Poetry Challenge, v6.0, Days 29 and 30

Well, here we are, the end of another season of poetry.  Thank you to all who read, commented, and shared this year's journey with me.  All in all, I would say it was successful, and I am pleased with the product.  I look forward to more next year, and maybe a little more participation...or start your own challenge (that may or may not involve writing of any sort!)  The last post for this year is, of course, a two-fer, and I hope you enjoy it as much as I've enjoyed this last month!!!


The Artist

I wrote it,
made it,
painted it,
carved it,
poured my heart and soul,
my sweat and tears,
until the very room where I gave it life
reeked of the blood I spilled.

It's supposed to be that way -
a challenge,
a comfort,
a discord,
a statement,
that you might agree or disagree with,
but it doesn't matter -
it got you talking.

You don't have to "get it,"
want it,
need it,
love it,
or understand it -
you just have to know it was made
to make you react.




Namaste

We have words for everything,
a way to tell the world what we think,
to communicate grand ideas with a vocalization
that transcends the physical being
and lasts,
imprinted upon our souls
as an idea, a sound,
tangible and intangible all at once,

Words have meaning.

Namaste.



I look forward to the next year of growing, and invite you all along for the ride.  Life is beautiful, and it's worth experiencing.  May your lives be as blessed as mine!!  And as always,

Thanks for reading!

The Fat Kid

Poetry Challenge, V. 6.0, Days 27 and 28

Hi again, everyone -

We are finally into the home stretch, and it's time to really push through to the end of this year's poetic journey!  Thanks again to all those who have looked it, read a little, shared some of your poems with me, and have joined me on this little journey.  Poetry is good for us - it handles the tough things that are hard to talk about, and helps us make sense by evoking feelings, and giving us a safe and sane way to do so.  Particularly in this troubling time, we need more safety and sanity than ever.  That being said, it's definitely time for more words!!!  Here's another that was sent to me and I have permission to share!

MOISTURE...

Skiing snow, snowball snow,

Flaky soft to leaden weight,

Snowballs and snowmen

Enticing children of all ages.

Misting curtain of rain

Nurturing farm and garden,

Flooding monsoons, floating destruction.

Tears trickling down a dirty face,

Uncontrolled sobs,

Gut-wrenching heaves,

Tasting salt, altering sinuses, healing... moisture.

Hands of the King

There was a man I once heard of -

   soft-spoken, unremarkable,

   calm, 

   peaceful,

and where he walked -

   kingly footsteps were sure,

   steady,

   forward.

He traveled far and wide across the land,

   bringing his peace with him,

   prosperity,

   justice,

always working with his hands,

   building,

   healing.

We need that king today.

Nothing Changes

I tell you it's not right,

that you can't do this to me,

it's more than unfair, 

it's not human - 

I deserve better.
I am ignored, and nothing changes.

I get louder,

screaming and shouting at the top of my lungs,

go broke paying for advertisements and events 

that challenge the ruling social order,

just trying to get heard, 

get noticed,

get the attention of someone who matters,

someone who can do something about it -

I'm called a heretic, a problem, and nothing changes.

It happens to my friends, my family, my neighbors

and finally, to some poor schmuck who was

in the wrong place at the wrong time

who did something he shouldn't have,

or didn't - 

and it boils over, erupts, and we're called criminals.

Because nothing changes.

Thanks for reading,

The Fat Kid

Poetry Challenge, V. 6.0, Days 24, 25, 26

ok, so it's been a busy weekend for the Fat Kid: time spent in the workshop, brewing some homemade beer, and meeting new people at an event!  Of, course, that means you get a three-fer today.  BUT WAIT - there's more:  over the next couple of days, you'll get a couple of guest appearances!!  Yup, a couple people have taken me up on the challenge, and have written their own contributions.  So, I will share them (with permission, of course).

First up, my mother, a retired English teacher and all-around pretty awesome lady, whom I've been blessed to really watch her blossom in new ways over the last few years.  Mom, I love you, and thanks for taking up this challenge!!

OPPOSITES

Like a robot:

        programmed to follow directions, accomplish tasks,

        save time, unemotional, soulless, friendless, alone.

        Quiet.

Like a human:

        spontaneous, needy, growing, playing , laughing,

        hurting, stifled, pent-up, frustrated, tired overwhelmed,

        indecisive, 

Choices?....eenie, meenie...pick one...just opt...

        one day at a time...

