I've Come to to Help You

        

I've come to help you, she said,

The wind is strong and it might

Blow you over. I don't want you to fall.

Two others called out:

First: Man, she's taking care of you;

Then: You're one lucky guy today.

She held out her elbow for

Him to take. They left

The building, headed for his car.

Watch your step, this wind

Is fierce. He tightened his hold

On her arm. Thanks, he said.

The southern sky was robin's egg blue;

Black clouds were approaching from the north.

In between, weather-making wind was buffeting.

Here we are, she said, opening his door.

He safely slid into the driver's seat,

Kissing his forehead, she patted his shoulder.

We made it, he said with mock ceremony.

We usually do, she smiled back.

He inserted his key into the ignition.

Larry Andrews, Writer and Author: Writing goals

Larry Andrews, Writer and Author: Writing goals: Robert B. Parker has been an enormous influence on my writing. First, I appreciate the brevity he accomplishes with well-written dialogue. ...

Writing Poems

I've come to help you, she said,

The wind is strong and it might

Blow you over. I don't want you to fall.

Two others called out:

She's sure taking care of you;

You're a lucky brother today.

She held out her elbow for

Him to take. They left

The building, headed for his car.

Watch your step, this wind

Is fierce. He tightened his hold

On her arm. Thanks, he said.

The southern sky was robin's egg blue;

Black clouds were forming to the north.

Here we are, she said, opening the car door.

He slid safely into the driver's seat,

Clicked the belt, and then

He inserted the ignition key.

Writing goals

Robert B. Parker has been an enormous influence on my writing. First, I appreciate the brevity he accomplishes with well-written dialogue. Second, his goal of writing one chapter a day makes sense to me; I've adopted that goal --- a chapter a day --- when I'm working in a novel.

Poems, on the other hand, are less expansive.  My goal with poetry is one poem a week. I need more time to consider each word.

What do you think?

New poem 2/27/12

 I  can't remember whether I heard Donald Hall or Robert Bly say that a title to a poem is the equivalent of the poet jabbing the reader in the ribs with an elbow, saying: Do you get it? Do you get it? Whether Hall or Bly, here's a poem with no title.

I've come to help you, she said,

The wind is strong and it might

Blow you over. I don't want you to fall.

Two others called out:

She's taking care of you;

You're a lucky guy today.

She held out her elbow for

Him to take. They left

The building, headed for his car.

Watch your step, this wind

Is fierce. He tightened his hold

On her arm. Thanks, he said.

The southern sky was robin's egg blue;

Black clouds were forming to the north.

Here we are, she said, opening the car door.

He slid safely into the driver's seat,

Clicked the belt, and then

He inserted the ignition key.

Poem 2/27/12

I've come to help you, she said,

The wind is strong and it might

Blow you over. I don't want you to fall.

Two others called out:

She's sure taking care of you;

You're a lucky brother.

She held out her elbow for

Him to take. They left

The building, headed for his car.

Watch your step, this wind

Is fierce. He tightened his hold

On her arm. Thanks, he said.

The southern sky was robin's egg blue;

Black clouds were forming to the north.

Here we are, she said, opening the car door.

He slid safely into the driver's seat,

Clicked the belt, and then

He inserted his ignition key.

Standing in the Snow

      Standing in the snow

Nothing read on a screen can

Be considered anything like

A book, he said with a tenacious

Grip on certainty. A book is

A book is a book; it has pages

And it has a spine, he grumbled.

Books use words, of course,

Not pixels. To hold a book,

He said, just feels good.

Why do you suppose people

Created screens? I asked.

He was wearing sandals

Standing in the snow at

Hadrian's Wall, the pride

Of Rome and the civilized

World. He looked at me with

Imperious eyes and grunted:

They didn't do it for me.

Family Circle

At a round rest stop table

The usual can of pork

And beans, plain, nothing added

To make them seem more

Than they were, was the only side.

The mother prepared simple

Bologna sandwiches, neat,

With no mayo or lettuce,

And the ordinary meal

Became a summer picnic:

It was an unbroken circle,

Singing songs of childhood.

They were like westward

Pioneers who stopped

Someplace near here decades sooner

To locate themselves

In a family way.

Immanuel

              Immanuel

The folk invoke their Immanuel.

Immanuel, Immanuel, God be with us!

Oprah, Oprah, the Barbies exult.

They wait for Judge Judy,

Then quiver in rapture

When the Judge and the Bird emerge.

Tyra, Tyra, the Thumbelinas praise!

On another stage Ellen conjures

The Believers' spirits,

Then they arise and rejoice.

Each time the floor director gives

The cue, the people go to a

Perfect world, riding My

Little Pony to Eden. A fulfilled

Life begins by pulling a string

Grounded in a memory chip. 

Family Circle

       Family Circle

At a round rest stop table

The usual can of pork

And beans, nothing added

To make them seem more

Than they were, was the only side.

The mother prepared simple

Bologna sandwiches, neat,

With no mayo or lettuce,

And the ordinary meal

Became a summer picnic:

It was an unbroken circle.

They were like westward

Pioneers who stopped

Someplace near here decades sooner

To locate themselves

In a family way.

Family Circle - "Final"

  Family Circle

At a round rest stop table

The usual can of pork

And beans, nothing added

To make them seem more

Than they were, was the only side.

The mother prepared simple

Bologna sandwiches, neat,

With no mayo or lettuce,

And the ordinary meal

Became a summer picnic.

It evolved into togethering

And they were like some

Westward pioneers who stopped

Someplace near here to be

A family, with deep roots.

