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July 2017


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Ali zonak @ 07-20-17 14:11
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Ali zonak @ 07-16-17 14:04
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Ali zonak @ 07-11-17 13:33
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Larry @ 07-9-17 08:20
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Larry @ 07-8-17 22:30
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Ali zonak @ 07-7-17 11:41
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Ali zonak @ 07-5-17 14:29
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Ali zonak @ 07-4-17 13:08
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Eisa @ 07-3-17 17:35
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Forecasting the Arizona Monsoon
Posted by Ali zonak - 07-16-17 14:04 - 2 comments
Forecasting the Arizona Monsoon

Because he thinks he can, a blind man
climbs Mount Everest, challenges feats
of extraordinary men who had shamed
strong-winged birds accustomed to heights.

On that note, what prompts me
to disregard my cursed affliction,
discard my wife’s objection and climb a wobbly
ladder? Oh, I could tell you about my malady--
But not now, for I must venture onto the roof
and tag the wind--the shifty, shifting wind.

“I think I can; I think I can,”
wheezes the little steam locomotive
that huffs and puffs inside my head,
and I set one foot on the tall ladder’s
first rung. I am on a mission:
to prove the TV weatherman wrong.

“Clear sky, no clouds, no precipitation,
and it’s the same outlook for tomorrow,”
so he said.

Windbag! Liar, liar! I sense rain!
True, “If fleecy white clouds cover the heavenly
way, no rain should mar your outdoor plans today.”
but that “Pretty Weather Boy” is soooo wrong!

Cumulus congestus clouds tower in the south,
the ache in my joints predicts coming rain, and
my ringing inner ear is the barometer I can trust.
But does intuition make me a professional forecaster?
I need data to back up my gut feelings.

Until today, I gauged wind directions by holding
a wet finger into the wind, and estimated
its speed by observing swaying tree branches
and other vegetation. But now—I must mount
an anemometer on the roof.

“Careful! Don’t be a fool,” she says,
but I cast my wife’s valid concerns
into the rising breeze. The ladder
sways beneath spasmodic legwork
of someone who ought to avoid high places.

Now exposed to growing turbulence, on the roof
I am a weathercock turning into the wind.
Even my tallest cypress yields to such strong
persuasion, but this fool resists—and so I sway—
and smile at those first falling raindrops.

(Word from below: “I’m receiving data . . . .”)

“Beam me down, Scotty,” I quip, yet pray
for the agility of a younger man to safely
make my way down— But, if not—

at least there’ll be a record of the force
and direction of those wily gusts
that blew me—toolbox and all—
off the roof.

Note: for the record, yesterday, 7/16/2017, my retirement community received the first monsoon downpour (2.6 inches within 10 minutes) accompanied by 51 mph. gusts that uprooted trees, including my beloved 20 foot desert ocotillo. I'm all right, but will I be able to withstand a repeat of such a storm? charliebrown.gif
Read 60 times - last comment by Ali zonak   

Posted by Ali zonak - 07-11-17 13:33 - 4 comments
Travel Notes

Past midnight in a cheap hotel room.
Some night owl plays his mandolin;
endless stops and starts of elevators,
two drunks return late from the bar.

Where is my restful sans souci,
the grotto that gleams in sapphire’s
royal blue as I attempt to submerge
myself in Capri dreams?

I close my eyes, imagine stars beneath
Heaven’s girth and listen to Puccini’s aria
“Nessum Dorma,” ‘Tonight no one must sleep,”
to drown out the elevators’ humming.

I try to ignore the pounding of a neighbor’s
headboard against the wall that divides our rooms.
Finally, his door opens and shuts--
I hear the giggling of la puttana as she leaves.
Then, sleep’s trance. In the morn, Capri.
Read 62 times - last comment by Ali zonak   

Within The Swamp
Posted by Larry - 07-9-17 08:20 - 18 comments
Within the swamp are brackish pools
where gators wait for food and fools
from towns and cities far away.
Sometimes they stumble in to stay
and ripen where the gator drools

but that’s not taught in any schools.
With knowledge and the proper tools
some folks can work or live and play
within the swamp.

