billkirkwrites

Guardian Angel Kids E-Zine Is Up!

2012-02-02T09:35:00.000-08:00

M E D I A R E L E A S E

CONTACT: Donna McDine, Editor-in-Chief, Guardian Angel Kids Ezine

Email: submissions@guardian-angel-kids.com
Website: http://guardian-angel-kids.com

Children’s Ezine Guardian Angel Kids: Math Concepts – February 2012 Issue

Teaching math concepts beyond traditional number problems opens up creative opportunities for both teachers and students. Different strategies include the use of poetry, stories, engaging articles, and activities that get the body and mind working in unison.

Come explore the world of "Math Concepts" in the Guardian Angel Kids February 2012 issue and learn how to tell time, add, subtract, and divide, rap to numbers through poetry, learn the history of pennies, how powerful zero truly is, and hands on math activities. Make it a family learning experience and fun will surely be had by one and all.

Letter from the EDITOR-IN-CHIEF: Donna M. McDine

Featured BookS:

Learn to Count 1-10 flip book by Eugene Ruble

Sparkie: A Star Afraid of the Dark book video by Susann Batson

Children’S poetry, SHORT STORIES, and articleS:

“Can You Tell Time?” quiz by Marion Tickner – explores the different timepieces before the technology explosion.

“How Many Are Half?” poetry by Donna J. Shepherd – Grandma’s delicious chocolate chip cookie treat and how the cookies are shared.

“Numbers Rap,” poetry by Bill Kirk – the wonder of numbers all around us.

“Cookies with Sprinkles,” by Shari L. Klase and illustrated by Julie Hammond – a whimsical adventure to Grandma’s house.

“The Value of Pennies,” by Gina Napoli – discover the history and significance of pennies.

“The All Powerful Nothing,” by Mary Reina – learn about the power of zero and how it turns nothing into something.

“Hands on Math Activities for Home or School,” by Kathy Stemke – get moving and grooving with enjoyable Math activities.

“Hopscotch Math,” by Karen Robuck – teach and reinforce basic Math skills with the fun of hopscotch

Efficient Blogging: An Oxymoron?

2012-01-31T11:11:00.000-08:00

Another "short" post today---I've got writing to do (he says as he contemplates the remote odds of completing a blog post in under ten minutes). My recent participation in the Mother Reader Blog Comment Challenge (visiting and leaving comments on five blogs a day for most of a month) got me to thinking. Admittedly, there is some danger associated with my engaging in that endeavor---thinking, that is. But I feel compelled to forge on.

What it got me to thinking about was how or if it might be possible to become an efficient blogger, to the point where blogging doesn't put the clock in over-drive? In theory, it could work. After all, how difficult could it be to click through five blogs, quickly read the blog post (or some part of one) for the day on each, leave a short if inane comment and get out?

I suppose the answer is, not too difficult if the objective is simply saying you did it---check off the five and move on. Never mind the whole other question of actually responding to the comments you may receive. Do you "reply" on your own blog or do you take the time to visit the commenter's blog and leave a random comment there? At best it seems we are sticking up yellow sticky notes on random bulletin boards in the Student Union of life. Is that any way to live?

When I'm blogging, what tends to happen is one thing leads to another. I get sidelined by something provocative or interesting and truly amazing that someone whom I have never met has written on their blog. And just as I am poised to click "PASTE" in the comment box, leaving something like: "Nice blog post. I would never have thought of that---this is so interesting I'll be back when I have more time.", my click finger gets a spasm, the only cure for which seems to be repetitive tapping on a succession of keys on the keyboard.

There go my hopes and dreams of blogging efficiency, suddenly dashed on the rocks of reflection and response. A blog comment here and another there and suddenly it's noon in a time zone several hours to the west, you know, like the middle of the Pacific as I sit in the only room in the house with a light on. That's about the time I hear the click of the front door latch as my wife arrives home from work, stumbling into the dark entryway, living room and kitchen. Had I been faster, I could have turned on some lights, at least leaving the illusion that I have done something else besides blogging the day away.

Now back to my original question: Is efficient blogging even remotely feasible or is it simply another oxymoron? The best I can hope to do is provide you with the definition and let you be the judge. According to The Urban Dictionary (and probably most others), the term "oxymoron" comes from the Greek words "oxy" (sharp) and "moros" (dull). Its meaning is any number of variations including something about two words which contradict or conflict with each other, that is, have opposite meanings often in a humorous or sarcastic way. Examples include: "Reality TV", "Jumbo Shrimp", "Healthy Tan", "Military Intelligence", "Free Trade", "Benevolent Dictator" and the list goes on....

So, where will each of you come down on the question? Good luck with your own attempts at achieving blogging efficiency. Whether successful or not, feel free to share a comment here based on your first hand empirical evidence. In a few days, I will wander back to compile the results from this admittedly unrepresentative sample. Until then, to paraphrase SNL from days past: "Blog on, Garth!"

Masculine/Feminine Rhyme: Who Knew?

2012-01-26T09:07:00.000-08:00

Just when you thought it was safe to break out your rhyming dictionary (or start running all your rhyming endings alphabetically through your head), someone tells you there's gender to contend with in the rhymes you write. What's up with that? After all, the last time you paid any attention to linguistic gender was Spanish class in the ninth grade---or was it when you ordered that beer during Spring Break in Puerto Vallarta?

No matter. The last place you thought gender would be an issue had to be rhyme, right? Well, fear not. It's not quite as problematic as you may anticipate. In fact, except that someone back in the day must have thought structural endings and sounds ought to be classified according to gender, it's unlikely that anyone would even notice. But just out of curiosity, it might be fun to try and sleuth out who among the ancients decided gender was important---and why.

So, where did the whole gender in rhyme thing originate? Did the early Chinese rhymers grapple with gender in their day? Although some of the oldest surviving Chinese poetry contains lyric aspects, because the written language is character based, any gender association to poetic form may be difficult to tease out. Left with that uncertainty, is the male-female poetic structure primarily western in origin? Could it simply be a non-functioning, vestigial "leftover" from Old Latin which etched its subtle tracks on the English language as romantic entanglements ebbed and flowed across Europe?

According to one source in the English Department at Carson-Newman College, (http://web.cn.edu/kwheeler/lit_terms_R.html) the word "rhyme" itself originates "from Old French, rime meaning 'series,' in turn adopted from Latin 'rithmus' and Greek 'rhythmos'." Given some of the other gender assignments in Greek and Latin, might we ascribe gender features to the rhyming verses penned by the early Greeks and Romans?

No doubt, the definition of gender in rhyme could probably be argued until the cows come home, with a break taken only for milking before the debate starts again. As is true with virtually any sorting out of why words in any language might be classified as masculine versus feminine, rhymes are no different. One thing seems clear: at least in English, gender in rhyme seems to have little or nothing to do with the gender rules found in some romance languages.

That is, whether a line of verse in English ends in an "a" or "o" or other gender laden vowel or consonant, doesn't really matter as much as it does in the Spanish language. And speaking of word endings, despite its compromise value in the Italian language, the use of a neutral vowel (such as the letter "i") at the end of the plural form of both masculine and feminine words is not a gender-driven issue in English rhyme. But you have to admire the logical recognition of not being able to sort out gender in groups.

In the French language, the definition suggests line ending words which end in "e" are feminine and those that don't are masculine. Some sources also refer to "e" endings and unaccented ending syllables as being weak. Although I was a French major in college, I'll leave the "why" of those "differences" to others who know far more about the origins of the French language and who don't mind getting their shins kicked.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, although the reasoning might be debatable, the rules regarding gender in English rhyme are remarkably clear. According to the Collaborative International Dictionary of English, a female rhyme has a rhyming set in which the rhyming lines end in double-syllable words (ego, amigo). A male rhyme, on the other hand, is one where only the last syllable in the line endings agree (stand, demand). No doubt you have noticed the difference in where the stress is placed---keep reading.

The definitions are extended slightly in Brande and Cox (A Dictionary of Science, Literature and Art): "A rhyme, in which the final syllables only agree (strain, complain) is called a male rhyme; one in which the two final syllables of each verse agree, the last being short (motion, ocean), is called female." Simply stated, male rhymes end in words (often single syllable) where the final syllable in each line is accented. Female rhymes end in words where at least the last two syllables in the line match and the final syllable is unaccented.

In the spirit of using three or more sources, Dictionary.com defines female (or more correctly feminine) rhymes as: "a rhyme either of two syllables of which the second is unstressed (double rhyme), as in motion, notion, or of three syllables of which the second and third are unstressed (triple rhyme), as in fortunate, importunate." In their turn, male (or masculine) rhymes are defined as: "a rhyme between stressed monosyllables or between the final stressed syllables of polysyllabic words: book, cook; collect, direct."

You won't have to look very far to find a purely male rhyme, for example in "The Rime Of The Ancient Mariner" by Samuel Taylor Colridge:

"Water, water, every where,
And all the boards did shrink;
Water, water, every where,
Nor any drop to drink."

Finding female rhymes is a little more challenging. But they can be found, such as in Sonnet 20 "A Woman's Face With Nature's Own Hand" by William Shakespeare (gotta love the iambic pentameter):

A woman's face with Nature's own hand painted
Hast thou, the master-mistress of my passion;
A woman's gentle heart, but not acquainted
With shifting change, as is false women's fashion;

Notably, many if not most rhymes contain both feminine and masculine rhyming sets. Often the combination is seen in the same verse in either an A/A, B/B or an A/B, A/B rhyming sequence. At other times as the entire verse may be either masculine or feminine. Whether standing alone or in combination, rhyme has clearly established itself as much more than doggerel---to be covered in another post.

By the way, I should say that I am completely unqualified to judge whether the differences in a rhyme's gender have anything to do with the comparative complexity of either the line endings or their namesakes. Nor will I make a judgement as to why women prefer piles of pillows on the sofa while men would generally be OK sitting on a stump---make that a reclining stump. Yet it is a great deal of fun to use the variations in line endings, whether in gender terms or any other terms, as a creative basis for studying and writing rhyme.

Besides, it's a great conversation starter at parties if only because rhyming gender is no doubt rarely used---until now, that is....

Puddles Just Waiting To Be Jumped In

2012-01-20T15:48:00.000-08:00

Short post today. I was going to dig into rhyme a bit more but then it started raining. Granted, the connection may not be evident at first glance. But stay with me and you, too, will soon be able to follow my convoluted logic.

The Sacramento area is abysmally short of rain now already halfway through our "rainy season" that generally runs from middle-ish October to middle-ish April. In fact, some estimates show we are about 20 percent of average and that may be generous. Since December 1 we have had less than one tenth of an inch of rain when we should have had over four inches by this time on average. And where five feet of snow should have fallen already in the High Sierra, there is virtually bare dirt.

That is, until today, although so far it doesn't appear to be adding much to our total, it has generated lots of excitement among weather prognosticators. Really, it's actually more like a very light but steady drizzle and hardly enough to get any water running in the gutters at that.

But despite the fact it's no where close to a storm, yet, the rain is totally the reason my thinking shifted from "rhyme" to "run" as the subject of my post. You see, a rain like today is perfect for a run---just enough to wet things down a bit and create a few puddles to jump in but not enough to be a bother.

Therein lies the fun. Plain and simple, puddles bring out the kid in me. Going splat in the first one may wrinkle your nose up a bit. But after that, every puddle is just waiting, nay begging, to be jumped in. Who cares if shoes get wet and mud splatters up to your knees?

OK. That's it. That's my post for today. Here's to puddle jumping, in celebration of all puddles past and all those yet to come---even the piddly ones. Why, I'm even beginning to feel a short rhyme coming on, with a little syncopation to boot....

Rain
By Bill Kirk

Drip. Drip. Patter, pit.
Little drops of rain that hit
My umbrella. Under it,
I’m a perfect fit.

Funny Thing About Rhyme...

2012-01-14T06:03:00.000-08:00

... like many apparently simple things in life, there's a lot more to it than meets the eye. Virtually every writer, whether poet, novelist, essayist or journalist, has likely toyed with rhyme at one time or another; most of the time not giving it a second thought beyond its schoolish fun. After all, it's not often we hear rhyme described as fascinating in its complexity, right?

What brings many, myself included, to rhyme is more of a stumbling headlong into the form because of its quirkiness and playfulness. After all, who hasn't recited "Roses Are Red" in the original or even written a knock-off? When I was growing up as an Air Force brat, a favorite was:

Roses are red,
Violets are blue.
You've got a shape,
Like a B-52.

It's hard not to love the romantic sentiment in that short verse written to my first girlfriend on Valentines Day. And what's not to like about its same sounding endings? Not to mention, it's got a bit of a beat. That rendering in rhyme was in about the fourth grade as I recall, when the massive B-52 jet bomber was becoming a household word on Air Force bases around the country.

Regretably, I can't claim to be the orignal author as most boys in my class were writing and reciting that little ditty ad infinitum at the time. Our teachers must have had the patience of Job. I'm certain Shakespeare thought the same thing about the beauty and functionality of rhyme, although perhaps fleetingly, as he added a rhyming couplet to the end of many of the acts and scenes in his plays.

So, let's get serious. You don't have to look very far to learn rhyme has a long history and is complex beyond all appearances. Google is loaded with what could be a literary googol of citations about rhyme. If you go there, I would plan to linger. For example, did you know...

* the first recorded (still surviving) rhyme was written in China in the tenth century BC?
* rhyme is found in the Koran and in the Bible.
* even the Greeks are known to have messed around with rhyme back in the day.
* rhyme made its appearance in Europe well before the 7th century by which time the Irish were using it extensively?
* rhyme started replacing alliteration (more on that in another post) as a preferred poetic form back in 14th century Europe?

And here are just a few of its many forms:

* Rhymes can be viewed generally or specifically. General rhymes have similar sounding words and may give a verse a sense of form. But they may not typically be regarded as rhyming in a strict way. The terms "near rhyme" (king-daring) or "forced rhyme" (noun-found) come to mind.

* On the other hand, rhymes in a specific sense are often referred to as perfect rhymes (see the B-52 above).

* Perfect Rhyme: Words in which the vowel sounds are exactly the same, whether spelled the same way or differently---the final stressed vowel sound (and the sounds that follow that vowel sound) are key, such as say-bay, dolt-bolt, good-would, shopping-hopping, locket-pocket.

* Perfect rhymes can be broken down further based on the number of rhyming syllables in the rhyming words.

* Of course, if there are perfect rhymes, there must be imperfect rhymes, also termed "near rhymes", already noted.

* Based on the location of the final stressed syllable in rhyming words, the rhyme can be classified as masculine, feminine or dactylic. (stay tuned next week).

* There can be rhyme which uses the same vowels (a characteristic known as "assonance") or the same consonants (known oddly enough as "consonance").

* There are also semirhymes where one word in the rhyming set has an extra syllable, not to mention half rhymes, pararhymes, syllabic rhymes, punning rhymes (where the words carry a very intentional and droll meaning), eye rhymes, tail rhymes, mind rhymes and holorhymes, just to name a few.

This list is far from exhaustive and that's just in English. Rhyming forms also vary based on the language in which they are written. Lost in translation doesn't even begin to cover it.

You can probably tell where this is going. First, there's no way to cover everything about rhyme in a single post. And second, because there's no way to cover it all in a single post, my new mission in life is to blog the socks off rhyme---to dignify it beyond doggerel; to lift it up as an art form; to celebrate its place in history; nay, to salute rhymers as risk takers in the face of often withering prosaic criticism.

So, take heart, rhymers. This is our time---and apparently it has been since about the 12th century. Who knew?

More to come....

The Mother Of All Blog Comment Challenges

2012-01-12T15:11:00.000-08:00

OK. I shoulda shared this link several days ago along with some of my other resolution related comments. But in my defense, I didn't find out about it until the day after it started. What is it you ask? It's basically a behavior modification tool---doing something to develop a habit through repetion.

Admitedly I was a little skeptical at first. I mean, how did I think I would be able to add this into my already time crunched schedule? Besides, I've already let one or two of my resolutions slide. So, I was a little worried about my resolution to blog more and to expand my view of the blogging world by visiting and commenting on other blogs.

But what better way to reinforce that goal than by participating in a group challenge. Sure we've all heard about the couple in Fiji and a mystic on Madagascar who are self-disciplined enough to get up in the morning and hit the blog circuit as they sip their cup of joe or other stimulating beverage. For the rest of us, a little structure to nudge us along can be a good thing.

Herewith I offer you the link to the Mother Reader website where the Comment Challenge is described and the participants listed. In one place you will find lots of blogs written by folks just like you and me: writers, illustrators, librarians, teachers and lots of others interested in books and blogging and other such things.

The idea is to pick five blogs a day to visit and comment. Although initially I got caught up in blog surfing and couldn't seem to get to the commenting part, after three or four days, I started to get a bit more efficient. First, you get the visiting and commenting on the five sites done and everything else is gravy. Then, lo and behold, in no time you'll be firmly planted in the five-blogs-a-day groove and your resolution is secure.

Along the way, you will encounter lots of really neat blogs written by people you have a lot in common with. Maybe they homeschool their kids or work in a library or love to travel or are wondering how to promote their books. Maybe they grew up in a military family or have two dogs and three cats or live in Australia.

I suppose in some ways it's like speed dating, not that I've ever done that. But I watched a speed dating segment on "What Would You Do?" once. All I can say is, if speed dating had been around back when I was trying to get up the courage to ask a girl out, I wouldn't have survived. But I digress. If the idea of beefing up your blogging appeals to you, click here to check out the challenge at Mother Reader and you, too, may get hooked.

I know. I know. You'll be starting a little late by a few days. But I hear they do this every year. So, what do you have to lose? Maybe I'll see you around the blogosphere, like two ships passing in the night. It could happen....

The Exercise Of Exercise

2011-12-31T09:14:00.000-08:00

Time to get into the starting blocks and wait for the gun to sound. Yep, it's time to throw down the gauntlet to yourself and kick off your exercise resolutions for the new year. Come on! Who's with me? I didn't do so hot last year. But 2012 is a brand new year.

So, be it resolved. Tomorrow will soon be upon us. Let's see just how long we will last. Here's a short rhyme to get your started. It's also posted on my webpage at billkirkwrites.com under the "Rhyme Of The Month". For another take on the running life, check out "Life is (Ultra) Good" on the Blackwood Press website. Enjoy.

Then pull on those exercise duds and strap on your shoes. The day awaits.

The Exercise Of Exercise
By Bill Kirk

Exercise is easy
To write down on a chart.
The hard part is the doing;
The first step is to start.

Writing lists is helpful,
If that's not all you do.
You've got to take that first step
And after that, take two.

Three steps, then another--
Each one becomes a snap.
Soon ten leads to a hundred--
Four hundred make a lap.

Each four laps together
Will make an even mile.
You're done in twenty minutes.
Do I detect a smile?

Now you get the picture.
That's what it's all about!
You've overcome the challenge.
So, give yourself a shout!

If You're On A Fixed Income,Stay Out Of The Post Office

2011-12-13T12:44:00.000-08:00

I went to the Post Office (aka P.O.) on Friday--second time last week. It's the holidays and visits to the P.O. are pretty much expected. Mailing Christmas packages has become a way of life for our family with our nearest direct relatives in the north-central and southern states and grandchildren on both coasts. In fact, by the look of the lines outside and inside the P.O., dispersed families must be pretty common these days.

The demographics of Postal Customers (forthwith referred to as P.C.s) are multi-ethnic and multi-generational. Indeed, the P.O. market is the American melting pot. Even local P.O.s with relatively homogeneous neighborhoods are filled with P.C.s of every stripe, both rank and rainbow, all snaking their way to the head of the line. Needless to say, the wisest P.C. comes prepared with equal doses of patience, good humor, plenty of legal tender and maybe a snack.

With all the queuing and waiting, the P.O. turns into a real social center this time of year. The guy behind me said he didn't have anything to mail at all. Yet, he felt compelled to pack a lunch and put in a couple hours down at the P.O. with the other P.C.s in the queue. I guess you could call it mail bonding.

To get the most out of the social experience, especially if you're not mailing anything, it's not a bad idea to carry in one or two empty boxes that are wrapped, taped and addressed so you won't feel out of place. Besides, any P.C. standing in line without packages this time of year is immediately suspect. I believe it falls under Homeland Security Yule Rule 12-25(c) which covers anyone acting out of line with normal P.C. behavior. Just ask a Postal Associate (P.A.) about the details if you have any questions before security arrives.

As for the mailing process, just remember when you come to the P.O. you are in it for the long haul. And you can be assured that all P.C.s receive personalized customer service to help them get over the sticker shock. I know I shouldn't have, but I actually found myself eavesdropping as a P.C. timidly presented his package to the P.A at the nearest window. I sensed trouble from the outset.

P.C.: Finally, I made it! I was about to barter one of my grandson's gifts for the sandwich someone was eating behind me in line.

P.A.: How may we help you today?

P.C.: I'd like to mail something to Tierra del Fuego for Christmas.

P.A.: Sure. No problem, although I should mention we received a high priority postal alert memo this morning advising us postage and delivery times are going up soon in the Southern Hemisphere.

P.C.: That doesn't sound good. But hey, it's Christmas. How bad can it be?

P.A.: Are you mailing anything larger than a breadbox, fragile, liquid, explosive or that would arouse suspicion among our highly trained Postal Inspectors (P.I.s)?

P.C.: No. Well, there is an heirloom neti pot that's been passed around the family for years.

P.A.: Would you like us to guarantee the contents will be usable when they reach their destination?

P.C.: You mean you can do that?

P.A.: Why, yes. Of course, it will be a little extra. But we have a special rate this month.

P.C.: Can you tell me how much the postage will be first?

P.A.: Yes. Would you like it to arrive before the end of the Year of the Dragon? That's our cheapest flat rate at $96.00 if the gross weight of your package is less than 2.378 kilos.

P.C.: That's a little pricey. But I guess it's not too bad if it will get there by Christmas.

P.A.: Christmas? Get real. Maybe by Christmas 2012 if you're lucky. At the lower flat rate, we're prohibited from actually mailing the package until we're actually in the Year of the Dragon.

P.C.: Do you have anything faster?

P.A.: Of course we do. We can get it there in two business weeks for just under $200 (not counting Sundays, Saturdays after 2:00 p.m. and any other day the package remains in the P.O. awaiting inspection by our part-time P.I.s). Oh, and we may have to add a little something for time and materials in case re-wrapping is needed.

P.C.: I suppose getting it there by this Christmas is out of the question, then?

P.A.: No. Not at all. In fact, going with the two-day priority delivery option will save us both some time. Just leave your credit card with me and we'll handle everything.

P.C.: Two days. That sounds great. But you didn't mention the cost.

P.A.: Well, you know what they say, "if you have to ask...". By the way, you have pre-paid your mortgage through next June, haven't you? Oh, and if you don't need the card back right away, we'll mail it back to you postage free, which saves you the $96.00 flat rate charge.

P.C.: I was hoping to take the card with me today. And now that I've thought about it, I can only afford to go with the cheapest rate and shoot for next Christmas.

P.A.: OK. Just step to the back of the line. This could take a while. The Year of the Dragon doesn't start until January 23.

Merry Christmas one and all. Hope all your packages arrive on time.

"Got URL?"The Worry and Wonder Of Websites

2011-12-13T10:34:00.000-08:00

If you have a website, you probably struggled through its birthing process from concept to reality. You can take comfort that you aren't alone. Your pain is felt by many, myself included, agonizing over such questions as: What design should I use? Should I use a template or should I go with code (.html, that is) and carve out my own layout? After all, there's something to be said about being the master of my own destiny even if it is with baling wire and bubble gum. Then again, maybe I should just hire it all out. How much could it cost anyway for the basics about who I am and what I'm peddling? And what's all this fuss I hear about content anyway?

These are just a few of the questions facing those pursuing an identity on the worldwide web. Consider for a moment what drove your website decisions about both the design and content? Did you hire a website designer to help chart your course in cyber space? Whether "designed" or home grown, to what extent was the cost a factor in your website decisions? Either way, are you satisfied with the outcome? And if you had it to do over again, would you follow the same path? What would you do differently? I'll start out. Feel free to chime in about your own experience.

Relatively soon after I got into the writing game (meaning at the point when my mom told everyone from her beautician to the pharmacist that I was writing poetry), I began to feel the push toward having a website. Actually, it was more like standing on the edge of Niagra Falls with a cheering crowd behind me yelling, "you don't need no stinking barrel!" Way back in those days (meaning about four years ago), I knew nothing about websites or how to design them; or, truthfully, what to put on them.

I began with a very basic (we're talking two tin cans and a string here) "website" offered by AOL using their "AOL hometown" template. My content was minimal--mostly a little background information about me (the poet, remember?) plus what I was working on currently and a list of two poems I had published so far. The AOL template offered four or five colors, a few "header" themes and about three text boxes to key free-form text into.

Needless to say, it was a modest website. But when I finished, I thought I had indeed arrived in the cyber world. The only problem, no one knew I was there which, in retrospect, was probably a good thing. But at least if someone asked me, I could beam with pride (OK and maybe a little smugness) and give them my URL. Hey, I was nothing if not pure coolness. I mean, I could totally imagine myself in a TV ad: "Got URL?" "Well, duh! Yeah, I got URL!"

Oh, and did I mention my URL was 43 characters long and included most of the letters in the English alphabet, three carefully placed Chinese characters, half the symbols across the top of the keyboard and six forward (not backward) slashes. Come to think of it, the URL actually looked a lot like the inside of those cartoon bubbles when the speaker is really, really mad.

And I'm sure it was for security reasons that whatever was keyed into the URL line could not be copied and pasted in the event of a keying error. That is, it had to be totally rekeyed from the beginning. Needless to say, I didn't have a lot of visitors to my website.

Yet, imagine my panic when about two years later, AOL announced via message that they would be eliminating their "website" feature in 30 days. Assuming ALL CAPS meant they were serious, I immediately followed their suggestion to save off my content, which I dutifully did in a Word file (with a hardcopy backup of course). Then, I sat site-less for nearly a month until I mentioned my dilemma to a cyber-savvy friend.

With great patience and forebearing (both biblical concepts), he showed me the basics of website design using .html code. I must say, after mastering my AOL URL, I actually found .html fairly easy. He also talked me through the drafting, editing, saving and uploading steps required to take my "design" from an idea sketched out on my local computer to an actual website on the worldwide web. And the rest, as they say, is history.

My website is still pretty basic but it is evolving, much as roads and highways evolved from horse trails and wagon paths. I figure I'm basically at the two-lane, gravel road stage, including the occasional one-lane bridge. I've heard there is something called "css" (cascading style sheets) out there. But I'm still a long way from taking my site from two-lanes to Interstate.

Feel free to check it out if you wish at http://www.billkirkwrites.com ---which is, by the way, a URL I can actually remember. Any and all critical comments and suggestions are appreciated.

The Smell Of Success In Dollars And Scents

2011-12-09T23:49:00.000-08:00

It has been said any successful author must be deeply committed to the three "Ps": Promotion, Promotion, Promotion. Well, today I had an epiphany about the latest sure thing in the promotional game. Forget the press releases, book signings, school visits, social networking, virtual book tours and lawn signs. To clearly establish your identity and boost your bottom line, the path has suddenly become clear---get a fragrance.