        Think I'll take a nap!

Meetings

Formality.

Proper handshake, look them in the eye.

So unsure,

not knowing what's lurking just underneath the surface,

searching for the story -
what brought them to this place?
where have they been?
what are they thinking of me?
And knowing they are thinking and feeling exactly the same thing
only makes it harder.



Touch

innocent gestures mean so much,
a hand holding mine for a moment,
the simple way a lover twirls fingers in your hair,
or leans into you in
just.
that.
way.
the way they move by you in cramped quarters,
and move with you when you dance,
a simple but overlooked language,
seen every moment,
understood by instinct,
known to all,
and unrecognized.


Beer

Grains and water,
make the mash,
heat, cool, repeat.
create the wort,
sanitize everything,
boil, hops, hops, hops, hops,
ferment.

Wait an hour between each step.
Wait a week.
Wait a week again.
makes one gallon.

Doesn't seem worth it...yet.

Thanks for reading,

The Fat Kid

Poetry Challenge, V 6.0, Day 23

Today, friends of mine have to say goodbye to a loving 4-legged friend.  I don't envy them this day, or task, and it makes me think of the loved ones - both human and non - that I have had to say goodbye to.  So, it makes me a little sad, and today's poem goes out to all those who struggle with saying goodbye.


You Were There

Because you were there,
the days I didn't want to get out of bed were made easier,
the late nights were less scary,
I laughed more,
I cried more,
I thought of you on my way home from work,
of how I would greet you the next time we met,
and what you might like when I was at the store.

You were there to be my fashion advisor,
my confidant,
my doctor,
my security,
my friend,
my sanctuary.

Because you were there,
I didn't go out in that snowstorm,
I left early from that date,
and I learned that you always had my back when I needed a wingman.

You were always there,
and I was grateful.
But now, you're there -
and I'm here,
and I don't know what I'm going to do,
because everything reminds me of you,
and I miss you.



Thanks for reading,

The Fat Kid

Poetry Challenge, V. 6.0, Days 20, 21, 22

Yikes -

Well, this is what I get for tending to other creative endeavors, rather than remembering to write poetry.  Another three-fer!  Aren't you just the luckiest readers in the world???  Yes.  Yes you are!!  In all seriousness, though, we're three solid weeks in, and still going - into the closing stretch we go!  I'm really quite thankful you've joined me thus far, and I do hope you're enjoying my scribblings.  Now, let's get to some words!

The Pretender

I met a man, a traveler -
who bore no smirk or smile -
but he walked with his head bowed down.

I inquired why he walked thus -
for his stature was quite tall -
and he said, "I'm just walking to the next town."

I walked with him, then -
it was not very far to go -
he talked only a little, but listened as I rambled.

I told him of my life -
he seemed content to hear -
as down along the road we ambled.

At last we arrived -
and the guards at the game smiled -
and he said, "Thank you for sharing."

He put on his crown -
and stood upright, now -
And I saw before me my King.


Scene

I listen as the tap-tap-tap of
spring rain falls joyously
upon the rooftops,
lightening the
mood of all
who live
below.


The Still Small Voice

I sat atop the hill,
the last faint fire-orange rays of a warm summer sun
lighting my face,
counting the steps along the path
I had chosen.
Ever the question loomed,
like the threatening twilight to overtake the sky,
of how my trail was walked and why,
I stoop sharply, and shouted at the sky,
my voice breaking in my enthusiasm,
"Where an I supposed to be?"
And in the moments that followed,
the sun fell from view.
In the silence of the early night,
a whispered word, a sense of knowing,
came a one-word answer:
"Here."


Thanks for reading,
The Fat Kid

Poetry Challenge, V. 6.0, Days 17, 18, 19

Wow - what a weekend - full of good things, growth, and spending much needed time with my lovely wife.  Who could ask for more than that?  Well, ok, perhaps a winning lottery ticket in my pocket, but but really, this was just about the perfect weekend, topped off with about a 30 mile ride today in the bright sunshine.  A very nice cap on the weekend, and I can't wait to enjoy more outdoor adventures!!!  But now is a time for poetry, and so that, my friends, is where we're going now!

