Saturday, December 31, 2011

June Bug Shuffle

There once was a girlie named Catherine
Tying bugs onto strings set her gigglin’
Danced, looking excited
Need to pee, not delighted
Her poor panties, she left big stain therein


Ken Goree




For those of you who have never heard of the June Bug, the ones referred to in the title of this poem were in the southeast United States.  Every few years, when I was a kid, our family would go to visit my mom's relatives on the ancestral farm, in the Smokey Mountains of eastern Tennessee.  One of the things to do as kid in that area, if you are lucky enough to be around when the June bugs start swarming, was to adopt one as a pet.  This may sound lame, but it was pretty fun, because you could tie sewing thread to the beetle and take it for a walk ("flight").

I must mention, I was forced into writing this poem.  I had reminded the "real girl" about this "real event," earlier this year.  I didn't want to write the poem and embarrass her (internationally), but she kept reminding me to write the poem, so today, I did.  

We were standing on the back porch of the log cabin.  My grandfather built that cabin himself, from trees he cut and shaped with adze, ax and saw.  My father had just given us some of my grandmother's sewing thread and we were tying loops in one end and a June bug to the other.  After bringing the string, my dad took his leave of us. I was quite young, and not very dexterous.  The girl, was older and had her pet tied off and flying in moments.  Like any self-respecting little kid, I begged for help; said, "This is stupid;" whined; and pouted.  

Soon, I noticed that "the girl" was doing a dance while playing with her pet.  "Now, that is just showing off," I thought to myself.  Then, I realized there was something very familiar about the dance she was doing.  "What is it?" I thought.  "Hmm, what is it?" Then it came to me.  I knew the dance, I had done it a hundred times, especially at school.  This older girl was doing "The Pee-Pee Dance."  In her confusion of growing excitement over her pet and the growing pressure inside due to three bottles of old fashion Mountain Dew, straight from the glass bottle, which you had to use a bottle opener to get into.   The pressure won before she was able to figure out a way to tie off her pet and make it to the bathroom.  

I saw the growing dark stain on the front of "the girl's" faded bell-bottom blue jeans.  My first thought was, "That's what you get for not helping me get the leash onto my June bug."  Later, I realized that that hadn't been a very compassionate response to the girls distress ... much later ... like about ten minutes ago, while finishing this poem.  

Friday, December 30, 2011

So Little Left

So little left
Time
Pushing
Me
To
The
End

An appreciated finish
Is
All
That
I
Ask
For

What I’ve wanted
Is
No
More
Than
Your
Interest

If you Smiled
Then
I
Have
Been
Truly
Fulfilled

Your shaking dread
I
Fed
Without
Trace
Of
Remorse

Fluttering, warm hearts
I
Feel
A
Special
Kinship
With

Grand childish dreams
I
Pray
I’ve
Rekindled
within
You

Your clear presence
Has
Helped
Me
See
The
World


Ken Goree

Thursday, December 29, 2011

Last Minute

The time is running late for me
I really should soon be there
I’m feeling a little jittery
I haven’t a moment to spare

This day’s been in the planning
Many a day before now
If as one of the planners, I was late
It’d surely cause a row

I guess this poem will have to wait
At least an hour or two
After a drink or two with friends
That’s when I think we’ll be through

Ah, now I’m back in poetic saddle
Grabbing my poem by rein
Urging it on to the finish
‘Til no other words remain

Now that I mentally return home to write
Hoping I’ll seem just a little bit bright
Pounding the keyboard on into the night
Last minute, one word, will finish it right


Ken Goree

Wednesday, December 28, 2011

Fading

As the
Supply of
Water and
Nutrients dwindles

As the
Attention of
Others diminishes
And wanes

As the
Time spent
Away from
Home lengthens

The time
Of celebration
And Gifts
Is fading


Ken Goree


The Christmas tree is about to go.  I think I’ll let her celebrate the coming of the new year with us, however.

Tuesday, December 27, 2011

Fibonacci’s Rabbits

How
Does
Rabbit
So increase
Itself to attain
A significantly larger
Population than it had previously so known?
With subtle variation he
Probably uses
The same means
As you
And
I


Ken Goree


I agree, this is an odd poem.  It came about as I was researching different poetic forms.  As I was doing so, I wondered whether anyone had based a poem on a Fibonacci sequence.  I didn’t find any.  However, I am sure there have been countless numbers of people who have done so, especially given the interest so many people have in the Fibonacci numbers. 

So, I chose to base the poem on an ascending, then descending syllable count: 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 13, 8, 5, 3, 2, 1, 1.  The reason I chose the content I did was,  I read an article about Fibonacci and how he came up with the sequence.  According to the article, Fibonacci came up with the progression when solving a problem in the growth of a population of rabbits, under ideal circumstances.

Monday, December 26, 2011

My Toes

My Toes


Socks
Dry, fuzzy and snugly
In front of crackling fire
I’m warm
Down to

~  My toes  ~

Don’t like this day
So much
They’ve been trapped
In cold, wet
Boots

Ken Goree

Sunday, December 25, 2011

Smile

More than
Just good wishes
Or friendly
Feelings
Sweetly crinkled
Flesh
Deep dimpled
Cheeks
Framing
Red, moist lips
Shining
Eyes
Unfocused
Seeing
More than
Paints the
Surface
Flushed, blushing
Skin
Heats the night
From
Just
A smile


Ken Goree

Saturday, December 24, 2011

Season’s Best

In the presence
Of fair folk
Upon this
Holiday
Celebrating
Our good health
Means more than
I can say

Some are new friends
Others old
Spirited
We do play
Light the candles
Share the food
This very
Special day

Into late night
We laugh on
Enjoying
Grand display
‘Til parting words
Of good friends
“Come again,
Don’t delay.”


Ken Goree

Delayed poem

The poem Good Time was written yesterday, on December 23rd.  I tried to post it from my phone last night, but it didn't go through. Sorry for the delay.

Good Time

So much time
Falls in between
The space
From day
To day
That long
Frienship
Through the
Years
Holds true
And always
Stays


Ken Goree

Thursday, December 22, 2011

Different Roads

So passionate a dialogue
And each does feel they’re right
Amazing that we want the same
Why is this such a fight

Want my children to grow up strong
And want them to be kind
Wish them goodness all ways through
And happiness to find

And know you want the same for yours
Won’t  imagine that they can’t
Live a life of carefree joy
What else would good God grant

Though on and on we argue
The way that gets there best
Sure you don’t know what you’re saying
And sure that our way’s blessed

When this all is said and done
And the end point is quite clear
I hope for all our children’s sake
We can all stand up and cheer


Ken Goree


I had a fantastic evening with wonderful friends, tonight.  We had a spirited dialogue about how the world should be run.  Interestingly, we all left feeling that the others there didn't get the points that we saw so clearly.  The most incredible part is, we all still left with love in our hearts, wishing the others would someday see more clearly.  

Wednesday, December 21, 2011

Carmel Sauce

Just a little more perhaps
Of salted caramel
Dripped upon my ice cream
Would go down very well

I know I shouldn’t, but can’t resist
That sweet and tasty treat
And when it’s done, I can’t restrain
And just may have a repeat

I know it isn’t good for me
At least not physically
But wonders for holiday mood
Taste buds most distinctly

So when talking to a friend that’s down
With sadness overwhelming
A bit of caramel on ice cream
Makes troubles seem like nothing


Ken Goree

That one is for you, Julie.

Tuesday, December 20, 2011

Light Shed

Light shed
On darkness
Should be bright
Bright
Showing in
Stark
Contrast
The foul
Black heart
Which
Torments
Innocents

Light Shed
On Darkness
Should bring forth
Light’s defenders
Calling to draw
Sword and
Shield
And protect
Without reservation
The masses of
Virtuous
Innocents


Ken Goree


Too often, the offenders are warmed and comforted, while the victims are left in the cold, without comfort or protection.

