When I was a kid I stayed with relatives in a little village in SW Pa., probably less than 200 families. Outhouse. Bath a galvanized pasture tub in the kitchen, filled and Emptied by hand. People gardener, hunted, worked the mines. When they died they were waked in their homes, with loads of food and drink. The three Norns were old girls, professional mourners who could wail and pray in English, Polish, Slovak, German, Russian and Ukrainian. There was even an old Russian man who, in the middle of a conversation, his Old Believer's cross dangling from his nect, would suddenly break out into curses, then just as suddenly return to normal speech and continue, oblivious to anything unusual. I was warned to stay away from him, since he was possessed. However, be used to make me great pierozhgis, blinis and unusual pastries. He also taught me how to wrestle and tumble. Now I am old and live out my days in a boring subdivision with high taxes and a very high boredom quotient.
I like this poem very much, John. I think it captures how the changes brought by our overly modernized society are not always for the better. There has indeed been a general shift away from community.
John, I like your poem. However, I would try to keep the meter from becoming over-regular. For instance in L2, perhaps something like:
Recalling when it lazed/dozed, a front-porch town:
This makes the meter a bit smoother and gives you something more descriptive with "lazed" or "dozed" than the passive "was." We get more of a "feel" with a town that lazes or dozes on its front porches. I think this demonstrates how one word can add more flavor and feeling to a poem.
I am surrounded by security systems and even satellite, I sit in between with a large and a small cast iron frying skillets, ready to clobber whoever these folks fear! I still sit on the front porch and sometimes wearing pj’s.
Awww, life’s good it’s it Sir, I will not forget your tribute poem, I will make it my lovely epitaph, I’ve been pondering that recently, I’m at ease now. Sweet dreams!
I hope you live as long as you want to live, then make the gracefullest of exits. I may have missed my calling. Here's an amusing epitaph I just came up with:
When I was a kid I stayed with relatives in a little village in SW Pa., probably less than 200 families. Outhouse. Bath a galvanized pasture tub in the kitchen, filled and Emptied by hand. People gardener, hunted, worked the mines. When they died they were waked in their homes, with loads of food and drink. The three Norns were old girls, professional mourners who could wail and pray in English, Polish, Slovak, German, Russian and Ukrainian. There was even an old Russian man who, in the middle of a conversation, his Old Believer's cross dangling from his nect, would suddenly break out into curses, then just as suddenly return to normal speech and continue, oblivious to anything unusual. I was warned to stay away from him, since he was possessed. However, be used to make me great pierozhgis, blinis and unusual pastries. He also taught me how to wrestle and tumble. Now I am old and live out my days in a boring subdivision with high taxes and a very high boredom quotient.
I like this poem very much, John. I think it captures how the changes brought by our overly modernized society are not always for the better. There has indeed been a general shift away from community.
John, I like your poem. However, I would try to keep the meter from becoming over-regular. For instance in L2, perhaps something like:
Recalling when it lazed/dozed, a front-porch town:
This makes the meter a bit smoother and gives you something more descriptive with "lazed" or "dozed" than the passive "was." We get more of a "feel" with a town that lazes or dozes on its front porches. I think this demonstrates how one word can add more flavor and feeling to a poem.
Nice suggestion. I get so wrapped up in rhyme and the narrative that I sometimes overlook the power (or lack thereof!) of specific words. Thank you!
A word here and there can make a big difference in poetry. Glad to help, if I did.
I am surrounded by security systems and even satellite, I sit in between with a large and a small cast iron frying skillets, ready to clobber whoever these folks fear! I still sit on the front porch and sometimes wearing pj’s.
Geraldine in her pj's
by Michael R. Burch
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for Geraldine A. V. Hughes
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Geraldine in her pj's
checks her security relays,
sits down armed with a skillet,
mutters, "Intruder? I'll kill it!"
Then, as satellites wink high above,
she turns to her poets with love.
You silly poet of a man, I love it. I’m gonna mark this day on the calendar. Thank you Michael, so sweet. I’m honored Sir!
I'm glad you liked my little tribute poem.
Awww, life’s good it’s it Sir, I will not forget your tribute poem, I will make it my lovely epitaph, I’ve been pondering that recently, I’m at ease now. Sweet dreams!
I hope you live as long as you want to live, then make the gracefullest of exits. I may have missed my calling. Here's an amusing epitaph I just came up with:
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Here lies a granny
who will kick your fanny
if you get all weepy
and seepy.
Buck up!