Prison

I came upon the prison, then,
with its gnarled iron gate with rusty pickets,
that opened up onto the boat slip.
Heavy iron bars cover what I assume are windows.
I can only see so far into the offices -
the glass on many windows has been broken:
teeth on the animal of Institution,
the blackened boxes becoming empty maws
awaiting their next victim.
I wonder what stories could be told by those gates and stones.
I am curious,
And I am afraid.




Headwind

The miles don't matter -
they could be many or few,
uphill or down,
but the terrain and the distance -
the things you think matter the most -
mean nothing
if the wind coming directly at you
slows you down.
You always want to stop.
It's easier.
Until you realize the enemy is not the wind -
it is yourself.




Sometimes I wish the world away,
to be left alone for a little time,
with my thoughts,
the good and dangerous alike,
to let life pass me by.
I wish I could be merely an observer,
to find the right answers
and stockpile,
to use when I can return to
my existence,
a participant in my own life once more.


And there we have it, kids.  I hope you enjoyed, and as always:

Thanks for reading,

The Fat Kid

Poetry Challenge, V. 6.0, Days 15 and 16

There's only SO many days that I can write a poem in a row.  *sigh*  Well, here we are, we've made it halfway through, and we're still going strong.  Today, the Fat Kid is feeling a little pensive.  You know what that means - I shall attempt to write something deep, and probably only get about half of the thought actually down before I run out of steam, unless, of course, I keep these poems today extra short.  #sillypoettroubles.  I guess we'll see what happens!!

Living in the Sun

Radiance, shining brightly through the glass,
warming my face in the morning,
silken cords of light my sweet caress,
a tender and loving summons from my midnight world of dreams
breathes life into my day,
tethers me to the sky-chariot,
tracing a graceful arc through the heavens
in which I feel I am Apollo himself looking down upon the world.
For there is nothing that cannot be done while the
golden rays fall silently from above,
and there is no time such as this in which to do it.



Fitzwillies

Akimbo cattywampus
bumfuzzle hullabaloo
wishy-washy skedaddle
gobbledegook festooned
haberdashery befuddled
codswallop brouhaha
kerfuffle widdershins
Malarkey la-di-da

But her shirt read "Fitzwillies"
and in my childhood, it meant a silly game that only she and I ever played.


Thanks for reading!

The Fat Kid

Poetry Challenge, V. 6.0, Day 14

Wow - two in a row, and ON TIME!  I know, it's a little crazy, but what can I say - I like to keep you, dear readers, on your toes.  Speaking of on your toes, I had a mishap yesterday:  I was drinking my coffee, as per normal, when suddenly, I didn't feel so good.  It felt like it was that whole , "I've had 12 cups of coffee and nothing else in my system" thing (trust me, it can be quite uncomfortable)except that it was my first cup of the morning.  This was not good.  My morning aversion seems to be past, however, for which I am glad.  My joy is the source for today's poem, in case you were wondering!!!

Ode

I would sing of thee a ballad,

sweet equatorial nectar,

of your tireless spirit bold

and your lush green acres,

of your countless battles won,

both in country and in city,

of the thoughts you inspire,

in the meek and in the witty.

I would sing of your caress,

and the strength of your ardor,

and hold all things else

as nothing but mere odor,

for in thee, my old friend,

lies life within each breath,

and I should unto the heavens,

"Bring me coffee - or bring me death!"

Yes, it's silly.  Yes, this is why I usually avoid rhyming poetry.  Seriously, kids, it's a poem about coffee - it's only going to get so good.  But hey, even examples of bad poetry are stuff of fun, and so I really hope you enjoyed today's offering!

Thanks for reading,

The Fat Kid

Poetry Challenge, V. 6.0, Day 13

One advantage waking early has - that I will fully admit I rarely partake in, is that it does give one time to write, and on a nice spring morning walk, I had a few thoughts.  I don't think this one is one of my best, though it has a couple moments that offer something of quality.  But's what came to mind, and as promised, this stuff is very raw, mostly first-draft stuff.  So here you go!

The question hangs heavy in the thick morning air,
Amidst the fragrance of the spring pollens
that are both the essence and agony of life.
A thought:  by itself, worthless,
but by wind or wing transported
finds a fertile home in which to grow,
Flourishing in the mind of Man.
The roots grow deeper,
the thought becomes an ideal,
a flowering plant in its own right,
spread now on the winds of passion,
a raging storm that cannot be controlled -
"Love thy neighbor."

At some point, I think I will sit down with this and see what I can really make of it.  You'll rarely hear me say it - but I like this one.  I think it offers something we need to see more of, in general.

