Thoughts On The Search For Meaning

Some experiences in life make us all the better for having had them, even if we may not believe that to be the case at the time. Often we may not recognize the goodness or richness inherent in an experience until much later, especially the mentally or physically or emotionally challenging ones.

Maybe that delayed learning is the essence of human adaptation in the face of seemingly unbearable pain or change---letting go when it seems no good can come of it or holding on for dear life to all that seems to have meaning.  And sometimes both of those sentiments are wrapped up in one event, symbolic gesture, touch or sound.  Who hasn't been catapulted decades back at the sound of a few chords from a song or felt tears well up at the sight of a tri-fold American flag presented with the thanks of a grateful nation to a bereaved mother or young widow?

Occasionally we are blessed by the gift of understanding even in the very same moment. Those instant revelations seem to fill our senses to bursting as we struggle to absorb and appreciate the full measure of their meaning on the spot---as a new baby first suckles at its mother's breast or with the exchange of trust when a new driver is given the keys to a car on his or her first solo date.

Perhaps the blessing is surviving those life events to allow understanding to occur in the fullness of time. That is, maybe individual experiences only become more meaningful as we age. Layered one upon another, they seem to make us wiser, stronger, more complete---like the plies and cross plies in plywood or the over-lying layers of fiber glass in a boat hull.

Time allows us to process what has occurred into why it happened in the first place.  In those first few proximate moments, the why often remains hidden, sometimes in plain sight.  Yet it waits to be discovered when our vision has cleared and we are ready to see.

And The Liebster Goes To....

I am remiss, having let a whole week pass before posting on my blog about being selected by a fellow children's writer, CAROL BENDER as a recipient of The Liebster Blog Award.


I hope you will take a moment to zip on over to Carol's blog which is packed with good stuff. She is far more energetic than I when it comes to throwing light on the writing craft. Thanks so much, Carol, for this recognition. I am honored to be in the company of the other bloggers you have tapped.

Now, back to the award. So, here's the scoop: The word Liebster is German and the English translation is beloved, dear, dearest or love. Hey, we can all use a little of that, right? And today I am the recipient. Carol was somehow captivated by my blog and she has bestowed me with the honor of wearing the Liebster Crown.

According to the inscription on my notification, the Liebster Blog Award is given to lovable blogs with less than 200 followers (which would be mine), as a way to recognize the blog's worthiness and drive more readers to it with the goal of increasing the number of blog "Followers". So, to those excellent followers I now have and to all future followers, thank you for your vote of confidence. I hope my blog will continue to be a frequent stopping point and resource for each of you.

But the honor doesn't stop there. As a recipient I have two primary duties, in addition to continuing to provide my followers with blog posts that will keep you coming back for more. First, I am supposed to list five tidbits about myself that others may not know. And, second, I am to share the Liebster love by selecting five other fledgling bloggers as recipients of the Liebster Award.

So, let's get right to it. First, the tidbits:

1. I am not particularly superstitious but, without fail, I have always eaten blackeyed peas on New Year's Day for good luck. It's a southern thing.

2. The longest distance I have run in a 24-hour period is 75 miles.

3. In 1983 I stayed overnight in the U.S. Ambassador's residence in Nouakchott, Mauritania.

4. I once stuck a pitch fork through my foot.

5. I was actually Captain Kirk for eight years during my Air Force career.

Now, I have the envelope containing the five candidates next in line for the crown. They are among the bloggers I currently follow in my wandering through the blogospere. Some of them participated in the Mother Reader BlogComment Challenge in Januaryr. All offer their own unique talents and gifts and a willingness to share their knowledge and experience as practitioners of the writing craft. Now, on with the bestowal ceremony:

1. Margot Finke is a rhymer extraordinaire with a limitless list of promotional tricks up her sleave. She takes networking to a whole new level.

2. Donna Martin is in a constant state of blogging motion over at On The Wright Track, providing probing posts that push the envelope and a few buttons from time to time.

3. Mary Kinser is a librarian in training, according to her blog. But if her exceptional reviews are any indication, she will no doubt pump life into any library where she ends up landing.

4. Rena J. Traxel is a poet and writer who will give you a chuckle and something to think about with her provocative and quirky reviews and commentary. And she's a serious shutter snapper.

5. Last, but certainly not least, is A Library School Dropout who writes very good reviews about books that often slip under the radar and need a bit of attention to get noticed.

I hope you will take the time to drop by these five blogs and follow them if you wish. And thanks, again, to Carol Bender for sharing the love.

Efficient Blogging: An Oxymoron?

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!"

The Mother Of All Blog Comment Challenges

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 repetition. 

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....

Day Four On The Pacific Crest Trail

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....

Poem A Day Challenge for April 12

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

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

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

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

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)

A Writer's Postal Excitement Scale (Slightly Revised)

(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….

Once Upon A Teacup

"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.

Sometimes You Have To Cut Your Losses

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!

For The "Texting" Challenged Generation(s)

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

Green And Blue And Swirly White

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.

Poem A Day Challenge: April 19 and 20

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.

Another Two-Poem Catch-up Day

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.

Writer's Digest "Poem A Day Challenge"

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

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.

Whatever Happened To "Writer's Cramp"? Will It Soon Be Replaced By TD

You don't hear about "writer's cramp' much these days. Sure there is plenty of "carpal tunnel" to go around. But writer's cramp almost seems to be a thing of the past.

I remember as a kid hearing the phrase "writer's cramp" all the time. And I recall experiencing such an affliction often enough myself, especially when a lengthy writing assignment was due. With the advent of typewriters and keyboards, one rarely hears of writer's cramp anymore. We've moved from what was typically a short-lived pain in the inter-digital muscles that could be relieved by simply putting the pen down, to structural syndromes that linger long after the writing has stopped.

Fortunately, I don't yet suffer from carpal tunnel issues. However, rather oddly I have noticed a consistent inability to write using pen and paper for more than just a few minutes at a stretch these days---mostly, I think, from being out of practice. After all, how much actual writing do we do anymore?

My planner entries (yes, I still use a planner with real paper inside) are usually one-liners and they are short one-liners at that. Occasionally, I jot down a reminder to myself or maybe even leave a note on the counter so my wife knows where I've gone and what time I'll be home. But for the most part, I don't do much longhand writing anymore and my penmanship has suffered as a result.

I think it's a matter of exercise---or lack thereof. The hand and finger muscles are literally out of writing shape. I used to write journal entries daily and all my letters were written longhand. Even first drafts of lengthy papers and reports started with a hand-written rough draft. Now, short notes are about a much as I actually write.

But maybe "writer's cramp" lives after all and is just waiting to be rediscovered. All it takes is writing a couple pages longhand and there it is as if it had never left....

In a related language artifact, we call ourselves writers when, in fact, we generally don't do much actual writing anymore. And I don't know that there is a good replacement word or phrase---perhaps creative typers or creative keyers (as type-writers are vitually a thing of the past). Then again, maybe "author" is the best word after all because it covers a multitude of tools an author might use....

Just remember, the tool does not an author make. It's the product, however crafted.

P.S. Don't you wonder how soon it will be before we will see the first novel "written" in .txt.... Personally, I plan to avoid too much texting---I hear textual dysfunction is a bugger to get rid of....