Curtis Jerry Smothers - Freelance Blogger/Tutor
Still More Poems
A Poem in My Pocket
I've a poem in my pocket
Not quite burning a hole.
From the glow of my muse
And the warmth of my soul.
I placed it to cool there
To hatch its idea
It nags me, it chides me
My angst's panacea
It's a poem of a poem
A tautology's mirror
Reflecting, restarting
Its beginning is clearer
There's a poem in my docket
It can't be delayed
It's written on Kleenex
All germy and flayed.
The germ's the beginning
It spreads towards its middle
It's ending not certain
And much like a riddle.
But my poem like a rocket
Has fuel from my muse
It's heading for liftoff
My soul lit the fuse
The Parrot who
Could Not Sing
The parrot was perched in old Punjab
On a sizzling hot summer's day.
He begged, "Sahib, will you please buy me?"
I was stunned, didn't know what to say.
Said the parrot, "I speak more than one language.
"Spanish and a bunch of Fran-say.
"Italian, Hindi, Afghani
"And my accent's to die for, they say."
"Why, certainly!" said I, offering rupees
(The sale made the shopkeeper's day.)
The parrot he preened and he strutted
And accents he mimicked this way:
"Do youse like my accent from Brooklyn
"or mah drawl from down neah Savannah?
Y yo puedo hablar en la lengua
De Cuba y La Vieja Habana! *
(* And I can speak in the language of Cuba and the old city Havana!)
"But one thing I'll tell you," he confided
"Please don't expect me to sing
"I never took one singing lesson
"I can't carry a tune, that's the thing."
Then he started to sing some Pucini
Clearly the worst I have heard
"Stop, please, and I promise I'll buy you!
"But don't sing another harsh word."
I bought him and went to the FedEx
And boxed up the parrot to send it
"You're going to Montana!" I told him.
"So say nothing 'til your journey is ended."
"My old mother will certainly love you
"You'll fill up her sad, empty time
"So be quiet, don't chatter or flutter
"Pretend you're a mute and a mime."
The next week I sent Mom a short e-mail.
"Say, Mom, did you enjoy that strange bird?"
"Why, yes, it was simply delicious!"
Came back her answer (absurd!).
"Say what?" I wrote back most insulted
"You ate that one-of-a-kind bird?
"Did you know that it spoke more than one language?"
A more shocking thing I never heard!
"Calm down," wrote my mother, "Don't sweat it.
"The bird arrived practically dead.
"You shouldn't have shipped it by FedEx
"And besides, there was nothing he said
"...to let me know he was so clever
"He never said one single thing!
"But it seemed to try mimicking accents
"But I cooked it when I heard it sing."
Hockey
Zamboni's brush paints frozen ice
As the hallowed rink is healed
A path for iron-shod warriors
On hockey's ice-glazed field
The shushing of the skate-scraped ice
Puck slapped by hardwood sticks
Launched by skating giants
In high excitement's pitch
The ice-crazed crowd oohs and ahs
The puck quicker than the eye
Slides towards the grim masked goalie
To the net where all hopes lie
Three rounds, two intermissions
To quaff the beered-up crowd
As helmets leak testosterone
Where brawling is allowed
Zambonis sail on hockey's seams
Red ice is at their prow
They navigate through players' blood
That stripe-ed refs allow
And with unmet expectations
Buzzed fans just scream and shout
They came to see an icy brawl
But a hockey game broke out
Football's Game Day
As Fall's ballet pirouettes
The turnstile turns ajar
The stadium is our battlefield
Game day our latest war
Red colors of the changing leaves
Team colors in the stands
Chewing gum beneath the seat
Cacophony of bands
Odors of the burgers
The peanut vendor's shout
Overwhelm all our resistance
As the diet turns about
At last run out the warriors
Like Mars away from home
The jumping of the cheering nymphs
And unbridled testosterone
From the vantage of the seated fan
Football's a game of running
At times the ball is in the air
At times the violence stunning
But mostly it's all space and time
Four chances for ten yards
Where land's exchanged for casualties
Despite behemoth guards
And when the clock expires the game
With exhausted patience nettled
And digested hot dogs churn
The struggle finally settled
We remember that this game day
Despite all football's arts
Was far more than a single game
An event more than its parts
Basketball's Ballet
On courts of hardwood, bathed in light
Sneakers squeak, to fans’ delight
Balls ascend in graceful play
An athletic show, a sport’s ballet
From humble gyms to grand arenas
The game unfolds, in countless schemas
Two forwards, guards, and one tall center
Huddle with their coaching mentor
Man-to-man or zone defense
A clash of bodies, swift, intense
Down the court, a fast break pace
Basketball's electric chase
The referee who blows the whistle
Can thrill the fans or make them bristle
Calling fouls or game infractions
Bring a gamut of fans’ reactions
Through hoops they aim with focused art
A swish so sweet, a piercing dart
Winning’s thrill, sting of defeat
Last only until the next game’s meet
Dr. Naismith’s gift to all
Was the game of basketball
From nailed peach baskets, spheres of leather
He saved us from foul football’s weather
A Farmer’s Prayer
O Great Planter in the sky
Please in Your wisdom answer why
I must work from sun to sun
And still my work is never done
Why must I plow, and plant and toil
While all Your rain and droughts do spoil
This year's hopes and next year's plans
With swampy mud or dry dust spans
Oh, Lord above who seeds the sky
We all know each man must die
But while we live we all must eat
Nourished by your farmer's wheat
Like fallen Adam then and yet
Bread is earned by our own sweat
And paid for twice through farmers' grind
That starts at three and ends at nine
O Great Grower in the sky
When it comes my time to die
Grant me rain and restful sun
And tell me that my work is done
Next: Colorado Autumn Poems