Thanks for reading,

The Fat Kid

Poetry Challenge, V. 6.0, Days 10-12

Well, I get one post correct on the day, and then I have to take a little break, it seems.  Oh well.  This weekend has been interesting from a working perspective.  I began some work on a project that's taken me a long time to think about, because it's a family heirloom.  You see, my grandfather was a teach of industrial arts.  He made a series of chess boards in his lifetime, and my father ended up with one.  It was the board I learned to play the game on.  Over the years, it's taken a beating, and now I have the time, the tools, the skill, and now the design to finally restore this board.  But it's a little more than just simple restoration:  I'm adding and improving to the design, giving it a pedestal and a drawer for pieces.  My father worked on this board many years ago, side by side with my grandfather.  I hope that someday, I can hand it down to the next generation, and perhaps a 4th generation of my family's hands will get to work on the piece.  So one of today's poems is regarding this project.  The rest are exploring the theme of manual labor.  I dunno, I thought  a theme might be nice...


Summer Day

The reel whirls as I walk,
clippings of grass flying behind,
sticking to my legs as the neighborhood kids laugh.
They stop, from time to time,
seeking to understand,
but unable to grasp the concept from our past.
I tried to teach one once -
he couldn't push it, and refused to keep trying.




The alternating pieces,
laid with care in an overcrowded basement,
gnarled hands, the maser of their craft.
A young man by his side,
watching, helping, learning -
only to pass on the knowledge.
Another generation comes,
removes the old varnish, renews the board,
ready to play again,
new life from generations past,
passed down through the hands.




scrap lumber and small boys,
hammers that never get returned,
left to rust in the rain until the lawnmower runs over them,
structures that a fierce wind will destroy,
made of old fence posts driven into the ground,
industry and imagination together,
building a summer of heroes and villains,
of good guys and bad,
adventures of all kinds,
the labors of childhood.

Thanks for reading,

The Fat Kid

Poetry Challenge, V.6.0, Day 9

It's been a long week.  No, really - longer days mean a little more activity.  Warmer days make me move faster, like a lizard in the sunshine.  I must be cold-blooded.  Consequently, a couple days of hitting the gym has me feeling like taking a three-day nap - after eating everything I can find.  But, I'm looking forward to a weekend full of workshop time, and getting a couple of projects moved along...perhaps even finished!!  And if I can get more gym time in, all the better!

Pain Management

The lungs burn first,
every breath a fiery blast that lasts
only a moment before you find the rhythm
of feet pounding the roadway,
arms swishing back and forth
in extra movement.

Slowly, the deadfalls of feet begin to take their toll,
the fluids settling upon each impact,
as the legs fill with sediments,
a new burning replacing the old one
until the perception changes and you dig deeper,
point your feet, toe-heel becoming possible
as the stride increases.

The back begins,
a dull ache that won't be a problem until you stop,
and then will become excruciating.
Stiffen the shoulders, relax the arms,
stand up straighter, chest out,
shorten the gait only slightly - no - lengthen it,
and begin, at last, the mantra:
there is no pain, there is only me.

Let go.
Allow the energy to leave your body,
each footfall a charged bit of earth,
an ounce of pain,
a toxin to be eliminated with each step,
until at last,
there is nothing but the wind in your face,
and the miles of pain are behind you.


Thanks for reading,
The Fat Kid

Poetry Challenge, V. 6.0, Days 6,7,8

It's been a strange week, and probably only going to get stranger....Nothing bad has happened, I just feel like I'm in a sort of fog...sometimes, that's great fodder for writing poems, and sometimes, it's not.  I'm rather hoping for the former!!

Meditation

eyes closed,

seeking the place,

that quiet spot, 

the center.

where nothing touches me,

and thoughts become form

in the quietness of the moment.

Ghetto

I get looks

rumbling through the 

dirty streets.

past cars that don't run,

my music blasting loud enough to rattle the windows

on houses where windows are covered inside with plywood

even though there's nothing wrong with the glass.

heads turn as I roll by,

but I will not return the blank gazes,

the angry stares,

as the Requiem plays.

Quick Trip Through Walmart

Deck of cards,

Murphy's Oil Soap

Paint brush,

Shoe polish

Underwear

And a bag of cookies.