Monday, December 19, 2011

Stepping Away

Stepping away
From whispers
Unhelpful
Choosing a path
Of words spoken
Beautiful

Seeing a way
To life filled so
Joyful
Starting anew
Living each day
Delightful
With every step
Our actions good
Prideful
Fresh charted course
Intent on
Insightful

Whispers behind
Strong voices sing
Cheerful
Wonders ahead
Your heart no more
Sorrowful


Ken Goree


For those who have recognized the foul whispers in their lives, and have charted the course to set their souls free.

Sunday, December 18, 2011

My Child

My child
Light of my life
Racing through confusing years
Maturing into womanhood
Daughter


Ken Goree


Today's poem, is a cinquain.  The traditional cinquain is a 22 syllable poem  with a syllable per line pattern of 2,4,6,8,2.  The cinquain begins with a noun and ends with its synonym.


Saturday, December 17, 2011

Whispers

Whispers for another
Can be a tool
Of power
To
Raise the heart and
Plant a seed
And help it grow
To flower

Whispers for another
Can hide the strength
To tilt
The soul of one who
Listens in, and
Cause the flower
To wilt


Ken Goree


I was thinking about friendship, today.  The friends I keep around me support me, love me, and call me out when I am not heading in the right direction.  I am a happy, lucky man, and I know it. 

Unfortunately, I see others, who have friends around who are not helpful to them.  These “friends” support their sadness and help to magnify the interesting inconveniences of life as if they were malicious demons singling us out, one by one. 

I choose to keep my wonderful friends close, and gather innumerable more of the same breed.

Friday, December 16, 2011

Each End

Each End


Winter
Dark, cold
Snowing, swirling, blowing
Lights, family, friends, starlight
Baking, sweating, browning
Bright, warm
Summer


Ken Goree


I went back to my list of poetry forms, realizing that I had left some unattended for quite some time.  Tonight I thought I would throw in a diamante.  The diamante is a seven line poem, which usually transitions from one noun, to its synonym or antonym.  If choosing an antonym, the shift from the first noun to the antonym should occur in the mid-point of the fourth line.

This poem may have been better suited to the winter solstice, as the shortest day of the year.

Thursday, December 15, 2011

Bringing Me Back


Again and again your smiling faces
Greet me in the morning
With any other class I’ve had
I might take that as a warning

But with you all I recognize
An attitude superior
The closer to getting back to you, Class
I feel my mood get cheerier

It’s nice how daily I receive
Compliments on my clothes
With all your kind and pleasant acts
Your wonderfulness shows

So when each Monday comes again
Some folks are feeling sour
I’m thrilled to realize I’ll soon see you
I count minutes and each hour

As winter break approaches me
I anticipate the parting
And as you walk out, I’ll try not to
Cry while you’re departing

Then through two weeks of holiday
Sitting solemn as fireplace burns
Once again I know that I will be
Happy at your returns


Ken Goree

Wednesday, December 14, 2011

Sparkle

Bright colors and
Twinkling light
Reflect off ribbons and bows
On this warm still night

Missing an angel
I might need to borrow
It should be on the top
I will get it tomorrow

Penguins and snowmen
On wrappings there
Thoughtful gifts of love
That soon we will share

Kids would like
To their wishes consenting
But, two weeks away
‘Til day of opening


Ken Goree

Tuesday, December 13, 2011

Hard Consequences

Hard Consequences


We lose
When others lose
Instead of realizing that our
Desires to conquer show no
Wisdom or knowledge and
End in 

 ~ Hard consequences ~

Begin a
Long life of learning
Developing great wisdom
And the understanding that
When others win
We Win


Ken Goree

Monday, December 12, 2011

Blight

Vile
Soul
Burned
Empty
By own
Black flame
Mindlessly
Aiming to
Light and fuel
Fire,
Fume, and
Poisonous heat
Upon the lives
Of the innocent
Scorching
Earth
So that
None
May
Survive


Ken Goree


It is quite sad to see friends, and closer, trying to outlast the unearned, wicked hatred of others.

Sunday, December 11, 2011

Silent Assemblage



Muted figures
Weak daylight
Movements subdued
Mist inscrutable
Unheard discourse
Whispers deadened
Undefined faces

Drained hues
Indistinct forms
Features blunted
Identities indistinguishable
Cryptic intentions
Enigmatic gathering
Silent assemblage


Ken Goree

Saturday, December 10, 2011

Bad Bart

Bad Bart


There once was a man named Bart
For whom cruelty had become quite an art
He defied the law
And would not withdraw
But still doesn't realize his part


Ken Goree

Friday, December 9, 2011

The Blessing of Absence

I have never understood
How evil can persist
When the foul folk do take charge
Good souls stand and resist

Evil comes in many forms
Some of them are quite small
Other’s tower hungrily
Try to devour all

In my life I must sing loud
That I don’t currently
Have that darkness in my world
Life does treat me gently

Absence of my own blackness
Has yet not blinded me
To wicked deeds around me
Of them you should be free

Karma is a funny thing
Universal balance
It seems it work better
With a more timely stance

A flaming sword of justice
With a merciless sweep
Could balance things more justly
A consequence replete

I never want to play God
Though willing in a thrice
To write his vengeance list
And give some small advice


Ken Goree


My life is good, and I have no call to complain for myself.  However, I witness intentional cruelty, destruction and pain heaped on some of my friends, and I spend great thought on the question, “Why is this evil allowed to persist.”  In a less “civilized,” but more just and fair world, a community would have dealt with these problems expediently, without guilt or remorse, and the world would be improved.  Darwin’s theory of natural selection (interpreted by a laymen), has died.  We provide protection for the sick and twisted, which would have been removed from the gene pool, as it should have been, be, long before this point.

Thursday, December 8, 2011

Second Sister

Second Sister


Such marvelous joy
Friend evolves into sister
Happy laughter reigns


Ken Goree


My wonderful friend and I went out for dinner and drinks tonight.  There was a lot of laughter, and me talking too much, as usual.  We told people we were brother and sister; a silly game for grown-ups, but quite fun nonetheless.  

Wednesday, December 7, 2011

Laughter

The
Sweetest
Symphony
Children’s voices
Giggling
Telling stories
Excitedly interrupting
Wishing to share with
Greatest
Joy
Teenage confusion
Forgotten
For bright, shining
Moments
Engraved in the
Memory
As sparkling
Smiles
Happiness blushed
Cheeks
To the background
Music of
Innocent
Unrestrained
Laughter


Ken Goree


Some moments are meant to be savored, and remembered, long after childhood has left us.  These images are recalled anew, when each following generation conjures again the magic we had let diminish and fade.  Tonight, the gift that never wears beyond value was shared with me again.  Thank you.  And thank you also, for not spraying me with the whipped cream.

Tuesday, December 6, 2011

Being Human

Were we to be perfect
We wouldn’t be human
We spend a few priceless moments
When brought to life
When innocent,
When we haven’t felt doubt
Wondering
Who we are
Waiting for the answers
Walking in our tired
Worn shoes
Willing grace and strength
Working to correct our
Well-worn mistakes
We wouldn’t be human
Were we perfect


Ken Goree

Monday, December 5, 2011

Lighted

Fir bough
Scent
Fills each joyous
Inhalation
And it is
Up
To
Me

Bundled package
Branching
Setting firm, strong
Foundation
And it is
Up
To
Me

Spreading arms
Reaching
Waiting to carry
Decoration
And it is
Up
To
Me

Proud symbol
Touching
The expectant senses
Heightened
At your arrival
And it is
Up
To
Me

Guiding parent
Leading
My young blessings
Forward
Showing what’s lighted
And it is
Up
To
Me


Ken Goree


I put up the Christmas tree tonight.  My kids will come home to the lights and scent that set the holiday season in motion.  My mother used to be the one who carried on the rituals and traditions that put the final polish on our wonderful lives.  I guess now, it is up to me.