Apparently, the word is out. After all, pretty much anyone who's anyone has one, from celebrity veterans to those barely more than kids. If you are a celebrity (or if there are those who think you are), a fragrance is almost de rigeur. And it matters not if you are a singer, actor, reality star, model, clothing manufacturer or even a sports figure.

It all started years ago when White Diamonds was announced by Liz as she stepped through a doorway, backlit in brilliant white. Since then Cher, Mariah, Hillary Duff, Britney Spears, Heidi Klume and even Tailor Swift have added at least one signature fragrance to their endorsements. The speed of the fragrance juggernaut boggles the mind.

As a case in point, a couple months ago, soon after the latest celebrity wedding, I was passed at high speed on the Interstate by two purple clad semi-tractor trailers apparently filled with fragrance bottles branded with the recent bride's name. I could hardly believe my eyes; well, except there was little room for my eyes to notice anything else on the road, what with the rapidly moving image of a 40-foot female form plastered on the side of the trucks.

Instinctively, my foot mashed down on the accelerator in a vain attempt to keep up---for safety's sake, of course. Quickly thinking ahead, in the event I got stopped for speeding, I had already worked out my defense. "Officer, it was defensive driving pure and simple, to keep from suffering image-induced whiplash as those eye-popping images sped past me." Sure, it's lame. But in a crisis, you gotta go with the hand that's dealt you.

Female celebrities aren't the only ones hawking perfume. Imagine my surprise when I recently learned that even Derek Jeter has a fragrance. But, come to think of it, most of his teammates have long been aware of the post-game locker room fragrance after pretty much any baseball game, especially games that go into extra innings. And believe it or not, this evening as I watched the latest celebrity news (although it pains me to do so), an ad for Justin Bieber's fragrance line broke into the programing with an urgency that rivaled a test of the National Emergency Warning System.

The take home message? To up your promotional game, add a fragrance to your branding tool kit. And no worries about accusations of vanity. A fragrance with your name on it is even better, especially if it's the French version of your name.

So, what does this all mean for us average folk? And by that I mean those of us without dollars and scents. You know, those who have been working in the trenches, including we authors who have made almost enough from our book sales to afford a starving writer's seven course meal: a "take and bake" pizza and a six pack.

Well, for one thing, we would help the economy by putting more fragrance makers to work. No doubt the manufacturers of blown glass collector bottles would be hiring thousands, not to mention the assemblers of all those little plastic screw tops with push-down misters. And just think of all the new fragrance domain names that the hundreds of newly hired domain name protectors would have to protect.

The smell of economic recovery is clearly in the air. Why, I can see the makings of my new promotional campaign coming sharply into focus: glitzy designer fragrance scratch-and-sniff cards tucked inside each one of my children's picture books, followed by late night guest appearances on The Fragrance Chanel. Then, to top it all off, a splashy ad on one of those multi-story digital-image screens in Time Square will announce GUILLAUME Pour Homme.

Yeah. That sounds a lot better than Eau de Bill....

A Self-Portrait In Rhyme

2011-11-29T14:58:00.000-08:00

Hard to believe the last two months have flown by with virtually no writing. But my blog stands before me with my last entry on October 2. So, before November totally escapes, I'm offering this short rhyme as a self-portrait. It will also be the Rhyme of the Month on my website for December if you care to drop by in a couple days. Cheers and Blessings.

A Self-Portrait
By Bill Kirk

What you sees is what you gets;
A happy life with no regrets.
S'ppose there could be one or two-
But hardly more than just a few.

There was that time I smoked a pack
Of Camels in the barn out back
At grandpa's farm-and I turned green.
But since then, I've been strictly clean.

And who knew sake mixed with beer,
Would make my vision so unclear?
Going down, it tasted fine.
But later? More like turpentine.

Once I bought some swampland, too.
What a deal! I had no clue.
At last, we sold it ten years later-
Never found that alligator.

Rubbed some blisters; skinned some knees.
Got stung by some wasps and bees.
Gained some wrinkles, lost some hair;
Won a few bets here and there.

Found true love along the way-
Thank my lucky stars each day.
A life well-lived without a care.
And blessings? Yes, at least my share-

What you sees is what you gets;
A happy life with no regrets.
S'ppose there could be one or two-
But hardly more than just a few.

Fall Weather Collection

2011-10-02T09:48:00.000-07:00

Every year about this time, the weather starts to go all wild and wacky in the Sacramento Valley. Last week the temps tickled the 100 degree mark; today we are struggling to make the low 70s and rain is on the near term horizon.

But Sacramento is not the only place where weather can be unsettled this time of year. Recalling the many other places I've lived, whether the southeast, north central, east, or southwest, changing weather patterns are on the weather menu all over the country. In North Dakota, they say if you don't like the weather, wait five minutes. And it's still hurricane season until the end of November.

Just for fun, here's a short collection of weather rhymes to kick things off for fall. Maybe one or more will ring familiar wherever you are. Enjoy.

"Fog"

When I look outside my window,
And fog is all around,
There’s nothing I can see at all,
From tree tops to the ground.

"Rain"

Drip. Drip. Patter, pit.
Little drops of rain that hit
My umbrella. Under it,
I’m a perfect fit.

"Wind" (Haiku)

I can hear the sound
Of a soulful wind outside,
Blowing in the trees.

"Snow"

Crystal flakes go swirling by,
Falling from a cloud-filled sky.
Will they leave us like a sigh,
Or drift in snow piles ten feet high?

"Hail"

What’s that on my window pane,
Tapping with a Rat-A-Tat?
Cold has quickly frozen rain
Hail is falling, just like that!

In Remembrance of 9/11

2011-09-11T08:35:00.000-07:00

There has been much said in recent days about 9/11/2001 being a day anyone old enough will remember where they were and what they were doing---another JFK assassination moment. However, I must admit the details have been strangely fuzzy for me, to the point I have had to reconstruct the circumstances of the day. Certainly there is much I do recall. But some of the most obvious details have eluded me as I reflect on that day ten years ago.

For example, which day of the week was it? Where exactly was I when I heard the news? How did I first find out about it? What was my life context on that day? Why aren't such bits and pieces seared into my memory?

It was a Tuesday. I know this because I have one of those circular 40-year calendars to tell me the day of the week for any date from 1995-2034. A little over a month before, I had started a new job as a manager in a research and evaluation unit in the Department of Social Services. My new office---and I actually had an office---was in downtown Sacramento, CA in the northwest corner on the 12th floor in one of two buildings widely known by State workers as the "Twin Towers".

The day started like most other work days. I was up early as usual---I like the morning quiet. Then the phone rang. Who could be calling unless it was a family emergency? In fact, it was my wife's mom two hours ahead of us in the Central Time Zone. "Turn on the TV! There's been a horrible air plane accident in New York!"

Still I was not registering the urgency of the call. Plane crashes are usually for the evening news, aren't they? But this wasn't just a crash, mind you. The plane had hit the World Trade Center in New York. You've got to be kidding! I remember almost immediately calling my closest high school friends in Dallas to share my disbelief about what we were watching. Secretly I hoped they would tell me this was all just another "War of the Worlds" mass hysteria hoax. It wasn't.

My wife and I sat watching, awestruck and helpless, yet mezmerized by the unfolding events three time zones away. Can't we rewind the movie reel and intercept those planes? How could this have possibly happened? Realizing there was nothing we could do but watch, that's what we did, as both towers fell, the Pentagon was hit and Flight 93 crashed in Pennsylvania.

At that moment we could hardly imagine how we could possibly leave the growing spectacle on TV. But by 7:00 a.m. our interrupted morning routine was beckoning somewhat impatiently as a full hour had evaporated while we watched the continuing news feed. It was past time to wake our grandson up and take him to school---he had just started First Grade the week before, still full of excitement about being a first grader. And there was a full day of work for my wife and me. She was in the middle of a pre-doctoral internship at Yolo County Mental Health and I had a full day of meetings ahead of me.

After making my way through the usual snarled traffic, the office routine sputtered all morning. Everyone was clearly distracted by the weight of the news, although we were disconnected inside our office spaces from any media sources of information about what was happening on the ground. Every news snippet coming in via phone calls from outside spawned a new round of speculation and shock.

Meetings were cancelled---I know this because my planner has all my meetings crossed out---and all but the most critical business was suddenly on the back burner or off the stove all together. A decision about about a multi-million dollar research contract got lumped together with the report about a broken copier. All was eclipsed by questions about how we would know our children would be safe if disaster struck our building. And all those seemingly mindless practice evacuation drills? They now took on new importance.

Then we wondered if there might not be something---anything---we could do individually or collectively to help. It was as if someone had stuck a stick in a giant ant hill and the entire nation was trying to sort out what to do next. Of course, there was nothing we could do for those so far away except to tighten things up our in own house, to hold those close to us dear, to reach out to distant family and friends and to share, even if only virtually, this common national tragedy.

In the years since the events of that day, we have remembered what it is we were doing and how we felt as individuals and as a nation. Now, ten years later, it is good and right that we once again take time to reflect or to do some particular thing to acknowledge our differences and celebrate the strength of our commonalities.

So, today, my Boy Scout Troop will retire several American flags whose service is done. In this small way, we will share the sacrifices made on our behalf, symbolized by the flags we fly. We do it to establish a clear bond between those who have no recollections of September 11, 2001 and those who saw it and felt it.

Always remember. Never forget.

Day Six On The Pacific Crest Trail---Journey's End

2011-08-17T09:58:00.000-07:00

DAY SIX: Thursday, August 4

This is the final installment---the last day of our backpacking trek. Today we will arrive at our end point on Donner Pass Road. While planning the trip, our daily mileage estimates were just that. We looked at topo maps, read recent reports from other hikers and hoped for the best. In actuality, each day took on a life of its own as we experienced gains or losses depending on trail conditions, unexpected detours, actual time underway with packs on, fatigue and the location of suitable stopping points. As the saying goes, all days are good but some days are better than others.

Here's what the record will show:

DAY----PLANNED MILES----ACTUAL MILES

1--------------------14.5--------------------13.1
2--------------------10.5--------------------12.0
3--------------------13.0--------------------11.0
4--------------------13.0--------------------10.5
5--------------------11.5--------------------13.5
6---------------------2.0--------------------6.0

TOTAL------------64.5-------------------66.1

So, today, instead of two miles to hike out, we have about six miles remaining. Although not a lengthy hike compared to our other days, these final six miles will not be without their challenges, hints of which were noted even overnight.

Some time after midnight, a strong wind could be heard in the trees above us and the temps had dropped, to the extent we thought an unexpected Sierra storm might blow in during our last night at camp. This morning, the sky is brilliant blue at sunrise and the wind has moved on with nothing to show for all its bluster last night. But it is still cold enough (low-30s) that all of us have added layers. In fact it's the coolest morning by 15 degrees than we have experienced all week. I suppose camping right next to several tons of snow will have that effect....

Sure enough, by the time we eat breakfast, the sun has partly cleared the trees behind us and the layers start coming off as we break camp for the last time. Given the slightly longer (and now apparently warmer) hike out, we take stock of our water supplies, knowing there will likely not be any water until we meet our ride home at Donner Pass Road. As extra insurance, we melt and boil snow sufficient for breakfast, preserving our remaining water for the trail.

As we busy ourselves with camp chores, on everyone's mind this morning is the impassible snow field between us and where we will find the trail again. The overnight temps have crusted the surface of the snow. What was slushy when we arrived last night is now almost solid with no "give" underfoot. The proverbial "elephant in the room" comes to mind and this one is clearly a white elephant. Almost on cue, we all begin to verbalize our options:

1. Cross the snow field at the level of our camp. It's the shortest distance to the other side. So, conceptually, this is an early favorite. But a quick test shows there is zero footing on the snow surface. Lacking ice picks, visions of a speedy descent to the rocks below quickly make this one is a non-starter.

2. Climb up to dry surface above the snow field and go over the top. That will mean climbing back up through the trees to where we originally ran into the snow on the trail last night, then crawling across the loose rock at the base of the peak just above the snow line. Although this option would provide a dry crossing to the other side, it might also result in the second fastest trip to the bottom. Still on the list but iffy.

3. Hike down past the snow field and across to a distant steep crease leading up to the trail. We can see the path this option would take all the way to the trail. But it by far the longest and the climb back up the crease is clearly the steepest and may not be doable.

4. Climb down well below the snow field, all the way to the tree line and follow the trees to the trail. This option will also take some time but, from our vantage point, the slope up to the trail is drier (no visible snow) and, therefore, manageable.

5. Hike down just below the snow field and cross the loose rock to firmer ground, angling through trees to an open slope on the other side. As with option #4, this would put us on dry ground below the snow, although the loose rock might make for difficult going. Eventually we will be able to angle our way up to the trail although we can't see where we will start back up the other side.

All things considered, we go with the descent aspect of options 3, 4 and 5, looking for the shortest path across to an up-slope once we clear the snow line. We angle through the trees at the closest point until we reach a steep sloping exit to the trail above.

Anticipating two hours to meet the trail, we have managed to zig-zag our way up through heavy sage brush and mule ear in just under an hour. In fact, we are so proud of ourselves---both the decision process and the execution---that we stood in the middle of the trail basking in our success (i.e., no death or injury to the old man) for a good 15 minutes.

Once underway, it is a relatively flat or slightly "down" hike toward Sugar Bowl. The boys charge ahead of us, knowing that cold water, fresh fruit, hot showers and pizza are just a few hours away. However, on reaching the turn in the trail leading across a slope below the highest chair lift, we hit one last large, steep snow field planted right across the trail. Based on our recent experience, our decision is quick and unanimous to climb the steep (and I'm talking STEEP) temporary trail up to the chair lift rather than attempt a snow crossing. In fact, Matthew, Mark and Joseph had made that decision before Ike and I caught up to them.

Lingering a while at the top, admiring the views, we finally strike out on our last 3.5 mile downhill stretch past Mount Judah and on toward Donner Pass Road. The closer we get to the end, the rockier the trail seems to get and we encounter crowds of day hikers coming up the trail. At the bottom, Sandra and Bob Puliz have already collected Matthew, Mark and Joseph who are 20 minutes ahead of Ike and me. What a sight for sore eyes. After cleaning up, I don't think I have ever seen three family-size Roundtable Pizza's disappear so fast.

Day Five On The Pacific Crest Trail

2011-08-15T08:22:00.000-07:00

Notes to Readers---Three things:

First, as I write these accounts of each day on the trail, it strikes me that the great advantage of specific events is they give us opportunities to focus our thoughts for a short time on some particular thing so we can record as accurately as possible what occurred. As time goes by, the recollections of the details around the edges of the experience may fuzz up a bit. If any of you have considered capturing your own life experience "on paper", as a good friend has reminded me, there is no time better than now to start.

Second, if any of you are inclined to share a comment about what you read here, feel free to leave it directly on this blog site if you wish. Realizing that may require some type of recognizable identity so "Blogger" will accept your comment, if you prefer not leaving a comment here, that's fine too. But if you already have such an identity (under Google or Yahoo or Blogger or other portal), I would enjoy reading your impressions.

Third, I've spent a fair amount of time describing the trail, including its beauty and its challenges, along with some of what our daily routine has been. But I now realize I haven't provided much detail about what we are eating along the trail or about some of the decision process we used to get beyond obstacles of one sort or another. In the last two installments, I'll try to do a better job of that at least as a point of reference for what we liked or didn't and what seemed to work or didn't for our group.

DAY FIVE: Wednesday, August 3

We are up early this morning, knowing that topping off our water will take a little longer as our access to Whiskey Creek is about 200 meters behind us and off the trail. But the day is glorious once again and we enjoy breakfast of either oatmeal reinforced with GORP (that would be me), freeze dried eggs or of some sort or oatmeal (that would be Matthew and Mark) or a wholely cooked exotic grain (prepared by Ike and Joseph).

The concept is to get down some quick and easy calories (as many as possible) and to stock our easily reachable pockets with high energy snacks to consume on the trail. Some choose power gels, others concentrated fruit bars or jerky. And of course, a cup of hot chocolate (or coffee with a hot chocolate boost in the case of Ike and myself) goes a long way to getting the day started right. And by way of a personal anecdote, Starbucks VIA instant coffee makes a good cup and is a great way to reduce pack weight. After each meal, everyone collects their trash and stores it away in our individual bear cannisters. And as room is made inside the bear cannisters, other items fill the void as a way to manage the bulk inside our packs.

After breaking camp, the boys find a nearby rock the boys to test their cell phone reception. We're in luck and Matthew updates Bob and Sandra Puliz on our anticipated arrival time at Donner tomorrow---not that we are eager for an end to our adventure, mind you. We agree to make contact with Bob and Sandra again this evening after we know how far we are by day's end and how far we will have left to hike out tomorrow. By 8:45 a.m. we are underway from CS1140 on what we know will be a hard "up" from our current elevation of 7,300 feet to over 8,500 feet (then back down to 8,300 feet at way point WACS1143) where the trail will be due east of Granite Chief Peak.

We make a pre-planned stop at what we believe is way point WACS1143 to pump water and refill all bottles and camelbacks. Instead, our stop is at WACS1142---a small error but that means we still have 1/2-mile of "up" ahead of us before we reach our first of two major crests of the day at 8,500 feet. Always in search of a silver lining, on the plus side, except for a couple short climbs, the next nearly three miles on the map and elevation charts are more or less downhill to just beyond way point 1145.

I digress. Now, where was I? Oh, yes, soon after our water stop, we are not at all surprised to see snow patches, just as we had learned from other hikers the day before. So, wouldn't you know it, because we now don't need the snow along the trail, we get it in spades!

We have now learned not to get all giddy on the trail about how well we are doing because you never know what awaits over the next hill. In fact, appearing before us as we look across Squaw Valley is what I can only describe as a vision of death at first glance---at least to someone who isn't a fan of roller coasters, jumping off ledges or slipping and sliding uncontrolably.

For some reason, others in the group see the 100-foot drop from a snow ledge, down a steep embankment to rocks and trees below as a fun diversion. I'm thinking I should have called my life insurance agent before we left....

Struggling somewhat to stabilize our footing at the top of the ledge, the group concludes that although there are several variations of how to get off this ledge, hiking down either with or without packs isn't an option. To get down the slope, basically there are two methods. To paraphrase Mr. Miaggi in Karate Kid: packs on or packs off.

Joseph Krieg is the first to test the packs-off approach. We combine two lengths of para-cord to provide enough rope to lower his pack to the bottom. Then, in a giant leap for the team, Joseph takes the slide for life, maintaining remarkable control all the way down. After unhooking his pack down below, Mark pulls the rope back up to the top to lower the next pack.

Ike Krieg goes down next, using the "packs-on" method with his hiking poles as stabilizers---a successful slide on all accounts. Ike is followed by Matthew Puliz, without pack, in a daring slide with brakes only on one side after losing a pole on the way down. Having seen three variations, I decide if I were going to die, I won't be the last one down the hill.

Lowering my pack, I prepare myself for an uncertain immediate future, although I am empowered by the visual evidence that some control is possible using boots in the somewhat slushy snow. The fact that we haven't lost anyone yet is also quite reassuring. Truthfully, I don't remember much about the trip down. But suddenly at the bottom of the hill my advance is arrested by Ike and Joseph as Matthew captures the slide on video. I haven't seen it yet. But who knows? I suppose it could go "viral" if/when it hits the web.

At last, Mark Matney opts for "packs-on" and flies down the slope in a blur until he is grabbed by Ike and Joseph with all pieces still connected.

Now with wet butts all, we congratulate ourselves on our human tobogan skills and strike out across the next snow field toward a marshy meadow below. Our earlier estimate of a short day has totally evaporated as we search for the trail which we lost in the snow at the top of the ledge. We still have long way to go before reaching way point 1152.

As an observation, there's nothing quite like a level or down pathway before one's feet to take one's mind off the details of where one is going, especially with beautiful vistas all around. Life is good and the trail seems to be acting just as the map suggests it should---or perhaps more accurately, as we want it to act. One "down" slope is as good as another and when small streams appear where you think the map says they will be, what more confirmation does one need about the rightness of the route.

Well, had we been paying closer attention to the map, we might have noticed a key Pacific Crest Trail intersection with the Granite Chief Trail at way point 1144. But, hey, we can hear a creek off to our right and it seems to be exactly where we think way point WACS1143is on the map. So, obviously, we still have a ways to go before passing way point 1144, right? Of course, we also have a little suggestive help from the trail: precisely at the actual Granite Chief Trail split, there is a large patch of snow with a trail marker right in the middle of it.

After studying the trail, the snow and the marker---noting how unfortunate it is that someone relieved the marker post of its triangular, metal PCT badge---we decide the obvious Pacific Crest Trail path before us is straight, then slightly to the right. Oh, sure, there is a scruffy looking trail off to the left, well beyond the snow patch. But the more obvious trail is in front of us. So, off we go, pleased at how well the day is going. Man, are we making good time!

The trail continues down for a while with the sounds of a stream still gurgling off to the right of the trail, further reassuring us of the rightness of our decision. Then, lo and behold, we come to the aforementioned small stream, crossing the trail ahead of us, pretty much where we think it should be. Little do we know this stream is NOT the one at WACS1143 (now behind us) but is instead one of those spontaneous snow melt trickles we have been hoping for---except later in the day.

However, ignorance is indeed bliss as our perception becomes our reality. And after breaking for a leisurely lunch and pumping water, we strike out with confidence that we will be in camp tonight even earlier than expected. Wild visions of even going farther today, thus reducing our hiking distance for tomorrow, start to pepper our conversation and play with our senses.

But, alas, the trail starts changing and the direction takes a dramatic turn to the east. What was a fairly heavy forest canopy above us quite rapidly opens to full sun. And the trail narrows amid large rocks, with heavy scrub brush almost blocking the way. Realizing something is awry, our bushwacking instinct takes over---the real trail must be directly above us. Well, after 30 minutes crawling over rocks and through sage brush, we return to our lunch stop near the stream, tired, sweating and down nearly a liter of water.

About that time, two day hikers who we had met earlier in the day (we'll call them Mary and Doug), arrive at our lunch log and see our obvious exhaustion here on the Granite Chief Trail. That's when they clarify our error and tell us where the trail split is 30 minutes behind us. By the time we regroup and pick up the PCT again, three hours have passed and it is now 3:30 p.m.

Although today is our first experience with feeling the need to be especially conscious as a group about our water supplies, given the availability of snow at several points along the trail this year, our practical risk is quite low. And if push comes to shove and we need water, we could always stop and melt snow. Or there is also the option of a short side trip to Mountain Meadow Lake---either is only a small inconvenience. All this means any available trickle from snow melt that crosses the trail will be gravy instead of a necessity.

Back on track, we resign ourselves to getting as far as we can get by the end of the day, knowing fatigue is already starting to set in as we have added at least three miles and three hours to an already hard day. The exhilaration of the morning slide in the snow is now just a fond memory. Now we have Anderson Peak as our next target.

The climb is long and steady for most of the 1,200 feet of elevation gain and the final 2-1/2 miles are along a ridge line approaching Anderson Peak. Along this stretch, camping spots and water sources are non-existent. We are up high where the trail traces the top of the ridge line with a clear down slope on both sides of the trail. Although we are making good progress due to very little elevation change, time is now working against us at the end of the day. As the sun dips lower in the western sky, it is fast approaching 7:30 p.m.

The wind is picking up, steady at 15 - 20 mph and temps (mostly due to wind chill) are dropping. The trail urges us on and we have now decided way point 1152 is out of the question---it would likely be at least 10:30 by the time we reach that point. So, now, a certain urgency enters the equation as we start looking for any flat spot where we can pitch our tents. We will even settle for a spot big enough to spread out our sleeping bags in a bunch. But there is nothing along the ridge.

Anderson Peak towers ahead of us, leaving us wondering yet hopeful that decent camping spots are waiting for us in the next half-hour, after we girdle the roughly 3/4-mile semi-circle around the peak---or so we thought. Then, rounding an unexpectedly sharp corner in the trail, we run dead on into a huge field of snow under which the trail disappears.

The snow field has to be at least 10 - 15 feet deep and about 100 meters across above the path of the trail. Looking down the expanse of the snow field, the slope drops steeply over 400 feet to where it thins out amid boulders and loose rock far below. There's no way we will cross this snow field---not tonight and probably not tomorrow. One slip and there would be no way to stop.

To our left and below us is a thick stand of tall trees, rocks and underbrush. In the dimming light, the steep slope is showing no signs of giving way to a stopping place. But Joseph Krieg picks his way down the slope ahead of the rest of us and finds a rocky ledge in the trees 100 feet below us. We don't take much convincing to follow him down in hopes there is enough space to camp for the night, even without tents if necessary.

In fact, there is just enough space for three tents, even if on a bit of a slant. Inside 15 minutes, packs are off, tents are up and dinner is underway. I am so tired, all I can manage to do after camp is settled is sit on the ground and breathe. Darkness has now overtaken us and this is the first night we are using our headlamps. It's been a long day---12 hours on the trail and 13.5 miles covered, albeit nearly four miles of which were off-course over some challenging terrain.

A double helping of Mountain House freeze dried beef stew is enough to take me close to comatose status---right after securing our bear cannisters away from the tents. I must admit, it's hard to imagine a bear going to the trouble of retracing our steps to our landing spot on this night. By 10:00 p.m. lights are out and we are in our tents---but not before marveling at the starry-starry night. Matthew makes one final update call to Bob and Sandra Puliz to revise the estimated miles from two to around six remaining for tomorrow's hike out to Donner. We are already wondering what the morning will bring to block our intended reconnection with the trail.

Day Four On The Pacific Crest Trail

2011-08-14T16:16:00.000-07:00

DAY FOUR: Tuesday, August 2

With renewed energy after a relaxing end of the day in camp yesterday, we are pulling out of camp at 8:20 this morning, heading north---or so we believe.

After about 15 minutes and a half-mile into our hike (along steady uphill switch-backs, by the way), we encounter two day hikers, Larry and a friend, on the trail heading toward our departure point.

Exchanging trail news and our intended directions, it doesn't take long to realize we are going the wrong way.

Somehow, in our departure from camp, we jumped on the only clear exit from camp. In retrospect, our entry into camp the day before had followed sharp diagonals across deep snow fields had actually cut across the true trail into camp, which was lost in the snow. It is purely our good fortune to have run across those two hikers so soon after our departure.

Reversing our course, we are now back on track a half-hour later, in the direction of Twin Peaks. If our initial false pathway had been uphill, our corrected route is also uphill (how can that be?) as we zig-zag our way up, eventually hitting deep snow on north facing slopes. Thankfully, the trail flattens out after about two miles or so near the intersection with the Tahoe Rim Trail around way point 1132.

Finally, we are making good time and at 10:30 we reach Twin Peaks four miles into the day. The more or less flat section of the trail continues along a long ridge at about 8,000 feet elevation above and to the west of Lake Tahoe.

