Thursday, March 31, 2011

Thankful

Thankful


I am thankful
For
For so much
The wind that
I sometimes curse
The dark that brings sleep
And thrills with
Thumping heart terrors
The sun that warms
Stings skin and eye
The cold that chills
And causes blankets to be drawn
In tight
Music that causes me to cringe
And send goose flesh running
The length of my arm
Stories that make me
Believe in strength
And cry for beauty
Your smile and soft breath
As you fall asleep in my arms
I am thankful


Ken Goree


It has been a good day.  And while I breathe … they are all good days (from my vantage point).  Each is one more chance to experience creation.  It may be pretty damn good after the breathing stops, but I plan to suck all of the wonder out of this life while I still have it.  I have eternity for what comes next, right?

Wednesday, March 30, 2011

Good

Good


Good doesn’t understand
Anger
Vicious unrelenting
Good Doesn’t understand
Evil
Wanting to inflict
Pain as its prize
Good Doesn’t understand
Domination
For its own sake
Good Doesn’t understand
Taking just to have
While others have not
Good Doesn’t understand
Hatefulness
Finding comfort
In destruction
Good Doesn’t understand
Why …


Thank God


Ken Goree



I love teaching young children.  When they do “bad things” they are minor, and the reasons are uncomplicated.  Even better, the “bad things” don’t occur nearly as often as the simple acts of innocent beauty and love.  How often does a “grown-up” give you a simple ugly crayon drawing that is so filled with wide-eyed innocence, and pure love that it is transformed into a priceless gold nugget that you can’t bear to part with, and stash away like a gem, in a treasure chest that was once a box full of copier paper.

Tuesday, March 29, 2011

Duck

Duck


Solitary
Lone Drake
In stubbled field
Surveying the flat terrain
Head high in an effort
Seeking a companion that didn’t arrive
Waiting patiently hour after hour
For his absent mate
Anxious for hen
She’s lost?
Alone

Ken Goree



There was a single lone duck out on the school’s playfield early this morning.  The few seagulls that are usually dotted amongst the tufts of crabgrass weren’t even present.  He was standing, head held high.  It did make me wonder, where his friends were; or his mate.  Between each long walk back to the office, and the copy machine, I’d check to see if he was still there.  Over the course of an hour, he hadn’t moved at all.  I thought of him one last time as the movement of the student tide began to wash in.  I worried that maybe he was not going anywhere because he was hurt, and also worried that some over excited and well-meaning students might damage or shock him while trying to do good by him.  On my last check, I found that he was gone.  I hope the winds of spring bore him on to someplace wonderful.

Monday, March 28, 2011

A Greening Road

A Greening Road


As Winter gives way
And Spring Begins
To sneak in
One little leaf at a time
The road I’ve traveled each
And every day
Begins to show me
The color I hadn’t realized
I’d forgotten

Bright green
The hue of life
Popping from buds
Long dormant,
Asleep
Declaring life
Renewed, vibrant
Producing energy
Sustaining


Ken Goree


Expect to see this poem continued on.  Locust Way, which runs between Kenmore and Lynnwood, Washington, is the road that inspired me.  Here in Western Washington, green never leaves us completely.  However, today, March 27th 2011 was the day that I really felt life finding its way into this new year.

Sunday, March 27, 2011

One Close Star

One Close Star

With a little try I know
I could reach a star
With one little fold in space
It isn’t all that far

Just a one step from here to there
Math does show the way
I hope within my lifetime
I’ll see that wondrous day

That new sun and other worlds
They are out there waiting
Those glorious lights, are for now,
Through the heavens skating


Ken Goree

Saturday, March 26, 2011

Charming

Charming


An eye that twinkles;
Bright laughter, musically
Attracts interest


Ken Goree

This is a senryu poem.  The senryu poem has the same syllable structure as a haiku, but where the haiku focuses on nature and seasons, the senryu focuses on human nature and emotions.

