My most recent post, These Changing Times, described the activity around “this old house.” Occasionally I get a break from the “not-so-monotonous” routine. I read somewhere that “all work and no play…” I forgot the rest of it, but you get my meaning.
So it was, until I had an opportunity to present a poetry reading at a local women’s group. Any break from the rigid schedule is welcome, especially if I can present some of my poetry. With my personal “moral support” accompanying me, off we went.
Outnumbered by twenty to one, I had to be on my best behavior. It was not easy. Being the only male in a group such as this, well perhaps you can visualize the anxiety I might feel. Putting one’s self into such a quandary, voluntarily, may seem to be an inane thing to do.
Now I have all the confidence in the world reading my poetry that is until I discover that many in the group are retired teachers. This presents a dilemma. I usually pay particular attention to my grammar, spelling, pronunciation, enunciation and articulation. However, I can be intimidated.
I was concerned at the prospect of being pilloried bya group of women who may appear stern and inflexible, just waiting to grade my recitation. Let me put that to rest, they were very friendly and cordial and adored me (I think). However, just in case, I apologized to Miss Springfield, my tenth grade English teacher. It wasn’t her fault.
Poetry really is my first love. I must make a note to publish more of it on my blog. I think I will today.
I presented a number of poems, which I will post over the next few blogs. This first poem was based on my stepdaughter’s childhood encounters with unexplained and unknown entities and how to overcome those unwelcome guests. She named them, “Neokits”.
Beware the neokits! Ominous neokits
enveloping the soul, the spirit,
Shrinking bravado to Lilliputian size.
Yet neokits are not immortal.
Courage overcomes anxiety.
Maturity coalesces the mind
devouring the fears of childhood.
Raising dogs is a fun part of our life around “this old house”. Part of our daily routine is to allow them a bit of freedom from their kennels. Each morning and afternoon, they run freely throughout the one acre behind our home, regardless of whatever “remodeling” is underway. They certainly enjoy that happy time outside their pens. and obviously, they use that time for their personal business. This is the background for the poem, “And So It Goes”.
And So It Goes
Monday mornings are acutely
to my distorted eyes.
for my bifocals
Is a distinctly, futile effort.
Stirred from an oblivious slumber
I wonder what the day will bring.
I awaken to the rhythmic sound
of pattering rain.
at long last, delightful rain.
I can’t say
what the day will bring.
I can say
The kennel dogs were not budging
From inside their lair.
Even in the rain, I must insist
that my friendly canines
exit their shelters.
One by one.
I dare not cause any
jealousy among them.
And so they exit one by one,
to attend to personal business.
returning to their sanctuaries,
they meet to discuss
what the day has brought.
The conversation was inexplicable.
You could almost hear them muttering.
That’s how my day went, how was yours?
And so it goes… And so it goes…I think the women enjoyed the afternoon and the poetry. I hope so. At least, no one criticized my grammar, spelling, pronunciation, articulation, and enunciation. I think I passed the test.
Have a Great Day, read a poem.
© Pete Robertson