Ready for a new direction after 32 years of teaching high school English. I wrote my first poem about green socks in 1977; I hope I've improved since then.
Curse of Eurydice
I. Descent Descent into the depths of sorrow borne Upon the innocent Persephone Her struggle into darkness, full forlorn,
Eavles and Kord
Under a knobby-looking oak I sit, on a cement bench shaped like a coffin for tall people. That obtrusive sun seeping through the leaves of the trees
My Mom's Green Thumb
My mother’s green thumb couldn’t be surpassed by many. Oh, I’m sure there are horticulturists and botanists that study this kind of thing, but to her it was as natural as breathing. Her yard was full of shade trees, fruit trees, plants of every kind from bromeliads to kalanchoe. She knew the best ways to keep the rabbits away from her blueberries. This solution was to sit outside at night and throw rocks at the rabbits when they come for her blueberries. A couple of nights of this, and there were no more bun-buns around.
My grandfather was right about many things. He called the World Series winners many years in a row, how we’d put a man on the moon, Nixon – he knew things, or he was an excellent guesser. His 86 years of experience included both good things and bad, the good things being what he shared with his grandkids. Besides his love of chess, he loved making us laugh. He would take us into his lap and point to his mustache. We’d go to touch it, and he’d pretend to bite our fingers. My father did that, too, come to think of it. We’d break out into a fit of giggles.
You Haven’t Been Listening You did not hear him reaching out to you; Instead, you typed your detailed anecdotes, Your deadlines met, the law is followed through
I think I love him well enough today, To tell him that I feel for him this way. But something in my mind will now let me
I brought my 12-year-old Little Sister (from the Big Brother/Big Sister mentoring program) to see a movie. It’s sad to realize that the only talking bear that today’s generation of kids are familiar with is the raunchy Ted or possible some naughty puppets from Avenue Q. Marc Forster’s Christopher Robin refreshes the A.A. Milne classic and brings us to the future of Christopher, which still leaves us in the late 1940s. This is a departure from the annoying habit of modernizing fairy tales by immersing them in current-day scenarios like Enchanted or Hook. Instead, we get a mesmerizing period piece of post-war London in stunning detail as the tale unwinds.
Halloween Horror Nights at Universal (HHN). Howl-O-Scream at Busch Gardens (HOS). ZooBoo at Lowry Park Zoo. The Horror Trail in 1980s’ Carrollwood where actual cows’ heads hung from the trees and a headless horseman roamed the woods. I’ve seen quite a few attempts at instilling fear, but haven’t felt it. I think I found it at Scream-A-Geddon in Dade City, Florida.