The clerk said, "Who polishes shoes anymore?"

and that actually catches me up!!  YAY!!!!  Ok, hopefully, I'll stay in this zone and actually write tomorrow's tomorrow!!

Thanks for reading,

The Fat Kid

Poetry Challenge, V. 6.0, days 4 and 5

Hmmm...thus far, my timely posts are...ummm..not so timely.  It happens when you travel a little, and so I shouldn't really be upset or anything, but it feels a little lame, to be honest - publishing every other day or, in this case, two publishings in a day...I'll have to figure it out how to do this better!!  But while I'm doing that, here's a little something to tide you over, readers!!

At the end of the street there is a house,

lonely and sad, the facade a record of neglect.

The weeds choke the once-lush landscaping, 

the walkway crumbles under my feet

as I quietly approach the door.

Neighbors look on, shaking their heads - 

they don't know how I can live here.

They don't see the paradise that lies behind those doors, 

the beauty of the imperfect, 

they do not understand the choice.

And I will not teach them.

And number 2 today.....

Sing-song, sing-song,

the little birds flit about,

their voices carry over the fields,

between the brush and brambles,

ringing loud and clear the song of spring,

the beckoning of life returning,

and moving onward, forward, becoming greater than it was.

And I cannot help but think the little birds know something that I have long ago forgotten.

I little vague, a little sobering I suppose, but hey, that's installment one for the day.  Ideally, I'll get back on track later!!!!

As always,

Thanks for reading!

The Fat Kid

Poetry challenge, V6.0, Day Two and Three

Making today's intro fast and getting right to the poetry because: 1) no time 2) too many stupid people and I "just can't even" 3) I actually HAD a post for yesterday, but technology wasn't complying (read as: I couldn't figure out how to copy and paste from my phone notes into here) 4) all of the above.

So, yeah, the first two-fer of the yearly challenge!!!


The skeleton limbs of the hawthorn
nearly naked in the cold glow of a winter sun
stand sentry over the silent gardens
that await the coming spring.
Red berries on the tips,
like claws drenched in the blood of autumn past,
reminders of the life that sits just beneath the surface,
biding its time until the the spring rains.
Friends, not enemies, each bringing hope to the other,
Seasons in congress, ever aware of one another,
of the secret vibrancy that lurks just out of reach.



Resume`

The hands tell a story:
a sliver here, a slip of the chisel there,
a scrape of a knuckle because that screw was simply too difficult to reach
and my hand was too big.
Here was the place the padauk was stuck - it's poisonous if allowed into the bloodstream -
like cocobolo dust - a carcinogen.
This was from that earring hanger,
that, from a nightstand,
And that spot under the nail that's slowly moving forward -
a hammer slip courtesy of the coffee table.
So many little things,
most of them, gifts
that give back to me permanent memories,
worn on my hands.


Thanks for reading!!

The Fat Kid

Annual Poetry Challenge, V.6.0 Day 1

Oh SNAP!  It's April, and if you've ever followed me for any length of time, you probably know that means  it's national Poetry Month, and that I will once again take up the challenge:  What is this challenge?  I'm glad you asked!  Simply put - each day, I am to come up with an original poem which has never been seen before.  There is no set length (so haikus count!) rhyme scheme, or anything like that.  It's simply an exercise in the creative process.  Often, the poems that appear here are off-the-cuff things that cross my mind.  They tend to be based on outsidey-type things, because that's the kind of stuff I love.  Sometimes, these can get pretty dark and twisted, though I tend to shy away from that.

With that said - I take requests.  No, I don't play "stump the poet" - so requests that ask "Can you write a poem that involves a block and tackle, a toothbrush, an aardvark, and three references to True Blood?"  will be promptly thrown out.  Sure, I COULD do it....but nobody wants to read that.  I was asked to write a lullaby once, though, and that worked pretty well.

ALSO - if anyone is up to doing this with me, I humbly invite you now.  You can do the whole challenge, you can do one week, once a week...I don't care - do what feels right for you!  It's all good fun!

SO, let's get to some poetry, huh?

Memory

It's funny
          how I can recall
                 so many things
                             that never really mattered:
                                   sitting in the old tree outside the farmhouse,
                                   that failed hide-and seek moment,
                                   the perfume of a pretty girl,
                                   that all happened years ago -
                             but I can't
                  even begin
            to guess at
Yesterday.


I look forward to comments, challenges, and people joining me!!!

Thanks for reading!!

The Fat Kid