The Home Stretch
I haven't done my stretches, as I should.
My verbs are wretched, stiff as wood.
My nouns are flabby with adjective fat,
wishy and washy as this and that,
gushy and gabby, fallen, flat.
In the new year now, I highly resolve --
fervently vow -- baskets, buckets, of
rollicking, panting, working verbs,
stomping, splashing, dancing blurbs
to astound, aggrieve, prompt, perturb.
by Terrell Shaw
This is an Old Leaf from the Limb -- From 2007
-------------------------------
hour, tower, thought, fought, hand, grand, teem, dreamFor me this poem stubbornly refused to smile. I don't know why. I feel pretty good.
Alone
I climbed the trail for a solid hour,
then up the ladder of the old fire tower.
Strange that tears should come, I thought.
Damned despair and wild wonder fought.
I shaded my eyes with a lifted hand,
Weeping and laughing at a sight so grand -
A clinging leaf among billions that teem
and drift through this autumn dream.- Terrell Shaw
This post was first published October 1, 2007. As the proud two-time winner of the Big Fibbers Contest, and the current reigning official Liar of the State of South Carolina, it is only proper that I would wax eloquent about "fibs".
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Tricia at The Miss Rumphius Effect asks us to write a poem every Monday, using a form that she chooses. This week she has chosen the "Fib" -- a short-poem form that is based on the Fibonacci number sequence. 0, 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8... where each number is the sum of the previous two. I suppose the zero precludes a title. I have, however, used a photo inspiration for two of mine.
Fib,
Fib,
Tiny,
Meaningless,
Thoughtless little fib,
Binds tight the rest, the best, of me.- by Terrell Shaw
Pie
Sweet
Tasty
Delicious -
Wind up with a grin,
Aim for the face and smear it in.- by Terrell Shaw
Eyes,
Lens,
Pencils,
And notebooks,
Our fingers and brains -
We’re ready to roll - then it rains!- by Terrell Shaw
Tricia at the Miss Rumphius Effect gave us a challenge several years ago: Write a "pantoum". To get the lowdown on pantouns check out Tricia's post. Then write your own and join the fun!
I love watching the Cliff Swallows along the Oostanaula as they build their mud condominiums under the bridges, and range in neverending swoops and dives over the levee capturing tiny insects to feed their families.
The Cliff Swallow
He dips and dives and soars and swings
from bank to bank and bridge to stream.
He stops to dip his muddy beak
and sculpt from mud his cozy home.
From bank to bank and bridge to stream
he snaps his food and dips again,
and sculpts from mud his cozy home
up high and sheer on concrete face.
He snaps up food and dips again.
A hundred hundred times or more
up high and sheer on concrete face,
he dabs the mud and flies again.
A hundred hundred times or more
he stops to dip his muddy beak,
and dabs the mud and flies again,
to dip and dive and soar and swing.by Terrell Shaw
Since elementary days I have reveled in words. A preacher's kid can hardly escape them. My Daddy liked playing with them in his sermons. Often the key points in his messages rhymed or alliterated. He snuck in bits of rhymes and poems. Miss Brown introduced us, in fourth grade, to the Mighty Casey and the fiery finish of Sam McGee. I learned to love hearing just the right words and began trying my own hand at arranging them creatively.
But I have been wayward about that avocation.
A few years ago I happened onto an online challenge called the Poetry Stretch. When I drifted off I renewed my efforts in this old leaf from the Limb in January of 2013:
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For a while I exercised my poetic skills frequently at the prompting of Trisha at The Miss Rumphius Effect. Most Mondays she issues a Poetry Stretch. The current Stretch challenge is to deal with home or habitat. So here is my self-conscious homecoming to the Stretch.
The Home Stretch
I haven't done my stretches, as I should.
My verbs are wretched, stiff as wood.
My nouns are flabby with adjective fat,
wishy and washy as this and that,
gushy and gabby, fallen, flat.
In the new year now, I highly resolve --
fervently vow -- baskets, buckets, of
rollicking, panting, working verbs,
stomping, splashing, dancing blurbs
to astound, aggrieve, prompt, perturb.
by Terrell Shaw
If first ever was, or ever will be,
the Lord may know but, Lord, not me.
The illimitable past and the coming mist
seem more Escher stairs than ordered list.by Terrell Shaw
The Home Stretch
I haven't done my stretches, as I should.
My verbs are wretched, stiff as wood.
My nouns are flabby with adjective fat,
wishy and washy as this and that,
gushy and gabby, fallen, flat.
In the new year now, I highly resolve --
fervently vow -- baskets, buckets, of
rollicking, panting, working verbs,
stomping, splashing, dancing blurbs
to astound, aggrieve, prompt, perturb.
by Terrell Shaw
The Cliff Swallow
He dips and dives and soars and swings
from bank to bank and bridge to stream.
He stops to dip his muddy beak
and sculpt from mud his cozy home.
From bank to bank and bridge to stream
he snaps his food and dips again,
and sculpts from mud his cozy home
up high and sheer on concrete face.
He snaps up food and dips again.
A hundred hundred times or more
up high and sheer on concrete face,
he dabs the mud and flies again.
A hundred hundred times or more
he stops to dip his muddy beak,
and dabs the mud and flies again,
to dip and dive and soar and swing.by Terrell Shaw
 |
| Phillip Greear |
Who Owns the Water?
Who owns the water?
I hear a cricket
somewhere now
and that cricket thinks
it owns the water
just as much as I do.
And I hear a bird sing
and that bird thinks
"This is my territory!"
That's why it's singing,
"This is mine."
But neither of them
will modify it
beyond the ability
of the territory
to recover itself
I may drink the water
that comes out of the ground,
But it's not mine
except the temporary use I make of it.
At my age I know it's temporary.