Friday, March 25, 2011

Feel of the Rainforest


Feel of the Rainforest


Humid warmth surrounds
Reaches under
Arms, between
Legs
Brushes wet
Around
Neck

Mists touch
Tentative fingers
Rain starts
Shirts cling
Stick
Weigh down
Breath stealing
Down pour
Forces eyes heavily
Closed

Wet clay
Mud
Grabs to
Claim boots
Sandals lost
Cakes onto
Calves
Thighs

Stringy vines
Brush
Sweaty cheek
Rough bark
Scrapes elbows
Waxy leaves
Slip
Between
Finger tips


Ken Goree


Thursday, March 24, 2011

Sights of the Rainforest

Sights of the Rainforest


Movement around me
Bright color and silent stealth
Pleasure or demise

Ken Goree


Yes, it is a haiku.  I’m not sure if it traditional, though.  Haiku are traditionally about the environment, but I think that it is the peaceful, contemplative mood that the haiku strives for.  I’m not sure that the emotional element of a stealthy hunter fits in normally.  Please let me know if you are aware that I am way off base.  

Wednesday, March 23, 2011

Sound In the Rainforest

Sound In the Rainforest

I hear the drip from leaf to leaf
like a drum on leaves the size
of umbrellas

As the rain comes
In earnest
The sound of water
becomes deafening

I hear the
Swirling, rushing,
Of the torrent
Down tree trunks and
As it boils around my ankles

Tapering off
The volume recedes
Back to
drips on drum-leaves
The tempo slows
Thump, thump, thump.

Water gives way to
Short silence
Replaced by life
Capuchin monkeys growl and howl
Macaw pairs bicker and scold
While their wings whistle above


Ken Goree



Tuesday, March 22, 2011

Non-poetry related, short rant

I have a suspicion that the site Yelp, is not on the up-and-up.  I made a review and it doesn't show up.  Guess what ... it was a negative review.  I filled out all of the "member" info, and did not write any words that would be socially unacceptable.  Does anyone have a better explanation for me?

My Daughter, Wrong Side Up

My Daughter, Wrong Side Up

My graceful little daughter
Has done it once again
After bouncing down the stairs
She finished up, wrong end

The doctors said she’d prob’ly live
A bruised spine she’s got
She’ll take a break from softball
And no yoga cold or hot

Ken

Yes, she really did fall down the stairs.  There are several “silver-linings” here.  First, of course, is that she will be all right.  The next most important S-L is, it didn’t happen at my house.  And though I’ll undoubtedly think of more later, the last important S-L is that it is not my stairwell and carpet that the huge glass of milk ended up covering.

Monday, March 21, 2011

A Relationship with the Wind

A Relationship with the Wind


I don’t always like the wind
Quite often, I detest it
Sometimes even curse it
Wonder why it exists
Wish it didn’t
Shudder violently when it drives rain into me
buffets snow against me
Stings me with Winter’s chill
Makes my ears ache and throb
Draws heat from my finger tips

But today …

I smiled as a cool breeze
Said good morning
It wrapped around me
Like a buddy giving a quick shoulder hug
I picked up my pace
As I breathed in the scents
Of soon to be hatched Spring
Praised the way it carried the ducks
As their “V” formations pointed North
Apologized for doubting the gifts
My friend Wind brings me daily


Ken Goree

Sunday, March 20, 2011

Tasty Sunset

Tasty Sunset

Juicy warm colors of sunset
Like gooey neon toppings oozing over
Deep purple thunderhead clouds
Like lumpy scoops of blackberry ice cream


Ken Goree

Wednesday evening, on my way home, I crested 228th hill and saw a wonderful mixture of sunset colors peaking over a dark stormcloud.  I just had to write about it.  I’m hoping that one day, when I can’t remember who I am, I’ll read some of this stuff and say, “Hey, who is this guy?  He writes some pretty good sh&%.”

