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Farm folk - Ranch folk,
Cattle and horses and wheat,
A world of sky and wind,
A land of temporary green,
Permanent brown,
Twenty-five miles from town.
A world of work,
Dirt in the air and in the lungs
Heat waves shimmering
A land of blowing cold,
Or heated mirage,
Day after day after day,
Until books and learning
Called me away.
Fifteen years going on sixteen,
well recall many pinprick
moments of our combinatory
existentialism

But an early moment reappeared,
in a period of contemplation as I
this morn, wove my way thru Manhattan
city streets, during my diurnal walk of
composition, a tradition Walt Whitman
passed on to me, in Leaves of Grass, so
over my Manhattan journey~obstacle course,
now a three times weekly endeavor, of
a two and one quarter miles duration,
this came unto me

Very early on, in our ro~dance
we attended some cocktail/
business function, properly attired,
a first for us, and thus a tad exciting,
and in the elevation machine at the
Waldorf Astoria Tower sky bounding,
she stun gunned me with the simplest
of positories…

How shall you introduce me?.

this nimble tounge, so rarely at a loss,
gave an intuitive and simple answer:
You are my girl friend, no pretense,
I proffered and she thoughtfully
replied,

While an absolute truth,
perhaps since I am a Nana,
over twice,
and you, a Grandfather
over thrice,
perhaps something less
juvenile is in order?


Mmm, perhaps you are right, then
let me suggest boldly to name you
as my lover, none other and let
their mouths fall agape so full
of their crackered
canapés?

She paused a moment on our ascent,
replying,

Undoubtedly true and such
a good lover are you, but the touch of ******
in many an impoverished mind, gives it a
tangy hint of the unseemly tho, b u t
if that’s your preference, lover will it be,
but perhaps wordsmith, you keep on trying?


Ah I knew a rejection letter when I got one,
so cruising higher, proffered a ‘my best friend?’
but her glance clearly indicated that suggestion,
wholly unworthy of my skilled verbosity and
more appropriate to a dodgy dog, if such I did
possess

The elevators of NYC, are sure and swift in
elevating its population, and a growling
desperado emotive was taking me hostage,
I had what is now a “3S look,” an abbreviation
for when I wear my Simply Stupefied Smile

Perhaps I may suggest that should the need
arise for you to introduce me in a phrase accurate
and simple, that might suffice?


Smilingly weakly, I, poet, awaited what surely
was to be an obvious solution to my wordy
and worldly failure,

Please introduce me as
Your Biggest Fan
and I shall, dear one,
if asked,
will offer you up as my
Only Love Poet


And to this day, when introduction~making,
I feel the sweet smile of an invisible and
silent kick in my humbled and egotistical
****
a mostly truish & lightly embellished story
You placed a flower in my
hand. We looked at each
other in the haze.
I gave you a long poem written
with the heat of our breaths
last bloomings.

It was in the days of our beach
that we walked through to
the last door. Time
burned where the ink
of my song, snug in the
bend, sang its last
goodbye.

"Time was, red was the color
of afternoons pressed
against us. " I wrote that to you,  
a tribute to love and to laughs,
and to syllables.

I am 75 now and read with
the cat on my lap.  She
knows the art of songs
sung in the wind,
with every sigh of her lovely
brindle colored breast.

Tomorrow she will bring
me no nearer to you
who sang, once, to me
in the

russet sand.


Caroline Shank
1.29.2022
It's quiet now. I hear the washer
from the next apartment.  Even my
birds

are quiet.

It's when I think of you that the
spinning axis of the planet
requires my attention. The
door that alarmed last year
still screams.  You turned
away from me.  I heard the

slam of your heart, the ram
at the end of your life.  I left

without a kiss.  I live without
your steel.

I turn to where your son
shines and I am guilty

of loving you

still.


Caroline Shank
~
March 2024
HP Poet: Caroline Shank
Age: 77
Country: USA


Question 1: A warm welcome to the HP Spotlight, Caroline. Please tell us about your background?

Caroline Shank: "I am 77 and I live in Milwaukee, Wisconsin. When I worked for Barnes and Nobel for ten years, customers asked me frequently for suggestions. I believe 'The Alexandria Quartet' by Lawrence Durrell is a serious contender for best prose fiction which has been written. Also 'The English Patient' by Michael Ondaatje is such a teaching tool on how to write the greatest novel ever written. I digress."


Question 2: How long have you been writing poetry, and for how long have you been a member of Hello Poetry?

Caroline Shank: "I have been writing poetry since the adolescent striving of the very lonely. I am not sure how long I have been posting to Hello Poetry. At least 3 years, or maybe 5?"


Question 3: What inspires you? (In other words, how does poetry happen for you).

Caroline Shank: "The unusual image will send me running for pen and paper. Usually what inspires the senses: a wind, an odor or perfume. I still remember my love affair with Chloe perfume. And! English Leather! Those were the days. Great sadness or anger will send me to my laptop but those poems do not usually survive."


Question 4: What does poetry mean to you?