I'll be returning all of it pretty soon.
by Philip Greear
as interpreted by Terrell Shaw
"I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud"
“I wandered lonely as a cloud” -
The opening’s set, I like it fine.
It worked well once, most have allowed.
Now I attempt to tune each line
To sing the beauty of my Earth
And speak the most of each word’s worth.
I stalk a trail and flush surprise
These latter days across the sea.
No less the jonquils, to my eyes -
And iris, pink, and tulip tree,
Assassin bug and water snake -
A galaxy of glory make.
I gaze with wonder, like ol’ Will,
A happy poet in his ken,
Hoping sparkling warbler’s trill
Can flow from tree to brain to pen,
And you on couch, or chair or bed
Will hear the song when I am dead.
So true, when all is writ and done,
Whatever labor takes our time -
Poems or plumbing, or fill in one -
Since we emerged from primal slime,
Our fancy's eye replays our thrills -
Lovers, poems, or daffodils.
- by Terrell Shaw
"I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud"
I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
The waves beside them danced;
but they Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed---and gazed---but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:
For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.
- by William Wordsworth
Fib,
Fib,
Tiny,
Meaningless,
Thoughtless little fib,
Binds tight the rest, the best, of me.
- by Terrell Shaw
Pie
Sweet
Tasty
Delicious -
Wind up with a grin,
Aim for the face and smear it in.
- by Terrell Shaw
Eyes,
Lens,
Pencils,
And notebooks,
Our fingers and brains -
We’re ready to roll - then it rains!
- by Terrell Shaw
hour, tower, thought, fought, hand, grand, teem, dreamFor me this poem stubbornly refused to smile. I don't know why. I feel pretty good.
Alone
I climbed the trail for a solid hour,
then up the ladder of the old fire tower.
Strange that tears should come, I thought.
Damned despair and wild wonder fought.
I shaded my eyes with a lifted hand,
Weeping and laughing at a sight so grand -
A clinging leaf among billions that teem
and drift through this autumn dream.- Terrell Shaw
The Cliff Swallow
He dips and dives and soars and swings
from bank to bank and bridge to stream.
He stops to dip his muddy beak
and sculpt from mud his cozy home.
From bank to bank and bridge to stream
he snaps his food and dips again,
and sculpts from mud his cozy home
up high and sheer on concrete face.
He snaps up food and dips again.
A hundred hundred times or more
up high and sheer on concrete face,
he dabs the mud and flies again.
A hundred hundred times or more
he stops to dip his muddy beak,
and dabs the mud and flies again,
to dip and dive and soar and swing.by Terrell Shaw
Little Uncle Irvin, ten-years-old,
A new employee, runs the mill's
Big elevator, up and down, hour after hour --
Our grandmother, fifteen and fatherless, an old hand upstairs --
Raising the bosses and the bossed,
Day after 1900 day,
And Will, and Fanny, and Molly, and Cora,
Year after non-union year.by Terrell Shaw
Dandelions in a Milk Carton
Thank you, Mama,
For nursing me and diapering me,
For a dry set of sheets when I wet another,
For the Bible story book and Uncle Remus,
For all five sisters and my little brother,
And all the good eating stuff
Like biscuits from wooden bowls, datenut cakes, and lemon fluff,
Like Russian tea and yeast rolls
For Jesus-loves-the-little-children and Deep-and-Wide,
For walking to school that first day by my side,
And for your loving smile when I came in a run
With dandelions in a milk carton for all you've done.
-Terrell Shaw
It's a Stretch.
Bloggers certainly are a curious lot,
Strange as the names they select.
Look at the bunch my sidebar's got -
Who ever heard? The Miss Rumphius Effect?
Learn about Biden, Barack, and - shoot --
Help blue the whole country at Swing State.
Learn how to vote while you play a Cold Flute,
and Oh!Pinion will show how to punctuate.
The Median Sib's grandgirls are cute.
Joan's paint their fingers and toesies.
(The Sleepless Juggler has turned quite mute,
so Joan tells all at her Daddy's Roses.)
Julie, swings from Pines Above Snow,
And walks in the steps of Ms Carson.
A Volkswagon thief and door wirer, though,
Walks around as a Right Reverend Parson!
And now Terrell, when Mike takes the whim,
Is not, after all, so alone on his Limb.
He slides over log,
around stone,
and under my skin.
Finally one turns,
"You come too:
we'll walk together."
--------
Does the larva know,
munching leaf,
the wonder to come?
A Breath of Wind
1 A wind
with a wolf's head --
2 From the north?
from the east?
from the south ?
and the west?
3 Over snow by winter sown,
4 Knowing how hungry, cold, and tired am I,
5 Rises to drown out the sky.
6 When the winter comes,
7 and milk comes
frozen
home in pail,
8 Over the white,
the frozen ground
9 The Owl,that calls upon the Night,
10 Is the last to hold the light.
11 Owl's cry,
a most melancholy cry,
12 glides
into darkness
clear as glass,
13 In the frosty nights
of winter,
14 The white owl in the belfry sits,
15 And nods, and seems to think by fits.
16 Merry milkmaids
click the latch,
17 and feel the walls
for a light switch...
18 Their time is short,
a life is just a day...
19 First-Chill-then Stupor-then the letting go --
20 The wind will cease to blow.- Terrell Shaw
nest, rest, flight, sight, flower, hour, wing, sing
A Song UnsungI brushed the bush, upset the nest.
One egg rolled free and came to rest
against my foot. Another step would end its flight.
The robin germ would know no sight,
would pull no worm, admire no flower.
No second, minute, year or hour
to splash the bath or take to wing.
Shall I put it back? Could I hear it sing?
- Terrell Shaw
Addition, 1-03-08: Want to hear me read this poem? Here's the podcast.