Saturday, March 19, 2011

The Company We Keep

The Company We Keep


I chatted with a shrunken head
A day or two ago
He asked me for a lift downtown
“I haven’t far to go.”

He wasn’t very chatty then
But said his name was Joe
I understood his silence
He teetered to-and-fro

I worried on the drive with him
I drove my car quite slow
The seatbelt wouldn’t hold him in
A stop would forward throw

I wondered as I drove along
How did he end up so
Please tell me how you lost your “bod”
I’m curious to know

He didn’t speak for quite some time
I thought I’d sealed the flow
“Since you helped I’ll tell you some
The tale as quid pro quo”

It is a story that is strange
As if written by Old Poe
I stayed out late one night it was
Where no man should go

You see there were these cannibals
Who lived just down the row
They asked me to dine in one night
To their table I would go

My friends they all did warn me
to that invite be slow
I disregarded their strong words
From the invite I did show

It didn’t take that long to see
I wouldn’t leave, “Oh no!”
My head removed by one swift chop
With a plain garden hoe

I was saddened long after that
When I did come to know
For never in my life again
Would I have a big toe

Sometimes a lesson’s hard to learn
Advice away we throw
When ignoring wisdom, then
Regrets shall we sow

I enjoyed his story much
I kinda’ liked that Joe
And when he rolled out of the car
Was hard to watch him go


Ken Goree


I have no idea what triggered this poem ... I take it back.  The last part of the movie Beetlejuice popped into my head, the part where the witch doctor gets mad at Beetlejuice and shrinks his head.  

Friday, March 18, 2011

Shoes Again

Shoes Again


I had a pair of dress shoes
That I found rather nice
On any given week
I wore them more than thrice.

They were a subtle brown
That shone so in the sun
They,  so comfortable
My tennis shoes I’d shun

The trouble with these shoes
They were oh, so fancy
That they were tasty, too
My dog took a chancey

From that moment onward
I didn’t have the heart to
Wear them out in public
No more my fav’rite shoe


Ken Goree

It is a true story.  Those favorite shoes were the only thing my dog, Orion, ever chewed up that didn't deserve it.  The possessed "coat rack?"  It deserved it.

Thursday, March 17, 2011

Not Those Leprechauns, Again

Not Those Leprechauns, Again

I thought I’d write a poem
About a leprechaun
Those dirty little buggers
Are hiding in my lawn

I hear them in the morning
When I walk out my door
Cleaning up their messes
Has become a daily chore

I do like a party, I
Appreciate their humor
The bottles left behind
Have started a bad rumor

You see, no one believes
The story that I tell them
Leprechauns made the mess
They should compensate with gem

Messing up my property
Is  fair play to leprechauns
If I had my way today
They’d see no more dawns


Ken Goree


I thought I'd better tie a poem to the holiday.

Wednesday, March 16, 2011

Shoes


Shoes


I’ve just started thinking of
The thing that we call the shoe
It travels with us doing
All the things we like to do

Some shoes are made for running
A sport that’s brand new to me
Other shoes are water proof
They go wading in the sea

There are big and clunky ones
They can clip onto a ski
Amazing, how a thing like
That, can make you feel so free

Have a pair that I don’t like
Some ugly out-of-doors shoes
The reason I despise them,
They stepped in my doggy’s poo


Ken Goree

Tuesday, March 15, 2011

Together

Together


We hold hands and walk closely, through the park
I catch your silhouette, cast by the sun
In my chest, heart thuds, unseen in the dark

A time that I honor, when day is done
The spark in your eye, my doubts will abate
Relaxing, knowing, your love I have won.

Our feelings for each other have great weight
We do know each other’s deepest secrets
Together, forever, may be our fate

I am sure that, we’ll withstand any threats
Yes, our love will endure, against all bets


Ken Goree

This poem is Tersa Rima.  It is poem of 11 lines, characterized by a 10 syllables per line, with a rhyme structure of, aba, bcb, cdc, dd. 

