Curtis Jerry Smothers - Freelance Blogger/Tutor
Yes, I have dabbled in waxing poetical
Poetry is the only thing I write just to please myself. I don't get too analytical or self-indulgent about it, which, I suppose is one of the drawbacks of not having a feminine side. In any case, I'll drop a few of my favorites here in hopes someone other than myself likes them. This section has four pages. Scroll down and click or use dropdown menu in the My Poetry tab.
Springtime in the Rockies
Spring grabs my mountains
By the scruffs of their peaks
Snow's surly retreat
Guards its rear as it leaks
To high tops where warm air
Can't breathe its warm breath
But cold gushing streams
Shout one winter's death
The glens and the valleys
Once brown and off-white
Sudden with greenness
Deny winter's blight
My mountains grab springtime
By the grist of its sun
And rotate through warm summer
Until bright autumn is done
I Love Baseball
As football's fights bring winter's end
And roundball dribbles out
Spring brings beloved baseball
As good weather turns about
"Play ball!" the umpire bellows
"Cold beer!" the vendor yells
And we nosh those golden goobers
And toss their tawny shells
From bleacher steps to railings
To outfield's grassy green
Where fielders stare and focus
Intent on infield's scene
Where the batter and the pitcher
Each ponders what comes next
The un-hit strike or screaming hit
Determine who gets vexed
The bat that strikes the baseball
The ball that slaps the glove
The screaming of the happy crowd
Are baseball's sounds we love
But when, alas, the season's through
And autumn leaves turn red
The tarp blanket on green infield
Puts our game to bed
We turn thoughts back to football
And basketball's ballet
With patient sighs for winter's end
And baseball's coming day
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
A Poem About 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
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
Next: Poems about our heroes