The views are spectacular (again) and we are filling our eyes (and taking lots of photos) of the vistas all around. Wild flowers are popping out everywhere along the trail.

On top of it all, cell phone reception is great when we stop for lunch near way point 1134 at around 12:15. Taking advantage of the unexpectedly clear cell service, I surprise mom and dad in Fort Walton Beach, FL with a call.

Blue skies and full sun with a steady breeze at about 10 mph (ergo no mosquitos) make this stop feel like we are on top of the world---"as good as it gets" comes to mind.

At 1:30, the lunch break is over and we are on the trail again, spirits bouyed by the energy boost and a section of trail that makes hiking feel easy. Even a heavy pack doesn't detract from the moment. Can we just call for a helicopter for a pick up? The 3-1/2 hours to way point WACS1138 pass quickly as most of the trail is flat or "down" and at 4:00 p.m. we stop to pump water sufficient to get us to our campsite at way point CS1140 (elevation 7,600 feet).

The continuing easy "down" of about 400 feet gets us to our campsite by 6:00 p.m. As it turns out, there is a fast flowing creek within about 100 meters of our camp. We hadn't counted on having water so close. That will allow us to top off tomorrow morning after breakfast before heading into a long, dry section of the trail. The only relief will be snow melt streamlets in places where they wouldn't normally be this time of the year.

In camp we make our first (and only) fire on the trail---just large enough to smoke out the mosquitos and remind us of what a campfire in the outdoors is like. Tents are up in no time and dinner is underway.

In the midst of it all, David, a British native now living in Canada, stops by for a short break---he is hiking on from whence we came and is planning on making it to WACS1138 by nightfall. So, he only stays for a few minutes for some company and trail talk. He makes particular note of our "pieces of Scout garb" and tells us he figured we were Scouts. I have the sense that his experience is seeing British Scouts in full uniform, even on the trail. So, our BSA hiking shirts and neckerchiefs are sufficient but only partial evidence of our Scout identities.

David is a lone hiker and he says he is making his way toward Kearsarge Pinnacles where he had last left the trail after a full week in deep snow several weeks ago. He is clearly feeling better about his chances now, even with the snow we describe on the trail ahead of him. That optimism is somewhat hard for us to grasp as he will be fighting the uphills in snow. But contending with snow 100 percent of the time for a week must be enough to make anything else seem tame.

Overall, today has been a very good day---challenges early, then we made good time the rest of the day, putting in 10.5 miles by day's end, the last 2.5 miles of which were down. After a filling dinner and replenished water bottles, we are down for the night by 8:30.

The MCL injury seems to be holding steady with the improvised "sock sleeve" and an ace bandage provided by Mark Matney, one of our Eagle Scouts. A couple Advil gels are my insurance for the night. Tomorrow's objective is to reach as close to way point 1152 as possible. But we already know there are two major "ups" in the way not to mention unknown snow barriers. Sleep calls....

Day Three On the Pacific Crest Trail

2011-08-12T20:22:00.000-07:00

Note to Readers: I am remiss. If you have taken the time to drop by, thanks for your interest. And if you feel moved to follow this blog, all the better. I welcome your thoughts and comments.

As for my omission, some of you may have been wondering about the weather on our trek. The forecast just prior to our departure hinted at a chance of thunder showers off and on through most of the week. Instead, the weather has been nearly perfect---not a drop of rain (as of Day Three), which will end up holding true all the way to the end. A few clouds formed in the distance on the second afternoon but didn't produce anything where we were.

The temps all week have been in the high-70s or low 80s during the day, with virtually no clouds. A slight breeze materialized from time to time to cool us down and keep the mosquitos at bay. Overnight, the temps have been in the low 40s except for the last night when the overnight low dipped into the mid-30s. So, overall, we couldn't have asked for better weather.

DAY THREE: Monday, August 1

At 8:30 a.m. we are pulling out of our camp just shy of the PCT intersection with the Genevieve Trail. The three-mile hike en route to Richardson Lake is a steady but easy "up" and then "down" as we approach the lake. Although the mosquitos are swarming while we are breaking camp, they don't seem as troublesome first thing this morning. Maybe mosquitos take a while to wake up as well. As we get into our daily hike toward Richardson Lake, the mosquitos seem to have evaporated all together.

The climb out of camp is steady but we are keeping a good pace---maybe close to 2 mph, which is good time in backpacking terms. En route, Miller Creek and North Fork present challenges as we have to cross them on logs over fast flowing water. Nothing quite like a wiggly log over a "background" of water in motion to keep you on your toes. For those of you who know me, you might attest I am not a great fan anything where my footing is not secure. These crossings are ample fun and excitement for me.

During the remaining hike to the lake, we are seeing some snow patches but nothing that is slowing us down. Along the way we are seeing the first signs of true spring in the High Sierra with wild flowers (lupens, mule ear, sheep's ear, cats paws and a host of other flowers) just starting to make their appearance. This is definitely a weird year for weather effects.

At lakeside, we pump water to top off all our bottles and camelbacks. It could be a long, dry stretch before our next water stop. While there, we take advantage of an information swap with three hikers (two men and a woman) who have just come from where we are heading. Likewise, we share our recent experience having come from Echo Lake, where they are bound. They tell us of a clear trail ahead with the heaviest snow patches mostly beyond Barker Pass. As for water on the trail, we had hoped for at least small streams forming from snow melt, which the hikers confirmed will be the case. On that basis, we now feel confident that the dry stretches will likely be short-lived.

The climb out toward Barker Pass is grueling. Several large patches of snow on the north facing slopes slow our pace dramatically. And even on the clear, south facing slopes, the uphill is a challenge. During the last mile or so before Barker Pass, wide meadows of mule ear and sheep's ear stretch on both sides of the trail. The pictures just won't do these scenes visual justice.

With excellent reception at Barker Pass, I got a call out to my wife to let her know we are pretty much on schedule and are doing well. Besides the great cell phone reception, Barker Pass has picnic tables and a vault toilet---what more could one ask for than two types of comfortable seating---and no mosquitos. All of us are enjoying the break and are gobbling down some much needed calories---I must admit, it will likely be a while after finishing this trek before I will dig into a GORP bag with the zeal I had the first day.

With such inviting accommodations as the Pass has to offer, our break is seriously eating into our remaining hiking time for the day. Time to get socks, shoes and packs back on before rigor mortis sets in. We still have about 2.5 miles to go before we sleep. So, it's time to saddle up and get to our stopping point for the night.

Almost immediately snow fields are slowing our pace and we realize those last 2.5 miles to way point WACS1129 will not be easy. Even the last few hundred meters to the campsite take us over steep, rugged terrain almost completely covered by deep snow under a dense forest canopy. Punctuating the day is one last stream crossing with dubious snow bridges separating us from our camp. By the time we land on terra ferma , it is 5:30 and we are ready to stop and recharge while there is still some daylight left.

Within minutes, our packs are off, tents are up and we are pumping water to refill our reserves before getting dinner underway. We even have enough daylight left to do some exploring around camp. Who knew we would have that much energy? Without a doubt walking uphill without a pack is way cool. From the top of the ridge above camp, the views of Lake Tahoe in the distance are spectacular.

What a great way to end the day, after 11 challenging miles. Although we are already anticipating the hard uphill climb out of camp in the morning, we are optimistic that the trail will be mostly on south facing slopes, clear of snow.

Day Two On The Pacific Crest Trail

2011-08-12T09:28:00.000-07:00

DAY TWO: Sunday, July 31

Got up early this morning eager to hit the trail. Because we had the benefit of starting our trek from the comfort of Todd Thompson's cabin yesterday morning, this is our first full day from start to finish on the trail.
As a practical exercise, it is our first experience stepping through what we expect to be a morning routine: breakfast, tents down, all gear repacked, morning constitutional, water supplies replenished, energy supplies for the day easily accessible....

As with any first time experience, there are lots of "dos" and "re-dos". Is my pack as tight as it can be? Is my water topped off and did I distribute it evenly in my pack? Is the bear cannister positioned where it will be most comfortable on my back? Where did I put my walking stick? Sun screen and mosquito repellent on? Leave no trace.

We leave our accommodations near Gilmore Lake by 9:30 as the sun is already beginning to warm the air and the mosquitos are on the hunt. We have seen almost no wildlife on the trail except a rare sighting of an occasional bird or marmot. So, how can there be so many mosquitos with so little to feed on? With the heavy and late snow falls this year and the delayed spring, the mosquitos are birthing late and are in survival mode. That might explain the constant swarms around us---even hundreds perched on our packs as we hike, waiting for an injection/extraction opportunity.

The only natural defenses seem to be a stiff breeze or the cold air surrounding us as we hike across snow. And did I mention real estate? Apparently, mosquitos didn't get the memo re: location, location, location. Based on the number of bites (I stopped counting at 200) in places where there shouldn't be bites, let's just say mosquitos are not picky eaters. Granted it is anecdotal evidence from a limited sample of one using a small spade in the forest. But I can attest to a validated research finding suggesting an untapped market niche for TP infused with "Essence of Off"!

Leaving Gilmore Lake, we hit a steady uphill with several large snow fields to cross. If the slope faces north, you can count on snow. Navigating across even narrow stretches of snow is a challenge with a pack on your back. But after losing the trail too easily east of Aloha Lake yesterday, we are tuning in much more closely to where the trail should continue on the other side of each patch of snow. Although we only lost the trail briefly on the approach to Dick's Pass (elevation 9,380 feet) this morning, it has taken us over three hours to hike up through the pass and back down to Dick's Lake (elevation 8,360 feet).

The relatively easy hike on the "down" slope leaving Dick's Pass has made the decision easy to pass Dick's Lake by, opting instead to pump water at the north end of Fontinillis Lake, about 1.5 miles further on. We are celebrating that decision on two fronts: the mosquitos have totally disappeared and Fontinillis Lake is strikingly picturesque, beautifully set amidst lots of large boulders all along the shoreline.

After replenishing our water and recharging with GORP, energy bars and gels, Middle Velma Lake is our next landmark, which we should reach by 3:15. Not needing to pump water so soon after Fontinillis Lake, we are pressing on to Fipps Creek as our next water stop (and the last water before we get to Richardson Lake).

Looking at the map, the trail ahead to all the way to Richardson Lake is looking very manageable with only a slight elevation change from 7,950 feet to 8,100 feet, then back down to 7,850 feet. How hard could that be, right? But sometimes contour lines can be deceiving. What a surprise to find a convincing "up" slope soon after leaving Middle Velma Lake---exhausting is a better word. Also we had anticipated more granite by this time based on the map indications of a "dry" trail for several miles. Instead, the forest is thick, with large trees all around us. Fortunately, the "up" leaving Middle Velma was short-lived and we are once again on an easy "down" all the way to Fipps Creek.

One thing about "downs" is there will invariably be an "up" on the other side. Sure enough, after pumping water at Fipps Creek, the climb out is tough. We stopped just long enough to toss down some quick calories and plenty of water to fuel our escape. Now the long flat stretch approaching the trail split between the PCT and the Lake Genevieve Trail feels pretty good. But our crew of five are all feeling the fatigue of the ups and down of the trail---not to mention several exciting stream crossings. It is already nearly 6:30 and hunger is nagging at us.

So, although our hoped for camping spot at Richardson Lake is only about three miles away (which translates to about 1.5 - 2.0 hours, assuming no unknown obstacles), we have decided to stop for the night, once again a bit shy of the day's objective. After a quick camp set up and dinner---I'm having a double order of lasagna, by the way---we are now in our tents at 8:30, glad to be prone and away from the mosquitos, which have been swarming around us most of the day.

We covered 12 miles today and are satisfied with our effort. But we're looking forward to making up some miles tomorrow if we can, hopefully with an earlier start and a kinder trail. Tomorrow we will be leaving Desolation Wilderness, optimistic that we won't be going from desolation to despair....

Backpacking the Pacific Crest Trail: Echo - Donner

2011-08-11T15:41:00.000-07:00

This post is the start of a series of posts summarizing a recent backpacking trek along a section of the Pacific Crest Trail (or PCT as it is known), which extends 2,627 miles from the Mexican border to the Canadian border. I was priviledged to share the trail with four others from Boy Scout Troop 259 in Sacramento, CA, where I am the current Scoutmaster. Others in our party included Ike Krieg (Assistant Scoutmaster), Matthew Puliz (Eagle Scout), Mark Matney (Eagle Scout) and Joseph Krieg (Star Scout).

As treks along the PCT go, our six-day trek was relatively short by comparison, covering only about 66 miles. Many others have hiked far longer stretches, including the full length either on one trip or in pieces. But I would have to say, the 66 miles we covered were plenty challenging enough to create memories that we will no doubt be talking about for a long time---including how much we might have left behind to lighten our packs.

Before striking out on the trail on July 30, we overnighted at the Thompson cabin near Echo Lake, about 1.3 miles from the trailhead at the Echo Lake spillway. We were grateful for the hospitality---a huge loft with plenty of flat space to bunk our group on July 29.

That layover night was money in the bank on two accounts. First, we had a chance encounter with three "through trekkers" who had left Mexico two months before and were on their way to Canada. Their packs looked like not much more than day packs compared to our over 50-pound packs. Second, the layover allowed us to acclimate to the elevation at around 7,500 feet before kicking it up a few notches on the trail.

Hereafter, the action will be in the present tense.

Tonight (July 29), we are eating our sack dinners as our last meal before embarking tomorrow. Having a little time on our hands, we are also jettisoning some non-essentials from our packs to get our pack weight down---probably not nearly enough but it's a start: Camp shoes, gone. Fleece sleeping bag liner, gone. Three small fuel cannisters, gone. 50 feet of climbing rope, gone. Long Johns, gone. I'm feeling better (and lighter) already.

DAY ONE: Saturday, July 30

The first day our destination is Dick's Lake, nearly 15 miles away. Under normal trail conditions, that distance would be very doable. And based on our start at the Echo Lake PCT trailhead at 7:30 this morning, we like our chances. An earlier start would have given us a little more breathing room. But estimating a steady yet comfortable speed of 1.5+ miles per hour, how can we not make Dick's Lake by sundown? Little do we know what lies ahead.

After some moderate "ups" and "downs" along the trail, we left Lower Echo Lake and Upper Echo Lake behind us. The trail is good and we are eager for a memorable trekking experience. Soon after passing Lake Tamarack, we are seeing the first traces of snow along the trail. By Aloha Lake, the traces are becoming more frequent and more expansive. To boost our water supply for the remaining long miles today we decide to pump water at Aloha Lake. The rest stop with packs off is welcome as we snack on GORP, jerky and energy bars.

Leaving Aloha Lake (elevation 8,120 feet), we have now officially hit our first major patch of snow not just along the trail but on the trail. In fact, we have lost the trail with no idea where we will pick it up. It has now taken us nearly an hour of wandering before we reconnect with the trail around 3:00 p.m. between Aloha Lake and Heather Lake. The snow fields and patches are deep but the surface is slushy, generally allowing good foot placement for traction. But on one patch, I have managed to lose my footing and twist my lower right leg at the knee on the way down.

Not sure what the injury is but the knee is very sloppy laterally and painful to the touch. Fortunately, up/down and forward movements of leg and foot are fine. So, we continue toward Susie Lake, enjoying a comfortable "down". Yet we know what's coming---a steep ascent beyond Susie Lake toward Dick's Pass (elevation 9,380 feet). The knee will need some doctoring before we strike out on the long uphill tomorrow.

The "up" after Susie Lake was gruelling but is just a taste of the elevation gain approaching Dick's Pass. Every pound of pack weight is now feeling twice as heavy as when we started. Given the lateness of the hour (now 6:00 p.m.) and the elevation gain immediately in front of us, our decision is clear: Dick's Pass will have to wait until tomorrow. We are just yards from an ample water supply in a fast flowing (and noisy) stream near Gilmore Lake. And apart from the swarms of mosquitos, stopping for the night short of our planned destination is looking like a really good idea.

A dinner of freeze dried Spaghetti and Meat Sauce ("cooked" with two cups of boiling water in 8 - 9 minutes), plus a hot chocolate chaser took less than 15 minutes to prepare and dispatch. It's now 8:30 and all are in our tents looking for sleep before sundown. As for the right knee, practicing some Wilderness First Aid creativity, I have cut the toe out of a spare sock and am using the resulting sleeve" to support the knee. That plus a couple Advil and I am good for the night. Today we have covered about 12.3 miles plus an additional 0.8 miles of snow-forced detours. Tomorrow the ascent to Dick's Pass awaits.

"Muscles Make Us Move" Released Nationally

2011-08-10T19:34:00.000-07:00

Events occuring in July seem to have evaporated in a writing nano-second. I am behind in announcing the July 31 release nationally of "Muscles Make Us Move", the third children's picture book in THE SUM OF OUR PARTS series. Published by Guardian Angel Publishing, Inc. in St. Louis, MO, the series will eventually include nine books under the Academic Wings imprint on various anatomical systems in the human body. Released so far are books on the skeleton, the circulatory system and now the muscles.

"Muscles Make Us Move" will be released simultaneously in e-book and print formats. The e-book version is available through Fictionwise as well as through the Guardian Angel Publishing web site. The print version will be available for sale at http://www.guardianangelpublishing.com/muscles-tsoop.htm and online at Amazon and Barnes and Noble. Print copies can also be ordered by request through your local brick and mortar bookstores.

"Muscles Make Us Move" is all about the muscles in the human body, from the very smallest (the stapedius) to the largest (the gluteus maximus). If you have ever had difficulty learning all the Greek and Latin terms for the muscles, this book is a great place to get you started. Between the comprehensive information in the rhyming text, the factoids and the fun and technically accurate illustrations by Eugene Ruble, you'll be learning the muscles in no time.

Author's Bio: Kirk's writing has been influenced by his travels on five continents and the every day inspiration from his grandchildren. In addition to stories written in rhyme, Kirk writes fiction and satire for local and national publications. He also wrote news and features for two Sacramento newspapers in the mid-1990s, The Suttertown News and The Old City Guardian.

Kirk's children's stories have appeared in Boys' Quest, Fun For Kidz, Grandparents, Wee Ones and Saplings magazines. His poems have also been published by North Dakota Horizons, Absolute Write, The Baseball Almanac and the University of South Carolina Gamecock Health newsletter. Kirk says his goal for his children's stories is to challenge the imagination of his readers, young and old, by exploring everyday life, simply and profoundly, and having fun in the process. Kirk and his wife, Rita (a clinical psychologist), have been married for 41 years and have made Sacramento their home since 1985.

To request review copies of "Muscles Make Us Move" or to request an interview with the author, please contact the publisher, Lynda Burch at (314) 276-8482.

Title: "Muscles Make Us Move" (in THE SUM OF OUR PARTS series)
Author: Bill Kirk
Illustrator: Eugene Ruble
ISBN (e-Book) 13: 978-1-61633-135-1
ISBN (print) 13: 978-1-61633-134-4
Library of Congress Control Number: 2011932757
Publication Date: July 31, 2011
Number of Pages: 32
Price: Ebook $5.00, CD-Rom $11.95 (+$5.95 s&h), Print: $10.95 (+$6.95 s&h)
Available at most online booksellers or from: Guardian Angel Publishing, Inc.

It's Father's Day, What Can I Say?

2011-06-19T09:11:00.000-07:00

“Dad, Can I Help?”
By Bill Kirk

The long weekend beckoned--
I’d written my list.
And I was quite sure
There was nothing I’d missed.

No yard work distractions,
No carpools to do.
The weekend was mine
Until I was through.

I had all my hardware
And lumber galore.
I’d work on the deck;
Replace an old door.

I set up my saw
And tested my drill.
With anticipation
I felt quite a thrill.

“No holding me back,”
I thought, a bit smug.
Then all of a sudden,
I felt a slight tug.

Stopping my work,
I turned with a glance
To see my small son
Grab the leg of my pants.

What could I do?
Did I have any choice,
When my little son asked
In his little boy voice?

“Dad, can I help?
I just need some glue
And maybe a nail,
Some wood and a screw.”

“I’ll be very careful
And do what you say.
I promise, I’ll try
To stay out of your way.”

I felt the deck slipping
Right out of my grasp.
The door would remain
On its very last gasp.

We built a small boat
With a deck and a sail
Out of two bits of wood,
Some string and a nail;

Then battled some pirates
And found chests of gold.
With each new adventure
A story was told.

We sawed and we hammered
Until we were done
With all of our work—
Like father, like son.

I never did finish
My list on that day,
Instead I spent time
With my son, just to play.

And those weekend projects?
They just had to wait.
For some life appointments,
A Dad can’t be late.

What The...? Did You Just Spill Your Milk?

2011-06-17T07:44:00.000-07:00

At the risk of giving someone an audience they don't deserve, I feel compelled to comment about the latest wolf in sheep's clothing: A clever money-maker (if only because some will actually think it's funny enough to buy) which may end up creating a whole new genre of adult bedtime picture books.

Now before you get your panties in a wad, arguing that adult bedtime picture books have already been done, I'm not talking about the kind of books with pictures that adults may use at bedtime from time to time. Yes, you are right. Those "self-help" books have been out since shortly after Guttenburg figured out how to mass produce the printed page.

But no. This latest creation is what otherwise would appear to be a children's picture book both on its cover and inside. But that's where the resemblance ends. Instead the book purports to be written for new parents to somehow help them deal with the frustrations of being a parent trying to get their new baby or toddler to sleep. What new parent couldn't identify with that?

No doubt the book will get a few chuckles. Likewise, I have little doubt it will sell, although probably not nearly so well were it not formatted as a children's picture book---kind of a formatting double entendre, if you will. And apparently many of you out there indeed will.

After all, the colorful children's illustrations are simple yet engaging. And what new parent could resist a bedtime story to help lull their little kiddo to sleep? But forgive my lack of excitement. To the author---and to Nightline for running the feature---I say GMAB! (which is now far and away my new favorite texting abbreviation).

For those of you scratching your heads wondering "What the... is he talking about?" I can say that sadly you won't have any trouble searching for or finding the hot new release online. This book has done what most authors can only dream about. It has "gone viral" with so much free promotion (including, I suppose, this blog post) that the author may be able to retire in before Labor Day. After all, it's a #1 best seller on Amazon---maybe even in a couple different categories.

And who knows? It may spawn any number of other books covering such parental challenges as long road trips ("Shut The F--- Up, We're Not There Yet!"), potty training ("Sit The F--- Down And Poop!"), arguing in the car with sibblings ("Don't Make Me Pull The F--- Over!"), food consumption ("Eat Your F---ing Vegetables!") and dinner time accidents ("What The F---? Did You Just Spill Your Milk?").

OK. So, perhaps I'm being unfair. After all, I'm still quivering after last month's sale of four copies of my books online. I suddenly found myself propelled up to a sub-500,000 sales ranking in children's books on Amazon. I gotta admit, having only half a million books ahead of mine in the rankings is pretty heady stuff.

Just think what might have happened if I had added an "F-bomb" (or its abbreviation) to a few of my published titles. The Nightline producers would probably have me on speed dial!

New Rhyme Of The Month on billkirkwrites.com

2011-06-01T20:39:00.000-07:00

Here's a short rhyme, slightly revised since its original appearance during the Poem A Day Challenge in April. It seemed like a good message going into summer.

After spending the winter and what seems to have been a non-existent spring puting things off until we have more time, more energy, more money or more motivation, now is the time to simply take that first action step, then another and another and....

Don’t Say Don’t. Say Do!
By Bill Kirk

Just thinking DON'T is such a drag-
It's nothing but a frowner.
For DON'Ts won't end up in a smile
Because a DON'T's a downer.

It doesn't matter if a DON'T
Is practiced past or present,
For whether spoken then or now,
A DON'T is never pleasant.

Besides a DON'T from yesterday
Won't generate much action.
An old DON'T's just a DIDN'T that
AIN'T got no satisfaction.

If saying DON'T on down the road
Is what you are intending,
That future DON'T becomes a WON'T-
A DON'T that's merely trending.

And if you might not do a thing,
A "might" makes WON'T a "WOULDN'T."
To be polite about your WON'T,
You must say, "I just COULDN'T!"

Yes, DON'Ts abound in all their forms,
From SHOULDN'T, MUSTN'T, SHAN'T.
And if we listened to them all,
We might just think, "I CAN'T!"

So, when you're asked to give advice,
Think what you'd like to hear.
If you were in another's shoes.
What word would you hold dear?

Just one small word will say it all.
Two letters and you're through!
You WON'T get far with Mister DON'T.
So, DON'T say "DON'T." Say "DO".

Got Stories? Tell 'Em.

2011-05-28T09:04:00.000-07:00

It's been said by some that a writer should write about what he or she is familiar with. For I suppose there's nothing quite like life experience as a rich resource for the tales we tell. The life experiences each of us has, add depth to a story. And it is the unique interpretation of those experiences that make those stories our own, told like no one else would or even could.

Each of us captures the world around us through our own particular set of sensory stimuli. And even when faced with the same view of the world before us, we may process the information differently and act on it differently still. Will the fact that I am color blind mean I will miss some things or see them in a different way than others? Do I have a high pain threshhold, making me indifferent to those more sensitive? Was I an only child? The oldest, youngest or somewhere in the middle?

Have I broken an arm or leg, had surgery, been lost? And what if I haven't yet or maybe never will? Have I ever been truly hungry or felt fatigue or cold down to the bone? Have I ever wanted to kill---or had to? Have I had a story to share and should have but didn't?

"Who knows?" you ask. "Perhaps there won't be anyone interested." But if the stories aren't told, we'll never know who might have learned from them or simply loved the listening. So, tell your stories. Write them down or simply pass them on as folk tales or oral history to be recounted again and again. For one day, without our knowing when, the time will pass and the untold stories will fade from memory.

It is the charge of writers and tellers of tales to not let that happen.

Hudson Bay Expedition

2011-05-25T08:37:00.000-07:00

Today's post on my writing blog is not really about writing at all---although it might provide the seeds for some great stories yet to be written. Instead, this is a heads up with a URL to take you to another blog where you can track the progress of a group of four intrepid wilderness adventurers. The group left by canoe from northern Minnesota on Monday en route to Hudson Bay. The trek will take over 80 days.

If you are a paddler, backpacker or other wilderness afficionado, this trek will put a gleam in your eye. The first URL which follows is to the daily blog. Copy it into your web browser to check out the adventure.

http://blog.canoeit.com/blog/voyageur-hudson-bay-expedition

The second URL below will take you to the Voyageur Website that describes the route, gives the itinerary and provides background about the trek and the members of the expedition.

http://voyageurhudsonbayexpedition.com/route.php

Enjoy....

Poem A Day Challenge for April 28 - 30

2011-05-11T17:53:00.000-07:00

At last, I'm caught up. Today's blog entry wraps up the April Poem A Day Challenge with the last three days of the month. This year the challenge seemed more difficult than in other years. There was more of a feeling of being disconnected with the topics and even with the writing of poems.