Sunday, December 4, 2011

Untouched


Unfeeling,
Unfocused,
Shoulder to wall
Seeing,
Tasting,
Smelling,
Cloud crystal halos
Circling winter moon
In cold night,
But
Drifting
Soul,
Realizing the rift,
Wonders at emptiness
Sad
To
Be
Untouched


Ken Goree

Saturday, December 3, 2011

Frost



Frost


White crystal blanket
Covering in cool beauty
Bringing forth shivers



Ken Goree

Friday, December 2, 2011

Foot

It used to be, that when I said something
Those words would roll out with just the right ring

When spoke in the past, t’was diplomatic
Calming effect, didn’t cause any static

But now, no matter, what I happen to say
It never seems to come out the right way.

I open my lips, and try for a song
My words don’t you know, they come out quite wrong

I do honestly try, not to offend
I really do wish, my “mis-saids” would end

So I realized that, apparently
The foul taste of foot, must appeal to me.

Ken Goree

I didn’t actually say anything to “put my foot in my mouth,” but I have seen it done repeatedly by acquaintances lately, and I have been in situations where it seems like it would have been a very easy thing to do.


Thursday, December 1, 2011

Cauldron

Cauldron
Boil and
Tumble
Of mist filled
Crater,
Stretches outward
Cloaking
Unknown
Cruel
Dangers

Descending
Into shrouding
Vapors
Of low sunken
Cloud,
Sounds dampened,
Deprived
Senses
Construct
Mysteries

Figures
Materialize and
Darken,
Solidifying their presence
Ahead,
Common, made
Wicked,
Within
Alien
Landscape

Murmurs
Speak softly
Of
Unseen black torments,
Grown
Vivid, perilous,
Born
From
Magnificent
Imaginings

Crashing
Sound, causes
Bolting panic, conquering
Logic,
Racing scramble,
Fleeing
From
Gaining
Terrors

Shale
Kicked away
By
Frantic scrambling feet
Gaining
Abyss’ rim
Sunlight
Evaporating
Foul
Nightmare


Ken Goree


This morning, I was enjoying the dense fog swirling around me as I stood on my back deck.  I sipped at my coffee cup and watched it add its own mists to the morning.  Ducks in the wetlands pounded wings at the water as they, startled by fear of some thing real or imagined, took flight through the trees.  As the day wore on, memory of the morning slipped from my mind.

This evening, while in my writing group, the subject of fog and its beautiful mystery was brought up several times; conversationally in one person’s description of her day, and another time in a poem shared. 

It seemed like a good direction to take, as I sat down to write my poem.  I hadn’t intended to write something that seemed “dark.”  It just evolved that way through my process.  Like many of my poems and stories that have a malevolent presence to them, I don’t think of them that way.  To me, they are a recollection of the wonderful, delicious fright that one can produce with the imagination, especially as a child.  When my writing takes a dark road, I am experiencing my own special brand of nostalgia.  

Wednesday, November 30, 2011

Too long, My Friend

So good to see your smiling face brighten
When you notice I’ve walked in the room
As I see you, my cares all do lighten
You cheer senses, as flowers in full bloom

Per chance do you, remember a time when
Late in the night, not heeding the darkness
Until early morning, we talked long in
A thing of wonder, friendship is ageless

This time is ours, sit down, we’ll now catch up
To end eve’ning seems like all is awry
Many a time my trust has been backed up
Prolong parting, hating to say goodbye

Your happiness I will always defend
I was sad that it’s been, too long my friend

Ken Goree


I thought it was about time I tried my hand at a sonnet.  It took a bit of concentration and effort.  Did Shakespeare really write entire plays in this form?

The inspiration for this poem, is friendship, obviously.  Lately, I've able to get together with friends that I haven't seen for a while, and I am trying line up lunch dates with a couple of others.  It makes me remember each time, the definition I once heard for true friendship: It doesn't matter the distance and time between meetings. True friends fall back into conversation and warm closeness as if they were continuing a great conversation or bold adventure which they had been involved with, the day before.

I love that feeling.

Well look at that

I'm not sure why yesterday's poem didn't post correctly.  I guess that is my lesson to remember to double check, every time.  I guess the reliability of technology began eroding after the invention of the pencil.

Here it is, now.

Ken

Drawn Back

Spinning
Beyond
The edge of
Deep
Cold
Chasm

Keeping
Grounded
By finger tips
Of
Outstretched
Hand

Drawing
Back
By caring hand
Of
Loving
Family


Ken Goree

Monday, November 28, 2011

Black Wings

Dragon scale
Evening
Ignited by
Sunset fire at
Burning
World’s edge
Crossed
By black
Silhouette
Wings
Tracing paths
To
Dark
Forest
Secrets


Ken Goree

Sunday, November 27, 2011

The Cataract


Rapidly 
Approaching,
Speeding,
Rushing
As
The Descent
And
Deluge
Threaten
Spinning
Wind
Screaming
At
The
Fall
Into
The Cataract


Ken Goree

Saturday, November 26, 2011

Dark

Twisting
Black
Silhouetted
Dark branches,
Entwined,
Backset by
Bright
White
Moon

Each
Branch’s
Edge,
In dark
Night,
Furled in
Onyx
Mossy
Complexity

Cold
Breezes and
Mists
Choke all
Senses,
But
Stark
Soul contorting
Sight

Moments,
Count out,
A skin prickles
At awareness of
Approaching
Limb and
Vicious

Slashing
Sinew


Ken Goree

Friday, November 25, 2011

Absolute


There is a god in heaven above
That’s clearly your belief
There’s no room outside your doctrine
No matter how very brief

There is no god in heaven above
“Come on, you all, be logical”
There’s no room outside your doctrine
“It’s all pointlessly theological.”

There are beings in heaven above
You’re sure they visit by night
There’s no room outside your doctrine
To meet an alien, your greatest delight

There are no beings in heaven above
No flashing, lighted spaceships
There’s no room outside your doctrine
Only Earthly fellowships

There are hidden, evil, powers
Malefic in their design
There’s no room outside your doctrine
Stealing freedoms, our lives entwine

There is no great conspiracy
Stalking and stealing your rights
There’s no room outside your doctrine
Stop blaming, exercise your rights

Of one thing I am quite certain
One that’s worthy as an absolute
There’s no room outside my doctrine
To this I’m quite resolute

Of one thing I am quite certain
Through this circumvolute
There’s no room outside my doctrine
We’re wrong when touting an absolute


Ken Goree

Thursday, November 24, 2011

Walled In

Untouched
By heart to
Heart
Though
Unknowing
What stones have
Surrounded
Though
Unveiled
Smallest timid soul’s
Fragment
Though
Sealed
One last block
Placed


Ken Goree

Wednesday, November 23, 2011

Rain Song

In time of healing
When aches wrack
Bone and sinew
Fevers rattle
And
Shake flesh

Calm space in which
To mend
Turning, tossing
Seeking comfort
And
Peace

Perceptions blurred edge
Strains to recognize
White noise’s
Origination
And
Purpose

In distracted pause
And pain forgotten
Searching for
Reason
And
Pattern
Feeling cooling wind’s breath
Chilling damp skin
As pattering droplets
Splash
And
Burst

Coalescing thought and sound
Bring forth symphony
Of healing power
Rhythm
And
Melody


Nature’s sweet musical remedy
Singing liquid strength
Giving body and soul sleep
Strength
And
Peace


Ken Goree

Tuesday, November 22, 2011

Flash

In  headlights’
Flash
Single indelible moments
Frozen

In  headlights’
Flash
Startled, racing white mouse
Frozen

In  headlights’
Flash
Multi-colored sea of fallen leaves
Frozen

In  headlights’
Flash
Speeding, comet trail raindrops
Frozen

In  headlights’
Flash
Blurred, swirling snowflake arcs
Frozen

In  headlights’
Flash
Shining, bright-disk deer eyes
Frozen

In  headlights’
Flash
White-faced midnight walkers
Frozen

Single moments
Frozen
In  headlights’
Flash


Ken Goree

Monday, November 21, 2011

Innards

There once was a man named Ken
Who had trouble keeping his innards in
He said to the doc
Can you put on a lock
After stuffing them back where they’d been


Ken Goree

Sunday, November 20, 2011

Against Me

When in
Pain
Or feeling bitter
Disappointment
While shivering with
Cold
On discovering
Loss
If I needed to
Cry
It would be
So much better
If
You
Were
Against
Me


Ken Goree

Saturday, November 19, 2011

Preparing

Cold hardened
Raindrops
Rest upon
Frigid frost dusted
Surfaces

Freeze brittled
grasses
Stand up
Saluting
Defenders

Chill frozen
Air
Hangs still
Solemn for oncoming
Winter


Ken Goree

Friday, November 18, 2011

Rain, Rain

Precipitation
Precipitation
Depart this place
Post haste

Recidivate
When sight of you
Won’t inspire our
Great distaste


Ken Goree


Thank you, Ian, for giving me the direction for today's poem (and the possibilities for a future poem about space travel).

