Wednesday, May 10, 2017

https://greatcyclechallenge.com/Riders/ChristineIreland Donate to make me sweat & help fight kids' cancer!



I've been here many times to hear
the water roar as it falls down down
a cement wall along its way.

A place to rest a moment from pedaling
and snap a photo or two. Watch a gaggle
of geese become a skein.

We like the sound of water, some say
because long ago our ancestors emerged
from primordial soup.

We needn't go back that far
to understand why the splashing of water
makes us feel closer to something.

Were we not, all, in our beginning 98% fluid
and just 2% salt and cells? Water from our
mother's body protecting and cajoling us.

She hummed and talked to me.
Whilst I kicked and stomped away the hours.
A place to rest and hear the sound of water.

Saturday, April 1, 2017

Imagine

(In honor of April being Parkinson's Awareness Month & National Poetry Month I am sharing this poem and remembering, my uncle, who lived and died with Parkinson's Disease)

Can you imagine, what it must be like

Can’t look over your shoulder

You’ll fall off your bike !

When things don’t match up straight

And nothing’s quite right

And this isn’t sometimes

It’s all day and all night.

Your cuff links fight back

It can take half an hour

And your muscles get locked, using up all their power

You’ve no concentration

So don’t get much done

And you tire out easily when you have fun

Some people will help you and that can be sweet

But it’s strange when a lady will offer her seat

Do I now look that bad, am I really that old?

But it’s kind, so I sit down and do as I’m told

Can you imagine

Just try if you will

Being worried that you might forget the next pill

And if you forget will it be all that bad

But if you take two, do you really go mad?

Next time you see someone

Out on the street

A little bit legless and shuffling feet

Before you say “drunk!” consider this please

You might just be looking at Parki’s disease


~Tim Vickers

Tuesday, March 21, 2017

Epitaph to a Dog


Near this Spot
are deposited the Remains of one
who possessed Beauty without Vanity,
Strength without Insolence,
Courage without Ferocity,
and all the virtues of Man without his Vices.

This praise, which would be unmeaning Flattery
if inscribed over human Ashes,
is but a just tribute to the Memory of
Boatswain, a Dog
who was born in Newfoundland May 1803
and died at Newstead Nov. 18th, 1808

When some proud Son of Man returns to Earth,
Unknown to Glory, but upheld by Birth,
The sculptor’s art exhausts the pomp of woe,
And storied urns record who rests below.
When all is done, upon the Tomb is seen,
Not what he was, but what he should have been.
But the poor Dog, in life the firmest friend,
The first to welcome, foremost to defend,
Whose honest heart is still his Master’s own,
Who labours, fights, lives, breathes for him alone,
Unhonoured falls, unnoticed all his worth,
Denied in heaven the Soul he held on earth –
While man, vain insect! hopes to be forgiven,
And claims himself a sole exclusive heaven.

Oh man! thou feeble tenant of an hour,
Debased by slavery, or corrupt by power –
Who knows thee well, must quit thee with disgust,
Degraded mass of animated dust!
Thy love is lust, thy friendship all a cheat,
Thy tongue hypocrisy, thy heart deceit!
By nature vile, ennobled but by name,
Each kindred brute might bid thee blush for shame.
Ye, who behold perchance this simple urn,
Pass on – it honours none you wish to mourn.
To mark a friend’s remains these stones arise;
I never knew but one -- and here he lies.

Lord Byron

What is Poetry?

Is what I'm writing poetry,
Because I say, straight up
Coitus thee!

Or is my message understood
Only if it's shrouded in
Mystery?

Is it only poetry if I force
The rhyme or
Have degrees?

What makes you
Keep reading?
I want to know.

Everything I read
Makes me more
Critic than writer.

My internal editor
Refuses to take flight
When papyrus meets graphite.

Maybe we're not mean to
Erase and pretend mistakes
Weren't made.

They serve as proof
We're writing
Regardless of prizes or accolades.

Tuesday, February 14, 2017

Ides of February

An ancient Roman fertility festival, Lupercalis, observed annually on February 15 was turned into a Christian feast day. Pope Gelasius set its observance a day earlier in honor of a kindly Bishop executed on February 14, 270 AD. Valentine helped his jailer Asterius' blind daughter. It's said before his execution, he asked for a pen and paper from his jailer and signed a farewell message, "From Your Valentine".

There is no actual record of Valentine's Day before Chaucer's poem in 1375. Parliament of Foules links the tradition of courtly love to the St Valentine's feast day. “For this was sent on Seynt Valentyne’s day / Whan every foul cometh ther to choose his mate,” - he wrote and maybe invented Valentine's Day as we now know it.

In 1868 Richard Cadbury introduced the first box of Valentine's candy. Cadbury's "fancy chocolates"- or assortments as they are now called - were sold in decorated boxes. Elaborate chocolate boxes were much prized as they could later be used as trinket or button boxes. Chocolate box designs ranged from superb velvet covered caskets with bevelled mirrors and silk lined jewel boxes to pretty boxes with pictures on the lid.

Valentine’s Day can be a reminder that you’re not in a romantic relationship, whether you’re single or pair bonded. Looking back on past relationships there were times I felt connected to my partner but those same moments weren’t shimmering images in their mind. This idea of shared intimacy puts a lot of pressure on us whether we’re feeling lonely in love or simply alone.

I find joy in simple pleasures. Taking time out to relax and play a game of Scrabble with someone who is my equal. This and other activities can be done on a shoestring budget. Take a walk or leisurely bike ride together in a pretty neighborhood. If you live in a reasonably safe city, hop on public transportation and get off at a random stop where you’ve never been; wander around and explore!

Sunday, February 5, 2017

The Country Wide Handball Club

by Norman D. Heil visit him at: https://normanstoriesblog.wordpress.com/author/normanstoriesblog/

The Bronco Bulls, were nobody's fools
as they charged across the field.
Patriotic, it seemed, they were living the dream
as the Titans great Giants they killed.
From the Sea the Hawks came
chasing the Cardinals like flame
is to a moth; I've not forgot
the great Eagle that came.
Our Skins became red, for the Falcons, they bled
our arms- upon which they found their homestead.
A jet black Bengal Tiger came from the east
to eat Duck-billed animals, to woe was the feast.
At least while in water, that great big old Tiger
could eat Dolphins as she was not pleased.
There is no safe haven, so now came the Raven
to eat what was left of the Chief.
'Till the Jaguars appeared, Armageddon drew near
when the Raiders upturned every leaf.
They will Steel from the Texans, who just should have left them
alone in the desert without any weapons.
True Buccaneers, they will take to the seas,
bronze chandeliers, that are thicker than thieves.
'Till the Panthers leap down, from their perch up above;
the Saints will come climbing the flowers like doves.
Forty-Nine times pinching black powder rights here
where now the Cowboys, do you see them appear?
Lions like Bears to eat, good in the winter.
Now that's all the teams, to retrace how we got here.

Wednesday, January 18, 2017

My Heart in a Tin

I gave my former lover a
second chance at love.

His toothache shortened our
visit one enchanted evening.

I procured and housed two cloves
in an empty metal
tin.

The note inside - In case you get a
toothache. Thanks for filling my cavity.


Our meetings became infrequent
and now have ceased.

The tin, meant for him, remains.
An aromatic reminder of love & kindness

I wanted to share, if we'd gotten it
right, the second time around.