Honea Express

Archive for the ‘poetry’ Category

This morning we passed a firehouse, and outside it stood firefighters in uniform, a police officer, an old woman with a walker and a simple silence. They were oblivious to the cars buzzing by them. One was reading from a piece of paper and the others were deep in closed eyes and lost gazes. I turned to my young children and explained to them, again, what happened on September 11th.

I found that it is still hard to talk about.

In 2001 Tricia and I were newly married and living, albeit briefly, in Tucson, Arizona. A local radio show organized this photo opportunity for solidarity and support. We are in the top left corner of the flag, in blue, about three people in.

That’s thousands of people and a lot of love.

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I’ve had this blog for about six years, give or take, and this little poem has been a part of it since the beginning. Thank you for reading it once again:

On a September day
when school bells rang,
and leaves entertained thoughts
0f leaving-
things went wrong in a world
that was much more right
than we ever thought it was.
On a September day
when bells rang,
for the dying.

Atticus and his classmates wrote a poem for Earth Day. Like to hear it? Here it go:

Happy Earth Day, Earth. We all chipped in and got you this little gift.

In other news, please enter the candle contest listed below and check out my new post at DadCentric!

“Boys, be quiet,” I said yet again.

For them it would happen, the question was when.

“Close your books,” I added, “and turn off the light.

“Pull up your blanket and shut your eyes tight!”

They ignored every word, they laughed with a cry –

forgetting that Yoda says do and not try

and that doing what I do is how Daddy do it

and if they do less: allowance? They blew it.

I gave them a minute then a second or four

until it was clear they appeared to care more

about playing and talking and ignoring their dad,

crossing the lines between good kids and bad.

I walked the walk of knock that shit off

I got to their door and walked in with a cough

that announced I was there to make it all stop

that announced I was mad, their big angry pop.

The floor it was wet, the water glass empty

they hooted, they hollered and oh, how it tempt me

to smack on their butts until their cracks doubled

but spanking, in theory, leaves me puzzled and troubled.

So I gave them a lecture. It was fierce. I was stern.

Until it sunk in, they had lessons to learn.

The rules of bedtime are set strict like a diet;

if you’re gonna be sneaky, for Pete’s sake be quiet.

And now a dramatic reading by the author:
If They Ran the Circus I’d be Dead by Now

Some time ago, back before I didn’t post FOREVER I made a promise. Granted that promise was to this blog in general and none of the readers seemed very interested. Or not interested at all, actually, but hey, it’s my blog and I’m a man of my word.

If you don’t like bad poetry you should leave now.

I give you my poems for kids (as promised):

THE BELLY HOLE

On my belly
just left of the mole,
where other kids have buttons
I only have a hole.

I tried hiding it with scotch tape,
it tore off all my skin.
I stuffed it full of cotton,
but the swabs would not stay in.

I planted a flower in it
to see if it would grow,
I filled it up with catnip,
and Fluffy’s front right toe.

I asked my mom to sew on
a button from my jacket,
I tried to stitch it shut
with some string from my racket.

I plugged it with a cork
my stomach got real numb,
so I poked it with a fork
I poked it with my thumb.

Of all the things I tried,
none could be hipper,
than my solid-steel, gold plated
new belly zipper.

HICCUP STYLE

Daddy says I’ve got hiccup style,
says I’ve been burpin’ for quite a while.
He could pat me on the back,
or I could breathe into a sack,
but he says the beat is good,
and if I practice it I could
be a professional hiccupee
as long as no one’s scaring me.

SNOWBALLS AND UNDERPANTS

Ice and cold
Between the fold
Of my cotton undies.
Throwing snow
I did not know
Could be so not so fundies.

When I was just the arm
Then I thought there was no harm
In practicing my aim.
Until someone shouted “fire”
Then I decided to retire
And the target I became.

If only I did duck
Instead of being struck
My bottom would be dry.
As it is my rear is wet
I can only imagine the playground bet
If I’m a briefs or boxers guy.

ROCK YOU

In still and quiet night,
Your eyes are shutting tight
Soon your lips will smile
I will rock you for a while

Hold me in embrace,
Feel my cheek upon your face
The wet is only tears
I will rock away your fears

Through stars, sun or rain
By buggy, boat or distant train
It is as peaceful as it seems
I am rocking you to dreams

Meet the ones you missed,
Remember those you kissed
Through clouds and rivers deep
I am rocking you to sleep.

THE SECOND COMING

I’m going to be a dad…again
and still. Still I am a dad.
It will be new because it is you
and you have undeserved
shadows already cast over you
and boots to fill
but I have faith in you
though we haven’t
been properly introduced.

You are number two.
That is just a matter of chance.
It is chronological.
It is not a ranking.
Although your big brother
is about the coolest,
and you are luckier at this point
because you have things
that he never did-
like him for instance.

Come out smiling
and be welcomed.
Come out knowing
how fortune feels
and know that love
is the most important
currency that I carry.

HOTFOOT

My sister got a blister
on the bottom of her foot,
it’s there cuz’a my fault
I pushed her in the soot.
I thought it might be funny,
’til she started cryin’,
she screamed about them hot coals,
I swore that she was lyin’.
And so with my bare foot
I stepped into that soot,
and sure enough, them coals were hot,
and on my foot I also got
a big raw burnin’ blister . . . .
a lot like the one I got for my sister.

DINOSAUR SONG

If dinosaurs sang a song
I wonder how it’d sound.
It would probably be like thunder
over rain that’s pouring down.
Or maybe like a choo-choo train
rolling fast along the tracks,
or like a dozen snoring grandpas
asleep upon their backs.

Could it be like a drummer’s beat
that leads an army of marching feet?
Or like a pack of howling wolves?
Stampeding cattle with a thousand hooves?
I suppose it could be any of these,
but what if dinosaurs were quiet as bees?

What if they sang like the evening wind
blowing softly, cool, and nice?
Or like a tiny mouse with friends?
Oh, I guess that would be mice.

About the only way I’ll ever know
is to buy a dinosaur radio…
but I’m broke.

Promise kept.