Looking back on the month, the most I am taking from the effort this time around is that I now have 30 poems to play with. Some are not bad and many others clearly need attention---maybe even a good toss in the round file. But in the end, that's not a bad starting point. So, herewith are the final three days of the month and the poetry challenge for 2011 is a wrap.

April 28—Write a "the world without something else" poem. If you remember on Day 3, I had everyone write a "the world without me" poem. This prompt imagines the world without something else, whether a person, place, thing, etc.

The World Without Nature’s Wrath
By Bill Kirk

The world without tornadoes—
Would it be a better place?
Or would the absence of whirling storms
Be replaced with something worse?
Were hurricanes off the map,
Would the oceans be as rich,
Left un-recharged by surface turbulence
Which feeds the depths below?
And what of quakes and volcanoes,
Tsunamis, cyclones and monsoons
That shake the very foundations of our
Puny “indestructible” creations?
Would we end those cataclysms at our own peril,
Knowing full well Mother Nature’s wrath
Is key to our long term survival?
Perhaps our best course is to
Celebrate our good fortune in the moment,
And keep our heads down when
Nature’s destructive power makes its
Inevitable mid-course corrections
In ways we can’t imagine and
In hopes we’ll never see it—
Yet knowing that we will.

April 29—For today's prompt, write an ode. I'm thinking of odes in the more contemporary sense of being a praise poem, though if people want to get all old school with it, then that's fine too.

(Note from http://www.library.thinkquest.org : An ode is a poem that is written for an occasion or on a particular subject. They are usually dignified and more serious as a form than other forms of poetry…. There are several versions and differing opinions on what the rhyme form for an ode should be.)

Ode To Retirement
By Bill Kirk

Oh, retirement,
Where is thy sting?
Wouldn’t the end of the days
Of tireless working,
To fatten wallets growning thin
And thinner still
Be cause for celebration?

At long last there is no more
Need to feed the endless
Wanting and needing of stuff,
Satisfied only by
Buying and consuming.
These things of times past
Matter no more when we
Walk through the door
Of the pensioning life.

Our day in the sun
Has finally come
And we are free from the
Sting of mortgaging and
Debting for a living.

With the blessings of
Disappearing debt,
Might we not have
A bit more ching-ching
Than we thought we had
To do a little shopping?
Oh, retirement, there is no sting!
With a little prudent planning,
The blinging life survives—
It’s just not quite so demanding.

April 30—For today's prompt, write an "after leaving here" poem. This poem could be about leaving an actual place, a relationship, or even this challenge.

Life After Leaving Here
By Bill Kirk

How a propos, a leaving poem.
For after 26 years in one house,
We are now seriously contemplating
Leaving it behind for another life.
Oh, sure, it may take us a while.
After all, you don’t just up and
Pack out one day like pioneers
Who gathered all their possessions
Into a Conestoga bound for parts west—
The promised land, or so they used to say.

But in a way, there will be
A modern-day covered wagon or two.
That’s right, a brightly labeled moving truck,
Packed to the top with as many of our
Earthly possessions as we think will fit
In the smaller space of our new digs.
Instead we’ll be heading eastward
In stages as we unhitch ourselves
From a quarter century in California
And replant ourselves in Florida.
Gone will be the Sierra Nevada trails,
The Central Valley fog and bounty
And the chilly Northern California Coast.

At long last, the waterfront dream
Will be realized as we trade
Earthquakes for hurricanes
And brilliant snow for
Equally brilliant white quartz
In the Gulf of Mexico on a
Small patch of beach facing south
Across the Inter Coastal Waterway
From several miles of undeveloped beach
On the Okaloosa Island National Seashore.

Here’s hoping for the best that a
Bold move will bring in our
Pursuit of happiness as we
Change the venue of the pursuit
And maybe the nature of the quest.
When all is said and done,
It’s really just all about real estate.

Poem A Day Challenge for April 25 - 27

2011-05-09T11:14:00.000-07:00

April 25—Write a falling poem. This could be about the physical act of falling (like someone tying your shoelaces together), or it could be symbolic falling (such as falling in love).

Falling
By Bill Kirk

When
I was
A kid,
I used
To dream
About falling.

The scene had a
Very geometric quality to it—
Dark, with just enough light
To discern a series of
Circular holes appearing
In rapid succession
On the ground in front of me.

There I was,
Running and jumping
From one spot to another
To avoid falling
Into the holes—
Almost as if
Some kind of
Giant cookie-cutter
Was imprinting holes
As fast as
I could jump
Ahead of them,
Anticipating
The next safe spot.
Breathing between jumps,
I watched as the hole maker
Left just enough
curved and roughly
Diamond-shaped
Space in between circles
For my feet to safely land.

Imagine, if you will, Jimmy Durante
Signing off his show.
Remember how he would
Stand beneath the street light
To bid his audience farewell—
All black and white, of course,
As he walked away after saying,
“Goodnight, Mrs. Mcgillocuttie.”

I can’t be sure if it were true.
But in my mind’s eye,
A trail of street lights would
Appear at his feet as he
Walked away into the darkness.
And I carried those early
Black and white TV images with me;
My dreams imbued with
A perpetual falling theme.
Yet somehow,
I always
Managed
To avoid
The holes,
Landing
Safely on
Solid
Ground.

Is
That
Weird?
Indeed.

April 26—Today is the final "Two for Tuesday" prompt(s) of the month:
1. Write a leader poem.
2. Write a follower poem.
I'll leave it up to you to decide what a leader or follower poem might be. You can either lead the way in figuring that out, or follow the lead of another.

Writers As Leaders
By Bill Kirk

Any writer
Must a leader be,
Wouldn’t you say?
For doesn’t the
Writing of a thing
Tend to push it along
To its conclusion,
Either natural or forced?

From its start,
Through its middle
And right on to
Its very end,
Whether
A story or
A treatise or
A search for meaning,
The writer leads
The way with words
As the tools of his trade.

That’s not to say
Some things may
Never quite seem
To reach
Their end.
But given
Enough time,
Enough study,
Enough reflection;
An end should certainly
Begin to take form.

Stated simply, then,
The writer’s job
Is to stretch
The idea,
The thought
The concept,
The story,
Until it is within reach,
Then pull it all
Fully into the
Imaginative grasp
Of the reader.

April 27—For today's prompt, take the phrase "In the (blank) of (blank)," replace the blanks with a word or phrase, make the new phrase the title of your poem, and then, write your poem.

In The Blink Of An Eye
By Bill Kirk

It was just a downward glance
At the phone in my lap—
The insistent ring tone
Made me do it.
Who’s calling, anyway?

It took me a second,
As I tried to focus.
The abbreviated message
Trailed across the
Small LED-lit screen.

Quick glance up ahead—
OK. 100 feet. I’m good.
Damn! The light went off.
Where’s that reply button?
There, I can see it now—tap, tap, tap….
“hey wzup, dude. this trfik is kiln m….”

It was just a split second, really.
In the blink of an eye,
I was dead.

Poem A Day Challenge for April 20 - 24

2011-05-08T23:41:00.000-07:00

Slowly catching up. Posted below are my five daily poems from April 20 through April 24. I'm already imagining the editing process on these poems. But for the time being, they will have to do. Consider them simply ideas captured---place holders awaiting final revision. Sometimes that's as good as it gets.

April 20—Write a message in a bottle poem. Imagine your poem is being rolled up and put in a bottle for someone to find and read.

To Whom It May Concern
By Bill Kirk

Hello out there—anyone.
This is my last recently emptied bottle.
I’ve been here a while—waiting.
The days I’ve counted number 173.
But I can’t be certain
I haven’t missed one or two.

Please hurry—well, at least
Get here as soon as you can.

I used to think everyone
Ought to have a chance
To be alone—solitary.
You know, to spend some quality time
Getting in touch with one’s self.
Been there. Done that.
No—Am here. Doing that.

Guess I can take that
Off my bucket list, right ahead of
“GET RESCUED.”

Please hurry—well, at least
Get here as soon as you can.

April 21—Write a second thoughts poem. You could have second thoughts about something you’ve done or thought in the past. You could write something about someone (or something else) having second thoughts. Or you could even take a poem you wrote earlier in the month and flip it in a new direction.

On Second Thought
By Bill Kirk

Second thoughts have pros and cons;
They have their goods and bads.
A second thought can save the day
Or turn your glads to sads.

Second thoughts for some are weak.
They say we hesitate—
As if allowing time to think
Suggests we’ll be too late.

Others say the best approach
Is leaving ample space,
For second thoughts to bounce around
And win the thinking race.

Just remember, if in doubt,
It’s wise to heed the id.
Its best advice? “On second thought,
Let’s not and say we did!”

April 22—Today is Good Friday and Earth Day. Write an “only one in the world” poem. This only one in the world might be a person, an animal, a place or an object. Think of someone or something else and write.

Earth As An “Only One”
By Bill Kirk

Granted, what I know
Has its limitations.
But wouldn’t you have to agree,
Earth in its unitary form is, indeed,
The only one of its kind in the world,
And that earth and the conditions
That make it possible,
Are universally singular?

In fact, how can it be any other way?
For nothing can be exactly
And precisely duplicated,
On earth or elsewhere.
So, everything
On the earth,
In the earth,
Of the earth and
Beyond the earth is
Totally,
Inexorably,
Unquestionably
Unique.
The End.

April 23—Write a quit doing what you’re doing poem. This could be about something you need to quit doing or that someone or something should quit doing.

Ode To Inertia
By Bill Kirk

Inertia is a funny thing,
Whether a body’s
At rest or in motion.
If inertia comes into play,
By its very nature,
It always involves
The quitting of some particular thing.

For example, overcoming
The inertia of running
Means you will slow down
And maybe stop.
Taking a nap? Time to
Wake up and move,
And so forth and so on….

Figurative inertia gets even better.
Movement, or lack of movement, notwithstanding,
That meal you are eating or
That game you are playing or
That dissertation you are writing or
That job you would just as soon not be doing
Will hopefully, eventually, end—
Either voluntarily or not.

If all things in life were unquitable,
What a boring life it would be.
So, if you don’t mind,
I will take my leave
And quit doing
What I’m doing
Until, that is,
Tomorrow….

April 24—Write a prayer poem Your prayer poem could be religious but it doesn’t have to be. It’s completely up to you what your poem is about.

What is Prayer?
By Bill Kirk

What is prayer
But a need, petitioned?
And a petition but a
Declared want?
It has been said,
“Waste not, want not.”
But might we not also say
“Want not, need not?”
After all, were there no needs,
Would there be any need to pray?
Hard to say.
And yet, prayers need not
Only be petitions for desires unmet.
What of the bounty
We have been granted—
Whether great or small?
Are not thanks for good fortune
A worthy subject of prayer?
And the need to express those thanks,
A need enough to pray?

Poem A Day Challenge for April 18 and 19

2011-05-07T08:58:00.000-07:00

April 18—Take the phrase “Like (blank)”, replace the blank with a word or phrase and make the new phrase the title of the poem.

Like It Or Not
By Bill Kirk

Like it or not,
My memory is going.
I suppose the good news is
I realize it’s happening,
What with the misplaced
Keys, checkbooks, glasses
(Both of the eye and wine variety),
Not to mention the
Occasional article of clothing—
Nothing critical, mind you.
But you would think a
Baseball cap, gloves or a jacket
Would be relatively easy
To keep track of.
It’s not as if I haven’t worn
Either for six months.
Come to think of it,
I know exactly where
The stuff I used six months ago is.
What’s up with that, anyway?
I’m virtually certain the cause isn’t
Those two or three weekly glasses
Of Gnarly Head Old Vine Zin
I’ve been enjoying the past few years.
Guess it’s time to start working
Those crossword puzzles again.
Can anyone remember
A six-letter word for psycho-cyber storage
Of thousands of random factoids
Within seconds of instant recall?
Starts with “M” I think.

April 19—Two for Tuesday: Write a love poem or an anti-love poem. It doesn’t have to be romantic love, whether for or against it. But it could be.

On The Matter Of Abstractions
By Bill Kirk

Does devine love always fall
On the assumed right side
Of human righteousness?
Would God ever favor
Both sides of a fight?
Or always and only
One side or the other?
Does one people have
An exclusive claim?

Could there not be room for error
In our assumptions,
Especially when it comes to
Abstract concepts,
Beliefs and doctrines.

Perhaps He can and does do both
By allowing temporary advantage
To one side while knowing
There will be lessons in loss
As the wronged will at first be broken,
Then healed and strengthened
Sufficient to snatch victory in its time.

Yet how are we to know
Which side in any conflict
Is the absolute purveyor of good
And, therefore, utmost deserving
Of devine intervention?
Might perpetual discord
Be the natural product
Of man’s meddlesome nature,
To be rectified by
The gift of boundless love
Only beyond the pale?

During our earthbound life,
Could the old saw “might makes right”
Indeed make all the difference?

Do conceptual abstractions
Only have temporal value
In the feeble minds of humankind?

Do our human weaknesses
Doom us to perpetual strife,
With brief bouts of global rest,
Just long enough to regroup
For another round of
Self-justified righteous battle?

Does the capriciousness of
Where one is born determine
The national abstraction
To which we will devote our
Loyalty and love,
Defending it to the death?
Is it simply the side we’re on
That puts us in the right?

Should we even allow
Such questions
To trouble the soul,
Knowing the answers
Will always be
Just beyond our reach?

Perhaps pondering
Such abstractions
Is best left to others.
A warrior at the point of the sword
Has little time for such reflection.

Poem A Day Challenge for April 14 - 17

2011-05-06T14:30:00.000-07:00

Regretably, I was away from my home base and unable to post my daily poems after April 13. So, now I am catching up and will post three or four a day until I reach the end of the April challenge. Although I much prefer the daily postings, this will have to do....

April 14—Write an “Ain’t none of my business” poem.

None Of My Business But…
By Bill Kirk

I know you may think
This ain’t none of my business,
But why did you stuff that soda can
Into the planter box outside the restaurant?
Who’s your mother this week, anyway?

And did you figure no one would mind
Your lighting up in the airport bathroom stall?
What were you smoking anyway?

I gotta tell you it was pretty clever
The way you spray painted your name
Halfway up Half Dome—I guess you’re probably right.
If John Miur had had spray paint in his day,
No doubt he would have done the same thing—NOT!

Give me a break! You may think
This ain’t none of my business.
But think again.

April 15—Write a profile poem—a social media profile, your own profile or someone else’s.

(Note: For some reason, this assignment was difficult—just couldn’t get my head wrapped around it. I gotta say, to me a person’s social media profile is not all that poetic. And then there are the dating/matching profiles, the professional networking profiles, author site profiles and the various ISP provider profiles. Nope—those ideas still don’t help in the poetry department. I suppose one could read “profile” literally and describe a silhouette in poetic fashion as a type of profile. I’ll leave that to someone else to try.)

Can You Believe Some People?
By Bill Kirk

Six feet-two, eyes of blue,
MA, PhD or two.
Soon I’ll be in a town near you.

Sure I’m special—sure I rate.
Don’t say no and don’t be late.
Dinner, dancing, it’s a date.

Yep. That’s my photo on the net.
Rugged, slim and trim? You bet!
Come on. Don’t play hard to get.

OK. Tall, may be a stretch.
School and job? I’m quite a wretch.
You saw me listed as a letch?

Whadya mean I have some gall?
You say the date’s off after all?
Change your mind, give me a call.

Can you believe some people?

April 16—Write a snapshot poem—something that makes you think of a photograph.

Flash Point
By Bill Kirk

The old man stands ramrod straight
Behind the proper lady seated
In a white gingham dress
That covers all from her neck to the floor,
But the toes of her shoes.
Their piercing eyes gaze ahead.

A long row of buttons stand out
Against his dark suit.
The brass tips of a tightly woven
String tie dangle nearly frozen,
Swaying ever so slightly;
Her hands shift then settle
As they both take one last breath—
One-two-three, don’t blink.
FLASH!

April 17—Write a “Big Picture” poem (covering big ideas, emotions or concepts).

In Search Of The Next Big Thing
By Bill Kirk

Is it the idea itself or
The thrill of the search
That spurs us on to discover
The next big thing?
Is leaving well enough alone
Ever really good enough?
If it were, would we be
Where we are today?
Or would we instead
Still be mired in a distant past
Unable to see beyond
The current reality,
Thus leaving human progress
Dead in its tracks?

May Is National Bar-B-Que Month

2011-05-05T17:17:00.000-07:00

In Honor of National Bar-B-Que Month, here is a smalln offering for anyone who has had the misfortune of losing a hotdog to a roving rover on four legs. Hotdogs right off the grill are just so tempting to man or beast.

What Happened To My Hotdog?
By Bill Kirk
(Published in Wee Ones magazine in July/August 2005)

What happened to my hotdog?
Dad cooked it just for me.
And while it popped and sizzled,
I waited patiently.

When it was done, I fixed it,
So it would taste just right.
I set it on the table,
But now it’s out of sight.

I’m looking for my hotdog,
All plump inside its bun.
With ketchup and some mustard,
It glistened in the sun.

So, where’s my missing hotdog?
It’s nowhere to be found.
Is that a splat of ketchup,
I see there on the ground?

Now, something looks suspicious--
I think I see a trail.
Oh no! There goes my doggie.
He’s wagging his short tail.

“Hey, doggie, is that ketchup
And mustard on your nose?
I wonder how it got there--
By hotdog, you suppose?”

What happened to my hotdog?
I guess we know by now.
My doggie found my hotdog.
And made it doggie chow.

Poem A Day Challenge for April 13

2011-04-14T00:28:00.000-07:00

April 13--For today's prompt, write a poem that remembers an old relationship. This relationship does not have to be romantic. It could be a departed (or estranged) family member, old friend, former teacher, or even just someone you briefly encountered. And the relationship may have even been one-sided or seemingly insignificant to the other person.

They Called Him Giuseppi
By Bill Kirk

They called him Giuseppi—
An old man by almost any standards.
His deeply tanned and
Weathered face and hands,
Left no doubt he had seen
More than his share of work
In the Mediterranean sun.

And yet, he had a certain
Athleticism about him, as if
He knew his way around
A cinder track and knew even far more
About the runners who raced there.

With a quiet nonchalance,
Giuseppi knowingly watched
From his perch high among
The irregular tiers of the
Hand cut stone benches.
His eyes were on a lone runner
Gliding around the ancient oval,
As so many thousands had done
Over countless centuries before.

The runner’s smooth stride hid almost any
Imperfection in his training regimen.
But Giuseppi sensed something out of kilter.
The straight-aways were fine—
Each footstrike found its intended mark
As a bowman would send
His arrow to its distant target.

But as the runner leaned into each curve,
Giuseppi could almost feel the
Imperceptible twinge himself.
There it was—a tightness in the calf
And an ever-so-slight pull in the hamstrings
Which flattened the heel—dulled the rebound.

Yet, the runner kept up his pace,
Through the long curve, once again
Pushing into the home stretch.
How many more repeats would he do?
Giuseppi knew he would disagree with
The runner’s automatic answer—
“Oggi, faccio altri dieci.”—“Ten more today,” he said,
Because that’s just what he did on Wednesdays.

“Basta! Oggi non più. Vieni qui!” Giuseppi beckoned
With his voice and a single palm-down gesture.
Giuseppi knew instinctively an interruption today
Would pay dividends in days to come.
They walked together to a small wooden locker
Down near the edge of the track.
Releasing the latch, Giuseppi revealed
The tools of his trade inside the cabinet—
Oils, lotions and salves in dust-caked vials and tubes.

He warmed a small dollop of pungent salve
Between his leathered hands.
In silence and with a surgeon’s precision,
He pulled and pushed into the belly of the muscle.
Alternately using the edges of
Thumbs, knuckles, palms and finger tips,
He teased out the hidden pain lying
Deep inside, waiting to be exposed.
At first skeptical and wishing for its end,
The runner soon relished this
Trackside treatment, eager for more
As the stabbing pain subsided
With each smooth stroke.
Inside fifteen minutes,
The lone spectator was done.

Then, just as quickly and quietly
He was gone—as if he had never been—
And would never be seen again.
Only the memory of his image
And his handiwork remained
As an ever present reminder
Of the man they called Giuseppi….

Poem A Day Challenge for April 12

2011-04-12T21:43:00.000-07:00

April 12—And just like that, we're already on to our second "Two for Tuesday" prompt of the challenge. I know this is a prompt that some poets have been craving, while others probably not so much. Regardless, I did this one on Tuesday to provide some options:

1. Write a form poem. This could be a sonnet, pantoum, lune, or even something as sinister as a--dare I say it--sestina. If you need a list of poetic forms and there rules, click here.

2. Write an anti-form poem. Just as there are poets who love playing with forms, there are poets who think they are the worst thing ever. That's fine. Express (in either free verse or a prose poem) your feelings on writing in traditional forms.

On Formlessness
By Bill Kirk

Could it be some days the poetry
Will be less well formed than others?
I’d have to say, it’s true.
Tonight, my brain itself is a formless blob.
Thus any attempt at poetic form
Will likely have scant chance at success.

Yet, I suppose the very capture of
Any thought or idea takes on
A certain structure, even if drawn
From wordless mush—much as
An artist’s blank canvass will
Eventually move toward an
Expression of artistic form,
Even if very sketchy.

Far be it for me to
Squeeze, mold or force
These words into a shape
They have no interest in taking.
Perhaps words on a page
Will somehow find their natural form
Much as water seeks its own level.
Might formelessness be its own reward?

Poem For A Day Challenge for April 11

2011-04-11T22:06:00.000-07:00

April 11— For today's prompt, take the phrase "Maybe (blank);" replace the blank with a word or phrase; make the new phrase the title of your poem; and then, write the poem.

Maybe This Isn’t Such A Good Idea
By Bill Kirk

Have you ever noticed how
All through the day we are faced
With decision points—large and small.
Should we do this thing or that?
Should we go this way or that?
Why not push on, full steam ahead?
After all, we’re on such a roll,
And wouldn’t it be a shame
To lose our momentum?

On the other hand,
We could simply stop—everything—
And allow ourselves in that moment,
That pause-for-a-breath moment,
To think, maybe this isn’t
Such a good idea after all.

That’s not to say we won’t do it anyway.
But if your gut is giving you pause
And your brain is holding open the possibility
Of considering an alternate course,
Mightn’t it be worth a wondering wait?
And could giving in to a second thought
Be a rare golden opportunity
Just waiting to be tapped?
Something to think about, no?

Then, again, an argument could be made
That trading prudence for the pay off
Gained from a little risk taking
Might be worth the price.
But, to paraphrase, whether something
Is a good idea or not, is ultimately all in the risk….

Poem A Day Challenge for April 10

2011-04-10T21:56:00.000-07:00

April 10—For today's prompt, write a never again poem. Maybe you'll never again fall in love or never again tell a lie. Or maybe, just maybe, you'll never again not write a sestina.(Like that? It's a double negative.)

N’er again will yester be—
That time is now behind us.
Yet, perhaps in memory,
Its ghost may come and find us.

Will it ask us once again
Those questions long avoided—
Scraping wounds until our pain
Has fully been exploited?

Or will it probe a different trace,
And would our path be altered?
Had we run a different race,
Would we have won or faltered?

Truth be told, as life unfolds,
Despite how well we’ve striven,
Faith will shape what each life holds,
For we just get what’s given.

Poem A Day Challenge for April 9

2011-04-09T17:22:00.000-07:00

For today's prompt, write a time of day poem. In fact, make the title of your poem the time of day. For instance, "5:54 a.m.," 2:23 p.m.," "Midnight," etc. Then, write your poem. Of course, different things happen at different times of day. So have fun with it.

4:15 P.M.
By Bill Kirk

What a miserable
Time of day 4:15 p.m. is.
It’s in that limbo time
Between lunch and dinner
When it’s too late for
A mid-afternoon snack,
Yet the hungries are on the move.

You can feel them slithering around
Somewhere down in the bowel.
And then the sounds start—
Just a slight nagging at first,
Becoming more urgent
As they change from a quiet rrreeee-errrr
To a full blown grrr-ow-w-w-l.

For kids in school, let’s face it.
They are on the food clock
As soon as the last bell has sounded.
If they are quick about it,
And maintain their focus,
They will manage to get themselves
Home in time to do some grubbing
Before the 4:15 p.m. snack curfew strikes
And the time for grubbing is gone.

With all that late afternoon suffering,
It doesn’t take a rocket scientist
To figure out America is clearly
Out of touch with global gustatory reality.
Could there be any other explanation why
4:15 p.m. just happens to be time for tea?
There’s little doubt it is a
Pure survival strategy designed
To get them past humankind’s
Most vulnerable point in the day.
Why, tossing all that tea into the harbor
Those many years ago may have
Inadvertently put us on a
Terminal trajectory to our own doom.

Personally, I’m not a great fan of
Tea and crumpets but I must concede,
Crumpets trump cramps no matter the time
But especially at 4:15 p.m.

And don’t get me started on
Daylight Savings Time

Poem A Day Challenge For April 8

2011-04-08T12:34:00.000-07:00

April 8—For today's prompt, write a ready to celebrate poem. You could chronicle the actual celebration or even write about the anticipation of one.

Are You Ready To Ce-le-brate?
By Bill Kirk

Some might say a cause for celebration
Hardly comes along every day.
Yet maybe that’s cause enough to be ready,
Wouldn’t you say—to giggle, smile, shout, congratulate?
After all, there’s always plenty
To bemoan our pitiful circumstances
And ample reason to groan and complain,
Wondering why this or that hard knock happened.

But then, along comes some happy time
Or its memory or the anniversary of one,
That curls up the mouth corners, even if only slightly.
So, shouldn’t we be ready for those happy-nings,
Whether anticipated or unexpected?
You know, just in case?

Oh, sure. We could also be ready
To sink into the depths of depression.
After all, deference to the sensibilities
Of those who suffer loss is at times
The only right thing to do.

Yet even in the midst of inconsolable sadness,
The spark of joy and gladness awaits its turn
To give another day of life its due,
In anticipation of yet a better one.

“This is the day the Lord has made;
Let us rejoice and be glad in it.” (Psalm 118:24)

Poem A Day Challenge For April 7

2011-04-07T12:50:00.000-07:00

April 7—For today's prompt, write a "what if" poem. It could be a "what if" from the past, present or future.

What If?
By Bill Kirk

To ask “What if?” implies
A certain choice, does it not?
Do we dwell on past events,
Wondering what might have happened “if”?
Or is time better spent turning our “what ifs”
Toward the future where hope still resides?

For what are the chances
Of predicting a different outcome,
Had we chosen a different path?
What if we had been given different gifts?
Would any one thing done differently,
Have made all the rest the best?
Or would results have been unkinder yet?
How could we possibly know for sure?

And what of decisions made today?
Are our predictive powers any better?
Or might applying lessons learned from past mistakes
Simply make us better guessers?
And what of the cards we’re dealt?
Life context provides a rich field of “what ifs” to harvest—
Divergent pathways in the woods, awaiting our next steps.

For me, color blindness may have been my salvation.
If I were to discern a different color palette,
What are the chances I would be writing this poem—
Or celebrating my wife’s birthday today?
What will you do with your set of unique circumstances?
Will you follow a lemonade dream?
Or do you relish your lemon drizzled over grilled salmon?
Same juice, different use.

