Reflections on Sunday.

Here is a short ditty I wrote several years ago.  It is not a commentary on my current pastor, but rather a commentary on the human condition.  Church can be a quiet place, and if you happen not to be in tune to the message on a particular Sunday, you might find yourself drifting off.

NOT SO SPIRITUAL STRUGGLE

Today in church

my foot went to sleep.

The sermon was long

and not real deep.

The rest of me was struggling too,

but only my foot went to sleep.

Dennis Price

  

Poetry, what is it?

Poetry is a little hard to define.  It has many forms and formats, and its subject matter is limitless.  I have my own ideas.  I think it should be understandable.  It really should be enjoyed more by your ears than by your eyes.  I always recommend reading poetry aloud.  When I was trying to learn the craft and hanging around with other poets, I found I enjoyed the ones who could craft a phrase with a rhythm and cleverness.  I understood their sentiment.  I belonged to groups whose members were from a wide range of backgrounds. Some were working people with very little formal training, and others were highly educated academics with impressive resumes.  There were enjoyable poets in both groups.  However, in the latter group there was a little hint of snobbery on occasion.  I remained true to my style and didn't try to reach too high in an attempt to impress my audience.  I wrote this poem and performed it at one of the monthly meetings.  I think everyone understood and there were more than a few smiling when I finished.  I hope you like it too.

I Salute You William Shakespeare

If I could just remember who wrote what,

and what they said,

I would quote them in my poetry,

the living and the dead.

I would be obtuse and dark,

droning on in endless prose.

not caring where my poem’s been

not knowing where it goes.

They’d think I’m educated,

worldly, pithy, hard.

For sure an academic.

cutting edge, avant garde.”

I would throw the cesspool at them

from bathroom to bordello.

A gasp, a blush, a whisper,

“He is such a brilliant fellow.”

They would clap when I was finished,

softly sigh, and nod assent.

And wonder if the others

had a clue of what I meant.

 Dennis Price

"...to the moon Alice."

I recall the old TV series, "The Honeymooners", with its characters Alice and Ralph Cramden.  Ralph would often threaten with balled up fist to send Alice to the moon.  Everyone knew that Alice really wore the pants in their relationship and that Ralph, despite all his bombastic rhetoric, was really a softie.  The memory of that great live television show was the catalyst for this short poem.

To the Moon

The tracks were laid

right to the Moon,

so Alice took the train.

She finally reached her limit

of hearing Ralph complain.

Dennis Price

Riding a Plow Horse

Have you ever ridden a plow horse?  If not, you may enjoy the experience without the bumps and bruises.

        OLD TRIGGER

Trigger was a plow horse

who, seldom saw a saddle.

I was just a big kid

who rarely rode a straddle.

I lived in the city,

away from field and barn.

When school was out I’d visit

Old Trigger on the farm.

I thought I’d try and ride him,

and made a split-bit bridle.

I knew it might not stop him,

but hoped it’d make him idle.

Uncle Barney’s saddle

was split right down the middle.

It was old, the leather dry,

the cinch strap cracked and brittle.

I saddled Trigger, led him round

beside an old steel drum.

I stood on top and jumped aboard

he snorted, bucked, and spun.

The summer sun was brutal

Old Trigger soon lost steam.

He plodded down the gravel road,

at plowing pace it seemed.

I tried to make him pick up speed

with kick, and click, and whistle.

Then I turned him toward the barn

and he became a missile.

I rocked back and grabbed the horn,

pulled hard on cotton reins.

But Trigger galloped faster

as he barreled down the lane.

The barn loomed large before us.

he stopped just past the door.

I became a yard dart,

flying headfirst to the floor.

When I regained my senses

I made this observation:

That you shouldn’t ride a plow horse

for fun or transportation.

Dennis Price

March Sailing

MARCH SAILING

It started out a lovely day

March breezes softly blew.

I pulled my sailboat to the lake

my wife the only crew.

But as we launched, clouds drifted in

cool wind began to gust.

It was my crewmate’s first assist

some training was a must.

My boat was small with open hull

no keel, just centerboard.

I turned her bow into the wind

set sail and ran from shore.

She heeled to starboard on a reach

my wife was seated there.

The gunnels touched the water line

her eyes were wide with fear.

The water finally breached the side

and roused her from the trance.

She crossed the hull and glared at me

with malice in her glance.

I took the hint and made for port

riding with the wind.

I’d have to find another crew

or sail alone again.

Dennis Price

Dieting

I am always being told by the doctors I see to lose a few pounds.  At one time in my life I could lose 30 pounds in a month with no problem.  I also could keep it off for more than a week.  Now I am lucky to lose 10 pounds in three months.  I wrote this poem long ago and it still seems to fit today.

            DIETING

No, low, free, light;

words I often see

when browsing through my pantry

or refrigerator door.

Let us have some lettuce

with our sprouts and tofu.

One more glass of water if you please.

Measure out a steak

no bigger than my palm

and I shall chew it slowly

while moving Brussels sprouts around.

Adjust the bathroom scale.

Move it ‘round the floor.

Take an average weight for best results.

One more glass of water if you please.

Do you have a public restroom?

I ask every where I go.

One more glass of water if you please.

How many times should one get up at night?

I wonder how much pressure

waistband closures can take?

Isn’t there a pill out that doesn’t make you shake?

One more glass of water if you please.

I’m fasting today.

I really think it’s water weight.

Dennis Price

"Food is an important part of a balanced diet."
       -- Fran Lebowitz