Curtis Jerry Smothers - Freelance Blogger/Tutor/Poet
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Poetry is the only thing I write just to please myself. This short collection has a few poems that don't fit into any other category than miscellaneous.
Miscellaneous Poems
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
Footprints
Tyrannosaurus, mastodon,
Your footprints are what we tread on.
Fossil fuels of giant truck
Our good commerce, their bad luck.
Rubber trees in jungles grow
Their feet give sap so we can go
O'er asphalt roads that stretch our sight
With Vulcan's work to commerce bright.
The diesel fumes are memories.
Blown tire shards were rubber trees.
The smells and sights of modern times
Were dinosaurs in jungle climes.
18-wheelers come and go.
They foot our goods so we can know
That tyrannosaurus, mastodon
Lived not in vain but now live on.
As Opec grins and we shell out
With aching feet and blistered snout
Brown hazes stain our pristine trees
We cough and hack that dirty breeze
Those dinosaurs in jungle climes
Cannot foot back to retro-times
As we regard the transport truck
Our bad commerce, their good luck
Fire
From ember's sleep I rise and stretch
To what is dry and prone to me
I hiss and lick the kindling's stick
And turn to char with evil glee
That which I consume will cease to be
All in my path my life's own fuel
I burn and roar with windy storm
Lascivious bent, unfeeling cruel
To those would stay my hungry tongue
I roar, defy, devour, renounce
Now alive I'm free, unbound
I jump, I spark, their efforts trounce
Till lack of fuel or water's spout
Kills me black and finds me dead
In ember's hide I peer without
Once more to rise and sweep ahead
Steam
We steam our ship on raw sea water
Born from fire, its hissing daughter
Our boilers roil, belch and scream
To run our course, an ocean's dream
We hold that fire confined inside
That stokes and churns our steam pipe's hide
And as that steam in pressure spews
It churns and turns the shafts and screws
But if that fire escapes its hold
With oily smoke to choke and scold
We rush and pump the fog foam's spew
And kill what would our steam undo
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!
"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."
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
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