There was a young singer from Oslo,
A soprano with such a vibrato,
Across a fjord
You could hear her record:
She always sang FORTE, not piano.
– Steve Shoemaker, Urbana, IL, Nov. 13, 2014
NOTE: In his retirement, Steve sings in three choirs: his church choir of about 12 , a community choir of 60, and a University choir of 30 that sings music from the Baroque. These are mainly a pleasure–except for an occasional soprano soloist.
Verse – Animals
She felt like prey when men
she did not know
would call to her as she
would walk to work.
With head held high she would
not even show
she heard, but soon would hear
another jerk
whistling or clucking–one
would even bark…
Her dress was modest, no
short skirt, tight pants,
décolletage. Guys tried
to make their mark
still, would persist, ignore
her resistance.
She had kept rabbits as
a girl and knew
what happened when you put
a female inside
the cage of a young buck.
The four-month doe
was circled, bitten, kissed,
then he would ride.
Rabbits were bred to breed–
can human males
let women choose when to
be animals?
– Steve Shoemaker, November 3, 2014
This head scratching verse from Steve Shoemaker arrived this morning in response to yesterday’s post about the song in my head:
thegoodearworm
thelord’smyshep-herdi’llnotwant
hema-akesmedowntolie
inpa-asturesgreenhele-e-dethme
thequi-i-etwatersby
“What’s an earworm?” I wrote back. He phoned a few minutes later. “Don’t you know what an earworm is? Nadja didn’t know either. Look it up in an Urban Dictionary. It’s a song that gets stuck in your head.” “I didn’t know you were so street-smart,” said I. We had a good laugh. I looked it up.
Earworm: “A song that sticks in your mind, and will not leave no matter how much you try. The best way to get rid of an earworm is to replace it with another. Be prepared to become a jukebox.” (from Urbandictionary.com)
The earworm Steve seems to be hearing is the Crimond musical setting for Psalm 23. Dipping into the jukebox, here’s another lovely setting for the psalm, the replacement ear worm:
The window at the back
of our new car
in 1952 was for the rear-
view mirror our father
used to see so far
behind us as we drove.
But I could peer
up to the sky while on
the shelf, supine,
(although I did not know
the word for years)
that seemed made for a child
above, behind,
the back seat where my young
brother in tears
would yowl it was his turn.:
It felt like I
was still, while up above
the leaves of fall
with colors red and gold
went rushing by.
(It was before Dutch Elm
Disease befell
our Midwest town.) The tree
tunnel would go,
and even little brother,
too, would grow…
– Steve Shoemaker, Urbana, Illinois, October 25, 2014. Sent following his University of Illinois football team (previously 0-3 in the Big Ten) beat the University of Minnesota (previously 3-0 in the Big Ten) on a cheap fumble!
For a poem to sing
must it be in a song?:
Is a melody needed
beyond a mere drone?
Can the words on a page
create true harmony?
Are duets possible
realistically?
I cannot write
a round, a round.
A canon cannot
make one sound.
Each syllable makes just one note:
no melisma in poet’s throat…
to find one’s voice
amid the cacophony
of post-industrial, technological
society (with advertisements
POPPING UP everywhere)
is difficult enough without
hoping to be the J.S. Bach
of modern literature
One line at a time,
No need for a rhyme:
One chirp from a bird
is worth being heard.
Go to a concert for
polyphony.
– Steve Shoemaker, Urbana, IL, Oct. 19, 2014
The highway is straight
and smooth, only one lane
in each direction…
no barrier in the center,
no guard rails on the sides…
nighttime, no white lines
mark the edges of the road…
no streetlights…
all that can be seen
is the oval puddle of light
from the headlights
of my speeding car.
I jerk awake as I feel
the left tires bounce
on the shoulder of the road…
I have crossed
the wrong lane…I know
my wife is beside me, but
I cannot open my eyes…
I cry out, but her seat belt
holds her too tightly
for her to reach the wheel…
my eyes open for one second,
then all is dark again…
I cannot stay awake…
I whimper and shudder.
The terror remains
even after I realize
we are in our own bed
and I have been dreaming.
– Steve Shoemaker, October 17, 2014
It may have been the National
Cathedral–it was some great pile
of stones, some high Episcopal
Church where little me was the pale
imitation of a real Priest
for the day. I could not find pants,
or robe, and that was just the least
fatal of my embarrassments.
I did not have the words to say
for Mass, for Holy Communion —
my mind had left to go and play
in some old grade school reunion.
“Just take this bread,” I said, “and eat.
Remember Jesus–have a treat!”
– Steve Shoemaker, Urbana, IL, October 14, 2014
Compact, inflatable
Solar-rechargeable
Has a built-in handle
LuminAID light will float
Is semi-transparent
A very light night light
Amazon will mail it
Under twenty dollars
Apocalypse-ready
————
Headband LED
Always be hands-free
Gun or bow and arrow
Take a deer or sparrow
Do not want to be dead
Keep the family fed
Walmart Streamlight Pro Tec
Fifty bucks fifty bucks
– Steve Shoemaker, Urbana, IL, October 13, 2014
A Psalm of Confession
We have been at war too much.
We have been too quick on the trigger.
Our weapons factories hire lobbyists.
Our lobbyists hire congress.
No matter who is President,
the military calls the shots.
The world weeps when we arm.
Nations cry out in alarm.
Terrorists have killed thousands,
Americans have killed hundreds of thousands.
I am not a pacifist.
I believe in self-defense,
but to be just and fair
we must not drone on and on.
We must not call dead children
collateral damage.
Selah
– Steve Shoemaker, Urbana, IL, October 9, 2014
Editor’s Note: Here’s a LINK to an interesting article on the history of a weapons factory.
You take a playing card and steal
a clothes pin from the hanging bag
on the green line in the back yard.
The jack of spades looks best, you feel,
against the spokes of your old bike
and adds a clatter as you ride.
Behind you flies a pirate flag,
a decal shows the team you like
upon the bumper: the White Sox!
The squeegee horn is close at hand.
The noises really help the bike
since Dad has never fixed the brakes!
– Steve Shoemaker, Urbana, IL, Oct. 6, 2014
Views from the Edge 