Monday, March 14, 2011

The secret of the 13th's poem:

I realize that the shape poem from the 13th is somewhat difficult to read, even if the formatting worked out on your computer screen and it looked like a reclining person.  If you tried to view it on a Smartphone screen, you were totally out of luck.  It was described by one person as resembling a Rorschach test.

The secret of the 13th's poem:  I wish I could get a really good night's sleep, with really cool, adventurous dreams, were I am the hero.

Butterfly

Butterfly

On waking this morning
I did take a look outside
My desire  for Spring time
Wished it, no longer to hide

A windblown leaf I saw
As it did go flutter by
Behind the window, I
Wished it were a butterfly

Ken Goree


I am ready for spring.  My tender new roses, and apple trees look so sad sitting dormant in the front yard … the two from Jackson Perkins arrived looking pretty bad, and I am hoping that when some warmth comes back to our neighborhood I will be pleasantly surprised.  

Sunday, March 13, 2011

Heroic dreams

Heroic dreams


                                                                                                                                                                                    ms
              I                                                                                                                                                                 a        wh
      ish     could              eally good night’s sleep,                                                                        e                  er                       h
  w                         g         r                                                       with really                                           dr                          e I               e   e                                 

I                                et a                                                                                  cool, adventurous                                       am    h          r
                                                                                                                                                                                                                     t              o.



     
                                                                                                                                                                                                                           
Ken Goree

This is a shape poem.  Since I feel the need to explain what it is supposed to look like, I'm not sure it turned out the way I wanted it to. 

10 points to the first person to comment with the correct explanation of what it is supposed to look like. 

Saturday, March 12, 2011

Rose

Rose

Rose blossoms inspire imagination with
Scents which tickle the emotions
Tempting feelings of romance, when
Under magnifying drops of dew and
Velvet textures they are presented

Ken Goree


This is an ABC poem.  The traditional ABC poem is five lines long, each line starting with words in alphabetical order from the first word of the first line.  I chose to start on “r” since I had a hankering for a poem about flowers, and the rose is one of my favorites.  I love the combination of scent and beauty.  

Friday, March 11, 2011

Delaying Our Parting

Delaying Our Parting


Arm wrapped around her tender waist,
Postponing time  when we must part.
Each tick of clock I dare not waste,
Arm wrapped around her tender waist.
Another kiss, I give in haste.
When she leaves me, so shall my heart.
Arm wrapped around her tender waist,
Postponing time, when we must part.


Ken Goree


This poem is a triolet.  A tiolet is an eight line poem.  In the poem the 1st, 4th and 7th lines repeat.  The 2nd and 8th line also repeat.  The 3rd and 5th line rhyme with the 1st line.  The 6th line rhymes with the 2nd line.  

It isn't required, but suggested, that the poem consist of lines which are 8 syllables each, or 10 syllables each.

Thursday, March 10, 2011

The End

The End

The
Shadow
Will be dark
And envelope
Me


Ken Goree

This poem is a Lanturne.  The form is by syllables: one, two, three, four, one.  
 
.  

Wednesday, March 9, 2011

Corrections made

Reading the poem this morning, I noticed I had a few typos, and a few lines that I didn't like.  I've made those corrections and removed those lines.