What’s in your bracket?
And how will you give voice to your choice?

Poem A Day Challenge For April 6

2011-04-06T11:53:00.000-07:00

April 6—For today's prompt, take the phrase "Don't (blank), (blank);" replace the blanks with a word or phrase; use the new phrase as the title of your poem; and then, write your poem. Some possible titles might include: "Don't walk, run," "Don't fight, dance," "Don't turn around, they're right behind you," or whatever else you can think to create.

Don’t Say Won’t. Say Do
By Bill Kirk

Just thinking DON’T is such a drag—
It’s nothing but a frowner.
For DON’Ts won’t end up in a smile
Because a DON’T’s a downer.

It doesn’t matter if a DON’T
Is practiced in the present,
For even if said here or now,
A DON'T is hardly pleasant.

But even DON’Ts from yesterday
Won’t generate much action.
An old DON’T—just a DIDN’T then—
Still gives no satisfaction.

Now, if a DON’T still later on
Is what you are intending,
That future DON’T becomes a WON’T—
A DON’T that’s merely trending.

And if you might not do a thing,
The “might” makes WON’T a “WOULDN’T.”
To be polite about your WON’T,
You must insist, “I COULDN’T!”

Yes, DON’Ts abound in all their forms,
From SHOULDN’T, MUSTN’T, SHAN’T.
And if we listened to them all,
We might just think, “I CAN’T!”

So, when you’re asked to give advice,
Think what you’d like to hear.
If you were in another’s shoes.
What word would you hold dear?

Just one small word will say it all.
Two letters and you’re through!
You WON’T get far with Mister DON’T.
So DON’T say “WON’T.” Say “DO”.

Poem A Day Challenge For April 5

2011-04-05T18:19:00.000-07:00

April 5—For today's prompt, do one of the following:

1. Write a goofy poem.
2. Write a serious poem.

(Note: This one could go either way---you choose.)

Lament To My Absent Muse
By Bill Kirk

It’s dark and cold at 4 a.m.
Yet I can hardly sleep.
Instead of writing poetry
I should be counting sheep.

For truth be told, this rhyme’s gone cold—
My poem is a flop.
No matter what I try to write,
My brain keeps yelling “Stop!”

Oh! What the heck. I think I’ll quit,
And leave my letters lost.
This search for words is getting old
It’s time this tome is tossed.

So, wrinkling up this scribbly page,
I’ll turn off every light.
If dribbly doodle’s all I’ve got,
It’s time to say good night.

Poem A Day Challenge For April 4

2011-04-04T14:55:00.000-07:00

April 4—pick a type of person and write a poem about him or her. To help set the scene, you may want to title your poem as who the type of person is. For instance, you could write a poem titled "Firefighter," "Cynic," "Optimist," "Teacher," "2-year-old," etc. The list is endless.

The Drummer
By Bill Kirk

The drummer stands alone, waiting.
Poised and ready, his sticks hover above skins
Stretched taught over their frames—
Simple implements await his bidding.
Then, as if some solitary nuclear clock
Finally emits its primordial pulse,
The first strike of stick against skin
Signals life through action.

Tak! Tak! Tak! Tak!
Vibrations scream a one-note staccato—
R-r-r-racketa! T-t-t-tacketa! Pop! Pop! Pop!
Ripples push the sound barrier,
Seemingly broken in an instant
On the surface of the drum’s head—
Its micrometric amplitude
Hardly perceptible to the human eye.

The drummer calls his cadence without speaking
Save for the insistent sound spreading in ripples
From his drum’s core—through the rest of the
Drum corps on the floor around him.
His fellow drummers respond in kind with their first step,
And another and another still—
They answer the incessant urge to move.
Then in quick succession, they pick up the beat—
Accepting it as their own, completely owning the next strike,
And the next,
And the next,
And the next.
Crisp. Clear. United.

The very essence of integrity—One cadence. One team. One line.

The drummer carries the corporal beat—the rhythm of life.
Yet where does it come from and what does it mean?
Certainly the merging of rhythm, sound and intensity
Is more than mere technique.
Might there not be a subtle nuance
That defines the drummer’s very nature?
Could it be the soul’s search for perfect resonance?
And how does one discern such things?
Indeed, might drumming not be considered a metaphor for life?
The call of the distant drummer
Tapping out his cadence
And hoping it will be heard, headed and followed.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Boom. Boom. Boom.

The pulse of life beckons loudly—
Not wanting to end but having to.
In one beat, the performance is over.
Rejoice and be glad in it.

Poem A Day Challenge For April 3

2011-04-03T17:17:00.000-07:00

April 3—Write a poem in which you imagine the world without you. The world could be a much worse place, pretty much the same, or even better. Anyway, it's interesting to contemplate our individual contributions to this planet in ways small and large.

Were I Not Here
By Bill Kirk

Were I not here,
The lawn might be mowed,
The weeds would be whacked and
The bare window sill would already be primed and painted.

Were I not here,
The blown down back fence would be replaced,
The crack in the driveway would be patched and
The front door latch would work and not stick.

Were I not here,
The ivy would not have overtaken the side yard,
There’d be no birds nesting in the attic and
The perilously leaning pine would be long gone.

Were I not here,
The taxes would be done before April 14,
There might be more money for vacations and
There’d be less money needed for life insurance,

But were I not here, there would also be
Fewer cups of coffee at bedside each morning,
Fewer lunches made each work day,
Fewer omelets cooked each Sunday after church,
Fewer miles run for the pure pleasure of it,
Fewer pick-ups after school,
Fewer haircuts at Grandpa’s house,
Fewer children’s rhymes written and read,
Fewer reminders about Scout meetings,
Fewer camping trips with the old man,
Fewer holiday turkeys cooked and carved,
Fewer New Year’s Day black eye peas for good luck and
Fewer kisses goodnight.

So, all things considered,
Consider me here.

Poem A Day Challenge For April 2

2011-04-02T23:18:00.000-07:00

April 2—The prompt for day 2 is to write a postcard poem. Make it brief and communicate what it is like where you are. Also, make it personal.

Postcard Wishes
By Bill Kirk

Just got to my “room”.
There are windows galore—
On all sides, in fact,
From ceiling to floor.

A post at each corner,
In the middle, a mast;
We’ll tie off our hammocks
Oh, wow! What a blast!

We’ll sleep in “plein aire”—
A canopy above.
We four happy strangers—
Hey! What's up with the shove!?

What do you mean
Those "shoves" are a gale
And our very large tent
Is now a large sail?

You’ve got to be kidding!
Pack up my gear?
Vacation is over?
Wish I weren’t here....

Poem A Day Challenge for April 1

2011-04-01T11:38:00.000-07:00

I suppose I might have written an April Fool's Day poem. But alas, I didn't. This is the first day of the Poem A Day Challenge. Based on it's ending mood, I hope it's not my last. But it is what it is....

What Got Me Here
by Bill Kirk

Certainly it's true,
Some goals and objectives
We reach by design.
You know---the planned ones,
For which we set our destinations,
Whether figurative or literal, ahead of time;
Then plot our path,
Pack our provisions,
And strike out,
Relatively secure in the knowledge
We will get there---
By our own two hands.

Other times, pure serendipity wins the prize
For getting us to where we are---
Landing us square in the middle of
Good fortune or not,
Where we are left
To take advantage of unanticipated
Targets of opportunity.
And quick thinking alone
Makes the outcome our own,
As if we are the ones responsible somehow
For being where we are,
For better or worse.

Yet, on occasion isn't it simply
The passage of time
That allows us simply to be,
Never mind how we got to the spot?
Mightn't such unplanned "while you wait" moments,
Be the sum of the what and the how of where we are---
Like the instant between breaths
When there is neither ebb nor flow?

During those times,
We sit in the midst of quiet or turbulence,
Doing nothing in particular
And certainly nothing of special value
Or personal advantage in mind.

Such circumstances of time and place
Neither sought nor pursued
Are gifts of a sort---wanted or not,
For which there is nothing to do
Beyond acknowledging the
Unexpected blessing of another moment
In hopes of a much delayed,

Yet inevitable...

End.

April Is National Poetry Month

2011-03-31T08:47:00.000-07:00

Hello to all poets and poets in waiting. April is National Poetry Month and tomorrow (April 1) begins the annual Poem A Day Challenge at Writer's Digest. If you have ever felt the call to write poetry or if you have heard the whispers of the poetic muse perched on your shoulder, now is the time to put pen to paper or digits to keys.

The Poem A Day Challenge is exactly that---write a poem each day for 30 days based on the daily prompts provided by Robert Lee Brewer on the Writer's Digest poem-a-day page. Here is a link to the guidelines for the challenge: (http://blog.writersdigest.com/poeticasides/2011/03/01/2011AprilPADPoemADayChallengeGuidelines.aspx). You'll get the hang of it in no time.

So, why bother? Well, apart from uncovering your poetic genius, you will end up with a pile of 30 poems at the end of the month, which is no small accomplishment. With any luck, a few will be really good and a few others will at least be a good start on the way toward something really good. Besides, it's not everyone who can honestly say they have written 30 poems in 30 days.

Forget about those who say, "Who would want to?" Hey, it's a challenge and some people just simply aren't up to it. So, dust off the poetic cobwebs and let's get cracking. Robert Lee Brewer's first prompt will be available tomorrow morning and you have until midnight to wax poetic in response... and so on and so forth.

Show us what you got unless, that is, you're averse to it....

A Writer's Postal Excitement Scale (Slightly Revised)

2011-03-26T12:30:00.000-07:00

(Or the meaning of the top ten responses from editors and publishers)

By Bill Kirk

Dedicated to all writers everywhere--especially the new kids on the block--who are awaiting responses from the many submissions you have mailed out. Sometimes the anticipation is as good as it gets. But every once in a while, you might get lucky.... It could happen.

(NOTE: The order may vary depending on the size of the envelope, weight of the manuscript and the diameter of the coffee stain on the outside.)

#1: No response from the publisher….

The editor must be still thinking about it. So it's been a year---some people are thorough.

# 2: Your original outgoing envelope, returned unopened-manuscript still inside, with no notes, no form letter or any other indication that anyone or anything besides a Pitney-Bowes mail sorter has touched it....

I wonder what that little pointy finger next to the "Return To Sender" stamp means?

#3: A returned SASE with nothing inside….
Must have liked it so much they made copies and are still passing them around the office!

#4: An SASE with a pre-printed, unsigned and unmarked form letter....

Ya gotta love the extra effort and attention! Besides, someone had to write the form letter, didn't they? So, I coulda been the first one they sent it to, right?

#5: A returned SASE with a SIGNED letter with one box checked.... Wait. All SIX rejection boxes are checked! Woo! Hoo!

Now we're talking! I can feel the love---every box is individually hand checked! Someone actually read me!

#6: A returned SASE with a SIGNED letter and an encouraging rejection note-like, "I read this twice before throwing it away." or "Next time, don't waste your postage on a SASE"….

OMG, a perk! They're going to pay the return postage on my SASE next time. Quick! Send them something else---preferably before the postman drives away!

#7: A returned SASE with a marked up manuscript---in color crayon---and three Cheerios inside....

OK. So, the editor could have her 3-year old child on the payroll. Besides, some kids are prodigies.

#8: A returned SASE with the manuscript inside, marked up with legible comments like, "This is truly beyond belief! In my 25 years as an editor, I've never seen anything quite like it...."

Be still, my heart! Finally, someone who really understands how unique and creative I am.

#9: A returned SASE with a form letter and a signed hand-written note asking to see more….

YES!!! Hey, honey, where did you put the car ads? We gotta Jaguar in our future....

And the #10 response: A returned SASE with a SIGNED letter and an anticipated date of publication... sometime within the next ten years....

Finally! I'm adding this puppy under my name at the bottom of my email messages!

HOPE SPRINGS ETERNAL….

Numbers Rap

2011-03-04T16:06:00.000-08:00

In honor of Saint Patrick's Day, here's a jaunty little rhyme for March. I was once told in a very nice rejection letter that a serious math journal wouldn't publish such doggerel. But that's all right. It was fun to write. Enjoy.

"Numbers Rap"
by Bill Kirk

Numbers, Numbers, all around us.
Numbers, numbers, they astound us!

Integers can be quite mental;
Fractions, never transcendental.

Counting numbers may well taunt you.
But ignore them and they'll haunt you!

Adding them to do your sums,
May take fingers, toes and thumbs.

If subtraction is your game,
Minus signs, you'll need to tame.

Try division if you're able.
Multiply? You'll need a table.

Odd times odd is odd, not even.
Odd times even's "even Steven."

Do your tens to reach a million;
Times a thousand is a billion!

When you're counting, don't be frugal.
Who knows? You might reach a googol!

Learning numbers is a quest.
To succeed, just do your best.

A Snip-Clip Trip To Joe's Barber Shop

2011-02-03T20:05:00.000-08:00

Once in a while, it's time for every young lad to get his locks trimmed. Here's a story about a little boy's trip to the barber shop and how he manages to make it through the experience. Maybe it will bring back a few memories....

A Snip-Clip Trip To Joe's Barber Shop
By Bill Kirk
(Originally published in Stories For Children Magazine, 2009)

"It's time for a haircut."
That's what my Dad said.
"It's time for the barber
To clean up your head."

"Your ears are all covered;
We can't see your eyes.
Your hair sure grows fast
For someone your size."

"We'll go to Joe's place;
His haircuts are fun.
He'll give you a prize
When your haircut is done."

We walked to Joe's Barbershop,
Just down the street.
I waited my turn,
Then I climbed on the seat.

"Just lower his ears."
Did I hear my Dad right?
Would my ears be removed?
Would they be out of sight?

"What does that mean, Dad,"
I asked with a frown?
"Will my ears be OK?
Will they be further down?"

"Don't worry, my son,"
Dad said with a smile.
"Joe's been a good barber
For quite a long while."

Joe started his work
With scissors and comb.
I wished he would hurry
So we could go home.

But before I could ask him,
"Is this gonna to hurt?"
Hair flew down the cape
That covered my shirt.

With clippers and snippers
Joe tickled my ears.
And when he was finished,
I shouted, "Three cheers!"

At last it was over,
And Joe was all through.
I looked in the mirror
To check out my "doo."

As I hopped to the floor,
Joe opened a box.
It was time for my prize
After losing my locks.

I picked a small plane--
I knew it would fly.
Then, we gave Joe a wave
As he called out, "Good-bye."

After finding my ears
And both of my eyes,
I guess it was worth it
To get such a prize.

But if you ask me,
Instead of all that,
I'd let my hair grow
And just wear a hat?

Guardian Angel Kids E-Zine For February Now Up!

2011-02-02T15:29:00.000-08:00

The latest edition of the Guardian Angel Kids E-Zine is on the street and it's full of fun tidbits to share with your children.

M E D I A R E L E A S E

CONTACT: Donna McDine, Editor-in-Chief, Guardian Angel Kids Ezine

Email: submissions@guardian-angel-kids.com

Website: http://guardian-angel-kids.com

February 2011 is certainly coming in like a lion and hopefully spring will arrive sooner rather than later. With so many of us dealing with the frigid winter, now is the perfect time to bunker down and enjoy the February 2011 issue of Guardian Angel Kids Ezine http://www.guardian-angel-kids.com with another round of wonderful activities, short stories, poetry, and a parent/teacher article to bring excitement to your days.

Be prepared to spend memorable time as you both explore the monthly features:

Featured Books:

Does Heaven Get Mail Flip Book written by Marilee Crow and illustrated by K.C. Snider

My Grandma’s Kitchen Rules Flip Book written by Bill Kirk and illustrated by Marina Movshina

Children poetry, stories, and article:

“Tea with Grandma,” by Carol Zook thrills us with memories of tea time with grandma.

“Grandpa Bud’s Big Blue Truck,” by Allyn M. Stotz takes us on one adventure after another of treasures and practical tools from Grandpa Bud’s good old truck accompanied with a delightful illustration by Julie Hammond.

“The Wheels,” by Gabrielle Prendergast is a time spinning tale of passing traditions to one generation to the next. Samantha Bell’s illustration depicts this heartfelt story beautifully.

“Understanding Learning Styles: What Educators/Parents Need to Know,” by Dorit Sasson brings forth the different learning styles of our young muses. Sasson’s important article is for anyone having the opportunity to teach our young muses, whether it be a teacher, parent, grandparent, librarian, or tutor.

Grab your favorite snack and pull up a chair alongside your child and enjoy the interactive world of Guardian Angel Kids where the delightful stories take you on awe inspiring adventures.

Thank you for your time and interest. Full Media Kit and more are available upon request electronically.

Thoughts On The Mind-Boggling Nature Of The Universe

2011-01-23T22:37:00.000-08:00

With every revelation of the Hubble telescope, the universe appears ever more mind boggling. According to NASA, a massive black hole has been detected by the Hubble in the M84 galaxy:

"The Space Telescope Imaging Spectrograph measured a velocity of 880,000 mph within 26 light-years of the galaxy's center. This measurement allowed astronomers to calculate that the black hole contains at least 300 million solar masses. M84 is located in the Virgo Cluster of galaxies, 50 million light-years from Earth, and a nearby neighbor to the more massive M87 galaxy, which also contains an extremely massive black hole." (NASA)

Just think of it. We are but a speck in a quite small solar system "only" several hundred million miles across. Our solar system is among millions of other solar systems inside the Milky Way galaxy, which itself is only one galaxy among millions of other galaxies, of which M84 and M87 are just two. Those two galaxies are part of a cluster of galaxies called the Virgo Cluster, which itself is 50 million light years away from us.

Being that far away means it would take us 50 million years traveling at the speed of light (about 186,282 miles per second) to get there. We're talking a l-o-o-o-o-ng road trip: something like 293,729,457,600,000,000,000 miles. I wonder how long it would take someone to get there driving 60 miles per hour? OK. You can do the math.

Perhaps even more amazingly, on top of it all, the black hole discovered inside galaxy M84 contains the masses of more than 300 million suns. And, get this, according to the NASA report, in the middle of that galaxy velocities of 880,000 miles per hour have been measured. Such high velocities are apparently used by scientists to detect the presence of a black hole as well as the amount of stuff it has already sucked into itself.

Compared to the speed of light, 880,000 miles per hour is really way slow. But just think. Traveling at that speed, it would only take us around 15 minutes to get to our moon. This is definitely one of those "things that make you go "Hmmmm". The scope is almost beyond comprehension. If you ask me, in the overall scheme of things, whether or not the furniture got dusted this week is probably not worth worrying about.

Once Upon A Teacup

2011-01-14T21:17:00.000-08:00

"Once Upon A Teacup"
By Bill Kirk

Inside the kitchen cupboard,
That sometimes is quite bare,
There sits a special china cup,
Placed upside down with care.

The teacup's edge is broken,
For it had hit the floor.
The missing piece had left a hole
Just perfect for a door.

My Grandma keeps that teacup
To use again one day.
"As soon as I can find some glue,
I'll fix that cup," she'd say.

The cup was long forgotten,
Until a little mouse
Had moved inside it with his Dad
And made a teacup house.

Each day the mouse would wake up
And run outside to play.
Sometimes he'd find a little snack
To munch along the way.

At night, his Dad told stories
About their teacup home
And how they'd always be a pair,
Wherever they would roam.

One day they heard soft knocking
Upon their house so snug.
"Who could it be outside our door?
A spider or a bug?"

A lady mouse was looking
For a place to rest.
"Might you have some room for me,
Inside your comfy nest?"

She stayed a day, then longer.
Soon Summer changed to Fall.
She helped them make their teacup warm,
When Winter came to call.

The little mouse decided,
He liked their family.
Their teacup was the very best
Mouse-house that it could be.

But though he really liked it,
They soon ran out of space.
In Spring, they left their teacup house,
To find a bigger place.

So, if you find a teacup--
A chipped hole on one side;
And if it's tucked behind some plates,
Where little things can hide;

Although it might be dusty
And covered up with grime.
It may have been a mouse's house
Once upon a time.

Childhood Memories Of Winter

2010-12-07T10:54:00.000-08:00

(Childhood winter time memories stay with us wherever we go. May these recollections take you back and bring you home.)

"Remembering Winter"
(North Dakota Horizons, 2007)

Silhouetted sentries stare,
Standing leafless, stark and bare.

Snowflakes, on their wingless flights,
Swirl in winter wind that bites….

Silv'ry, golden strings of lights,
Star-filled skies on nippy nights.

Snowsuits, mittens, itchy tights,
Sledding, skating, snowball fights;

Steaming cocoa-whispered sips,
Smiles on children's rosy lips.

Sticky, frosted finger tips;
Scrumptious s'mores and chocolate chips;

Scents of winter in the air,
Sounds of children everywhere;

Stockings filled with special treats,
Stories Grandpa still repeats.

Simply said, though far you roam,
Special memories bring you home.

Done Any House Cleaning Lately?

2010-11-20T08:10:00.000-08:00

Quick! What's the first feeling you get when someone mentions "cleaning", as in "we're cleaning this weekend" or "we can't put off the cleaning any longer"? Let's face it. It's a combination of dread, resignation and resistance. I like to call it "dre-sig-nis-tance".

When a wave of dresignistance comes on, suddenly climbing Mount Everest and cliff diving in Acapulco seem like things you ought to be doing instead. Now, if you could only find those travel brochures you picked up last year---as if you thought you'd ever actually do those things in the first place.

I'm not sure what makes cleaning such a chore. Maybe it's because it's almost the worst kind of chore. First of all, depending on how brutal you decide to be, you have to retouch everything at least for the second time---if not third, fourth or fifth---even the stuff you should never have touched to begin with.

Then there's the dust, most of it laying there waiting to explode with the slightest breath, like one of those dandelion seed tufts. How do those little dust bunnies form, anyway? There they are, just lurking in corners and under furniture, waiting to pounce---or escape ahead of your approaching rag or mop.

The worst part may be the mental battle between the left and right sides of the brain, first trying to remember what made some particular thing so darned interesting at the time, then reevaluating whether to delay its immediate demise---a-g-a-i-n.

Cleaning has no gender boundaries either---there's no preponderant male/female claims to chronic collector status. Doesn't everyone have stacks of cherished magazines and catalogs, from Playboy to Pottery Barn, from "O" to "Q", from Real Simple to REI? All of them are so hope-filled and glossy.

Sure, we'll get back to that compelling relationship article eventually or try that recipe for goat cheese-vegetarian lasagna with avocado and a hint of mint. Toss them out? How could we? To paraphrase the classic from Seals and Croft, "these may never come this way again." Hope springs eternal....

But wait. Maybe the act of the cleansing purge (we're talking housework here) has gotten a bad rap all these years. When you get right down to it, cleaning is really just a mini-archeological excavation, with surprises under every layer.

Now I know why retail stores rotate their product lines so often. It's really just a business exercise in cleaning. Much as a fresh, clean store draws the eye and corrals customers, so too will your home, divested of its dust and clutter, be inviting to all those visitors you've been meaning to have over---you know, someone besides your best friend who loves you even with all your warts.

Just think of the fun in the discovery, nay even the reward, that awaits you. Have you browsed through the rows of packages and cans in your pantry which are months or even years beyond their "best if used by" date. What about the caches of expired coupons in that little basket by the phone; the knic-knacs and chotchkys---priceless dust catchers lined up in formation on shelves and hutchtops; and the pages of three-hole punched portfolio reports added monthly and quarterly to the "file later" pile?

Ah, but the true irony lies in the well-intentioned buckets and bags of partially and never used cleaning supplies shoved into the dark recesses of "the under-sink"?

So, what's to be done with the dust and clutter of times past. Can we ever part with our accumulated stash of good stuff which seems to have taken up permanent residence? Isn't it time to toss off the tantalizing tyrany of "too much"? To soundly trounce the trash evolved from treasure? To finally unburden the body and soul?

Come on. You can do it. Compulsion is under rated. Just think of it as turning your cleaning quirks into fashion statements. That damp rag tucked under a rubber band at your wrist will eradicate errant smudges in a flash. White gloves with a spritz of dust spray? Perfect for swiping away new traces of pre-dust on the bannister? And what could be bolder than strapping on a tool belt filled with cleaning supplies?

But the ultimate? A stylish row of easy-reach hooks by the front door is ideal for hanging dustmops, brooms and the afore-mentioned tool belt---all at the ready so you can start cleaning as soon as you walk in the door and keep at it until you leave. Throw caution to the wind. No mercy! This is war! Be the first cleaning fashionista on your block. Are you with me?

Wait. Where's the TV remote? Isn't there a game on now? Dirty Jobs? Animal Planet? Jeopardy? Anything?

Some Things Just Get On My Last Nerve

2010-10-15T14:00:00.000-07:00

I may get some critical mail about this. Or maybe not. I feel compelled to write about something I just don't understand. I'm not sure I would lump the basis of my complaint under the general category of corporate greed. But it rubs me the same way.

Here's my issue: The less than altruistic intentions of companies which loudly proclaim support (read create an ad campaign) for a socially compelling movement only to withhold that support unless the consumer public first jumps through unnecessary hoops.

In plain English, a yogurt brand got on my last nerve years ago by creating a campaign in support of breast cancer research. Now before you start clattering away on your keyboards out there, I am not saying I don't support breast cancer research because I do and I have for years. My beef is when a company says for every "this" or "that" you do, we will donate "X" amount to cancer research.

Said another way, not until a consumer does the certain thing (e.g., jump through "hoops") will the company make a donation. And when the "hoops" include unnecessary sanitary missteps and require the additional cost of postage, to me that's just slippery business---a way to get out of making the donation in the first place. Personally, I stopped buying the product and switched to another brand as my own private protest.

Why can't a company accept the transaction at the point of sale as evidence of a customer's support for the targeted social agenda? After all, I'm certain someone in the company has the job of tracking sales volume down to the last yogurt cup. So, why all the roadblocks?

I could be wrong here. But, at the risk of sounding totally naive, does it appear the business side tends to trump good intentions? If an ad is crafted to cast the company as being socially responsible, then why shouldn't the company simply honor their implied commitment to support the good cause from the outset and make a donation based simply on sales volume alone?

If there is a concern about business liability (that is, the unknown and potentially high cost of the donation), couldn't the company simply state their donation limit up front? How about "We will support the cause up to a maximum of "X" thousands or millions of dollars"? Or "Because our company is proud to support the cause, we have made a donation of "X" dollars on behalf of our loyal customers". Both seem like reasonable approaches to the same end.

So, why do I feel compelled to comment now? Well, another company (one competing for market share in the same niche) has designed their own variation of the "lick and mail" campaign. It's a bit more polished and uses the Internet and purchase codes to squeeze out customer "buy in" (pardon the pun). But the approach is essentially the same---jump through these "hoops" or we won't make a donation.

Sure they steered clear of the licking and the mailing. But what does entering a code on a message form do? Potentially, it gives the company a trace back to the computer or smart phone of every customer who sends a purchase code to the company via its website. Forgive my suspicious streak. Maybe companies don't do that sort of thing.

