers, country club presidents, city council members, Muslims, Jews, Buddhists, Christians, atheists, Islamists, Hindus, Sikhs, Arabs, Asians, gays, lesbians, presidents of countries, abusers, rapists, drug users, Hall of Fame inductees, alcoholics, sports heroes, on and on and on. The blood flowing in your veins and mine, and through all the other 7.8 billion people on earth IS precious to God. That's why He sent his Son to have his spilled for mankind. But when this fact is expressed with "All lives matter," it doesn't give credence to the unfortunate truth that in America, the people in the most danger of losing their lives are black.
George Floyd
George Floyd's death at the hands of a police officer sent, in my opinion, reverberations through America that will change it. Unless you've been living under a rock, you know George Floyd died from a knee placed on his neck for eight minutes and forty-six seconds by a Minneapolis police officer. Floyd's death made even more tragic as he pleads for his life, saying he can't breathe while three other officers at the scene do not say a word to Floyd's assailant. There is even an air of nonchalance. Watching the video brings tears.
All four officers should have not only been fired but should have had charges brought against them at the outset. It's sad it took a public outcry for charges to be filed against the three other officers. And now the Minneapolis City Council is rethinking the roles and power given to their police force.
In my own community of Omaha, NE, during protests on May 30, 2020 in response to Floyd’s death, there was a young African-American who died at the hands of a white man. James Scurlock was shot and killed by Jake Gardner, a downtown bar owner. Gardner is a known racist. The county attorney chose not to press charges after reviewing video of the incident, but now backs calling a Grand Jury. Gardner has been evicted from both places of business that he ran.
On Sunday, June 7, my daughters selected a church service in Tulsa, OK (Transformation Church) to stream at home rather than our regular local services (video is below). Led by Pastor Michael Todd, Transformation Church chose to hold a roundtable on race rather than hold a regular service. Mike said something during the roundtable that really struck me: The tragic events of 2020 can usher in an era of racial reconciliation. And I am all for that. I would rather be part of the solution than complicit with the problem. I, for one, am tired of hearing about senseless deaths of members of the African-American community. I would like them to stop happening.
I hope you feel the same.
Chronomixed Poem
For my local poetry group that meets once a month, the prompt for June was to write a poem of mixed chronology. The sample poem given was “How I Knew Harold,” by Debra Harding.
Here is mine.
EVERYTHING BECAME RIGHT WITH THE WORLD
Around 1969, my mother cuts out “Sugar Sugar” by The Archies for me from the back of a Honeycomb cereal box. I play it over and over. And over. And over. And over. Until my mother says, “Enough!”
Around 1972, we drive toward my grandparents’ house in Florida. I spend Christmas on the beach and swim in the Gulf of Mexico on an 85-degree day. My parents go to Miami for New Year’s and the Orange Bowl. I watch it on TV, wishing I could be there.
Around 1981, we walk by a house with a pool late one summer night and jump in. Sweetman and Winter gang up on me, pull off my tighty-whities and toss them in the deepest part. A flashlight appears at the fence. I run across Pacific Street wearing only my Nikes.
Around 1979, my friends come up to me at school and say, “I didn’t know that.” “I didn’t know that.” “I didn’t know that.” I learned a week or two later my dad spoke that line several times in a local car dealer ad.
Around 1973, I call up KOIL radio, the Mighty 1290, and request “No More Nice Guy,” by Alice Cooper.
Around 1998, I’m almost 33. I walk across a stage, in cap and gown, and get a diploma for the first time in my life.
Around 1975, I get up way too early on a Saturday. It’s not quite light and still cold. I climb up into the cab of a red, white and blue steam engine, hitched behind a black one. A few hours later, we stop to take on water. In my Norman Rockwell haircut, I poke my head out of the cab into the glorious Indian Summer. Looking at the people gathered trackside, I think, “Whoever isn’t taking a picture of me is nuts.”
Around 1989, the Stones are in Ames, Iowa. During a lull, Mick sees me jumping straight up and down. He starts doing the same thing.
Around 1970, my dad reads an animated neon sign as it lights: “GAS GAS GAS GAS GAS BONUS.”
Around 1974, a nightmare frightens me awake. It’s the middle of the night and I’m shook. My hand finds the transistor radio under my pillow and turns the switch. “Will It Go ‘Round In Circles” plays. In an instant, everything became right with the world.
Around 2005, my sister-in-law collapses. She stays in a coma for five weeks and never wakes. She leaves her husband and four children.
Around 1999, we go to Richmond. My father is ill. He struggles for words. His dentures lodge nearly halfway down his throat and stay that way for nearly half the day. His wife finally notices as she prepares dinner.
Around 1976, a full-busted local celebrity wearing a tube top teaches me how to play pool.
Around 2017, I finally get to New England. It’s been a string of miracles getting there. Every day, I’m the last to bed and the first to rise. I walk to the beach and photograph the sunrise. One day – the last day – there’s a colonial flag hanging out of a boat shop window. I neglect shooting it.
But I have found poetry.
One Minute Briefs: June 1, 2020
Here is the first One Minute Briefs entry from the @BraveCopy account.
The brief was for banana bread. This one came pretty quick. I once read (from another copywriter) that banana bread is a great thing made from old bananas and expired sour cream. Mix two worthless things togther and something awesome arises.
Basically he was saying that crappy ideas lead to good ones. One crappy idea may inspire an improvement, yielding a better idea. Then THAT idea gets improved upon, and a GREAT idea results. This description of the creative process is accurate. Sometimes, a great idea comes without that middle step. And it goes to show that any idea, no matter how crappy, has merit. The worst is NO idea.
So, for today, I remembered that little nugget. At first I wanted to photograph an over-ripe banana (happened to have one in my kitchen) placed next to a container of sour cream or yogurt. Wasn’t working out real well, so I drew it.
On the left you have a sour cream container, with a date of May 17, saying to the banana, “You’re a bit spotty…” On the right, the banana says, “You’re past your date.” Below the fracas, there’s a trio of eggs saying, “Why don’t we cooperate?”
One Minute Briefs: May 29, 2020
It all begins with an idea.
Today’s One Minute Briefs was to come up with designs and/or a masthead for an online wine magazine published by Sir John Hegarty's French vineyard, Hegarty Chamans, called Club Chamans.
Since I’m not a designer by trade, I came up with three (OK - four if you want to get technical) concepts for the tag. The current masthead tag is “Words from the vineyard including the meaning of life.” While that’s workable (there certainly could be worse ones), I didn’t think it captured the essence of the vineyard’s brand. The vineyard is somewhat isolated in the Languedoc region and they do things their own way. Meaning they don’t follow the crowd.
Which really jives with what Brave Copy is about.
I sensed that the vineyard wants to spread the love and appreciation of wine, eschewing all snobbery and uppityness that can be associated with it. They want to express love for wine and how their individualistic approach yields vintages that bring true enjoyment of wine and of life. I wrote some tags and put them in a font sampler.
Here’s what I came up with:
Dirt from the vineyard while harvesting life (this has a similar concept, put into two sentences: Dirt from the vineyard. Harvesting life.)
A garden of earthly delights (this plays on the definition of “chaman,” which is a garden)
Since there’s a prize involved here, entries will be shortlisted and then a single winner will be chosen from that group.
These entries came from my personal Twitter rather than the one for Brave Copy. Later entries will come from @BraveCopy.