Friday, September 30, 2011


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  Now, on Tuesday, with the wind, rain and scattered leaves all around, the poem seems outdated.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

Energy released
Long held within
Bursts forth with

Exposing frailty
Reaching for light
From false sun

Too soon
Such rampant growth
Leaves inner core

True strength
Builds slowly upon
Layers of earned

When storms
They do come
The misdirected limb

Rough tempest
Will be pitiless
The stretched green

Ken Goree

Saturday, September 24, 2011

Still Surface

Still surface
Untainted by
Or clouded

Still surface
Sky and
Beautifully careworn

Still surface
Nothing of
And celebrations

Still surface
By turbulent
To wipe

Still surface
For moments
Time between

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


What I had

They are the

Whom I hold

They are mine

I am lost

Don’t disrespect them

I’ll Attack, I’m

I’ll defend mine

It’s all I

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


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

Far and wide
The pot of gold
Is still a

Near and narrow
The string of pearls
Is still

All around
The frogs
Have yet to be

Ken Goree

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

Monday, September 19, 2011



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


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


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

Ken Goree

Thursday, September 15, 2011


Mountains crumble to the sea
From wind and sun and rain
From the ravages of long time
Nothing can sustain

Erosion seems a wicked thing
From millennia and on
But the building sources of our world
Are counted by the eon

Time and forces that shape planets
Are hard really to grasp
When we think of days and hours
For perspective we should ask

Mountains press up from the seas
Caused by tectonic plates
We know this when we look real close at
Its sedimentary traits

Ken Goree

Just remembered the “didactic” form of poetry and thought I’d try to teach a short geology lesson.

Wednesday, September 14, 2011

Worker Bee

Much done
Much to do
Better if
I were two

Day past
Day long
Best if
Earlier gone

Hard toil
Hard work
Grander if
Don’t shirk

Wild day
Wild night
Slumber time
Heavenly sight

Ken Goree

I actually have plenty of energy left, after my long fulfilling day with my new class.  I love them.  I should have a lot of poetry fuel this year as their energy and behaviors run the spectrum from one end to the other; sometimes all in the same child.

Tuesday, September 13, 2011

Let Me

When vile
Tears apart
Your placid
Reaching down,
To churn to froth
Your still depths
Let me
Breathe away the
Let me
Calm the parts of
That no other can
With my touch
Let me
Smooth your
To once again

Ken Goree

Monday, September 12, 2011

Young and Lost

Call out,
Desk covered,
Chair bouncing,
Pencil box rattling,
Singing in silent hall,
Lost work,
Broken pencil,
Anxious scramble,
Edge of tears
Escape to

Ken Goree

I had the first day of school today; what a wonderful, beautiful class.  There was one poor boy who is more scattered and disorganized than almost any I have had as a student before.  I feel sorry for him.  Trying to get his stuff together at the end of the day was an ordeal for him.  A very simple activity, for even a less than average organized person, almost left him in tears.  Five pieces of paper were handed to him and he was to put them in a folder.  The rest of the class did this activity, got their backpacks from the hall, packed up and lined up to go.  At that point, I had to help him find the pieces of paper which were in his desk, on his desk and under his desk mat.  The poor guy was almost in tears.  I am going to have to work hard to teach him systems to make him be successful.

He is the classic “class clown” who is loud, distracting, and distracted.  It is a cover; he is trying not to be “found out.”  He’s scared.

Sunday, September 11, 2011

Lost Sparkle

You read
Me so well
Watch me
So closely
As the
Sparkle in
My eye
I feel
The thick
Slow approach
Of sickness

Give me
A brief
To heal
And then
I’ll bring
The sparkle
Back for

Ken Goree

Saturday, September 10, 2011


I was reminded just right now
That my blog is a snapshot
Of my life through this long year
Even if it’s gone to pot

I’ve hoped to see my children
Develop on their road
Into happy healthy folk
But worked without a code

So when one of my offspring
Meanders off the trail
Of wise and noble choices
It feels like I’m in Hell

I boldly state my worries
And give the kid a hint
Of better ways to live life
Wisdom worth a mint

Though now my plan is laid out
To my words she’s deafened
I spend much time saying phrases
Starting with a rhyme of “F-N”

Ken Goree

Though this evening is a temporary speed bump in the raceway of raising children, I feel that there are too many of them lately.  And they are bigger.  And my suspension is giving out. 

Sorry for the “F-N” thing.  Oh, it could have been so much worse.  I am considering starting up a new poetry blog that is not kid friendly; something like “Sailor Potty-Mouth Poems. com”.

Friday, September 9, 2011


I get confused
When seeing
The big pain

I get clarity
When seeing
The big love

Ken Goree

I have a friend who is going through what could be the most despairing thing a lover, wife, partner could possibly go through.  In the midst of it all she radiates love, and strength.  She finds treasures and silver-linings in the midst of pain and suffering.  I’ve known her for several years and wish everyone could recognize and live “True Love,” as she has.  When you talk with her, you often leave with a tear in your eye; not from sadness in what could be her darkest hour, but because she once again has given you clarity into the joy that can be found in every moment. 