Revised "Family Circles"

  Family Circles

At a rest area table

(Like a deserted mission.)

The usual can of pork

And beans, with nothing added

(Like pemmican.)

To make them seem more than

They were, was the only side.

(Like pemmican with dried berries.)

The mother prepared simple

Bologna sandwiches, neat,

(Using grandma’s bread knife.)

With no mayo or lettuce,

And the common meal

(Maybe dried beef or buffalo.)

Became a summer picnic.

(This is really fun!)

It evolved into a meal of love

(All for one and one for all.)

And they were like some

Westward pioneers who stopped

(Sitting in the covered wagon’s shade.)

Someplace near here to be

(The ox team needs a rest, too.)

A household for a few minutes.

(On to California, or bust.)

New poem

  Family Circle

At a rest area table

(Like a deserted mission.)

The usual can of pork

And beans, with nothing added

(Like pemmican.)

To make them seem more than

(Like pemmican with dried berries.)

They were, was the only side.

(No fire, nothing cooked.)

The mother prepared simple

(Using grandma’s bread knife.)

Bologna sandwiches, neat,

(Maybe dried beef or buffalo.)

With no mayo or lettuce,

And the common meal

(Nothing fancy but it's hearty.)

Became a summer picnic.

(Food is fuel for the body.)

It evolved into a meal of love

(All for one and one for all.)

And they were like some

Westward pioneers who stopped

(Sitting in the prairie schooner's shade.)

Someplace near here to be

(The ox team needs a rest, too.)

A household for a few minutes.

(Oregon or bust)

Standing in the Snow

      Standing in the snow

Nothing read on a screen can

Be considered anything like

A book, he said with a tenacious

Grip on certainty. A book is

A book is a book; it has pages

And it has a spine, he grumbled.

Books use words, of course,

Not pixels. To hold a book,

He said, just feels good.

Why do you suppose people

Created screens? I asked.

He was wearing sandals

Standing in the snow at

Hadrian's Wall, the pride

Of Rome and the civilized

World. He looked at me with

Imperious eyes and grunted:

They didn't do it for me.

Two Poems

Please let me know what you think; I'll appreciate your advice.

              Immanuel

The folk invoke their Immanuel.

Immanuel, God be with us!

Oprah, Oprah, the Barbies exult.

They wait for Judge Judy,

Then quiver in rapture

When Judge and Bird emerge.

Tyra, Tyra, the Thumbelinas praise!

On another stage Ellen conjures

The Believers' spirits,

Then they arise and rejoice.

Each time the floor director gives

The cue, the people go to a

Perfect world, riding My

Little Pony to Eden. A fulfilled

Life begins by pulling a string

Grounded in a memory chip.

      Standing in the snow

Nothing on a screen can

Be considered anything like

A book, he said with a fierce

Grip on certainty. A book is

A book is a book; it has pages

And a spine, he said.

Books use words,

Not pixels. It feels good

To hold a book he asserted.

Why, I asked, did

Someone create screens?

He was wearing sandals

Standing in the snow at

Hadrian's Wall, the pride

Of Rome and the civilized

World. He looked at me with

Paleomagnetic eyes and said:

They weren't created for me.

Snowy Day Soup

LARRY’S SNOWY DAY SOUP

It's a snow-filled day here. We have 8" on the ground and it's still falling. After having a good writing morning, here's an idea for lunch.

1 large can V-8 juice (46 fl. oz.)

1 bottle Mr. and Mrs. T’s Bloody Mary Mix

1 can beef consommé (11 oz)


2 bay leaves


4 cloves


2-3 dashes of Worcestershire sauce


6-7 dashes of Frank’s hot sauce

Open and dump.

Simmer all ingredients for 1 hour.

Serve hot in mugs.

Add jigger of vodka before serving (optional)

Happy Groundhog Day!

Here's another (revised) copy of the poem, "Immanuel." I'll thankfully appreciate any comments, positive or otherwise.

         Immanuel

The folk invoke their Immanuel.

Immanuel, God be with us:

Oprah, Oprah, the Barbies exult,

While they wait for Judge Judy,

Then quiver in rapture

When Judge and Bird emerge.

Tyra, Tyra, the Thumbelinas praise!

On another stage Ellen conjures

The Believers' spirits,

Then they arise and rejoice.

Each time the floor director gives

The cue, the Tiffanys go to a

Perfect world, riding My

Little Pony to Eden, where

Life begins by pulling a string

Grounded in a memory chip. 

Sofia Vergara likes poetry. How about you?

Most of my writing (at least 90%) during the past 3 years has been narrative prose. Recently, I've also been fussing with another genre, poetry. Here are three WIPs (Works in Progress). I'll appreciate any reactions, thoughts, criticisms, and suggestions.



#1.          Grandfather

Grandfather requires winding
In order for his innards
To keep time and chime
On beat.

Should Grandfather stop
Because someone forgot
To key him up, that's not
Fatal actually.

When the desired time
Coincides with where his
Hands stopped, rewind and restart the pendulum.
He lives again.





#2.      Snowflakes

All have a nose,
Two ears and two eyes.
A mouth and chin complete
The face. With these
Dittos, how can
Each one not be alike?





#3.              Immanuel

They summon their Immanuel:
Oprah, Oprah, the Barbies exult.
Crickets wait for Judge Judy,
Then have paroxysms of joy
When Bird and Judge emerge.
Tyra, Tyra, the Thumbelinas chant.
Each time the floor director gives
The cue, the Tiffanys enter a
Different world, riding My
Little Pony to a place where
Life begins with a pulled string
And a memory chip.