Thursday, November 17, 2011

Clarity?

Sitting
Waiting
For what will
Likely be
Nothing
Of
Consequence

You’ve been
There
Snow
Storm
Prom Night

Tomorrow will
Tell
The depth
Strength, and
Accuracy
of
Imagination’s
Clarity


Ken Goree

Wednesday, November 16, 2011

Close

Close
My daughter
Knowing you
Are here
Close
Safe
My daughter
Knowing you
Are protected
Safe
Near
My daughter
Knowing you
Are loved
Near


Ken Goree 


Knowing my daughter is close, near and safe is what I need tonight.

Tuesday, November 15, 2011

Rushing

Rushing grey
Cotton Candy
Clouds
Roiling
Boiling
Rolling
Bursting
Rushing
Toward us
White
Whipped
Edges
Promise
Cold
Chilling
Cutting
Icy teeth
Fearful trees
Throw down
Their
Green
Yellow
Red
Orange
Shields
Admitting defeat
Surrendering
Until
Next year’s
Lengthening
Warm days
Bring back
Their strength
And Splendor


Ken Goree

Monday, November 14, 2011

Ripple

One
Rock
Thrown
Starts the ripple

One
Smile
Shining
Melts waiting hearts

One
Rock
Thrown
Starts the ripple

One
Warm
Touch
Gives awakening hope

One
Rock
Thrown
Starts the ripple

One
Scent
Drifting
Stirs passionate heart

One
Rock
Thrown
Starts the ripple

One
Note
Heard
Excites the ear

One
Rock
Thrown
Starts the ripple

One
Breath
Sighed
Captures the heart


Ken Goree

Sunday, November 13, 2011

Trace


Today was
And still is
The best day
Of my life
The best day
There ever was
I woke,
My Love
To find you
Asleep
The sleep of the …
Of …
The blessed

Spring sunlight
Had crept
Silently in
To show
The steady rise
And fall of
Your heart-filled chest
The flair
Of your nostrils
As the
Sustaining breaths
Whispered in
And out

Shortening
Morning shadows
Lent contrast
To your
Beautiful face
The silvering
Whiskers
And
Shining
Smooth
Head

Not wanting to
Wake you
From a slumber
So deserved
So often absent
Not wanting to
Wake you
From a moment
When your
Pain
Has gone

Not wanting to
Wake you,
As I look upon
My soul mate,
My perfect
Lover,
My prince
As I trace
My finger along
Your ears,
Nose,
Jaw
Each of your
So perfect
Features

Not wanting to
Wake you,
My Love
Needing to
See you
In this precious
Peaceful
Moment
Before you
Wake again
To the pain
And recede
From me
Please, God
Let this
Moment last
A little longer

Today was
And still is
The best day
Of my life
The best day
There ever was
I woke,
My Love,
To find you
Asleep
The sleep of the …
Of …
The blessed
I will love you
Always
Each piece
Of your
Perfection
Will always be traced
Upon
My
Soul


Ken Goree


This poem has been months in the making, though finally written last night.  My friend is a lady whom I have known for several years.  Her love of her husband was, and for a short time longer, is the most pure and beautiful love I have ever seen.  Each day, she would dance into the building with more excited exclamations about how wonderful her husband was.  At first, I thought, “This can’t be possible.  She must be over-compensating for a lacking in her marriage.”  This thought was echoed by others, as well.  We was wrong.  Soon, I began to realize that she was one of those people who had found her soul mate.   I wished I could be like her.  It gave me hope that I would find that perfect one. 

This perfect union must have been too powerful for God to bear.  Her husband was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer last year.  He has lived well beyond the doctors’ expectations, and has been loved far more deeply than the rest of us could ever imagine.  The last I heard, this wonderful man, husband, lover, has little time left to share this life with his most beloved wife.  It isn’t fair. 

Their love will last eternity, but why couldn’t this stage have lasted a bit longer.

The idea for this poem came at the beginning of this school year.  My friend was talking to another teacher about how wonderful her morning had been.  Her husband was hardly able to sleep anymore, because of the pain from his cancer.  She had woken to find him peacefully sleeping beside her.  With absolute, calm joy in her voice, she described tracing her finger along his features; how it was the best day of her life, because he was so beautiful, and wasn’t in pain.

Saturday, November 12, 2011

Autumn’s Music

Winds
Roll and tumble
Mists and
Rains
Like pounding
Surf
Invisible
In the night’s
Darkness
Until Street lights
Illuminate
Whipping
Swirling
Fume

Hood
Pulled and tied
Protecting
From
Frigid Storm’s
Might
Syncopated
Snaps of collar
And
Snaredrum pops of
Raindrops
Produce autumn’s
Sweet cool
Music


Ken Goree

Friday, November 11, 2011

Full Circle

Raindrops pounding down
Flattening sad browning leaves
Back into the earth


Ken Goree


I don't imagine leaves being part of the circle of life any more than we do.

Thursday, November 10, 2011

Regretting Right


Day in
And day out
The knife twists
Regretting right
Done

Day in
And day out
Soul cries out
Regretting wrong
Undone

Day in
And day out
Lost, not knowing
Were time
Undone

Day in
And day out
Would any different
I have done
Done


Ken Goree


This is for all those people in the world who took the “high road,” and have been regretting it ever since.  Would you really do different, if you could go back and do it over again?

Wednesday, November 9, 2011

Work Time


Whirring of radiator
Whispers and giggles of children in the hall
Droning of teacher’s voice through wall
Tapping of finger tips on keyboards
Rhythmic thudding of footsteps
Creaking of the tipping chairs
Sharp snap of closing binder


Ken Goree






Tuesday, November 8, 2011

Earning Title

In night wanderings
In search of a feeding place
In ferocious black anger

On morning’s sunrise
On edge of the rising spirit
On razor’s line decision

Of enlightened life
Of bright wonderous works, or
Of dark twisted sufferings


Ken Goree

Monday, November 7, 2011

What is the Difference?

