In the middle of March 09, I got this idea of doing poems from A to Z. I sat down and wrote the very first word that popped into my mind from A to Z without prior thinking or pre-planning. Who knows why I chose some of the words that I chose but now I had to compose a poem about each one. It seemed like a good challenge and it has proved to be!
The airplane soars up with her spirit so high
She defies nature’s law as she kisses the sky Pilot and crew with their uniform crease arrest all our fears, like aviation police Wings they are lifted by thrust and by air while hand on the throttle is steady with care Altimeter needle while upwardly creeping ignores the stern voice of the captain who’s speaking “Steady we go at thirty thousand feet the ride will be smooth but stay in your seat” Out of the window the ants you see scurry are morning commuters in hurry and worry While a gleam in the sky might be catching their eye Across the great blue we go quietly by All of a sudden, the gear it comes down The flaps they are dragging, almost to the ground Steady and easy the big bird she settles Her parts all intact with rivets and metals The trip just like that is a rousing success With this parting good-bye the crew we address It’s not just a trip from point A to point B But the moving of spirit…from captive to free David Kettler This was the first in my alphabetical soup of poems. A….for Airplane! I’ve always enjoyed flying both commercially and when I had a valid pilot’s license. After flying up to the folks a couple weeks ago, I realized that it was the first time in about two years that I had flown commercially. I’m sure that trip influenced this poem a bit. I remember leaving Bakersfield about 5:00 PM full of fuel and the temperature was around 105 degrees. I had trouble climbing to altitude in order to get out of the valley and cross the mountains to the east. It was a good first hand lesson about how hotter temperatures affect the ability of an airplane to climb. Bananas…the funny fruit
When you slip-N-fall & rip your suit The food of silly chimps and apes Far from the somber, sober grapes Sittin on the table with forks and spoons Or swimmin in the cereal like silly goons Look how they take over the fruit salad Feeling so important and thinkin they’re valid Bananas…all yellow with certain appeal “I wanna banana” the kids all squeal Hanging in a bunch all naïve and green Next thing you know they think they’re keen Lounging with their buds and feelin mello They get a bit older, wiser and yellow No wonder we cut em down to size Slice em up nice and feast our eyes Nothing finishes off a frantic Monday Like a big ol bowl of banana nut sundae! David Kettler 3/19/09 I needed to write a poem about bananas for the “B” in my alphabet of poems. I thought of bananas as somewhat funny and mischievous maybe from the way they are portrayed in Jungle book. Also, I thought of them somewhat arrogant because they are by far the most visible and most used out of all the fruits here in the U.S. with possibly the apple for an exception. Is it just a quiet hole in the earth
Or a memory…of some impact or dearth Standing on the rim, the sun sets across the space A bird’s scream echo’s…then goes without a trace The crater, so quiet now and so alone Where once were trees and lakes and stone Think of the speed at which the meteor fell Resting now deep in the earth, resting still Memories, like craters in my heart Now lie silent, understood in part It now is a beautiful place, quiet and serene As I gaze across this open crater scene David Kettler ( 3/19/09 ) The poem for “C” was crater. My mind went back to Hawaii were I stood on the rim of the Haleakala crater in MauiHawaii. This crater was caused by a volcano rather than a meteorite but it’s a crater still the same and the only one I remember seeing. I do remember how quiet it was, and I remember birds soaring. Those friendly spots when you smile
Like flashbulbs going off with grace and style Adorable little windows into your ease Announcement of smiles, laughter and tease Those cute little dimples when you grin The innocence of a child with no angle or spin They’re not flaws…more like jewels… Bright diamonds shining in tiny pools Gracing your cheeky gentle face Those little dimples of adorable space dk I know a lot more about golf ball dimples than I do about dimples on cheeks. In fact, I can’t really say that one person jumps out at me when I think about dimples. I kind of associate them with babies or with very friendly people so I guess that is where this poem is coming from. The sun plays peek-a-boo with the moon
