Day Three On the Pacific Crest Trail

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

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....

Got Stories? Tell 'Em.

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 threshold, 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.

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)

Poem A Day Challenge For April 7

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

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 3

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 1

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

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)

(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….

Technology Bites... I Mean Bytes

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

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.

What A Day It's Been

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.

From The “Burning Question” Department, What Is Tapioca Anyway?

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.

The End: National Poetry Month Is Over

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

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.

According To Steve Jobs

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

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.

When Chores Get In The Way, It's Time For A Catch Up Day

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.