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Sunday, May 1, 2016

                            The Salutary Effects of Poetry
 

Poetry, per se, these days will never make me wealthy;
but a poem a day consumed, I say, is key to staying healthy.

There's something in the well-turned phrase
or in the measured line
that lifts the spirit in such ways
approximating wine.
There's ecstasy in metaphor,
a state of grace imbued
when words in combination form
a heightened amplitude.

The body takes its nourishment
from what it can digest,
in meats, in grains, in nutriments
that make for stalwartness.
But souls subsist on sweeter things
than what can tease the tongue;
and poetry that soars and sings
keeps old men feeling young.

                                                      

© by Mike Orlock.
Used with the author’s permission.

Friday, April 29, 2016


Saturday is Independent Bookstore Day


Saturday, April 30, is Independent Bookstore Day, an event celebrated by more than 400 independent book stores in NC.

Support your local bookstore.

Wednesday, April 27, 2016

Poem for the Day



The Scheme
----
Gone is the ear splitting quiet that did enthrall
And corrupted by
Angry voices on lifting breezes—
Deer in the woods loudly sneezes—
Jazz fusion from late sixties.

Country, exurbia, bows to suburban crawl
Offending my eye
With noises cities exude—
Electrical hum so rude—
Famished fauna search for food.

Embrace power outage; the forced silence it brings
Appreciate those
Whispers floating down the street—
Bird glides at a bite to eat—
Rocking chair with tea and treat.

Generator spits and interrupts everything
Salutes life we chose
Light pollution pours like rain—
Fidgety squirrel bolts insane—
Lost the life I sought to gain.

My future’s unwritten, and when I sleep, I dream
Of our conveniences bowing to nature’s scheme.

Rick Bylina

Tuesday, April 26, 2016

Poem for the Day



Give Me Chocolate or Leave me be
------
Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah-blah-blah blah-blah.
So goes the day without the energy—
To write great words to inspire mankind,
Or wash dishes so cockroaches don’t roam,
Do laundry or crawl naked like a sloth,
Or do the chores on a day that’s sunny
Till the earth, pull the weeds, and plant the seeds.
Oh yeah, chop down some trees to heat my home.

Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah-blah-blah blah-blah.
My good wife likes to list chores aplenty,
Advises often with words that remind,
“When you go shopping, buy me a blue comb.
And then skim the fat off the chicken broth.
Mail my friends. Drop that Facebook enemy.”
Her list of wants far exceeds my needs.

Rick Bylina

Monday, April 25, 2016

Poem for the Day



Seasonal Evolution
------------
As tax day ends, nature sends exhausted hummingbirds?
I hear, not see, their quick fly by as they shout, “It’s Spring.”
Helicopter outside my window—smile so absurd,
Never have I heard them sing, but hum an unknown song.

They shoo dull Juncos to arboreal summer forests.
Smartly away from southern heat to breed and to rest.
Vibrant Grosbeak flits to his cooler mountain retreat.
My alarm clock now is the Cardinals’ harsh morning tweet.

Oh my Carolina Wren with scolding voice so loud
And tiny Blackcap Chickadee standing bold and proud
Will you drive me into debt with your big appetite?
Why don’t you harvest more bugs at the edge of the night?

Shrill tweets, love songs, and territorial squabbling
My southern birds are here to stay; this much shall endure.
And despite the Blue Jay’s metallic ting-ting, ting-ting
Morning’s sweet cacophony, rings outside my screen door.

Sunday, April 24, 2016

My Grandson Alex



My Grandson Alex
Jumping and leaping
Crawling and creeping
Bounding and wriggling
Bouncing and jiggling
Skipping and hopping
Jumping and bopping
Smiling and winking and dancing around
Grinning and twisting, both feet off the ground.

Laughing and giggling and yelling and more
Climbing and falling kerbang to the floor.

Rolling and turning and punching and kicking
Throwing and catching and dropping and picking.
Stepping and stomping and running and racing
All the neighborhood pets he is chasing.

Pushing, punching, bending, bucking, always on the go
Calling, singing, shouting, cheering, joy from head to toe.

My Grandson Alex is living proof for all the world to see
Perpetual motion does exist, especially when you are three.

Al Manning

Friday, April 22, 2016

Poem for the Day



I Thought I Saw a Snowflake
-------------
You need to understand and know
That, yes, in April it can snow—
In Rochester and Buffalo
In Boone and Winston-Salem, too.
Earth rotates an Arctic vortex
Slips its mouth to lick old Tex-mex
Gets southern jet stream to relax
Throws us moisture from L-A-X.

Rick Bylina