Bottom line is, wouldn't it be easier and much more effective for a company to step up and do the right thing all by themselves? Just wondering.

In Honor Of Halloween

2010-10-06T17:23:00.000-07:00

"In The Bone Zone"
by Bill Kirk

Bones! Bones! We all got bones.
They are hard as rocks and stones.

You can feel 'em, thick or thin-
Under muscles, under skin.

In your elbow, wrist and toes,
Even right on top your nose.

Count your ribs. Can you make ten?
Laugh and you must start again.

Feel your fingers, each bone shows.
Easy! They are all in rows.

Hip bones, spine and either knee;
You can find them-one, two, three.

Come on now. Let's have some fun.
Searching for your skeleton.

All Hail To The Seizers!

2010-09-12T17:35:00.000-07:00

All Hail To The Seizers!
By Bill Kirk

Admit it. Don’t you just sit and wonder sometimes?
I mean, just to marvel at all the stuff
That’s bouncing around inside your head?
Try it if you haven’t. Who knows?
You may find it strangely satisfying to ponder
Just how many little rabbit trails
There surely must be inside the old cranium.
And talk about entertaining—that, too.

The number alone of all the thoughts
Zipping through one’s brain
Has got to be virtually uncountable,
Even if we had a stop-action camera
To freeze the brain in mid-think.
Yep. A think-o-meter is what we need, all right.

Of course, some of the thoughts are mere idle flashes,
Almost as if tiny brain segments
Are constantly dropping in and out of consciousness.
Other thoughts seem more productive,
Forming those proverbial “trains of thought”
About a certain something.
But, alas! Even a “train of thought”
May cover way too much real estate
To capture and categorize.

Why, just this afternoon,
I tracked on such disconnected things as
Bits and pieces of garage inventory—some lost, some found;
A favorite grade school teacher
Who regularly pulled unruly kids’ ears to keep them in line;
And whether a tent I soon plan to use has a hole in it.
Then it was onto where the best deal
On a bed frame and mattress might be.

Oh, and what about those boxes—unopened since 1985,
There in the upstairs bedroom closet?
Could that be where those errant bossun heads are?
Hundreds and thousands of questions,
Affirmations and reminders,
Stack up continually and almost instantaneously,
Like so many mental “sticky notes to self”.

Sure, we try our best to catalog
The endless stream of rambling ruminations—
At times in the very moment,
Or more likely in retrospect.
An image of trough upon metal trough
Filled to the brim with key punch cards comes to mind.
Doesn’t it make you wonder whether there might be
A giant queue awaiting cranial processing time?
Ah, yet another idle thought goes to the back of the line—
No cuts allowed. Or are they?

Of course, all attempts to give order to such chaos
Must inevitably be futile, right?
After all, are any of those so-called idle thoughts
Ever really idle at all?

Always in motion and, therefore, just beyond our control,
Billions of thoughtful snippets
Layer themselves one upon another,
Seeming to simmer silently until sufficient heat
Brings them to the surface.
That’s when the action gets interesting
As they bounce around like pin balls
Off the unending undulations of our collective cerebellae.
How could any of us be expected to keep track of it all?

Perhaps the answer to that question
Defines us as much more than
Mere copers and survivors.
Instead, are we not called to exercise
The full measure of our human capacity?
Indeed, are we not to be seizers of the day,
Destined to flourish, thrive and forge ahead
From one stimulating challenge to the next?

But is it the relishers of freefall—
The stimulation seekers—
Who hold human progress in their hands?
Or will those with the power to calmly disregard
The crush of competitive zeal,
Quietly lead humankind to the earthly promised land?

No matter. Either way, all those who grab the moment
And work toward the greater good deserve a cheer—

ALL HAIL TO THE SEIZERS!

On Becoming An Eagle Scout

2010-09-05T09:06:00.001-07:00

Parents, Honored Guests, Friends and Fellow Scouts:

I am honored to have this opportunity to speak to you about the meaning of Scouting in the lives of the young men who choose to be part of it and particularly those who persevere on the Trail to Eagle. But I must say, some of you know all too well there is a great risk in giving me a podium and an audience with a whole evening before me and a subject I love. All I can promise is to try to practice the Ninth Point of the Scout Law and be "Thrifty" with your time this evening.

Scouting is one of the greatest organizations in the world to foster the highest ideals of citizenship and service. It is little wonder then that so many of our nation’s greatest leaders had some of their earliest leadership experiences in Scouting. Some aspects of the Scouting program may have changed over time. But one thing remains constant. That is, the total development from boyhood to manhood is still founded on the physical, mental, and moral excellence expressed in and demanded by the Scout Oath and Scout Law.

When most boys enter Scouting, they likely picture themselves as someday becoming Eagle Scouts. But as often happens, many activities and interests clamor for their attention as they enter their high school years and the early Scouting flames and aspirations may dim to ashes and flicker away. After all, historically only about four percent of Scouts have achieved the Eagle Rank.

So, what does the Eagle badge represent in the lives of the young men who earn it? Certainly, it means that a Scout has set his eyes on a challenging goal and has worked hard to achieve it. But more importantly, it is a measure of a boy’s future potential as he grows to manhood. In truth, achieving the Eagle Scout Rank is not an end but simply an open door to the future.

There is much that can be said about the Trail to Eagle, about the challenges along the way and about the accomplishment itself—the what, how and when. But I would like to highlight one point that is often missed. That is, long before a Scout can actually reach this high honor, he has a decision to make. That decision is the fundamental answer to the question, “Do I want to be an Eagle Scout?”

In fact, this very question is the “why” that drives each prospective Eagle Scout forward. It is a decision only the Scout himself can make. That these young men are here before you is clear evidence each one made the decision and stayed the course.

Certainly, their family and friends encouraged them and maybe even gently nudged them at various points along the way. And any Scout would likely tell you that an encouraging word can be like gold when the journey gets tough and a Scout has to dig deep, then deeper still, just to keep going. But ultimately, and by design, the Scout must answer the call of the soaring eagle for himself, just as each of these young men did.

For some the decision may have come early in their Scouting careers. For others, it may have happened much later, after an awakening about what becoming an Eagle Scout means to them. And did I mention there is a clock ticking away in the background? Yes, at age 18, the Trail to Eagle ends for all Boy Scouts.

But regardless of when the decision occurs, that is the moment each Scout truly learns the importance of the Eagle Scout Rank in his own life. It is at that decision point when he accepts the challenge, makes the commitment and maps out a personal plan and strategy to meet the goal.

How many Ranks and Merit Badges do I have left and can I complete them all in time? What will I do for my Eagle Service Project and how long do I need to finish it? Have I completed all my Leadership requirements and have I done my best to be an active mentor to other Scouts in the Troop looking to me for guidance? These are the questions each Scout must answer for himself, often when facing the many other demands of an increasingly busy schedule of school, family, sports and even work activities.

On occasion, the Scout’s decision to embark on the Trail to Eagle may be challenged by others—peers in school, team mates or even friends—who may not fully understand the pull of the spirit of Scouting. No matter, because it is a Scout’s own personal motivation which will carry him across the finish line.

As I thought about each of the young men seated before you this evening, I noted a common theme along their Trail to Eagle. It has been a clear and strong sense of self and, yes, even a bit of a stubborn streak, that has stood them in good stead on their individual journeys. Indeed, I would have no trouble speaking volumes about the strong personal attributes of each one.

Some have left their mark on academics, others in athletic competition. Some followed Eagles in their own families or reached that goal as the first. Some have excelled in math and science, others in the arts. Some have dug snow caves that would match any survivor's story, others have climbed mountains or backpacked for miles for the sheer joy of it.

However, regardless of their individual accomplishments, skills and talents both inside and outside of Scouting, they are now bound together by one common conviction—they are, and always will be, Eagle Scouts who are 100 percent guilty of being Trustworthy, Loyal, Helpful, Friendly, Courteous, Kind, Obedient, Cheerful, Thrifty, Brave, Clean and Reverent.

Gentlemen, Welcome to the Eagles' Nest. It is a personal honor and a singular pleasure to be in your company.

And it’s a great day for Scouting!

Sometimes You Have To Cut Your Losses

2010-09-04T17:47:00.000-07:00

As writers, we often work on a story, essay, poem or other piece of genius that we are certain meets, if not far exceeds, the criteria for publication somewhere, anywhere. In fact, we may be so convinced of our work's merit that we withhold it from public view on the Internet (ergo remain "unpublished") on the off chance that it might get picked up for publication by someone, anyone. Well, sometimes I suppose it's best to just get over it.

So, in the spirit of sharing, here is a bit of an action poem written in rhyme, celebrating picture day at school. I still think it would make a great little picture book. I mean, who can't relate to picture day?

But I'm willing to concede the likelihood of publcation as a picture book is slim. Granted, it was published in a children's magazine back in 2007. But still I'd like to imagine it in between two scuffed up hard covers with dog-eared pages because kids have read it and chuckled, chortled, guffawed and roared over and over.

One can dream, can't one?

PICTURE DAY
By Bill Kirk
(Published in Fun For Kidz Magazine, September 2007)

This morning when my Grandma knocked,
I didn’t make a peep.
She’d never find me underneath
These covers in a heap.

Then, in she came to chase me out
And get me on my way.
“Let’s rise and shine, grandson of mine!
Today is picture day.”

She gently stressed as I got dressed,
“No horseplay is allowed.
There’ll be no kicking rocks and cans,
Or dust into a cloud.”

“But, Grandma…,” “Don’t ‘But Grandma’ me,”
She said with my four names.
That meant that she was serious.
There’d be no silly games.

So, I got dressed and brushed my hair
And even washed my face.
The boys would hardly know it’s me—
With every hair in place.

Then, off I went with good intent,
To stay both neat and pressed.
So, when I finally got to school,
I’d look my very best.

At recess all the kids went out
To run and chase and hide.
But Grandma’s words came back to me.
And so I stayed inside.

When it was time to go to lunch,
I ate each bite with care.
I even tucked a napkin in,
To catch each crumb, mid-air.

Then suddenly, as if on cue,
I heard someone yell, “Duck!”
I should have known, my time would come,
And I’d be out of luck.

At first I saw some gelatin,
Go sailing past my head.
And then two hotdogs—flying by—
Just missed my best friend, Fred.

Soon apples turned to applesauce
And plums to purple goo.
When mashed potatoes hit the floor,
They stuck like paste and glue.

I crashed into the Principal
And almost caused two falls.
By then my hopes of staying clean
Were dashed on doors and walls!

When all the food had finally flown,
The lunchroom was a mess!
Our teachers called our Moms and Dads
So we could all confess.

And did I mention evidence?
Oh yes! There’d be a bunch!
The photographs would say it all—
Our turn was after lunch!

But, wait! Was that my Grandma’s voice,
So faint, and far away?
“Get up, my boy, or you’ll be late!
Today is picture day.”

So, did I hear my Grandma right?
Were things not as they seemed?
Hurray! That whole big mess at school,
Was something I had dreamed!

Yosemite Adventures

2010-08-25T10:35:00.000-07:00

Prologue: Boy Scout Troop 259 in Sacramento, CA goes out camping or backpacking usually once a month to give our Scouts an opportunity to experience the great outdoors. California has a wealth of natural beauty within a few hours of almost any place in the state. This month, a small group made a trip to Yosemite National Park. The following account documents the trip for the record and to help inform the Troop's planning for future such trips. For the Half Dome portion, here is a link to an informative video to help prepare for the hike:

https://pwrcms.nps.gov/yose/photosmultimedia/hikinghalfdome.htm .

August 20, 2010: We got a late start departing Sacramento at 1:30 in two groups---one group of nine campers bound for Crane Flat campground in Yosemite Valley and the second group of four backpackers bound for Half Dome. The two groups would be separated by several miles between our camps save for a brief encounter along the trail en route Vernal Falls on August 21.

The backpacker group arrived in Yosemite Valley too late to pick up our wilderness permit and tickets for Little Yosemite Valley (LYV) camping and climbing Half Dome. We found our overnight spot in North Pines backpacker campground and set up camp for a short stay---sack dinners followed by turning in early and sleeping under the stars to save time breaking down camp the next morning. Notably, at about 8:30 that evening, park rangers made their appointed rounds to alert all the campers to the possibility of bear visits, usually between 3:00 and 4:00 a.m.

At 4,000 feet, the night was not cold (low 50s) but cool enough that my fleece bag was not quite sufficient for a deep sleep. The boys slept well in their down bags. But tossing and turning was my lot until 4:00 a.m. when a 400 pound black bear wandered into camp as if on schedule, to snack on food in an unclosed bear box and bear cannister left unsecured in another part of the camp. The bear stayed 15-20 minutes before leaving camp, despite the clanging pots and shouts from several campers. Not much chance for sleep after that.

August 21, 2010: We were up for good by 5:30 a.m. for story swapping about the bear and a hearty breakfast of oatmeal and hot chocolate/coffee. I walked one mile to the Yosemite Wilderness Center to pick up our wilderness permit. The four of us in the backpacker party finally got underway by 10:30 a.m. after tying up loose ends and a few false starts. By the time we headed up the three-mile trail from Happy Isles toward Vernal Fall (5,044 feet), there was already a crowd on the trail. Most were day hikers with no more than fanny packs and water bottles and an occasional day pack. The true backpackers on the trail were easily identifiable.

Each of us carried two-to-three full liters of water. And between us we had three water filters to pump water along the trail if needed. It was a steady uphill, 1.3 mile climb between Vernal Fall and Nevada Fall. Our 40-pound packs made for slow going, particularly on the long series of steps leading up to Vernal Falls and steep trail up to Nevada Fall (5,907 feet). The "up" was relentless and brief "catch your breath" stops were essential. After a 15-minute layover at Nevada Fall to rest legs and check for hot spots and blisters, we continued toward LYV, pulling off the trail one time along the way to pump water from the Merced River, which was running serenely this time of year.

It was an uphill 1.4 mile hike from Nevada Fall to LYV. But the broad trail made it manageable despite the loose sand in places. Walking sticks were definitely helpful on the steep trails. Once at LYV (6,100 feet), we dropped our gear and set up camp by 3:30 p.m. in anticipation of a late afternoon climb up Half Dome (8,836 feet). After leaving Nevada Fall, the crowds on the trail had thinned out, although there were plenty of day hikers who continued to Half Dome. However, most of those on the trail by mid-afternoon was returning from their Half Dome climb earlier in the day and were on the way down to camp or homeward bound. Only the backpackers were overnighting at LYV.

Despite our fatigue and the lateness of the day, we decided to press on toward Half Dome the same day rather than wait until the next morning. In retrospect, that decision was a good one. Our group felt we might not have it in us to complete the 3.2 mile hike and climb up Half Dome the next morning, then hike all the way back to the valley floor. However, by way of lessons learned, we should have pumped water at the river before leaving LYV for Half Dome. Yes, we still had water from our earlier filtering stop. Just not enough.

Knowing it would be a late return to camp for the night, we packed our day packs with jackets, gloves, flashlights, first aid kit, snacks, water and our dinner supplies (stove, fuel, matches, dehydrated meals). We knew we would likely have to cook dinner on the way down to replace the calories we had used on the trail.

Almost immediately after finding the trail out of camp toward Half Dome, the level terrain around the LYV backpacker campsite once again changed to steady uphill. We proceeded northerly for 1.2 miles. Even without our heavy backpacks, the trail was not easy---perhaps a measure of the fatigue in our legs at that point.

As we switched to a westwardly direction for the final two miles, a quick assessment of our available water supplies illuminated our failure to account for the demands of the 6.5 mile round trip late in the day. Fortunately, and totally unexpectedly, we encountered a very small muddy patch of ground on the side of the trail. To us thirsty hikers, that wet spot looked really good. It turned out to be a surface pop-out of a small underground stream or the exit of a tiny spring.

Although at first the water appeared not much more than a mud hole, we detected a definite flow to the water and clean sand which had collected in the bottom of a four-inch depression. That small water source became cause for celebration as we filtered enough to refill several bottles for the rest of the hike. Admittedly, we got some odd stares from hikers as we tapped our dubious water supply.

It took us three hours to hike the steep trail from LYV to the sub-dome, get up and over the sub-dome and reach the bottom of the cables. By that time all of us were experiencing mixed emotions as we stood depleted at the base of the granite mass above us. Did our legs have one more steep climb in them? Could we push ahead into the 40 mph cross winds, chilling us through our sweat-soaked shirts and jackets? Did we have time to make the ascent, then get off the rock before night fall? We had one hour on the clock to make it to the top, spend a few minutes getting our eyes full, then make it back down. Were we to take longer than that, we knew we would no longer be able to see where our foot strikes would land.

Silently, we voted with our feet and started the ascent, reluctantly at first, then with determination. Each of us had brought ropes and carabiners to thether ourselves to the half-inch steel cables if necessary. That's how it started. Moving step by step on the steep granite face, we pulled ourselves up the cables with gloved hands, clipping and unclipping the carabiners until we no longer felt the need.

Leaning into the wind, progress was slow between the parallel pairs of heavy cable supports placed about 15 feet apart up the rock wall. At last, we reached the top, where we allowed ourselves a "Yes!" moment before contemplating how we were going to get back down. I must admit, a helicopter rescue did cross my mind more than once as we watched the sun setting beyond the distant horizon.

Indeed we did just make it back down at dusk. Darkness overtook us as we arrived at the tree line below the granite subdome base. All four of us were famished and totally spent. Without hesitation, we broke out our dinner supplies and ate our fill by flashlight before our two-hour return hike in the dark to LYV. At 10:30 p.m. we were down for the count until morning.

August 22, 2010: We slept in until 6:00 a.m. (the boys until 8:00) and took our time breaking camp, anticipating an easy five-mile downhill return hike to Happy Isles and our drive home. Indeed, the return hike was easier and we were happy to take an alternate route along a portion of the John Muir Trail out of Nevada Fall. However, by the time we had hit the flats at Happy Isles, we were glad even the downhills were over. Our quads were trashed from steadily putting on the brakes for nearly five miles. After a four-hour ride home, including a stop at In-and-Out Burger, we pulled into the Elks Lodge parking lot at 5:30 p.m. A good time was had by all.

Epilogue: After climbing up Half Dome, I know why I'm not a rock climber. There's something about holding on for dear life that I would just as soon leave to others. Granted, fatigue was clearly a factor in the feelings of being on the edge of my physical capabilities. Nonetheless, making it all the way up and back down was a thrill and I'm glad I did it. At the very least, I can say it's off my bucket list.

And though I suppose it could happen, I'd wait a few days before asking me if I'll be going back to Half Dome....

Technology Bites... I Mean Bytes

2010-08-18T13:44:00.000-07:00

Using new technology must be something like tying your shoes. You might understand the concept and even be able to follow the steps in words or as demonstrated. But there is one fundamental moment---a bridge, as it were---in which understanding spans the gap between concept and reality. Until that bridge is in place, true learning won't occur.

Depending on which shoe tying process you were taught, the magic bridge is most likely the part where either the two loops are miraculously joined or where the one string circles around the first loop and finds the "portal" where the second loop is pulled through. After that point, all the rest (size of the loops, tighness of the knot, single versus double knot, etc.) is basically calibration and perfection.

Well, I got the shoe tying part down a few years back, despite the arrival of loafers and slip-ons. And there have been a few other break-throughs along the way as well, such as rebuilding my 1969 VW Bug's engine, installing a new pool filter with new plumbing and building a basic code-based website. But I must say, my learning about how to use most of the new electronic communication technology, has pretty much stalled, awaiting some form of the afore-mentioned bridge to arrive.

I'm OK on e-mail and can manage the basics on Facebook and a few other networking sites. But truth be known, I missed the firing of the starting gun when the whole digital imagery race began. I don't like digital cameras, can't get digital images off my phone (assuming they are still in there), can't deal with transporting stills or video files and I haven't figured out the magic step to make video book trailers, to mention just a few of my technoflaws. And I'm quite embarrassed to say that an uncooperative scanner has blocked even that rudimentary skill.

Perhaps I'll eventually pick up enough technology survival skills to make do amidst the relentless press of the electronic generation. But I must admit a fear that I may have finally reached my electronic end point. Either I will slowly languish in my TV chair, holding my broken remote while waiting for small tidbits of electronic news and imagery from anyone. Or I will have to spend my children's inheritance paying for a teenager to keep me connected.

Then, again, just the other day and even if only by happenstance, I may have inadvertently extended my digital life by untold nano-seconds, firmly securing my position on the up ramp to the slow lane of the electronic freeway of life. Somehow, I managed to get our SKYPE connection working out of the blue---I mean both the video AND the audio. Of course, I don't know exactly how it happened, although plugging in both the camera and the microphone seems to have helped....

The exhileration boggles the mind! Time to break out the bubbly!

Rhyming Tips and Traps Teaser

2010-08-13T12:03:00.000-07:00

I've written about rhyme from time to time on this blog, as it is my primary form of children's writing. However, as blogging goes, once a topic is off the main list of blog posts visible on a site, it is literally out of sight and out of mind. Herewith a brief revisit of the topic.

If you have ever tried to write something in rhyme, you may have hit a wall on the road to rhyming self-discovery. Let's face it, being a rhymer is not easy. Rhyme can be relatively unforgiving in its structural requirements.

To do rhyme well, the rhyming sets have to be right on the mark. If you find yourself stretching just to make two words rhyme for no reason, you'll get a thumbs down from most editors. And "near rhymes" can be just as bad. It may work in song writing but in children's rhyme in particular, near rhymes come across as being too casual and inattentive to detail. Many editors won't give rhyme the time of day because they may have seen more than their share of bad rhyme and simply don't have the time to see if a particular submission, no matter how good it may be, in fact has potential.

As for the rhythm thing, failure to establish a clear cadence can be a rhyme killer. For example, whichever rhythmic pattern (the beats and cadence) you choose, needs to be consistent and engaging to capture and hold a reader's attention. Generally, if the beat is off (unless deliberately done for emphasis), your rhyming ship may be sunk before ever weighing anchor.

So let's pick a rhyme apart for a moment to give you an idea of what you are getting yourself into. What comes next may seem a bit cheesy. But to take the next step, bear with me. You'll need to go to my website at billkirkwrites.com and click on the link in the center of the page that says: "Rhyming Resource Center" then follow it via the "Rhyming Tips and Traps" link to the rest of this story.

I know. I know. Website pandering is shameless. But I hope your visit to billkirkwrites.com will be helpful to you and not simply seem a lame effort to increase my site visit count. However it strikes you, I'd like to hear from you pro or con whether the rhyming tips on my site were helpful. Just e-mail me at billkirk@billkirkwrites.com . Either way, best of luck on your jaunty journey in rhyme.

Recalling The National Scout Jamboree---Got GORP?

2010-08-07T18:05:00.000-07:00

Below is a short rhyme in honor of Scouting and an often used energy source on our many campouts and backpack treks. But first a brief recap of our recent Jamboree experience in the company of about 45,000 other Scouts and Scout leaders at Fort A.P. Hill near Fredericksburg, VA.

After three years of planning, nearly two years of monthly meetings, two preparatory campouts and hours of gateway construction, patch sewing and packing, Jamboree Troop 640 of the Golden Empire Council left for the 2010 National Scout Jamboree on July 22 and put it in the history books on August 4.

Our departure from Sacramento on July 22 went smoothly after meeting at the Sacramento International Airport at 0430 hours for a 0600 departure. We began our four days of almost non-stop touring of the Washington DC area virtually as soon as we picked up our 40 matching black duffel bags at Washington's Reagan Airport. There were memorials and monuments galore along the full length of the 1.9 mile Capitol Mall, followed by a tour of the Capitol, the National Archives, several Smithsonian museums.

At Arlington Cemetery we watched the changing of the guard and laid a wreath at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier. We couldn't leave the capital without a stop at the National Boy Scout Memorial where a baby bald eagle also stopped by as if to acknowledge our current and future Eagle Scouts. Rounding out three full days of touring in the capital was a special viewing of the evening parade at the Marine Barracks at 8th and I Streets, presented by the "President's Own" band and Drum and Buggle Corps.

Capping our pre-Jamboree touring was a morning stop a Jamestown, an action packed afternoon and evening at Busch Gardens and a tour of Williamsburg before our leaving for Fort A.P. Hill. We arrived at the Jamboree site amidst tight security and set up our home away from home for the next ten days. Reveille at 0530 hours daily and Taps at 2200 hours set the official boundaries of waking and sleeping, although the sleeping part seemed to last much shorter than the clock would indicate. Days were filled with patch trading, meeting Scouts from all over the U.S. and several visiting country delegations, outstanding arena shows, meals at camp and an occasional shower to counteract the products of heat, humidity and dust.

Even the last night did not disappoint as a lightning storm blew in just after 0300 hours to give us a good soaking as we slept under the stars on our last night in camp. Seemingly working in concert, a sister storm in the Chicago area delayed all flights, including our flight out of Reagan National Airport and our connecting flight out of Chicago. Nonetheless, after visiting the Marine Corps Museum at Quantico and the First President's Mount Vernon home, we arrived back home, minus our duffels at midnight August 4th. Despite the no doubt quickly fermenting laundry in our baggage, the misrouted duffels remained in luggage limbo for two more days. From what we could tell, the delivery agent simply dropped the bags at each house, rang the doorbell and ran.

All in all, the 2010 National Scout Jamboree was a memorable celebration of the first century of Scouting in the U.S. and the final National Jamboree at Fort A.P. Hill, VA. The next National Jamboree will will held in 2013 at the Boy Scouts of America's new Jamboree location at the Bechtel Summit in West Virginia. Planning is already underway for the next Jamboree and the next century of Scouting.

Got GORP?
By Bill Kirk

Some Good Old-fashioned Raisins
And Peanuts—that’s for me.
When hiking in the mountains,
It boosts my energy.

Yes, GORP is what they call it—
A strange, odd-sounding name.
But who cares what it sounds like?
I’d eat it just the same.

I’d munch GORP in the morning
In oatmeal, with a spoon,
And later, by the hand full,
I’d nibble some at noon.

I’d scarf it from a baggie—
Or snag it from a sack.
It’s chewy and it’s crunchy;
Just perfect for a snack.

So, when your “let’s get going”
Has gotten up and gone,
Your energy is flagging—
There’s no more forging on;

Forget about your manners
If consciousness goes warp!
Quick! Guzzle down some fluids
And grub a little GORP.

For The "Texting" Challenged Generation(s)

2010-07-02T12:45:00.000-07:00

I've been somewhat distracted of late what with school getting out, summer coming on and preparations for the National Scout Jamboree (we're down to under 20 days to departure). But with a few days breathing space in the schedule, I'm getting back to my blog after a month-long absence.

Today's entry is a little something for those of you who may feel challenged by texting and are wondering if there's any hope. For those over age 40 who can figure it out, congratulations. For the rest of you who consider texting some kind of torture that ought to be banned as cruel and unusual punishment, bless your hearts. I'm stuck right in the middle of all of you. My thumbs are too big, my nails are too short and I can't see much of anything on those itty-bitty cell phone screens. But not to worry. An English translation is provided below.