What changed,
I ask,
That such
Significant
Alteration
Has come
Upon one
Previously
So Eruptive
So ferocious
Fierce, and
Furious
So tough
Wild, raging
And lashing
Savage
Today
So changed,
Not healed
But,
Tentative and
Mild
The surface
Holds within
Anger boiling
Soul restrains
And begs
For a
Guiding light
Tears hidden
Fearful
To show
What’s buried
Wishing for
Salvation,
Not knowing
The word,
To
Wash away
The
Pain


Ken Goree

Sunday, November 6, 2011

Disconnected Day

This might be melancholy
But probably that’s not it
I’m just running a bit too slowly
Decidedly low on wit

The house a little too quite
Even the dogs are treading soft
Nothing simmering in the kitchen
No enchanting smells from there waft

I’ve cleaned everything that I care to
Admittedly it wasn’t that much
Just barely enough to be noticed
Though clean enough to the touch

Sometimes a day of disconnect
Ain’t such a dog gone shame
If I wake tomorrow unrested
I’ve only myself to blame


Ken Goree

Saturday, November 5, 2011

Sisters’ Day

Faces turned
Toward Heaven
Letting sunlight
Warm deeply
Eyelids and
Chill blushed
Cheeks
Unable to
Restrain
Joyous
Smiles
Laughter and words
Exchanged
Life and stories
Shared
Autumn painted leaves
Wave and
Dance
For Sisters’
Amusement
Restored
Each sweet lady
Returns
Happily renewed
To their
Separate
Lives


Ken Goree

Friday, November 4, 2011

Lost Words


Lost words
Which at one pinpoint
Moment
Were
Sprung of thoughts
Feelings
Sensations
That will never
Repeat their
Patterns
On Earth or
In the Heavens
Mourn their
Loss
Celebrate their
Having lived
Before they are forgotten
Replaced by
Fresher, younger
Words


Ken Goree

Thursday, November 3, 2011

Time Rhyme

What an overwhelming time
To try to sit and write a rhyme
Forced to hurry, it’s a crime
No chance my verse will be sublime
Might need to bury it in lime
Cover it over with muck and slime
Wash my hands of poetic grime
From its grave it may just climb
And search for whom the bell will chime


Ken Goree

Wednesday, November 2, 2011

Arrived

I see that
You’ve arrived
This day
To talk about
Your son

I have felt
A raging fear
That you
Have lost your
One

A growing boy
Who's lost
His way
Can’t find a
Guiding sun

He’s been so long
Now searching
On a quest
That isn’t
Done

Who he is
He does not know
From foundation
He has
So spun

Let him
Never think
From you
Guidance there is
None

Stay with him
Father
Or you’ll find
Your company
He will shun

Set him on
A solid path
And as a father
You’ll have
Won


Ken Goree


I want to give thanks for a single father, who showed up to his son’s conference today; after not showing up the three previous times.  My students know that I don’t hold grudges.  Each morning, they arrive, and they are once again untarnished and without sin.  An individual child can prove me wrong throughout the day, but each new morning I see a new blossom ready to show its beauty and value to the world.  Some need more nurturing and fertilizing than the others, but I know that they all have the potential to be a treasure to share.  I give the same honor and respect to parents who are making the effort to help their children grow and thrive.

Tuesday, November 1, 2011

Lake Vapors

Frigid night
Fuels
Such
Frightening, boiling, vapors
Whisping
From the
Lake’s cauldron
Morning light
Flames the
Steaming
Fogs
Unseen
Witches
Stir fresh water
Into
Potions
Wicked or wonderful
Elixirs brewing to
Strengthen heroes
Weaken tyrants
Cure sickened
Excite Lovers
Curse unworthy
What pay guides
The hands
That
Weave
Morning’s
Spells?


Ken Goree

Monday, October 31, 2011

Crash


Driving
Son
What are the
Chances
Your child’s
Eyes
Could see,
Could see what
My old man’s eyes
Cannot
A moon that races
Beside our speeding
Chariot
Never dropping
Back
Does it toy
With us?
“Bang,” you say
As the silver ball
Throws itself
Crashing
Into still dark trees
To once again,
To your delight,
Be reborn
And leap forth
From forest’s depths
Yes, I think,
The silver eye
Does toy
With us
Springing forth
Lively
To shock
From your lips
Joyous
Laughter
To see that
Your bright friend
Still watches
Over, and
Follows
You


Ken Goree


One of my most treasured memories of my beautiful, beautiful, boy.

Sunday, October 30, 2011

Flawed

Without attempt
I’ve hidden
It seems
My flaws
My faults
My weaknesses
From
You
My
Sweet
You touch the
Grey of
My whiskers
And smile
You trace
The creases
At the
Corners of
My eyes
And yours
Shine
Clear
You caress
My flesh
And must
Feel the strength
Ebbing from
My shoulders
From
My arms
And healing
Warmth
Flows from
Your
Finger
Tips
My soul cries
To be
As unflawed
As you
See
Me
For
One moment
To be
The man that is
Reflected in
Your
Eyes


Ken Goree

Saturday, October 29, 2011

Travelers

Dust
Ankle deep
Puffs up in
Clouds
As each
Plodding
Hoof
Pounds
Hot dry
Earth
Along the sun
Tortured
Trail

Brittle
Long strands
Of Horse’s
Tail
Snap and
Whip away
Mountain
Black flies
As they
Seek out
Salt and
Sweat

Whipping
Winds lift
Grey beaten
Dust into whirling
Ghostly columns
Swaying, twirling,
Dancing
Around the travelers
As they weave
Between
Summer brittled
Pines

Ken Goree


Years ago, when my son was a young boy, I went with him to a scout camp in Eastern Oregon.  Camp Baldwin was, and still is near the rolling foothills around the base of Mount Hood.  Besides all of the opportunities that one finds at any scout camp, Camp Baldwin specialized in horsemanship.  One of the highlights for me was a father/son overnight horse ride.  The daytime temperatures hovered around 100 degrees, and had for several weeks.  The landscape was dry and coated in a fine grey cloak of East Cascade dust. 

We headed out, bandanas wrapped to cover our faces out of necessity, not some adult male childish instinct to play out the fantasy of old west pioneers or bandits.  The flies dove at the eyes, mouths, and nostrils of both horses and riders in an attempt scavenge the moisture they needed to survive. 

The more aggressive horses bit at the haunches of the other horses and legs of riders in their frustration at being forced to carry their passengers, and the competitive desire to lead instead of being led. 

After hours of plodding along trails that serpentined up the side of a mountain, we reached our camp, the place where we would spend the night, wrapped in sleeping bags or bedrolls with only the stars and black night sky above us.  Each of withdrew from out saddled bags, odd packages that were dumped into a large cast iron pot, which was suspended from a teepee of branches over the cook fire.  After a dinner of surprisingly good stew and dry biscuits, we settled down for an evening of local history, story-telling and Old West cowboy poetry. 

As bed time approached our guides reminded us of the bear that had been roaming the area.  We knew the bear to be fact, as it trudged along the edges of our own campsite earlier that morning.  He was a medium-sized, cinnamon-colored and mangy looking black bear.  They then invited all fathers and sons to dispose of any hidden morsels that had been stashed away as midnight snacks.  Most of the group approached the fire and offered the snacks up the low flames and coals that remained within the campfire’s stony ring. 

An old friend and I stayed awake deep into the night talking, guarding over our treasured young sons

Friday, October 28, 2011

Unwanted Quiet Moment

In quiet moment
I find
An
Odd
Sensation
A building
Realization,
An
Expectation
As if my mind
Is searching for
An answer
One for which
I never asked

A numbness
Creeping in.
My thoughts
My feelings
My soul
Waiting for
The answer
A timeless
Stillness
Within
Each
Tick
Of the
Clock

Where is
My guide
To remind me,
To restate
The query
On which
My
Unconsciousness
Dwells
Pondering
I know not what
Too slowly
In muddled
Hell


Ken Goree


That was not quite my usual, was it?  It’s just that a powerfully numbing sensation came over me, a while ago.  It was partially like trying to recall a name, or fact of history that you wanted to share; though it was without the same sense of urgency.  It was quite odd, and sadly, I know I am not close to representing it accurately.  And I feel the need to point out, I have not done anything today that should bring about “muddled” thinking processes.  I let you all know, if I find the answer.

Thursday, October 27, 2011

Fish?


Hmmm, needs a poem, a poem you say?
I may just write it; maybe today
It is pretty ugly. It is.  Don’t say, “No, way!”
It’d be much nicer, were it a fillet.


Ken


This is from a conversation over a photo that I posted on Facebook.  The ugly fish in question was actually a dragon fruit.  Janeen was not very complimentary over the poem.  I’m hoping that is just because she was comparing it to all of my wonderful, earlier poems she has read.