I am writing another poem, based on something she said yesterday; something that made me cry because it was so beautiful.  She has lived the storybook love that most of think can’t really exist.  She is a window into a world where it does.  I want to take time with this poem, to give it the depth and respect she and her tender comment deserve.

Unfortunately, I’ve seen lately too many people who energetically spread pain, fear and disaster to the people around them.  Luckily, I have been spared from people like this in my life, but I still get a different kind of tear in my eye, thinking of the poor souls they continue to damage.

We need more creators of love in our lives. 

Thursday, September 8, 2011

Rustles in the Bush

Rustles in the Bush

Rustles in the bush
Intentioned stealthy paw press
Leaving faint traces

Ken Goree

Wednesday, September 7, 2011

Half My Family

My brother has one stinky foot
The other smells quite nice
My mother wants to cure him
But can’t afford the price

My sister has one real dark eye
The other one is light
It looks creepy and quite scary
But don’t effect her sight

My father has one hairy ear
The other one is clear
We watch it all day in case
An animal does appear

My mother has one plugged up nostril
The other whistles some
She could start her own small band
Accompanied by drum

Both side of me are just the same
I hope you do not mind
Very stinky and quite weird
But consistent you will find

Ken Goree

I am planning on doing an after school poetry class this year.  However, I realized I might have trouble interesting boys in the class, so I decided that I would start writing a few “sixth grade boy friendly” poems.  Poetry doesn’t have to be smart or classy.  It just has to cause an emotional response.  That is why it is considered an art.  We do have to admit that the emotional response, “Ahhh, that is just stupid,” might not qualify. 

Tuesday, September 6, 2011

It’s Just Basic Manners

Holding doors is nice to do
Some don’t think it matters
You like it when it’s done for you
It’s just basic manners

I like it when you smile at me
Some don’t think it matters
To some it is a specialty
It’s just basic manners

Quiet during testing time
Some don’t think it matters
But it helps the mind to shine
It’s just basic manners

Get there when you say you will
Some don’t think it matters
Seeing you, their heart will fill
It’s just basic manners

Please and thank you aren’t just words
Some don’t think it matters
Lovelier than pretty birds
It’s just basic manners

Ken Goree

As the receiver of a “politeness faux pas,” I was driven to write this poem.  I would love to have readers send in examples of manners that should be followed in a civilized world. 

Monday, September 5, 2011

To My Dear Students,

To try.
If you fall,
I will catch you.
When you fly,
I will cheer you on.

Mr. Goree

I spent more time in the classroom today, getting ready for the new school year.  I got more and more confident as the day went on, that I would be ready for my students when they walk into my room.  I wanted to find a quote, or make up my own about “winning” or “success.”  Then I realized, they will win, and they will succeed.  What I really want them to know is that they will win and they will succeed, and on the path to reaching those goals I will be as excited as they are about getting there, and if they stumble off the side of that path, I will help them back on their way.

I want them to know these things all year long, so I put it on their desk mats.  They will see that poem every day, and on those days when I don’t seem thrilled with their effort or behavior, they will have a reminder that I have faith in them.  Dopey, huh?

Sunday, September 4, 2011

Silent, But for Me

But for me

Stacked high
Set askew
All silent

Piled high
Hiding treasures
All silent

Scattered wide
In crates
All silent

Standing sharpened
Piled dull
All silent

Stapled up
Sharing hints
All silent

In pairs
Are waiting
All silent

Hangs unruffled
Watches over
Is silent

Sits still
Warm, stuffy
Is silent

But for me

Ken Goree 

I'm sitting in my classroom, contemplating a new school year.  While trying to get my room ready for children who won't be here for another eight days.  Some of the faces that come through the door will be familiar to me.  I've seen them around the building.  Some will walk in with fear in their eyes; they'll soon feel at home, comfortable, safe.  Some will come in angry, defensive, noisy; they'll soon feel at home, comfortable, safe.  Some will come in feeling at home, comfortable and safe.  I'll help them stay that way.

But right now, I have to make the room presentable; have to get ready for the ones who matter.

Saturday, September 3, 2011

The Darren Poem

There once was a man named Darren
For his property he’s  always carin’
He rode round cuttin’ grass
While he sat on his ass
“Ken should be doin’ this,” he was swearin’

Ken Goree

A little crude, but that is what limericks are supposed to be, right?  (Actually, a true limerick is suppose to be raunchy and taboo breaking).  As I write this, Darren is probably waking up to his second day of lawn mowing … it is a lot of lawn!   I have to credit Tonja with the initial idea for writing a poem about Darren mowing the lawn, though she probably didn’t expect me to make a limerick out of it.

Friday, September 2, 2011


I like my crust
I keep it near the top
Above it I keep my
Smiles and silly slop

I like my crust
I keep it above
The gooey parts of me
The places that cry and love

I like my crust
I keep it intact
Because I don’t like how it feels
Each time it gets cracked

Ken Goree

Thursday, September 1, 2011


As night
Quietly approaches
Friends gather
Circling, expectant
Sudden friction
Brings Light
As match
Touches tinder
Fire tongues
Lick upward
Spreading heat
And flame
While summer
Day departs
Joyous laughter
From Children
Old stories
From Elders
In light
Of fire
All life
Is good
And darkness
Is bejeweled

Ken Goree