OK. So, I admit to I outwardly professing my intent to one day become a texter. I suppose it could happen. But truth be told, I am secretly waiting for someone to invent a cell phone with a circular dial so I can hear the "skrrridge-tick, tick, tick, tick...." sound of the yesteryear telephone dial coming out of my cell phone.

Realizing the likelihood of that happening any time in the near or distant future is slim to none, I herewith offer this short piece in homage to all those under age sixteen apparently born with texting intuition and thumb nails pre-filed to small points. Remember to show a little sympathy for the rest of us who are happy just to grip our cell phones with what may soon be our vestigial opposable thumbs.

Enjoy...

cllN plnz
by bil krk

my dad bawt me a cel ph.
its realy wA 2 QL.
u wont bleev w@ it cn do—
il shO u aftr skool.

it ltz me d/l muzc;
snd pix, gmes n stuf.
it evn hlps me do my math,
n f thts nt nuf,

It hs a dxNre;
n evry countrys map—
jst ask me whr a rivA s.
il fnd it ina snap!

thers O 1 sml prob—
its nm @ ll.
bt sumday mayB I shd lern
to actuly mak a cll.

wrd count: 86

Translation:

Calling Plans
By Bill Kirk

My Dad bought me a cell phone.
It’s really way too cool.
You won’t believe what it can do—
I’ll show you after school.

It lets me download music;
Send pictures, games and stuff.
It even helps me do my Math,
And if that’s not enough,

It has a dictionary;
And every country’s map—
Just ask me where a river is.
I’ll find it in a snap!

There’s only one small problem—
It’s nothing much at all.
But someday maybe I should learn
To actually make a call.

Word Count: 88

What A Day It's Been

2010-06-01T12:23:00.000-07:00

By Bill Kirk
Bill Kirk's Website

(Published in Scouting e-zine Cracker Barrel, 2008)

You'd think it would be easy,
To tell about the day's
Events and how they happened
In ordinary ways.

But this day wasn't normal,
Though it was kind of cool.
I learned to care for victims
At Boy Scout First Aid school.

At first I was a victim.
I had a "broken arm"
And "bruises" and a "headache"
As if I'd come to harm.

An "accident" had happened
On my "mountain bike."
But soon I was "discovered"
By "hikers" on a hike.

They checked out all my "bruises,"
And bandaged all my "scrapes."
In no time they had splinted
My arm with sticks and tapes.

Soon after I was "stable"
I had another role-
To help a rock slide victim
Impaled upon a pole.

Of course, he was "unconscious."
His "skull" had hit a "rock."
Because we had just "minutes,"
We worked against the clock.

At first we rolled him over
And "stabilized" his "spine."
We did a lift and carry;
In no time he was fine.

Several hours later,
The day was finally done.
Although the lessons were intense,
We'd learned while having fun.

When I got home, exhausted,
My wife said, "How's your day?"
"You won't believe..." then I just couldn't
Bring myself to say.

A Penny Saved Makes Good Cents

2010-05-23T22:36:00.000-07:00

By Bill Kirk

“A penny for your thoughts”
Is what they used to say.
I think a thought’s
Now worth much more
Than what they used to pay.

“I’ll give you my two cents worth”
Is what they used to say.
Although two cents
Are more than one,
They’re not worth much today.

“Don’t take a wooden nickel”
Is what they used to say.
Were nickels made
Of plain old wood,
Way back in Grandpa’s day?

I guess that’s why my Grandpa,
Saves pennies all the time.
When he has ten,
He trades them in,
So he’ll have one “thin dime.”

A dime times ten’s a dollar,
And each day he adds more.
“If you will save,”
He said to me,
“One day you’ll have a score.”

Then Grandpa made a riddle.
“Imagine if you can,
A single cent,
When multiplied,
Will make a wealthy man.”

“For one month, put your pennies
Inside this treasure chest.
Then you can keep
A million bucks,
If I can have the rest.”

He said that if I doubled
My pennies every day.
Then after just
A single month
Is when he’ll gladly pay.

At first that deal seemed perfect
And something I should pick.
But, then again,
A riddle might
Be just a little trick?
.
I’d better use a table
To test his penny game—
So we will know
Our daily counts
Are multiplied the same.

1 = $.01
2 = $.02
3 = $.04
4 = $.08
5 = $.16
6 = $.32
7 = $.64
8 = $1.28
9 = $2.56
10 = $5.12
11 = $10.24
12 = $20.48
13 = $40.96
14 = $81.92
15 = $163.84
16 = $327.86
17 = $655.36
18 = $1,310.72
19 = $2,621.44
20 = $5,242.88
21 = $10,485.76
22 = $20,971.52
23 = $41,943.04
24 = $83,886.08
25 = $167,772.16
26 = $335,544.32
27 = $671,088.64
28 = $1,342,177.28
29 = $2,684,354.56
30 = $5,368,709.12

$5,368,709.12 - $1,000,000 = $4,368,709.12

I guess my million dollars
Is really quite a heap.
But look how much
In thirty days
My Grandpa gets to keep.

From The “Burning Question” Department, What Is Tapioca Anyway?

2010-05-22T23:44:00.000-07:00

Admit it. Some of you have been waiting, maybe even decades, for someone—anyone—to ask. I know. It’s almost embarrassing to be the first, like being the new kid in school when the teacher calls on you explain boogers.

Why me, you may be asking. Do we really want to talk about this publicly? I mean, doesn’t everyone know what tapioca is? After all, our moms have been feeding it to us since we were old enough to squeegee a little bolus of the stuff down our gullet. So, how could we not know? Well, as it turns out there’s an awful lot an awful lot of us may not know about tapioca—until now. So, sit back and relax. It might be a lumpy ride. You can thank me later for smoothing things out for you.

You might not have noticed it but there are all sorts of brand names now marketing tapioca products. The best known form is, of course, tapioca pudding—you know, the stuff that resembles vanilla pudding with little bumpy things that look a little like frog eggs minus the black dots. In fact, it’s the little lumps that give tapioca its distinctive character—at least in pudding. Otherwise, it would just be, well, pudding.

So, what is it that makes tapioca what it is? Let’s start with the obvious. And what better way to research the contents of tapioca than reading the ingredients on a product label. The main stuff seems fairly non-descript and plain, what with the non-fat milk, water and corn starch. Pretty much half our food supply has those ingredients. Adding a little coconut oil, cream and several complex chemical compounds still doesn’t make it distinctively different from any other thick, smooth, sweet, puddingy substance currently on the market.

But now for the big reveal. What makes tapioca tapioca is, believe it or not, tapioca. That is, tapioca is what it is, I suppose in the same way vanilla is vanilla. Most sources agree it comes from a starch-rich plant found in South America, Asia, India and several other places. It is most commonly known as cassava. And if you saw the young plants growing as you zip by on the highway, you might even think the leaves bear a uncanny resemblance to another well-known, although illegal plant—AKA weed.

Yes, strange but true. But I digress. With or without a clear description of its genetic make up, I’m convinced the miracle of tapioca is a discovery still waiting to happen—or more specifically, I have made the discovery. Drum roll, please. Tapioca combined one-to-one with none other than yogurt is pure ambrosia. That’s right. To all the pudding and yogurt peddlers out there, remember. You read it here first—call it “tapiogurt” or “yogioca” in all its fruit-on-the-bottom flavors. Either way, I’ve got dibs on the product concept and I’m ready to deal. In the meantime, pass the pudding.

"Heart Of Gold"

2010-05-07T13:32:00.001-07:00

In honor of Mother's Day on Sunday, I'm getting a bit of a jump on things by posting this rhyme today, with best wishes to all you moms out there. Boys, it's about time to go shopping for a card or that certain something for your moms....

Heart of Gold
By Bill Kirk

"Dad, I need to do some shopping,
Now, before it gets too late.
Time’s a wastin’; let’s get hopping!
Hurry, Dad! I just can’t wait!"

Clipped the picture of the locket,
From the paper yesterday.
Better keep it in my pocket
For our shopping trip today.

Where’s that ten from Uncle Freddy,
I’ve been saving since last June?
"Got my money. Are you ready?
Let’s go, Dad! It’s almost noon!"

At the store, I knew I’d find it,
Next to lotions, soaps and stuff.
Those things smell, but I don’t mind it.
"Will ten dollars be enough?"

“Just enough,” the store clerk told us,
“For the gift you want to buy.”
In the bag, with what she sold us,
She put ribbons I could tie.

Back at home, I wrapped it neatly,
Taping every corner fold.
Inside, filled with love so sweetly,
Mom will find my heart of gold.

The End: National Poetry Month Is Over

2010-04-30T11:36:00.000-07:00

April 30: “For today's prompt, write a letting go poem. The poem could be about letting go of a relationship; it could be about letting go of anger; it could be about letting go of a tree branch; or it could even be about, yes, letting go of this April challenge. There are so many things we can let go.“

Alas, the end has come to National Poetry Month and to the Poem A Day Challenge for April. Writing a "letting go" poem offers many paths. But in honor of squeezing yet another poem into a day, busy-ness came to mind. Today's offering is short and sweet because now I must get busy so we can leave for a weekend camping trip---lots to do. Busy, busy, busy....

Letting Go Of Busy
By Bill Kirk

Busy is as busy does.
So, why are we so busy?
Should busy bees our mentors be
And life be all a-tizzy?

Why not add a little sloth—
Try letting go of busy?
Moderation in all things
Will make you far less dizzy.

Guess I’ll kick back and enjoy
A few things I have missed.
But first I’d better check things off
My daily duty list.

And Suddenly... There Were Two Days Left

2010-04-29T12:13:00.000-07:00

April 29: “For today's prompt, I want you to take the phrase "And Suddenly (blank)," replace the blank with a word or phrase, make the new phrase the title of your poem, and then, write the poem. Some examples: "And suddenly we were lost," "And suddenly over," "And suddenly banana," "And suddenly sudden," "And suddenly the poem I was writing turned into a killer robot," etc.“

The first thing that pops into my head for this one is the song “Along Came John” with all the “and then…” lines in the story-song. For those of you who can still remember roller skate keys, that song is probably parked out there in your long term memory under a lonely, flickering mental street light. With that introduction, you're probably thinking this poem will surely be on the lighter side. Alas, no.

And Suddenly It Happened
By Bill Kirk

As with any human endeavor,
For better or worse,
At least one person starts it.

Perhaps a single thought or feeling
In someone’s mind or heart is the genesis.
But until it takes flight,
It is just a secret.

Once expressed, perhaps a common reaction erupts—
A catalyst, inspiring or offending.
You know, like “Windows 7 was my idea” or
“Let’s make anyone who looks like
They ought not be here,
Prove they should be.”
Then, suddenly, the world changes.

Yet what is it about any “and suddenly” moment
That bestows its import?
Could we not say all “and suddenly” moments
Occur only when acknowledged and accepted,
By the some or the many?
And by its logical extension,
Is it not likely any such moments not thusly recognized,
Would simply die on the vine?

Then, just as suddenly,
The waiting “and suddenly”
Would simply fail to materialize,
For better or worse.

May we have the wisdom to discern
Which “and suddenly” moments
Are worthy measures of human progress,
And which would be far better
Never to have seen the sudden light of day.

Poem A Day Challenge for April 28

2010-04-28T12:44:00.000-07:00

April 28: “For today's prompt, write an end of the line poem. Maybe the narrator of your poem is at the end of his or her line. Other possible lines that have an end: assembly lines, phone lines, power lines, rail lines, graph lines, dotted lines, waiting lines, lines of poetry, etc.“

This one seemed to come more easily, maybe because "end of the line" is a phrase I often use myself in the context of telephone (and now e-mail) conversations. It's interesting how certain phrases take on the mantel of artistic expression, conjuring up clear images of times past even in their present day use. Two tin cans and a string anyone?

Language As Art—The End Of The Line
By Bill Kirk

“I hope all are well
On your end of the line.
Everyone’s swell here—
We’re doing just fine.”

Brief conversations
In another place and time,
When mutual assurance of wellness
Was all that was needed.
Especially when the two ends of the line
Were long distances apart.

How was it that threes
Were so important back then?
If it couldn’t be said in three minutes or less,
That’s what a three cent stamp was for.
And three or more houses connected
By the same phone line was a party—
A party line, that is.

Perhaps folks were busier back then
And didn’t have time for long conversations.
Knowledge beyond wellbeing
Was mostly considered frivolous and unnecessary.
And just getting by took
Almost more time and energy
Than most folks had.

Emergencies were a different matter, of course.
Even the party lines had rules—
Everyone had better get off
Their ends of the line
To open it up for a call to the doctor.

But it had better be a real emergency
That couldn’t be handled with a little
Coal oil, snuff, fireplace ashes and
A piece of cloth cut from the hem of Mamaw’s skirt.
Castor Oil took care of most everything else.

Emergencies thus defined were rare.
And because phone calls were how
Emergencies got reported,
No one wanted to get a phone call in the first place.
But if you were unlucky enough to get one,
Finding out if everyone was well
On the other end of the line
Was all that was necessary.

“Everyone OK on that end of the line?”
“Yep. We’re doin’ just fine.”

Super Two-fer: Poem A Day Challenge for April 24, 25, 26 and 27

2010-04-27T14:07:00.000-07:00

All I can say is the past four days have been a bit jam packed. The writing of the poems was challenge enough, and even more the public posting of them, which I didn’t get done each day. So, here they are, all four poems posted in one fell swoop from April 24, 25, 26 and 27—works in progress, one and all.

April 24: “For today's prompt, write an evening poem. My initial thought is that this poem would somehow involve the night, but upon further reflection, I guess it could be about evening things up or something.”

The Evening Of The Day
By Bill Kirk

When the long day’s labor’s done
And when all but gone’s the sun,
Fatigue wraps itself
Like a heavy cloak
Around the old man’s body,
At long last bound for rest.

His rough, work-worn hands
Weave their calloused digits
In thanksgiving for the
Warm bread and steaming bowl
At table before him.

Now, dusk approaches as
The day invites the dark night.
Even time is near—the end of toil and care.
And in this peaceful moment,
The evening of the day
Brings longed for respite
To body and spirit.

Amen.

April 25: “For today's prompt, write a poem inspired by a song. Be sure to include the song and artist (if known) with your poem, so that we can all make our own mix CDs to write poetry.”
This one is a challenge indeed, maybe because the possibilities are almost endless in the choosing. Will it be the first song that pops into our heads or a selection driven by mood or genre or our need in the moment? And anyway, isn’t the song is its own poem? So, what makes us think we might say it better? Or maybe we are simply to let the song speak to us and capture the moment.

Oh What Song To Choose?
By Bill Kirk

I listen to the radio of my mind
Wondering what song
Will most inspire the writing
Of even more words
Than those already penned
By the original writer.

But what if the song writer
Takes offense that someone
Might dare to suggest
Enough was not said the first time?

That is, for a song to inspire,
Would it not, by definition,
Have said all that should be said
In the very best way when first written?
And, by extension, if more is needed,
Would that not mean the original song
Had somehow missed the mark?

Perhaps.
Unless, that is,
The inspired poem is short and sweet
And written just in such a way
That no one will mistake
The poem’s complimentary intent.

In that case, I’ve already said enough.
Allow me to introduce my inspiration:
“I Write The Songs (That Make The Whole World Sing)”.
And dare I name the original writer
Or only give a clue
To those not from planet Earth?
The by line belongs to
The one, the only artist
Formerly, now and always
Known as Barry.

April 26: “For today’s prompt, write a "more than 5 times" poem. Of course, I'll let you decide what that means. Maybe you'll write a poem about something the narrator does more times than preferrable; maybe you'll write a deja vu poem; or maybe you'll just write the same line and/or stanza more than 5 times. I just know that multiple poets recently said the "More than 5 times" subject line would make a great prompt, so I'm listening to the group. Have at it!“

If I’ve Told You Once
By Bill Kirk

If I’ve told you once,
I’ve told you more than five times:

Call when you are going to be late.
Wash your hands before supper.
Get your elbows off the table.
Don’t go swimming right after you eat.
Do your homework before play time.
Buckle your seatbelt.
No listening to your i-Pod at the dinner table.
No mocking.
Turn off the light when you leave the room.
Hang up your Sunday clothes after church.
Take your hat off at the table.
Don’t tease your sister.
Watch where you’re going.
Stop your fidgeting.
Brush your teeth before bed time.
Eat your vegetables if you want dessert.
Don’t talk with your mouth full.
Wear your helmet when you ride your bike.
Close the refrigerator.
Sit still in church.
Don’t forget to ask to be excused.
Don’t punch your brother.
No running with scissors.
Don’t sit so close to the TV—you’ll go blind.
Put on sunscreen.
Tuck your shirt in.
Tie your shoes or you’re going to trip.
Pull your britches up.
Don’t drag your feet.

Oh, and one more thing---I love you….

April 27: “Today is a two for Tuesday prompt, so you've got two options:

1. Write a hopeful poem.
2. Write a hopeless poem.“

Considering both options, I tend to come down more on the side of hopefulness. So, I took the first option from this two-fer. Hopefully, this will be a hopeful poem….

There Must Be Hope After All
By Bill Kirk

I heard the other day
That some folks
Jes’ don’t believe in hope.
Well how much fun is that?

Without hope,
We’d sure be a sorry lot.
Why, there’d be nothin’
To look forward to.
So I guess we’d be lookin’
Backwards all the time.

Well, if we did that,
We might as well
Turn ourselves around and
Walk backwards.
Then at least we’d save ourselves
The trouble of constantly
Lookin’ over our shoulders.

Of course, if we was
Walkin’ backwards everywhere,
Then we’d prob’ly trip and fall.
And if we fell down a lot,
We’d spill stuff that we’re carryin’.
And we’d prob’ly hurt our bums or crack our heads.
Well, how much fun is that?

Besides, what’s the point
Of always lookin’ where you been
Instead of where you’re goin’?
So, it jes’ makes good sense,
To turn back around and walk forwards.
But if we did that,
Then we’d be lookin’ forward to things, wouldn’t we?

Well, I’ll be.
I guess there must be hope after all.

Poem A Day Challenge For April 23

2010-04-23T17:51:00.000-07:00

April 23: “For today's prompt, write an exhausted poem. The poem can be a first person account of your own exhaustion, or it can describe the exhaustion of someone (or something) else. Heck, I guess it even could be about exhaust, huh?“

I must say, getting this rhyme to fall was like pulling teeth. And it may still need a bit of work. I'm exhausted....

Exhaustion Is A Drag
By Bill Kirk

Exhaust is just an output;
Exhaustion? Work’s accrual—
When outputs surpass inputs,
Or work demands more fuel.

To counter your exhaustion
You’ll need to get some rest.
Add ample food and water,
To feel your very best.

But if you keep on pushing—
Light candles at both ends,
You’ll burn out far too quickly
And illness never mends.

It’s better when you balance
Some down time with your zest.
So, when you face a challenge,
You’ll be up to the test.

Green And Blue And Swirly White

2010-04-22T13:44:00.000-07:00

April 22: “For today's prompt, write an Earth poem. You can decide what an Earth poem is. Maybe it's a poem about the planet; maybe it's actually the lowercase earth (a gardening or burial poem?); maybe it's just a poem that happens on (or to) Earth; maybe it's even written in the voice of extraterrestrials (that might be fun). No matter how you decide to roll with it, have a very poetic Earth Day!”

Green And Blue And Swirly White
By Bill Kirk

Hello, Earth. I see you there,
Outside my space ship, day or night;
Clear, cool water; fresh, clean air—
All green and blue and swirly white.

I remember when we left.
In giant ships, we all took flight.
Mother Earth was spent, bereft—
Not green and blue and swirly white.

Someone said we had to go—
To give the Earth a chance to fight.
Cleansing tides must ebb and flow
To heal and make our planet right.

‘Til that time, we’ll always roam,
Our distant planet in our sight;
Hoping that we’ll soon go home,
To green and blue and swirly white.

Twinkle, twinkle, earth in orbit,
I wish for you the sun’s bright light.
Change its warmth, as you absorb it,
To green and blue and swirly white.

According To Steve Jobs

2010-04-21T09:49:00.000-07:00

April 21: “For today's prompt, take the phrase "According to (blank)," replace the blank with a word or phrase, make the new phrase the title of your poem, and then, write the poem. Example titles might be: "According to Bob," "According to these instructions," "According to the government," "According to the sun," etc. “

I’ve noticed my “poetry” has shape shifted a bit in recent days and I’m not sure if I like the form it’s taking as free verse flirts with prose. Maybe it’s a matter of available time to think and compose—boundaries which hours or minutes impose. To the extent I can get close to a finish product, I will. Otherwise, at least the last few efforts are definitely works in progress….

According To Steve Jobs
By Bill Kirk

We are now poised on the launch pad
To the future of information accessibility.
App control is here,
Right in the palms of our hands.

Just think.
Adding “folders” technology to your phone
Will increase the number of apps
At your finger tips to over two thousand.
And did you know, there is now the potential
To imbed ten ads for you to wade through
Every thirty minutes while app surfing?

I can hardly wait.

We’ve come a long way
From crank phones and party lines.
But, doesn’t it make you wonder
Who or what is in the evolutionary driver seat?
Is technology evolving to meet our needs?
Or, instead, is human evolution
Being driven to keep up with technological change?

Never mind being tall and good looking
As a foot in the door of success.
Stilus-shaped pointer fingers and thumbs
May soon become the most sought after
Physical attributes
As the true indicators of human progress.
Then, again, maybe all we need to do
Is grow longer finger nails.

Who knows? Nail salons for men
May be just around the corner.

Poem A Day Challenge: April 19 and 20

2010-04-21T02:34:00.000-07:00

April 19: “For today's prompt, write a poem about somebody and be sure to include the person's name in the title of your poem (no reason to hide the person's identity here). Write a poem about Abraham Lincoln, Emily Dickinson, Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi, your next door neighbor, your child, or the person standing behind you.“

Dylan Christopher Jon Kirk
By Bill Kirk

In times past, life seemed to move
More slowly for kids growing up.

Fast forward to today for proof that
Drinking out of a fire hose is not an
Exaggerated metaphor for learning—
Just ask Dylan Christopher Jon Kirk,
A child of the late 20th century,
And he will tell you….

Information is flowing at light speed
And growing in volume nearly as fast.
Yet today’s youth have been gifted
Only with the same 24-hour clock as olden times.

So, what does that mean for
Dylan and his generation?
Given the same available time
To absorb, process and learn,
Mustn't the learning, of necessity, take place
Far more superficially these days?
Have we now moved to a learn-replicate-dump
Learning reality—take the test, forget it
And move on?

How sad it would be if
Academic content is
Still being presented
With 1950s learning expectations,
While the 21st century learning milieu,
Embued with a constant stream
Of rapid-fire electronic stimulation,
Now forces retention at
Such a superficial level
That little in-depth learning
Takes place at all.

Good luck, Dylan Kirk
And to all who follow....

Is that homeschooling
I hear knocking at the door?

April 20: “Today is a two for Tuesday prompt. Here are the two options:

1. Write a looking back poem. There are a few ways to tackle this one, I guess. The narrator could be reflecting on the past or literally looking back (like over his or her shoulder).

2. Write a poem that doesn't look back. This poem would be kind of the opposite, I suppose. Narrator who refuses to look back or who is literally looking forward (or I suppose another option even is that the narrator is blind or something).”

Given the choice, I am looking back at simpler times in this poem. For me, this turned out to be a bit of a reflective exercise as I considered the challenges facing kids these days compared to olden times.

Life In The Recent Past On Planet Earth
By Bill Kirk

It was 1994 when a young lad
With two middle names
Came into our lives.
Little did we know
How different life would become for
Our grandson, Dylan, and his generation.
It’s just not the same for kids these days
As it was for me back in the ‘50s and ‘60s.

Oh, sure, there were the usual fistfights
In the alley across the street
From the Junior High School at lunch time.
Out of curiosity some of the new eighth graders
Fresh out of elementary school
Might check out the fight scene.
But once or twice was plenty
To take the bloom off that excitement—
Unless you were in the “in crowd”
Or one of the pugilists in the fight.
Besides, lunch recess was short
And swinging from the monkey bars
Was a lot more interesting—and a lot less risky.

Most of the time, the standard
After school formula was homework first.
Playing outside was all the motivation
We needed to get our school work
And chores done quickly.

The only other widely accepted rule
Was getting home in time for supper—
Without being called twice, that is.
If you heard your mom’s distant voice
Calling your name a second time—
Especially your first and last names,
You had better beat it home pronto.

A two-fingered whistle by your Dad
Meant you had to be standing at the bathroom sink
Washing your hands within two minutes
Or be able to prove a near death experience
While playing hide and seek.

Eventually, we got three channels
On our black and white TV—
And all the good shows
Were early evening—after supper.
Lucy and Desi, The Lone Ranger and
Steve Canyon were de riguer around our house.
And by the time Dale and Roy had sung
“Happy Trails To You”, it was bedtime
Unless it were still light outside.
Then, you might get an extra 30 minutes to play.
It just didn’t get any better than that….

Well, unless it was the super large,
Ten cent, soft-serve cone at DQ,
Which always followed the
Mandatory Sunday Drive
After church and Sunday dinner.

For entertainment, we roller skated
In the street with no helmet or knee pads.
Skinned knees were a badge of honor.
In the heat of the summer,
We chewed the melting tar oozing from
The cracks in the street and
Once every two weeks when the
Mosquito Control truck fogged our street,
Running through the DDT cloud
Was fun until our parents noticed
That we hardly ever got
Mosquito bitten.

It was a simpler time, back then,
Without cell phones and electronic games,
Cable TV, movie rentals and 24-hour stores.
With almost no electronic stimulation,
It’s a wonder we survived to adulthood.

To Wish Is Its Own Reward

2010-04-18T18:06:00.000-07:00

April 18: “For today's prompt, take the phrase "To (blank)," replace the blank with a word or phrase, make the new phrase the title of your poem, and then, write the poem. Some examples: "To the left, to the left," "To write or not to write," "To Kill a Hummingbird," "To the Doghouse," etc. There are so many possibilities.”

Indeed, there are possibilities galore for this prompt—just choosing a title that is either a noun or a verb, an object or an action, leaves you with seemingly endless options. And there’s the serious or the silly, the reflective or the quirky.

A single letter can totally change the essence of a title or its poem. Consider the difference between “To Arms” (a call to immediate action) and “To Arm” (a potential question for reflective discourse). No doubt Robert Lee Brewer must toss and turn in his sleep to come up with daily prompts to challenge even the titling of a poem, much less the writing of it.

To Wish
Bill Kirk

To wish,
Whether quietly or aloud,
Is to hope, to desire, to anticipate.

As infinitives go, “to wish” is rare.
It holds a singular optimism that
Who we are,
What we are doing and
Where we are going
Will be as good as, or even far better than,
Our immediate here and now.

And to actually take the step
Of making a wish is a
Self declaration of our belief
In boundless possibilities,
Defined and confined
Only by the wisher.

Indeed, the very existence of
“To wish” in our language
Allows us to think in terms as large
As our imaginations are capable.
And then, we can wish even larger still
For something—anything—that is beyond
Everything which doesn’t yet exist.