Ode to the Lawn Mower

Ode to the Lawn Mower


One day, one summer, when I was four
I found that locked was my front door
Sat down, chin in hands, “What a bore.”
Nothing to play with, ‘cept what dad would abhor
Only his big loud Sear’s lawn mo’er
Seat was high up, but I climbed aboard
Bounced up and down making sounds like, “ROAR!”
Then found a key, “Hey, what’s this for?”
I turned the thing and imagination did soar
A lust of excitement came from every pore
The machine shot forward, states all the lore
It will stop, right?  Can there be more?
It took out the freezer, food on the floor
Crushed canoe and every last oar
As for the garage, it changed the decor
Punctured oil cans, on the ground they did pour
I was in big trouble, I knew the score
When dad came home, I was done for
When I was discovered I might well explore
Anywhere, but here, a far distant shore
I wish the garage to previous, I could restore
All the organization, my dad did adore
I guess the destruction, I’m responsible for
When I am caught, like a prisoner of war
My terrible deeds, history will underscore
I doubt a pardon I will receive before
My dad sees the things he will deplore
His great and kind mercy, I will implore
I’ll suggest that I would do any chore
Or if he wished, I’d join the Marine Corps
If he decides to beat me I'll be "real sore"
When dad got home, a smack I prepared for
Being naughty I said, I’d do no more
All the damage I’d done, dad couldn’t ignore
My dad was a great guy, how could I say more?
He soon recovered and built new, good rapport
The Mexican border I didn’t need to make for
Like apocalypse now, needed a musical score
In the first time in his life, I think dad swore
And then, he made for the local liquor store
After  the event, I think we all know the score
Never again! I’ll not be locked out anymore


Ken Goree

Yes, I realize that this poem is not an ode.  It is a monorhyme, but Monorhyme to the Lawnmower just didn't sound right.  I guess it isn't hard to figure out, but it is a poem that has a final end rhyme on all lines. I am sure that there are many problems with this poem that my writing group will be helping me with.  Thank you in advance!  I hope it tells the story, and the poetic problems don't interfere.

I was trying to fit Louis L'amour into the poem, but I was getting too tired to squeeze him in.  Sorry, Louis.

Tuesday, March 8, 2011

Balance - In the Scientific Sense

Balance

When dealing with an object
You’ll find a possibility
Than when you think you’ve got it
There is an instability

Don’t worry now, I’ll tell you
Balance is not mysterious
But heed this warning now
With great weights please, stay serious!

There is a thing not secret
It’s called the balance point
And if you do not find it
The weight will disappoint

The position of the mass
Around this magic spot
An important distribution
If it balances or not

The arrangement of these pieces
Will form a unique system
To keep it very stable
So important is position

On the other side of balance
Should be a counterweight
If it all is working
A celebration you will rate


Ken Goree


All right, I’m not sure this really is a didactic poem, as it doesn’t really instruct.  However, it does use most of the science vocabulary words for this first lesson in our Balance and Motion unit.

Monday, March 7, 2011

Really, from where?!

My poetry blog now has a reader from the United Arab Emirates.  That's pretty cool.  I wonder if my poems translate, very well.

Moonlit Visitor

Moonlit Visitor


A sickle moon is out tonight
Both tips are pointing up
The unilluminated piece
Chocolate ice cream in a cup

While walking in the crisp, cool air
Companion by my side
A ghostly shape sailed overhead
Its shadowed wings did glide

The silent and the stocky form
In darkened sky did pass
Haunting screech, strong rang out
Through air as clear as glass

Again the call it comes to us
Rings out all through the night
The hooting of the male barred owl
We recognize it without fright

New resident of this Northwest
My eyes trace his owl’s passage
He’s a welcome settler
Come here with his grey dressage


Ken Goree


I’m asking for forgiveness on this one.  The second half was forced through during a migraine. 
The deal was pretty obvious, I think.  Orion and I were out for a walk, and we noticed … I mean, I noticed how incredibly amazing the moon looked tonight.  There was a bright sliver of moon, and from my vantage point, this evening, the two ends (tips) of the sickle were both pointing up; seemingly horizontal, parallel to the horizon.  The part of the moon that was not lit by the sun was still quite visible.  I likened it to chocolate ice cream.  Unfortunately, I am occasionally troubled by color-blindness (it is always there, but most of the time it isn’t a problem), so another flavor may have been a better choice for this poem.  Please, let me know if you saw the moon tonight, and would suggest another flavor.  If you suggest something with neon colored sprinkelss, I’ll stick with “chocolate.”

