Media

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I'm listening to an oldies station
as it streams to my laptop.
The foundation of Graceland
was built on 45s,
but now they are more dear
as a valuable antique
than as a mode of communication.
By my count,
fully nine types of media surround me,
and eight could now go full fathom five
without my missing a beat.
What I would keep: this newish laptop
in plastic and aluminum
and the beat up Shakespeare
living on the thinnest of onionskin.
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Senior Discount Day at Goodrich Shoprite

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I walked into my grocery store for the first time on a Tuesday,
and it was packed at 2 in the afternoon.
Seniors. All of them.
It did not dawn on me at first,
until I went down several isles
and trudged my cart around a bad hip or two,
a cane,
and someone in the little electric cart,
which I had never seen used there before.
At the checkout, I asked
"What's the starting age for the Senior Discount?"
as I flipped through their pile of Senior Discount cards.
When I heard it was fifty five,
 I gladly signed up,
my signature still steady,
and my cane out in the car.
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Something Coming Up

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Sun to rain, then sun again.
Early April is a switch hitter,
and if snow shows up, even more so.
But I'll take this gladly,
even though there's frost on the car some mornings,
even though the all the winter's trash finally reveals itself
after months under the snow,
even though the funerals are almost daily now
at St. Casimirs across the street,
there is still
the sign of growth in the gardens;
something coming up through the dead leaves.
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Four Senryu

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It is such an honor
to be bored stiff listening to you.
Whose honor, I cannot tell.
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His approach was described as
"Rough around the edges."
All that's needed is a blunt object.
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He had no stomach
for the work, he said,
though his belly disagreed.
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She always took the elevator,
which was the only way
she could rise to the occasion.
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only a few days to go...

OK, so I write a bit during the off-months. Not enough by my estimation, but there is some writing going on. I don't put it up here; so far, I've saved this blog for my one-poem-a-day exercise in April. Not like there's a clamoring at the gates for more, but it's better leaving an audience wanting more than to give them too much. Perhaps I'll have an audience again this year--including (yes) hecklers. A brief review of last year's posts will reveal one heckler, and I was very glad to have him/her (GlassHammer, if you're reading this, come back!).
Having a heckler means that someone is reading, and is concerned enough to post. Every poet should have a few--indeed, most poets I read don't have enough. There's usually plenty of family and friends who will love your work. But there's so many people who have never had any critique of their work--not just poets mind you, but virtually anyone whose work is open to review. Simply watch the first few shows of American Idol to see how few people, supposedly dedicated to their art, have received any helpful criticism of their work before performing (and American Idol is just the most blatant example). And if you should indeed search out critique of your work, how do you weigh which to work with, and which to set aside? That is work. If you want to do anything of value, you cannot escape it.

test, test

This is a test. I'm dusting off the blog...

A Story Problem

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One poet drives his older model Volvo East.
Another poet drives his older model Volvo West.
As they pass, both wave to each other.
Which poet will be first to reach home
and write a poem about this?
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