Wednesday, October 26, 2011

Painful Apathy

Such a sad
Lost
Child

Father where is
My
Mom?
Father, school called
For
You
Father, what did
I
Do?
Father, do you
Know
Me?
Father, can we
Just
Talk?
Father, will you
Miss
Me?


Ken Goree


I wish I didn’t have a reason to write this poem.

Tuesday, October 25, 2011

A Rent in Night’s Fabric

Dear
Goddess
Demeter,
Is it your scythe,
In harvest,
Which draws
Crescent in the
Night sky
And lets through
The light of
Creation

Or

Tell me
Does a more fell
Scythe
Guided by
Darker hand
Slice through
Black night
To draw
Soul
To
That
Which
Waits
Beyond?


Ken Goree


The moon, this morning, was an incredible sight.  I almost felt like keeping it to myself; such a thin beautiful arc of pure white light.

Monday, October 24, 2011

Saved

When darkness
Seem a threatening
And light has been withdrawn
I recall the smiles of friends
When the abyss does yawn

I rarely do approach the edge
And never know just why
My shuffling steps creep nearer
To an edge that could just crumble
I remember my friends dearer

So never have I traveled down
Roads of no returning
Though close I passed, and scarred
More than one time I did approach
To darkness and left marred

Again I say, that I have found
Salvation at the image of
A friend’s laugh raised to the sky
For the life and soul of me I won’t
A brother’s love deny


Ken Goree


Please forgive the problems with the scansion, and try to appreciate the thought.

Sunday, October 23, 2011

Innocence Renewed

So fresh the morning
Cleansing rain of night
Still dripping from
Fiery Autumn leaves

Eyes tearing from
The sting of
Pure reflected sunlight
Bright, dewdrop diamonds

Delighted shivers rattle through
Feeling that the sins and grime
Of life are washed clean
In the baptism of an innocent new day


Ken Goree


Over and over, I feel chills through my soul, at the sight of a bright new morning.  

Saturday, October 22, 2011

Monsters

How
I
So
Miss
The pounding
Of my heart
Over fears metaphysical
Misshapen
Monsters
Whose invisible claws
Crusted with
Dried invisible blood
Draw my blanket
Slowly under
My bed
What purpose
Should beast
Have
To sniff the scent
Of my flesh
Before
Drawing me slowly in
As my blanket
Before me
So
It
May
Begin
To
Feed


Ken Goree


I so miss, as I believe I have said before, the innocent and childish fears of my youth; what a wonderful way to exercise the imagination.  I try so very hard to once again frighten myself over carefree, harmless monsters, such as they were.  I rarely find real monsters in my life, but the new monsters that plague the news give me no pleasure, satisfaction or sense of adventure.  I’d welcome back the phantoms, werewolves and “The Blob,” all of whom used to live under my bed.  I made extra popcorn tonight, just in case they grant me one more wonderful visit.


Friday, October 21, 2011

Last Laugh

Dang I can’t believe it
I got my shot this date
Influenza has got into me
That shot a little late

So now I get the feeling,
That my daughter felt
I should have given sympathy
Over the hand that she was dealt

For now, I sit here shivering
In a room that is quite hot
Muscle are now sore and aching
From her, a sickness I have got

So far, I have not asked a soul
In voice that’s weak and shaky
For soup, or blanket for my hide
Though my body is still achy

The beauty of this situation
Is time heals wholes and half
As Girlie makes some fun of me
I think I’ll have last laugh

The planet’s got a limit of bugs
68 of them are flu
I’ve had 67 of those
Carly only two


Ken Goree

Follow up to yesterday's poem

I wrote yesterday's poem while in my writing class (The Puget Sound Writing Project).  Later in the class, I taught a prewriting lesson for developing sensory details, and expanding vocabulary.  The lesson ended with a short writing period to incorporate some of the sensory details into one or more paragraphs.  After the poem, I thought I would continue with the "sick daughter" theme for my writing.  Here is what I came up with:



“Daaad?” came the weak voice of my daughter.

“Yes?”

“I’m hungry.”

-
-
-

“Dad?” a bit louder now.

“Yes, Carly.”

“I said I’m hungry.”

“Yes, I know.  I heard you.”

“Dad, stop doing that!”

“What,” I answered, my voice gooshy with innocence.

“Will you make me some soup?”

“All you had to do was ask, Princess.”

To the sound of my grumbling daughter in the background, I went to the kitchen, thinking “Grumbling sounds awfully funny from a kid with a stuffy nose. "

“I heard that, “ Carly yelled from the couch.

“What?”

“I don’t know, but you were thinking something.  I could see the smile on your face.”

In the kitchen, I took a can of Campbell’s Chicken Noodle Soup from the pantry shelf.  As I stepped back I tripped over Orion.  That damn dog always walks up right behind me in the kitchen.  As I caught my balance, I dropped the can.  The heavy clunk of metal on hardwood sent Orion running for cover.  I could hear the thump, thump thump of the dented can as it rolled into the space under the dishwasher.  I reached for a fresh can from the cupboard.  There is no way I’m reaching under the dishwasher.  There are dust bunnies under there; big, hairy, greasy dust bunnies.

Thursday, October 20, 2011

Girl

I feel a little guilty
For the thoughts that I am thinking
My little girl’s been acting bad
Her behavior has been stinking

Now don’t get me wrong
I’d never wish her hell
But I’ve begun to notice that
She’s nicer when not well

So when a student’s sick in class
Evil plans in my head pop
Borrow his scarf to share with her?
“No, no I better stop!”

Then when I get back home to her
Sadly battling her bug
She says, ”I love you, Daddy.”
And offers me a hug

Now, I have to tell you all
That I don’t hesitate
Though I know I’ll catch a cold
For that hug I celebrate


Ken Goree

Wednesday, October 19, 2011

Join

Father, please open your eyes

Your
Child
Is losing the game
Join

Join
With
Your baby boy
Coach

Coach
Him
Give him love
Guide

Guide
Him
In his growth
Lead

Lead
Him
By a good
Example

Father, please open your eyes
Join your son while you can


Ken Goree

Tuesday, October 18, 2011

Sharing Lines

Let me look
At you
Let me follow
Your lines
The curves
And limbs
The lines that
Time has
Etched
Creating the masterpiece
The limbs that branch
Delicately from
Your eyes
Marking the
Delights that you
Have seen
The graceful curves
Framing your
Mouth
That has laughed
Without limit
The crinkle of your
Nose
That has
Giggled and blushed
A bit of
Wicked
Wit
Let us
Share and create
Joyful
New
Lines


Ken Goree

Monday, October 17, 2011

Return from Darkness

Reach
Your
Hand
From the Darkness
Which
You
Have
Thrown yourself into
Trust
My
Strength
To Raise You
Back
Into
Light


Ken Goree

Sunday, October 16, 2011

Let My Passing Be

Let my passing be
A joyful
Celebration
Of
Life

A celebration
Of
My mother
And father
And the
Goodness
They gave
To me

A celebration
Of
Lessons learned
From a
Skinned
Knee,
From a friend’s
Pain
I sought to
Heal

A celebration
Of
The beautiful
Children
I helped
Bring to
and share
With
This
World

A celebration
Of
Each tree
I planted
Each seed
I sowed
Each harvest
I shared

A celebration
Of
Each smile
I brought
To your
Lips
Each Laugh
I gave to
Your
Heart

A celebration
Of
Truly looking
Into your
Eyes
And seeing
You like
No other
Ever
Has

A celebration
Of
Tasting life
Fully
The bitter
And the
Sweet
And
Cherishing
Both

A celebration
Of
The tears
I shed
Because I
Cared
Either in
Joy or a
Shared
Sorrow

A celebration
Of
Touching you
With flesh,
My words,
or in a
Simple pure
Act
Of
Kindness

A celebration
Of
My love
For you,
For my
Family,
For my
Friends,
And
All
Creation

It is to me
The greatest
Celebration
As I leave
What pain I
May have had
To apologize
For all
My failings,

And forget
Them and tor
Remember,
I am
What you
Have
Given
To
Me


Ken Goree


I’ve mentioned before, I don’t have any intention of leaving this world in the near future, or any reason to believe that I my days are few.  I do however, want to make sure that if I leave before you (the people in my life), that you know how much you have all meant to me.  And, as I assume is a common trait of most humanity, I wish not to be forgotten.