I hope no one is disappointed, but we didn’t see an owl tonight.  I just fused a prior memory with this night’s experience.  It worked for me .

Sunday, March 6, 2011

Application of Force

Application of Force

To move a large mass
Using fulcrum and lever
It is all in the placement
You needn’t be clever

On one end the mass
The lever tucked under
A fulcrum comes next
But where to put it, you wonder

Near to the mass
The fulcrum will go
Now push down the far end
Of the lever, “just so”

And now the mass
Up, up it will travel
The practice will work
Be the mass boulder, or gravel

Ken Goree

This is a didactic poem. The didactic poem is a poem that is intended to be used to instruct.  I am beginning the Balance and Motion science unit in my classroom and decided to write a didactic poem about balance.  Somewhere along the way, the poem was chewed up and spat back out (mentally, and metaphorically) as a poem about simple machines.  It's strange how a thing like that can happen when it is almost 1:00 in the morning.  I'll have to try the "balance" poem again at a less obscene hour of the day.

Saturday, March 5, 2011

Naughty Boy

Naughty Boy

There never was a girl like you
Who made a boy like me,
Think of special things to do
When no one else can see.


Ken Goree


This is only PG rated, right?  Maybe PG-13.  

Friday, March 4, 2011

Our Freedoms

Our Freedoms …

F              -              Feed the soul and
R             -              Release us from tyranny.  They
E              -              Encourage our mightiest acts, as well as
E              -              Enabling our most noble endeavors.  They
D             -              Do not entitle us to evil actions, but
O             -              Oblige responsibility upon us, or they
M            -              May be lost.

Ken Goree


I wrote this poem yesterday after reading an article.  The U.S. Supreme Court ruled that hateful protesting at military funerals was protected as free speech.  I hate to think of limits to the freedom of speech, but the cruelty of these protesters makes me physically ill.  I do not believe they are trying to make a point.  I sincerely believe they are vicious, and only interested in feeling powerful by causing pain to others.  

Thursday, March 3, 2011

Balance

Balance


Hunter
Recognizing prey
Sets the trap
With utmost care

Prey
Using speed, agility
Eludes


Ken Goree


I’ve been trying to use different poetry forms, but have “stuck with what I know” for a while now.  This is a Septolet.  The description of this form is:  A poem of seven line containing fourteen words, with a break in between two parts.  Both parts deal with the same (or related thought) and create a picture.

Wednesday, March 2, 2011

Popcorn


Popcorn

They get poured into
The classroom
Like kernels of popcorn
Into a skillet

There is sound at first
Then quiet
As they get settled into
Their place

Then as heat is turned up
They begin
To move, jump, and splatter
Some do

The wild action increases
Among them
As the energy builds up
They pop

The less they are watched
The faster
They pop and expand
Getting bigger

They start out small
But grow
As they grow tired
They calm

Ken Goree


When I started this poem I was thinking about one boy in my class.  I was thinking of nicknaming him popcorn.  Like popcorn, you have to like him.  Even when he does something annoying, as a kernel might get stuck in your gums, you don’t think any worse of him.  He is positive and energetic, popping out of his chair, or popping open his mouth to excitedly blurt out something.  Sometimes that excited blurting happens before his brain has a chance to engage.  I’m sure popcorn doesn’t think much before it pops, except maybe an inarticulate, “Holy, S%#&, that’s hot!”

As I started the poem, however, it came to me that an entire class has a lot in common with a skillet full of popcorn.

Tuesday, March 1, 2011

Wind Swept

Wind Swept


Wind swept
Grains of sand are
Whipped along the beach front
Like rough snapping leather ribbons
Gusting


Ken Goree

This is another poem inspired by my trip to Cannon Beach.  For me, there has always been a sort of mesmerizing quality to watching sand being whipped along a beach.  There are times when very cold snow can achieve this quality, too.  It is as if the wind brings the sand, or snow, to life.