Caroline Shank: "Poetry means that I have a place in a wonderful place. Once in awhile."


Question 5: Who are your favorite poets?

Caroline Shank: "My favorite poet's are: T. S. Eliot, Rainer Maria Rilke (the Stephen Mitchell translations), E. E. Cummings. I am a fan of Sara Teasdale's, her From the Sea is amazing. I save Shakespeare for the best nuggets ever. Anna Peters, her “I Am Not a Gentle Person” is a tour'd if ever. I love the poetry that is a much needed relief from The Civil War. Especially Lorena. I guess that's a song. Only one poem of Ezra Pound's, The Metro. It is a graduate course in image exploration."


Question 6: What other interests do you have?

Caroline Shank: "I used to be a huge consumer of books. I read all the time. I find that at my age I can't keep reading without finding something else to do."


Carlo C. Gomez: “We wish to thank you for giving us this opportunity to get to know the person behind the poet, Caroline! We are honored to add you to this series!”

Caroline Shank: "Thank you, Carlo! I am very grateful for all the encouragement you have given me."



Thank you everyone here at HP for taking the time to read this. We hope you enjoyed coming to know Caroline a little bit better. I surely did. It is our wish that these spotlights are helping everyone to further discover and appreciate their fellow poets. – Carlo C. Gomez

We will post Spotlight #14 in April!

~
 Mar 2024 Marshal Gebbie
Joe Cole
You know I've had my life
And seen things I hope you younger writers never see
78 summers have past me by
And in a few more years it will be my time to die
But I have no regrets about the life I lead
And the things I did
A few years ago I posted here
And encouraged young writers from far and near
Many daily poems then we had
And as I read my heart was glad because I'd played my part
To see my rose buds grow
But now I'm just a crippled wreck
My hands the result of a broken neck
You know in our late teenage years we were bullet proof
Gave no thought to our later years
But life catches up with all of us
Aching bones and sagging flesh
When just climbing stairs leaves you out of breath
But no matter what the age we are
The pen we use is for ever young
And so I say to all of you
Continue to write in the way you do
Be you now that tender rose or an acorn on a gnarled old oak
Take up the pen and the ink will flow
And from your words a rose will grow

J F COLE. Simply simple poetry
I don’t need a big miracle
A little one will do.
I don’t need my feet
To feel like feet again
That would be asking a lot.
I can still deal with
My failing right eye
And what’s going on in my throat.
It’s really a simple thing that I need
I just want to sit down and **** -
Every animal does it…
No thinking or planning involved.
But nature’s denied me
That every day deed
And that is the miracle I need.
ljm
A brief bout of constipation cured by levity..
I thought Snake Oil Salesmen were a relic
of the past, standing up on a stage dispensing
blatant lies and bogus even dangerous cures
for our exaggerated imagined illness and or
personal fears.

I thought we ran all of them out of town,
suitably tarred and feathered, riding on
a splintered hitching post rail.

"Hurry, hurry, hurry. Step right up folks!
In this little bottle, I hold in my hand, is a
magic elixir of my own imagination and
invention, that is absolutely-unconditionally
guaranteed to heel what ails you and Make
America Great Again, all I ask for this be all,
cure all, is one small vote cast for me, crowning
me King of all there is, and your money to get
me there."

For the weak of mind and of poor judgement
his bombastic lies and falsehoods are irresistible
even dangerous, yet still they reach deep into
their pockets to buy what he is selling.

Now where did we put that rail?
Decency and intelligence should
rule the day, not stupidity and
meanness of heart. Run that orange
charlatan out of town, or better yet
lock him up and throw away the key.
A repost of a few short years ago and
another election that somehow, he won,
please let us NOT make that mistake again!
A nation ravaged by political *****
Unable to look around and see
The mess they made that we must live in.
Seeing only the cookies on the counter,
Not minding the crumbs all over the floor
And the rats that are enjoying them.

Hearing only the Devil’s whisper
Oozing from the screens they watch
Telling them that Christmas tree lights
Are worth the death of all the reindeer.

Remembering a yesterday that never was
And trading in tomorrow for a fantasy
Of “there’s still time to fix the problems”
And “It’ll be all right on the day”.

But that day is going to be next Tuesday.
ljm
Keep coming bak to this theme. Indulge me, please.
sometimes you perceive things
as they
aren't

and some will look at the ground
and never have to look up

and some will stand in the sand,
and not be held by fingers twisted with fate,
gaze up at the stars
with wonder

some only look down
to watch their dreams fall
to the ground


and then there was

Cathy Brown

I wrote
"I love you"
on a napkin
got caught in the rain
on the way to her apartment
and when I gave it to her
and she unfolded it
there was a beautiful flower

I never told her I love you
never had too

the light in her eyes
the twinkle of stars...


I was watching an old movie
and the make up artist
was

Cathy Brown

while I dipped
my ******* in the holy water
of madness???
why not write a poem
I loved the name so

the touch from her fingers
kept me sane

some dreams never vanish...

do you believe this **** I wrote
sometimes I need
to not
get serious

I love you Cathy Brown.
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