Anytime of day, morning or afternoon All the sun’s power, its heat and its fury Suddenly darkens…an earth that is weary The sun can’t be stopped as soon we will find Evidence of fire, still burning behind Though dark in the middle of perimeter glow Its brilliance is begging to once again show Little by little the darkness will move Away to the side and again it will prove That the sun may be paused, for a moment or two But those life giving rays just have to come thru So daily the earth, does its roll-over flips But our place here in space, is hard to eclipse DK 3/25/09 Eclipse was the word for “E” that popped into my head when I wrote down the A-Z alphabetical poem list. I think that I have seen different eclipses in the past…they don’t really stick in my mind though. There is no doubt that they are cool to observe and because of this poem, I will really pay attention to the next one. Frankfurter is some fancy name
For a lowly little hotdog, taking in the game Lounging in a bun, sticking out both sides Or chopped up in the beans, where usually he hides Made of many parts, all ground into congestion The result is just a case, of fatal indigestion! The 7th inning stretch, has always been quite fitting Just hope it’s not down-wind, FROM WHERE YOU MIGHT BE SITTING! I’m real sorry…I guess you need to figure out how to write a poem about frankfurters! Why it ever popped in my mind for “F” is beyond me. I never eat hot dogs because they give me terrible migraines! Anyway…this poem’s a real dog! Honking like cabbies on migration south
Avoiding the hunters with watering mouth This V in the sky of jailbirds loose The long-neck express, this gaggle of goose Right from the start they’re all feathers and feet Till a few months go by and they’re not quite so sweet Soon they grow bigger with long-neck stuck out A swaggering walk with their beak and their snout The restless young bunch with family in tow Head for the south at the first sign of snow Leaving the runway like planes that are booked Hoping the journey doesn’t leave their goose cooked Honking and jostling for their place in the line Painting the sky with their victory sign David Kettler, 3/31/09 Here again I have no idea where “Goose” came from when I needed a word for “G”! Anyway this is the result. I kind of like it actually, it came together pretty nice. I like the cabbies honking, the jailbirds let loose and the image of them taking off like planes on a runway. I don’t know a whole lot about geese, just that I’ve heard that they are pretty mean and will chase and bite you if they get the chance. I kind of like the visual of the hunter getting the best of him and he getting his goose cooked! Do your own thing was the cry of the year
Sixty nine was the season of pills and of beer Flowers and free love was the strong rebel yell Where it would end only time that could tell A maverick a loaner that no one could bind A free-loading spirit on a trip of the mind But in seeking to close the mysterious loop They all ended up, right back there in a group The hair and the tales, well they let them grow long Then pick up a guitar and put it in song The mind will expand with the right kind of pill And that Volkswagen bus that is broken down still They get the last laugh, this peace loving group Cause they now have our country in a pile of poop Their bus is a Prius and their hair is cut short A job in the city of government sort You still can find them, camped on the lawn Surrounded by Whitehouse and media fawn Oh what we would give for them back in San Fran Back at Haight Ashbury with their bus and their van So it’s not in the park where the smell is so bad The long halls of congress…is the hippie’s new pad David Kettler, 3/31/09 This poem became instantly one of my favorites! It went together real smoothly and allowed me to pour all my political frustrations into print. I’m a real expert on hippies seeing I was eight years old in sixty nine! Anyway, after I scratched this on a pad at five in the morning, I went to work and all day was anxious to come home and put it in print because I knew it was pretty good. It’s kind of funny but I could not of told you two or three lines at work by memory. It’s like I enjoy it for the first time when I pull out my notebook and read what I wrote just twelve hours before. Indigo, indigo the richer side of blue
The earth as seen from outer space, or deepest ocean hue Not quite the brightest violet… but royal nonetheless So calming and so soothing too, a harsh tone to regress Not like its cousin red, the sun to represent Nor like the greenest rolling hill, the tint of grassy bed The flowers waving from the pot, are yellow orange and pink Important true for sure each one, at least that’s what they think But indigo’s the quiet one, with deep and subtle tone So rich in depth and purple haze, it proudly stands alone David Kettler, 4/1/09 I really like the color of indigo now that I’ve checked it out and wrote a poem about it. It reminds me of a very classy, royal type of color. I liked the idea of individualizing it rather than having it grouped in with blue or purple. |