Saturday, October 15, 2011

Bright Autumn

Bright
Autumn
The green sucked
From broad Maple
Leaves
To reveal fiery
Yellow,
Red,
Orange

Robin
Is singing
His farewell
Song

Spiders begin
Seeking
Shelter
From the
Storm
And
Chill

Warm quilt
Wraps my
Body
As I sip
Coffee
And watch
The change
Speeding
Toward
Me


Ken Goree

Friday, October 14, 2011

Adrift

So lost
A young soul
Thoughts scattered
Directionless
Unable to align
Himself to the
Stars
Horizon
Land

Within
His imagined lands
Filled with lofty towers
Forbidden Planets
Bright dragon plunders
Drawing in
Where life makes
Sense

Without
Papers run away like wolf frightened sheep flocks
Socks never find their mates
The road home, a twisted maze
A soul
Adrift


Ken Goree


This is about a young student I know.  He’s adrift in life, and resistant to learning to use a compass.

Thursday, October 13, 2011

I Get So Sad and Lonely

Just like when as last bell rings
I get so sad and lonely
When my kids aren’t in their seats
I get so sad and lonely

Or when I’m waxing on, on science
I get so sad and lonely
As one kid sleeps on desktop drooling
I get so sad and lonely

And when I bring a feast for all
I get so sad and lonely
I hear, “No thanks, I’ve tuna fish.”
I get so sad and lonely

But most of all on conference night
I get so sad and lonely
Your conference time has come and
A “No show,” just me only.


Ken Goree

Wednesday, October 12, 2011

Enlisting the Villagers

Still trying to tame
“My” Dragon
I have not all the
Tools
I must enlist the
Villagers,
From the mayor to the
Fools

Now each of these a varied
Group
Doesn’t want his angered
Turned
Through a many difficult
Year
By this dragon they’ve been
Burned

I called them to a
Council
Pretending I was
Wise
They agreed to help my
Plan,
“As long as the dragon
Tries.”

So now this council
Finished
There’s nothing left to
Do
Now “our” dragon we will
Tame
As long as our hearts be
True


Ken Goree

Tuesday, October 11, 2011

The White Stampede

Across the
Steel and
Pewter plain
The Stampede
Of White
Stallion
Manes
Rises
And Falls,
Driven before
The bite
Of
October’s
Savage
Beast


As I was driving south toward Lake Washington this afternoon, I saw the white-capped waves rising and falling across Lake Washington.  The power to drive such an enormous mass of water before it, in the child October wind, caught my eye.  Like a stampede, where the identity of each horse fades into the wild dance, is the vision that came to me.  I love recognizing the glorious drama of creation that so many pass by.

Monday, October 10, 2011

Just Bathed Dog

Nothing like
A just bathed
Dog
Clean, shining
Untangled and sweet
Smelling

Nothing like
The bathroom afterbath
Mess
Sticky clumps
Of fur on
Walls


Ken Goree

Sunday, October 9, 2011

Blocked Off

I’m not feeling very witty
Tonight I’m feeling stale
I think I might have stepped in
A “writers’ block-ish” Hell

I guess I’ll have to work around
That’s what I’m going to do
I’ll wipe that gooey block right off
My metaphorical shoe

The biggest problem I do think
Is finding the best place
To wipe that nasty block off
So it leaves no trace.


Ken Goree

Saturday, October 8, 2011

Patience Bucket

We all have a patience bucket
They come in different sizes
When that bucket fills all up
Is when blood pressure rises

The bucket that I have in me
Is bigger than the average
But please don’t try to pour in
Twice what it can manage


Ken Goree

Friday, October 7, 2011

Piratey

I feel a little piratey
Thank God I know my “Rs”
Swagger around with rum in hand
No need to go to bars

Both my eyes work just fine
But I like to wear the patch
And I enjoy my pretend hook
Good for a hard to reach scratch

My students call me Captain
If they don’t they walk those planks
I tell them, “Rrrr, go do your work
And you’ll be getting’ no thanks.”

They often look at me quite strange
Don’t understand their problem
“Stop it now you scurvy kids, or
Your grades’ll be on the bottom.”

“So let me here a Garr and Rrr”
No better crew’ve I seen
Piratin’s a way of life
Not just for Halloween


Ken Goree

Thursday, October 6, 2011

Quenching the Dragon

Where does the dragon come from?
Where do the fires begin?
How does one ever
Quench the fire within?

What fuels the stream and boil?
What feeds the fire and burn
The dragon vomits forth pain
Repaying his scars all in turn

When will the cauldron be cooled
Does fire now feed on itself
When no more gas has been added
Does the dragon now feed on itself

I wish not to slay this foul dragon
Nor let his vile tyranny linger
Not remove the best of his nature
But train him to be a bit tamer

The good knights are coming to take him
Before he lies dead on his pyre
Can someone please tell me the secret
To quenching this dragon’s fire


Ken Goree



Sometimes we ask, “Where did the dragon come from,” and sometimes its origins are obvious.  My question; can the damage be repaired?  By applying the medicine to soothe the irritation, clearing away the brush pile of pain and suffering, humiliation and disappointment, and blocking any new fuel from being thrown on the fire, do we quench the dragon, or does the dragon begin to feed on itself?

Wednesday, October 5, 2011

The Last Act

Thank you
Sweet
Angel

When need
Was
Present

My Son
Damaged
In
The
Road

Rain Slicked
Night
Shining
On
Wet
Pavement

Twisted metal
Two
Cars
Become
One

Thank you
Sweet
Angel

One man
Stopping
To
Guide
others
Clear

Last act
Watching
over
My
Son

Protecting life
Caring
Generous
Soul

Passing on
In
Final
Last
Act
Of
Love

Thank you
Sweet
Angel

Take thanks
On
Your
Last
Journey


Ken Goree


Tonight, my son was in the first accident of his life.  Two cars twisted together so that one could not be distinguished the other.  He and his friends, and the lady in the other car were not hurt seriously, but arriving on the scene it was hard to believe.  The silver Toyota was sitting on the hood of my son’s car, tipped on its side so that the drive train was resting on the windshield of my son’s convertible.  They were in the middle lane of the freeway, rain dripping down, the lights of five police cars and to medic vehicles flashing needles of light into my eyes.  As I approached the scene,  I could see medics feverishly giving CPR to someone in the back of the medic ambulance.  My son’s life flashed before my eyes. 

It turned out not to be anyone involved in my son’s accident, but a good Samaritan who had pulled over after seeing the accident.  His concern for the safety of the accident victims led him to pull over and guide traffic around the twisted vehicles and their occupants.  In the midst of his care, concern and love for his fellow human beings.  God decided it was time to call him home.  My hero collapsed on the side of the road.  Despite the efforts of the aid crew which showed up just as he collapsed, he passed on into the night. 

I felt I needed to thank him for watching over my son until I arrived.  I hope his family and loved ones know about his heroic, last act.