My friend gets rich. He and his mules
go out to where bald cypress rules
and finds old sunken logs which pay
their weight in gold. Without decay
these fallen giants are nature’s jewels
within the swamp.

Here it is Daniel, comment or crit at your leisure!

Read 158 times - last comment by JustDaniel   

My Home
Posted by Larry - 07-8-17 22:30 - 2 comments
My Home

I come here mostly to draw nigh
to folks who’ll help me to apply
my craft of writing poems and prose;
elsewhere might do but I compose
within these halls and wouldn’t try

to leave this place. I won’t say bye
for friends I’ve made; there’s lots of those
who still remain. The rest; who knows?
I come here most

and probably, until I die
will write with wit though some is wry
but you may like it I suppose.
So everyone who visits knows
I come here most.

Okay Daniel!
Read 59 times - last comment by Ali zonak   

Round and Round the Village
Posted by Ali zonak - 07-7-17 11:41 - 4 comments
Round and Round the Village

Spring has come to cheer the mind
After winter’s snow and freeze;
Songs of May delight the heart
Warmed by sun and southern breeze.

Lead me to my sweetheart’s home;
Tulips are in fullest bloom,
Early roses bud, fragrant
Lilac bouquets fill her room.

We sing:
“Go round and round the village,
Go round and round the village,
Go round and round the village,
As we have done before . . . .”

Let us greet the mockingbird,
Perched on greening twigs he sings.
By the prattling village brook
We admire a Mayfly’s wings.

Journey’s end in Lovers meeting?
Yes! as long as life may last;
We don’t know tomorrow’s whim,
But for now all gloom has passed.
Read 109 times - last comment by Ali zonak   

My Summer on Raspberry Hill **
Posted by Ali zonak - 07-4-17 13:08 - 6 comments
My Summer on Raspberry Hill

In 1944 I was too young
to go to war.
Coal-fired locomotives,
like smoke-belching dragons,
dragged draftees away
to boot camps, then to be
swallowed up by battlefields.

Trainloads of young men
passed Raspberry Hill.
At each whistle blow
we stopped picking berries
from laden bushes and rushed
to the overpass, leaned
over the railing,
for the dragon’s smoke
and vapor to carry us
to his fearful
lair among the clouds.

We heard the whooshing
of wings. Not the dragon,
but an army scout plane hard-landed
on the railroad tracks.

Uninjured, the pilot grinned goofily
and waved:
“Hey, kids! Did ya see him?”
“The Jap with a blister on his ass . . . .”
But there were no Japanese soldiers;
that fly-boy must’ve been flying
upside down far too long.

Our Mexican farmhand
scampered down the embankment,
ran along the tracks waving his bandana
to warn the approaching dragon.
The monster screeched,
stopped . . . just in time.

From above we stared
at those gaunt faces below
peering through windows:
enemy prisoners,
heading for POW camp.

Moments later, the dragon snorted,
puffed and screamed.
We rushed to the other bridge railing
for one more look
at those foreign soldiers.

“Crummy Nazies,” someone said,
but the rest was swallowed up
by the shrieking dragon
as he turned around the bend
and then out of sight.

We picked more berries
to fill our buckets.
Agnes placed one between her lips,
and I stole the succulent fruit
with mine. On Raspberry Hill.
Read 153 times - last comment by Ali zonak   

I'll See You in My Dreams **
Posted by Eisa - 07-3-17 17:35 - 7 comments
I'll See You in My Dreams

When trees darken against the sky,
she sometimes drifts through a chink
in my dream wall,
as if she had never slipped away.

The memory ogre that nibbled away
at her life – and mine - has vanished.
She appears ageless, salt and pepper curls
flicked back from slender forehead.

I’m caressed by the lilt of her Welsh
twang, that transports me back to childhood,
when we played eyelash butterflies
and she sang Calon Lan to soothe me.

Awake, melancholy ripples over me, for she
has slithered back through the brickwork
again. Yet her aura lingers through the day
calming storms that drench me.

Line1 was When trees blacken
Read 161 times - last comment by greenwich   

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