Simple wishes are sometimes the best.
A child might wish for a silver dollar
In exchange for a first-pulled tooth.
Or a violinist for the purest of notes
To be called forth as bow meets string.
And is it too grand for a writer to wish
For sufficient inspiration to coax
Just the right words onto the page?

To be sure, certain wishes
Might not be in our own best interest
Or that of others.
Wishing a flat tire for the driver
Who just cut you off
Might slather momentary satisfaction
On a bruised psyche.
But what if your instantaneous mental snapshot
Of such an obvious transgression
Fails to take into account
The sick child in the back seat
En route the emergency room?

Even in the naming of our enemies,
Whether briefly or long term,
Do we not wish calamity for them—
And, in contrast, the better for us?
Yet in so doing, are we not the lesser for it?

Instead, aren’t the best wishes unselfish,
Like a prayerful request to improve our lot
But not at the expense of others?

And in our wishing, is it not best to wish boldly—
To let our imaginings run free?
Or do we fail to wish simply for fear of failure?

Wishing is at the heart of living and
Our capacity to wish is its own reward.
Everything else is gravy.

Who, What, When, Where, Why

2010-04-17T07:41:00.000-07:00

April 17: “For today's prompt, write a science poem. Science encompasses a lot, so your poem doesn't have to be scientific to still be a science poem. For instance, you could have a poem titled something like "The Science of Love," and then examine a relationship. Voila! A science poem! Of course, it'll be interesting to see how many poets talk about volcanoes and single cell organisms, not to mention finding out how many "mad scientists" are out there." (Robert Lee Brewer)

I must admit to struggling a bit with this one. Partly the modified Limerick format forced me to choose my words carefully. I thought about devoting a separate verse to each of the "W" questions. But each of them is self-defining. So, what more could be said. The result is a short, two-verse poem after a couple hours of work.

Sometimes you're the windshield; sometimes you're the bug....

Who, What, When, Where, Why
By Bill Kirk

The Who, What, When, Where, Why—
Are questions you must try,
To find each clue
In front of you,
Just like a Science guy.

But, wait! There’s one more test
For mysteries solved, not guessed.
Your final task?
The “How” you ask,
Will make your better best.

When Chores Get In The Way, It's Time For A Catch Up Day

2010-04-16T10:46:00.000-07:00

April 14: Some days, squeezing out a few minutes to actually make a blog entry of something already written is a few minutes too many. Once again today is a catch up day, pulling the poems from three days into one entry in the Poem A Day Challenge. Apparently, the time hurdle was on my mind as I got the the last of these three. Enjoy. Three prompts from Robert Lee Brewer and my poems for April 14, 15 and 16 follow.

April 14: "For today's prompt, take the phrase "(blank) Island," replace the blank with a word or phrase, make the new phrase the title of your poem, and then, write the poem. You could do a well-known island, such as "Treasure Island," "Ellis Island," or "Total Drama Island." Or you could make up the name of an island. Or you could even have a long drawn out title….”

Angel Island
By Bill Kirk

Why is it that islands have such allure
And attraction as a point of destination?
Is it simply a matter of
The real estate being in short supply?
Wouldn’t it be odd if it were as simple as that.

But for whatever the reason, islands
Have captured the imagination of
Common folk and Kings,
Of artists and writers and even scientists.
For some, islands have been a prison;
A safe haven for others;
And a guardian at the gate when danger lurks.

Angel Island has been all of those things,
A beauty in The Bay, keeping a watchful eye
On the Golden Gate Bridge.

No one lives there—well, except for
Rangers and caretakers.
What a serene life that must be,
Preserving the history from a distant time,
While being a part of it still.

Wandering amidst the garrison buildings,
The immigration station and detention center,
And the defensive positions of olden times,
Leaves one almost feeling the presence
Of immigrants, detainees and defenders alike—
Ghostly tracings of those who were
Present for whatever purpose.
For those who lived and died
In this water bound isolation,
How did they come to be here?
How long did they stay?
Were they among those who never left?

In silence, the imagined sounds
Of all those souls still resound
Off the decaying walls which had been
Built for permanence so long ago.

In their laughing and crying, their
Moments of sadness and fear,
Did they wonder about the future—
About their future, on this island
Or off?

April 15: “For today's prompt, write a deadline poem. You can interpret what a deadline poem is however you wish. Maybe it's a poem that laments the idea of deadlines. Maybe it's a poem about someone intentionally missing them or who never has problems with them.”

Deadlines—What’s The Big Deal?
By Bill Kirk

How important are deadlines, anyway?
Well, not so important as to have
First billing in Webster.
Indeed, the first choice in defining the word
Tells a tale of those given
A life or death ultimatum—
Stepping over a line in the prison yard
Will make you dead.

I suppose in some way, all who
Fail to submit their written work
By a certain point in time (second definition),
May also feel a measure of death—
As literally their line (of copy)
May be declared dead on arrival
By those in control of such things.

But do deadlines work for those
Marching to the beat of a different drum?
Does being a deadline buster make one an iconoclast
Or just difficult to work with?

Deadlines may be self-imposed
Or established by others.
Either way, a certain pressure is implied
That something will or will not happen
If the deadline is not met—
Work completed,
Postmark applied,
Petition submitted,
Candidacy declared,
Vote cast;
Or even getting to school on time.

It is left to those facing the deadline,
To decide on how important it is for them—
And to accept the consequences
If they are wrong.

What time is it getting to be, anyway?

April 16: “Maybe it's a little too close to tax day, but today's prompt is to write a death poem. You can write about a specific death or consider death as an idea. In the tradition of Emily Dickinson (and other poets), you could even address Death as an entity. Or you can surprise us with a different spin on the subject.”

Ah, Death! Get Thee Behind Me!
By Bill Kirk

On the list of my least favorite things,
Death is clearly out in front of the rest.

Just think of it.
All the things you might ever
Have thought about doing,
Have started but never finished,
Have put off until a better time,
Have saved up for later and
Have actually written into your planner in ink,
Will never get done when you’re dead.

But considering life is terminal,
A time will arrive even before you kick the bucket,
When some of those things on your bucket list
Will never get crossed off because
You waited too long to start and you don’t
Have enough time,
Have enough money,
Have enough energy
Have enough health or
Have anyone left to do it with.
So, dust off your list and get busy.

Here’s to making death work so hard chasing us down,
It will wish it were dead when it does.

Another Poem A Day Challenge Two-fer

2010-04-13T17:12:00.000-07:00

April 12: “For today's prompt, pick a city, make that the title of your poem, and write a poem. Your poem can praise or belittle the city. Your poem could be about the city or about the people of the city. Your poem could even have seemingly nothing to do with the city. But the simple act of picking a city will set the mood (to a certain degree), so choose wisely.”
La Paz
By Bill Kirk

We once had a house
On Calle Nueve, across the street
From the President of Bolivia.

It’s not every day a kid
Gets to have tea with the First Lady
Or ride on a motorcycle,
Holding on for dear life,
Behind the Captain
Of the Presidential Guard.

Or watch a hundred native dancers in full costume
March through your front gate
To set up a brief rest stop
In the backyard of your house.
My sister and I heard the drums
And horns and flutes
Way down at the end of our street,
Even before we could see the parade.

When the procession turned the corner,
I just knew they would come to our house.
Yet I still couldn’t quite believe it when they did.
Even dad was surprised when he got home.
Mom said they were on their way
To a three-day fiesta in Las Yungas.
Why anyone would want to have
A party in the jungle, I’ll never know.
But they seemed to be having fun.

Then there was the time someone
Gave us a honey bear for a pet.
Of course, we couldn’t keep it.
After all, a honey bear needs to be free.

The river at the end of our street
Raged one year during the rainy season
And washed away the little mud brick shack
Where Mamasita and Papasito lived—
It was the year I was home schooled
To get me ready for fourth grade in the States.
My mom even gave me recess
So I could watch the flood happen.
Two little sheep fell into the water that day
And it took them away,
Never to be seen again.
That was a sad day on our street.
Even the President noticed.

The air is rather thin at 12,000 feet
Which is why fire departments
Hardly ever get any business that high up.
And there’s no such thing
As a two-minute boiled egg—that is,
Unless you like it raw.

Maybe the thin air is why
My memories seem so clear
From once upon a time in La Paz.

April 13: “Two for Tuesday time! Here are today's two prompts:
1. Write a love poem.
2. Write an anti-love poem.”
Given a choice, I’ll take the former. I just can’t seem to get my head into anti-love---maybe if someone has a broken heart, that’s the place they would be.
Spring Is Made For Love
By Bill Kirk

If timing’s your reason
To give love a fling,
The very best season
Has got to be spring.

The summer is super
To heat up your game.
But sunburn and heat waves
Can cool down your flame.

And festive fall fashion
May seem quite the deal.
But hitting the sales
May de-zest your zeal.

A deep chill in winter
Can beg for a spark
But all of those layers
Keep love in the dark.

Although every season
Has lots of potential,
To even your odds,
It’s spring that’s essential.

Poem A Day Challenge--Day 11

2010-04-11T21:01:00.000-07:00

April 11: “For today's prompt, take the phrase "The Last (blank)," replace the blank with a word or phrase, make that the title of your poem, and then, write the poem. Some examples: "The Last Train," "The Last Kiss," "The Last Time I'll Give Directions to a Complete Stranger," "The Last Dance," etc.”

Seemingly on the other end of the spectrum of "until" is "the last". While "until" speaks to what is yet to come, "the last" suggests an end of some particular thing and an unknown future, whether good or bad. But what will be the last or, more importantly, who?

The Last Centurion
By Bill Kirk

At the end of days, real or imagined,
Who will be the last
To walk through the celestial door
After turning out the lights?

Would we not expect it to be
The last remaining Centurion
Or someone else of similar ilk,
Whose gift to us is to
Preserve and protect our way of life?

Indeed, someone must be last.
And, anyway, isn’t that the lot of the Centurion,
Volunteer or not?

Whether sailor, or flyer or gunny or grunt,
Medic or teacher, SWAT cop or Rent-a-Cop,
There are many such Centurions among us.
Both former and present,
They have done their due diligence.

They are the ones
Who gave their last full measure
Or were spared to tell the tale
Of how they made it through
Their last day in battle,
Whether fought in jungle or desert or city street;
Or while protecting children in school
As footsteps and the “pop-pop-pops”
Approached from down the hall.

Their recounted memories flash by them and us
Like so many jerky newsreel images.
And still we would ask them
To answer one final call to duty.

And without shirking,
They would willingly step forward on our behalf—
To make sure all others have made it out.
To be the last soldier,
The last hero,
The last Centurion.

Don't Believe All You Hear On The Radio

2010-04-10T22:55:00.000-07:00

April 10: “…write a horror poem. Make it scary. Make it cheesy. Make it funny. Whatever you do, link it somehow to horror. Who knows? Maybe someone will write the next great raven poem.”

This prompt may be tough, as I’m not a great fan of horror.

Don’t Touch That Dial—It’s Halloween!
By Bill Kirk

‘Tis a dark and stormy night."
Indeed, the moon is shrouded by low-hanging clouds,
Rolling past, pushed by a howling wind.
Branches dance erratically, all but disconnected
From massive, creaking trunks. Snap! Something breaks.

Momentary flashes of moon and stars
Yield brief hints of what awaits those
Who choose to travel on such a turbulent night.
Will we make it to our destination?
Or only wish we had?

This is not a night for the engine to fail.
Is that why we stopped?
A lone car approaches in the distance.
In a flash, virtually on top of us,
High beams shock shut our wide-open eyes.

Then nothing as tail lights disappear in the distance.
The first drops of an impending storm
Dot the dusty windshield, leaving spider-like reflections
Of the dimming interior lights.
Better turn the engine off to save the battery.

How long can a battery last anyway?
Without it and the lights, the night is impenetrable.
Yet squandering it by leaving the lights on,
Gives the visual advantage to anyone outside looking in.
That's right. They can see us—each one of us.

Turn the car off then. But can we at least listen to the radio?
Anything for a little distraction—even for a few minutes.
Hey, does anyone have a cell phone? No matter. No reception.
Better save their batteries, too. Wait.
Go back to that last radio station. What did that guy just say?

“Mass escape from Ravenscroft…. Two guards killed…
Throats slit; hoisted feet first on the flagpole.
Three others left surgically blind, deaf or dumb.
No sign of where the monsters went
And no way to track them.

“To all who hear this broadcast, stay in your homes
And let no one in, not even if you think you know their voice.
If you are out, keep driving, as far and as fast as you can.
And hope you can find shelter quickly in the company
Of those you can trust for help and safekeeping.

“For there is evil prowling the night,
Looking for a hiding place away from the storm,
No matter what they must do to find it.
And just for entertainment, they will spare no suffering.
Relishing the screams and pleadings of their victims.

“If you are in your car, do not get out. Lock every door.
Turn out every light. Stay out of sight.
If you hear any scratching on your car, stay quiet and do not move.
Dial 911 if you can and give your location to the authorities.
Only turn the radio on for hourly updates from this station.”

Click.

”THIS MORNING AUTHORITIES FOUND
SIX COLLEGE STUDENTS
ASPHYXIATED AND HUDDLED
IN THE FLOOR OF THEIR CAR.
A PLASTIC BAG, TRAPPED
BY A BROKEN BRANCH BLOWN DOWN
IN THE WIND, HAD COVERED THE EXHAUST PIPE.

ALL DOORS WERE LOCKED.
THE GAS TANK WAS FULL.
ALL CELL PHONES WERE TURNED OFF BUT WORKING.
A BRANCH HAD LEFT HEAVY SCRATCH MARKS ON THE TRUNK.
CAR RADIO WAS SET TO A LOCAL STATION
PLAYING A HALLOWEEN PRISON ESCAPE PRANK.

Poem A Day for April 8 and 9--Too Much Good Stuff Goin' On

2010-04-09T16:28:00.000-07:00

April 8: Today the prompt is “…pick a tool, make that the title of your poem, and write your poem. There are the more obvious tools, of course: hammer, screwdriver, wrench, etc. But there also less obvious tools and/or specialized tools available as well.” It took me a bit of thought to figure out how I wanted to handle this one. There's the obvious tools, how tools can be used for other than their intended tool identity, people as tools and a host of other possibilities. But when it finally came down to it, I realized I was sitting right in front of my favorite tool....

Computers
By Bill Kirk

As tools go, computers
Aren’t oft thought a tool—
Not like, say, a hammer—
But indeed they’re quite cool.

For what gives a thingy
Its toolness to claim?
Does its fame rest entirely
On whatever’s its name?

Without a computer
We’d be a sad lot,
Left to pen and to pencil
Each squiggle and jot.

Although those without them,
May write with great zest,
At some point a computer
Makes us good, better, best.

April 9: “…write a self-portrait poem. Other artists study themselves to create compositions (not all of them exactly flattering either), so it is only natural that poets, who are word artists, write self-portrait poems from time to time. In fact, some poets make self-portrait poetry "their main thing." For at least today, make it yours." Talk about a challenge. At first, I thought "piece of cake". But then where do you start and what do you include---or leave out?

A Self-Portrait
By Bill Kirk

What you sees is what you gets;
A happy life with no regrets.
OK, there could be one or two—
Or hardly more than just a few.

There was that time I smoked a pack
In just ten minutes behind the shack
At grandpa’s farm—and I turned green.
But since then, I’ve been strictly clean.

And who knew saki and home made beer,
Would make my vision so unclear?
I thought I’d guzzled fire starter.
After that I got much smarter.

Once I bought some swampland, too.
What a deal—I had no clue.
At last, we sold it ten years later—
Never found the alligator.

Worn some blisters; skinned some knees.
Got stung by some wasps and bees.
Lost my freckles and some hair,
And a few bets here and there,

Found true love along the way
Thank my lucky stars each day.
Life is full of blessings now.
Ask me and I’ll tell you how!

Until Death Do Us Part

2010-04-07T12:16:00.000-07:00

April 7: “…For today's (Poem A Day Challenge) prompt, take the phrase "Until (blank)," replace the blank with a word or phrase, make the new phrase the title of your poem, and write the poem.”

After yesterday’s ekphrastic challenge, I’m ready for anything. At first, writing an “until …” poem seemed a bit perplexing. But then I got to thinking “until” is such a future word and, as such, is laden with hope and promise—not a bad concept to run with. And what better "until" sentiment, especially after 40 years of marriage, than "Until Death Do Us Part"? So, dedicated to my wife on her birthday, here is...

Until Death Do Us Part
By Bill Kirk

Only five words.
What more is there to say?

And what’s not to like about “until”?
Imbedded in the word is the promise
Of a future unbridled and unscripted—
As for the ultimate parting?
That's got togetherness written all over it.

"Until": What better word is there
To suggest life anticipated?
And the death thing?
Well, it's just a matter of time
Until we exit planet Earth;
With luck, the longer the better.

Yet, sad to say,
Many are unwilling or unsatisfied
To allow the meaning of this simple,
Five-word contract to stand as stated.
More is always said—and done—to move the parting
Ahead and trade the sweet for sorrow.
What would be whole and unassailable
Is cast aside, deconstructed.

Why can’t we leave well enough alone?
Is not the intended fulfillment of promises made,
The very essence of human goodness?
Why is staying the course and
Reaping the richness of life interwoven,
Eschewed in favor of far lesser momentary gain?
Is this the prisoner’s dilemma all over again?

As the story goes,
In the absence of communication, trust trumps all.
Yet, lacking trust, ego attempts to claim its share,
Only to sacrifice greater gain, greater good, greater love.

Why is that?
Is reason so hard to preserve
In the face of offended sensibilities?

Another Two-Poem Catch-up Day

2010-04-06T12:52:00.000-07:00

April 5: The prompt on day five of the Poem A Day Challenge was to “… write a TMI poem (or too much information poem).” This one gave me a bit of a creative challenge—not so much the poetry part but how to limit the limitless view of the subject, yet capture its essence without writing "too much." Here goes....

Too Much Information—May I Have Some More, Please
By Bill Kirk

I woke up this morning
And what did I see?
Too much information
Surrounding me.

A common lament, wouldn’t you say?
What is it about information
That makes it a problem to solve instead of a gift?

Are we any better off after being assaulted
By TV, radio, print media and other sensory messages
For most of every twenty-four hours?
How many words, images, sounds and tactile tidbits—
Often classified as news—
Are insufficient,
Sufficient,
Or too much to process?

Is information simply a stimulant
Which some need more than others?
Are some never sated and others overwhelmed?
Has evolution cyber-adapted the few with filters
To disregard all but the most essential?
Or are we turning off even important stuff
Just to escape information overload?

Alas, perhaps it is only the
Useless or unwanted information we rail against.
Do we really want to hear it announced
On our favorite talk show,
That a trans-gender someone
Is having sex and lots of it?
Or perhaps, instead, we secretly want to know how.

Should we be giddy or feel guilty
Having the knowledge that someone previously anonymous
Has become more comfortable
With their newly recognized
Multi-morphed identity?

In an instant forty million people
Are now routinely exposed
To what was previously private.
Should it still be?

Where is Paul Simon in our moment of cultural need?
Who will be the one to pen "Bluetooth Conversations"?
Who will immortalize the public musings of our
Unknown neighbor on the metro train,
As he shares the results of his colonoscopy?
And what about those pesky genital warts?

“Yeah, the doctor told me they aren’t contagious.
(Now Yelling) No, I said contagious.
Reception in this tunnel is really the pits.
I said pits.”

Pardon me, but that’s more than I bargained for
On my commute to work.

And yet we want more….

April 6: “…For this prompt, write an ekphrastic poem. According to John Drury's The Poetry Dictionary, ekphrastic poetry is "Poetry that imitates, describes, critiques, dramatizes, reflects upon, or otherwise responds to a work of nonliterary art, especially the visual." So, I've provided links to two pieces of art, and I want you to pick one (or both) to write an ekphrastic poem. (It would be helpful for you to mention which art you picked.)

1. Pocahontas, by Annie Leibovitz
2. Flight of the Witches, by Francisco de Goya”

EKPHRASTIC? Who could have guessed? Setting aside the odd name of this poetic form, for me these kinds of prompts (using images as a foil for the written word)trigger a quick creative response. In a way, maybe it’s a bit of the same process (although from opposite sides) an artist goes through when handed a story to illustrate. Artists react to the words. In this prompt, writers are asked to react to a visual image. I chose the image of Pocahontas.

Run, Pocahontas! Run!
By Bill Kirk

Run, Pocahontas! Run! The British are coming!
Your carefree days as a 12-year old princess
Will soon be a distant memory.

Run, Pocahonta! Run! The warmth of
Indian Summer days will soon enough
Be replaced with Northern Virginia snow.

Run, Pocahontas! Run! Two years after
Meeting John Smith, he will be injured and
Return to England in 1609.

Run, Pocahontas! Run! Your marriage in 1611
To Powhatan warrior, Kocoum, at age 16
Will soon end mysteriously,

Run, Pocahontas! Run! In 1614, you will be
Ransomed for English settlers and tools
Held by your native countrymen.

Run, Pocahontas! Run! You will marry English colonist,
John Rolfe, in 1614 and will bear him a son,
Thomas Rolfe, in January 1615.

Run, Pocahontas! Run! In 1616, you will travel
To England, be treated kindly by Queen Anne,
And be reunited briefly with John Smith in 1617.

Run, Pocahontas! Run! In March 1617, you will depart
For Virginia with your family and become ill on the
River Thames—and die at age 22 at Gravesend, England.

Be at rest, Pocahontas. The run is over. In your short life,
You connected two worlds across an ocean,
Making history and sparking myths that live on today.

Poem A Day For April 3 and April 4

2010-04-04T19:34:00.000-07:00

Time got away from me before I could enter my poetic post from yesterday. But it was a good day, nonetheless, spent with our grandson's drumline at their final gathering of the season---the annual picnic. Those times don't come often and are their own reward. So, today's post includes the poems from both yesterday and today. And as it turns out, both seem quite a propos.

April 3: Our challenge for today was to "take the phrase "Partly (blank)," replace the blank with a word or phrase, make that the title of your poem, and then write the poem."

Partly Written
By Bill Kirk

Some days the best we can hope for as writers
Is work partly written.

Try as we might, the words don’t seem to flow.
Maybe the muse has left us
In search of more fertile fields.
Maybe the intrusion of life gets in the way.
Or are some days simply more or less creative?

Yet on those days, is it not better to make the attempt
Than let the time we would spend writing,
Silently slip away unused?
Too bad if that happens.

So, write on, even if the work ends up
Only partly written.

April 4: "... write a history poem. This could mean a poem about your country's history, the history of an event or a tool, or even your own personal history."

On Making History
By Bill Kirk

With each passing day,
In our own way,
We make history.

Each of us carves out some small or large
Piece of meaning in time and space.
What did you do today to mark you place?

Did you simply wake up for breakfast
And wait for bedtime?
Or did you experience
A different kind of awakening---
Learning or contributing
Some certain thing or idea
To give meaning to life,
Your own or others?

With each passing day,
How well will you choose
To use it?

For the day’s relative length grows shorter—
A day in the life of a five year old
Seems much longer than my days
Three generations hence.
Why is that?

Perhaps it is the proportional share
An apparently shrinking
Twenty-four hour clock takes out
Of the increasing span of one’s life.

Until its end, that is.

And then we will no longer make history
In the doing of things;
But only in the affect
We may have had on others,
Through what we have done or left undone.

Either way,
With each passing day,
We make history….

Writer's Digest "Poem A Day Challenge"

2010-04-02T08:24:00.000-07:00

At the risk of squandering any chances of later publication, I have decided to post the poems I am writing each day as part of the Writer's Digest "Poem A Day Challenge" here on my blog. Of course, after you read them, you might conclude there isn't much I'm risking.

If any readers are interested in joining the effort, the blogsite is at http://blog.writersdigest.com/poeticasides/ . A daily prompt is provided and participants are left on their honor to write a poem each day during April which is National Poetry Month. Guidelines are provided on the site.

My apologies for not thinking about this yesterday. So, today you will get two poems. With luck, I'll be able to keep up with the daily prompts.

Yesterday's prompt was to write a lonely poem. The second prompt (for today) is to write a poem about water. Enjoy.

April 1: Write a lonely poem.

Lone-ly Is What We Make It
By Bill Kirk

"Lonely" is a lonely word—
Quite unlike any other.
Its closest kin are worlds apart
For "lonely" has no brother.

Other words with "lone" inside
Don't get the same reaction.
For "lonely" hurts but all the rest
Suggest some satisfaction.

Loners are their own best friends
"Who cares who's angry at us?"
For they can be alone, you see—
Quite happy with their status.

Even those more social need
Their respite from the rabble.
To gain relief from crush and press—
Choose quiet over babble.

In the end we'll be alone,
Each left to make our choices:
Let fear abide or be at peace—
Rob "lonely" of its voices.

April 2: Write a water poem.

Water—A Metaphor?
By Bill Kirk

Our lives are like an endless stream
Flowing from our source—
A well-spring of vitality
As we live and learn and love.
We would do well to practice those three “Ls”,
Wouldn’t you say?

As with water, is there not
A certain inevitability in life?
Do we not live in pursuit of our own level—
Our own happiness abundant?
Sometimes it seems to come in drips and drops;
Other times in a rage.
Or in movements so slow and deep
As to almost be
Imperceptible.

Will we be channeled on this day
Or unbridled, left to find our own way,
Over rocks and roots large and small—
Forming eddies as we swirl and pause?

Yet so profound is the path of our fluid lives,
Do we dare assume
We are in control of our destiny?
Or is the better course to relinquish
To forces unseen and unfathomable,
Knowing no matter what
We will reach our destination?

That’s what water does.

Rhyme Of The Month

2010-04-01T09:04:00.000-07:00

For those of you who enjoy using word play in your poetry, here's a short example that has a bit of a riddle twist to it. This selection is the Rhyme Of The Month for April on my website at http://www.billkirkwrites.com . Drop by any time for the latest month's rhyme or just to browse around. All visitors are welcome.

A Tale Of Two Burgers
By Bill Kirk

At dinner one spring evening,
The crowd was all aglow,
As conversation sparkled
And food began to flow.

But over in one corner
I saw the oddest sight.
One table with two burgers;
Both waiting for a bite.

One burger kept his wrap on.
I guessed his "friends" were late.
He seemed quite hot and steamy,
Yet not at all irate.

The second Bigger Burger,
Looked anxious and displeased.
He left no doubt about it,
That he was really cheesed.

Then almost in an instant,
I noticed something strange.
Big Burger's disposition
Had made a major change.

For when the soda got there,
Plus ketchup and some fries.
His quibbles turned to nibbles
Before my very eyes.

When, in a slurp, they finished,
Together in one bite,
Just one--the Burger Meister--
Was still around that night.

The smaller burger'd vanished,
And it was plain to see,
One gulp had made that burger
A mealtime memory.

So, if you spot two burgers
That oddly seem sureal,
One "Burger" might be hungry.
The other? Just a meal.