Tuesday, October 4, 2011

White Noise


Waking in the
Night
With black
Whispers
In my mind
Turning small
Inconveniences
Into great
Tragedies
Trifling annoyances
Into travesties
And
Temporary setbacks
Into Armageddon

Lord
Give me
White noise:
Whipping winds
Pounding rains
Rhythmic thumping
From the
Washing machine,
To replace the whispers
And
Restore
Clarity and
Proportion
To my
Night
And
Life


Ken Goree

Monday, October 3, 2011

Music in the Night

In the settled silence
We hold each other
Close in slumber
Coiling together in
Our dreams
Wind slips in
Through narrow window
Sighing at the sight
Of our closeness
Whispering its
Approval
Singing of our union
As gentle Rain
Jealous to be
Without
Is tapping out
A rhythm
Joining Wind’s song
Music to accompany
Our embrace


Ken Goree

Sunday, October 2, 2011

Wander Lust

Just another day you say
But it’s not same for me
The sky blows other winds my way
I taste the scent of sea

Yesterday, this place was fine
But as the birds fly from the West
My heart calls with a wander lust
My feet yearn for a quest

Each year there is a single day
When summer gives to fall
Each fiber of my body says
To follow nomadic call

And year after year I hold
To home, family and friends
I hold hard to life that I do love
‘Til the call of wander lust ends


Ken Goree

Saturday, October 1, 2011

Aqua Vitae

From this
Comes all
Of limitless
Uncountable breaths

From this
All come
From fin
To limb

From this
Comes all
To upright
Thinking masses

To this
All can
Be returned
To nothingness


Ken Goree


I know aqua vitae is usually in reference to alcoholic spirits, but for the purposes of this poem I am taking it at its literal meaning; the water of life.

Friday, September 30, 2011

Wicked

What a wicked
Little girl
With a wicked
Little grin
But this wicked
Little girl
Is less wicked
Than her kin

You’d never guess
A clan like hers
Could be so
Full of sin
But that wicked
Little grin
Of hers
Still gets beneath
Your skin


Ken Goree

Thursday, September 29, 2011

Bright Blossom

Seeing you
This evening
After long parting

Smiling bright
Beaming sparkles
From dark eyes

So delightful
High laughter
Light and sincere

Knowing you
Blooming alive
Showing your gifts


Ken Goree


I love bumping into former students.  Seeing the growth and change is a marvelous miracle.

Wednesday, September 28, 2011

Self Aware

I know sometimes I talk too much
Okay, truthful, all the time
And though I am so self aware
I can’t help it most the time

I’ve tried to chew on bubble gum
To slow my flowing gab
I wish for just a moment to
At least try at being drab

Though try and try I really do
Not a soul has yet to see
My effort to restrain myself
It’s not how I used to be

I was such a tranquil child
Calm at my very core
That part of me has gone away
That lad is here no more

You’d think that after all those words
I’d eventually run out
Of words to say and thinks to think
But of chatter I’ve no drought

At end of day, as night comes on
And mouth does finally slow
Before you’ve had your chance to share
Sadly, off to sleep I go


Ken Goree


I’m told I “nailed it” on this one.

Tuesday, September 27, 2011

The Turning

Summer’s warmth has not yet gone
But soon will pass away
The humid days and languid nights
Have held us in their sway

Now on this evening sultry
At the end of day
The turning’s here, I sense it
The fall’s sweet decay


Ken Goree

I actually wrote this on Sunday, as autumn was hinting at its arrival.  Now, on Tuesday, with the wind, rain and scattered leaves all around, the poem seems outdated.

Monday, September 26, 2011

Sea Storm

Sea Storm


Boiling and storming
Poseidon hurls his trident
Lightning and thunder


Ken Goree


The storms of autumn are blowing in from the coast.  Poseidon’s reach is long.

Sunday, September 25, 2011

Tender Green

New growth
Coming too quickly
From long timid
Dormancy

Energy released
Long held within
Bursts forth with
Abandon

Exposing frailty
Reaching for light
From false sun
Radiating

Too soon
Such rampant growth
Leaves inner core
Depleted

True strength
Builds slowly upon
Layers of earned
Stability

When storms
They do come
The misdirected limb
Assaulted

Rough tempest
Will be pitiless
The stretched green
Broken


Ken Goree

Saturday, September 24, 2011

Still Surface

Still surface
Clear
Untainted by
Ripple
Or clouded
Reflection

Still surface
Shining
Sky and
Sunlight
Beautifully careworn
Face

Still surface
Shares
Nothing of
Pain
And celebrations
Beneath

Still surface
Shattered
By turbulent
Depths
To wipe
Away

Still surface
Returns
For moments
Calm
Time between
Storms


Ken Goree

Friday, September 23, 2011

Tick … Tick … Tick

Oh how the time do fly
Thank God for your attention
Or midnight would have come and gone
Missed poem would cause some tension

As you mentioned a moment ago
I’ve had a good long streak
Of pumping out these rhymes and prose
And tasty words I tweak

So wouldn’t it be a crime so foul
To wander off to bed
Forgetting my commitment  to
Spinning visions for your head

But because of your close watch
The minutes growing short
Became not a great problem
I scribbled this poem, of sort.


Ken Goree


Thank you, Susie, for noticing that midnight was approaching and I hadn’t done my promised duty for the day. 

Good night.  Sweet dreams.

Thursday, September 22, 2011

Edge

What I had
Crumpled
Collapsed
Died

They are the
Tiny
Damaged
Remains

Whom I hold
Tightly
Crushingly
Close

They are mine
Yelling
Screaming
Swearing

I am lost
confused
Hurting
Unsure

Don’t disrespect them
Give
Silent
Acceptance

I’ll Attack, I’m
On
The
Edge

I’ll defend mine
Yelling
Screaming
Swearing

It’s all I
Can
Give
Them


Ken Goree


Imagine a mom …

All the skills that society shuns, are fading as her only hope of paying the bills; bills that keep a roof over her children’s heads; anger boiling, as the good folk whisper behind their hands.  Terror grows bigger every day, as the bills grow larger while tainted money grows thinner.

Tired and damaged from life’s rough treatment, she screams, yells and swears at her only two possessions, a beautiful little girl and handsome young boy.  All through the drive to school she hears “Why, why, why,” and bickering between them.  In the parking lot she curses them out the car door and squeals the tires as she leaves. 

Two blocks away, the car stops; the sobbing starts.  Shaking, she curses God for hating her, then prays for the help she can’t ask for.  She hates herself, curses herself, shouts out, “I can’t do it.  What can I do?  Why didn’t anyone tell me it was this hard?”  When she can drive again, she starts the car.  She knows where to go to kill the pain.


Wednesday, September 21, 2011

Open

Sometimes a bit of wine
Can bring a relaxation
But when you pour your glass
Too full there is agitation
As all the past scars come
boiling to the surface
And tears start rolling
Down your face
There is no end to weeping
From sins you wish you never
You spent your time engaging
Will you forget them ever?
So out your soul you pour
To friends so close and dear
But they are pure and solid
Their shoulder held so near
And sobbing at the end of day
The bottle is now dried out
The tears they are all finished
Your emotions are all poured out
Upon the morning waking
You do not feel so well
But your heart is lightened
Friends helped you from your Hell


Ken Goree

Tuesday, September 20, 2011

Far and Wide

Looking
Far and wide
But
The pot of gold
Is still a
Mystery

Looking
Near and narrow
But
The string of pearls
Is still
Submerged

Looking
All around
But
The frogs
Have yet to be
Princes


Ken Goree


Is the fourth time going to be the charm, Buddy?

Monday, September 19, 2011

Clean

Clean


Lazy summer dust
Washed clear of twigs and bright leaves
By autumn’s cool rains


Ken Goree


This year is giving me ample inspiration to write poems about the rain.  

Sunday, September 18, 2011

Goodbye

A hole has opened
In earth long since tended
Loss felt for one
In the past befriended


Ken Goree


I just heard about the passing of a childhood friend, two days ago.  Though we were never “best friends,” he had left an indelible mark on my memory.  Though I had not seen Greg for thirty years, I was telling a story about him last month.  

Saturday, September 17, 2011

Apathetic Season

Apathetic Season


Letting go of life
Summer gives over to fall
Before having lived


Ken Goree


Summer seems to have given up, without even trying this year.  Fall, apparently, held off a little while, through pity only.  Now, having grown tired of putting up with Summer’s pathetic effort, Autumn is sweeping in with vigor to take its rightful place.

Friday, September 16, 2011

Sky

Sky
My friend
Looking into you
Feeling your deep presence
Watching over me at night
Feeling your bright eyes
Gazing at me
Great soul
Sky


Ken Goree