Long Zoom Poems
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Winter Light 1-25-24
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Winter Light
Winter light streaks through trees
Laughs in games of freeze tag
Plays “catch me, if you can.”
Somersaults through the frost
Bare light’s playful game plan.
Winter light streaks through trees
Dashing on north wind’s breath
Inhales scent of new snow,
Trailing saffron streamers,
Dark escapes as light flows.
Winter light streaks through trees
Pirouettes pastel hues
Branches stretch for warm light,
Morning light bundles boughs,
Chases dark tints from night.
Winter light streaks through trees
Twirls and shouts, wild and free
Shares secrets in dawn’s shades
Tints of yellow joy zoom,
In shades like gold brocade.
When I was your age I walked sixty two miles to school and back
Because our horse was dead, or given only to my brothers.
We did not get to wear pants, even if our legs were red with frost.
Until 1960 when they finally let us wear them under dresses.
If we did not take them off at school we were whipped with belts.
We put MATHEMATICS at the top of arithmetic papers.
Math to you. We did not have pre-algebra until doctor’s college.
We would zoom around on dangerous motorcycles without helmets.
Daring the pavement or semis to kill us. They got some of us but not all.
No one thought to drink water. We had milk and soda pop.
Our druggist put cherry into our Coke, and we thought we were grown.
I read an Archie comic book a week, and paid for it with my money.
Money I earned babysitting or mowing lawns.
When I was your age everyone did not have a car or a TV set.
Everything on the TV set was in grayscale until 1964 in my world.
Uncle asked “What color is it?” When Dad told him we got a colored TV.
Underdog was the first cartoon I ever saw in color when I was your age.
I had chores, and I did them. I also knew to respect my elders.
I knew when adults were having a conversation, I had better get lost.
Did not get to watch some TV shows, and there was no TV in my room.
If I wanted to be entertained, I read Trixie Belden or Nancy Drew.
The world is weary,
weary of the fear but
afraid for the future.
Political campaigns
ugly and growing uglier,
airwaves choked with
insults and outright lies.
Hate thrives and turns
friend against friend.
Covid lurks in wait
outside our doorstep,
invisible, threatening health
and possible death.
Masked people shy away
from one another in stores.
People isolated and lonely,
visitors often limited for seniors.
for many, one bleak day
passes blindly into another.
The only recourse
from television news
strangled by political infighting -
The Animal Planet,
The Great British Baking Show,
old movies, perhaps a Zoom meeting.
The world is weary, but
this, too, shall pass and
become part of our history,
and we will survive with the
hope of creating a better world.
Just hang in there.
I love this road.
Every little mound, and every crevasse,
Flower filled, to the brim.
The moths and mosquitos caught in my headlamps.
Trees of aspen and oak keeping me on track.
And here, the night clouds are much darker than the night sky.
And jets zoom 50 metres above my head, asking,
"What are you here for?"
In which I respond, "I'm taking in the sights."
"This road is beautiful."
"I wonder where it ends."
"Does it really have to end?"
And as for the rest,
Every single time, at every single jet,
I'm shaking, trembling, I'm speeding at each bump.
Pot-holes ruin my suspension.
My engine weakens (believably gently) at the thought.
My brake pads and wheels through the wearing of my rubber--
They're guiding me slowly out of this car.
And here, glowing brighter than the moon, I ask them,
"Why are you so weak?"
In which they respond, "I'm just burning bright."
"This road is beautiful."
"I'm wondering when does it end."
"And, will it end before me?"
What is that? My comrade asked. I ignored her. She is not my friend.
No, really, she said scooting my way. The rest of the class smiled on whim.
The teacher had them on mute, so they could not speak. I was glad.
“Who is your friend?” the teacher asked; he is a lecher; I do not trust him.
Hey! You all really do look alike! My pal Sam texted in my private text box.
This irritated me; I never like stereotyping lambs or any other creature.
Shall I tell them my story? The intruder asked. The one about the fox?
This is an important class meeting I said; and you are being a leacher.
Well excuse me! She said, stomping off to be with the rest of the herd.
“Who was that?” My teacher asked me. He is all about mixed dating.
I had to will my eyes not to roll; this was inappropriate, quite absurd.
Her name I do not know, but she is pushy, I warned as he was waiting.
Can you please get her number? He asked. She looked interested in our class.
Annoyed, but trying not to show it, I decided to fix them up on a whim.
I know this seems weird, and it was, but I do have a bit of sarcasm and sass.
And a bit of gloat, would be horrible and awful pretty much for both of them.
Knock-knock, Come in, hey Bernie what’s up? Harry, you want to go to Peru?
Peru? What’s in Peru? Active volcanoes! I’m going to jump into one. WHAT?
Abby left me and I have nothing to live for. Bernie, I’m not Dr. Kevorkian.
Come on H, I already have the tickets, one round trip for you to come home.
Pack your 35 milliliter camera with the zoom lens and let’s go to Peru.
Bernie, my camera, and I at the west base of Ubinas; outside of Lima, Peru
The smell of hot wafting through the ashen skies, Ubinas is very active
Take a picture of this H, Bernie held up a 15x8 foot sign : Abby I LOVE YOU
He headed up the volcano ; about 500 feet he turned around and waved : Click
Just then a thunderous eruption of molten hot lava, cascading down the mountain
Bernie turned and started running, the lava in hot pursuit touched his boots : in flames
He screams in pain, I’m snapping pictures as he tried to swim through scalding magma
As his legs disintegrate, I zoom in on his ashen white face, as the flames engulf his arms
For a man who wanted to die, the horrific fear on his face, the terrifying look in his eyes
A puff of smoke and Bernard James was gone. I could feel the heat of the lava descending
I run to the truck and drive as fast as I can back to Lima. In a darkroom, pictures develop
Deviously, I make a life size collage of Bernard David James ; starting at the feet---
I set the collage on fire: staring at a face afraid to die, I see the atrocity of Suicide.
Inspired and Dedicated to Colleen Bono This is my part of the Challenge I hope it meets
with YOUR approval…HG
Between two oceans I do roam,
unsure which to call my home.
Raised on the west coast, transformed on the east: I know enjoy a lobster feast.
Two seasons: three wet one dry, or four with a summer so short I could cry.
Which do I love more I cannot say, for I love them both in their own way.
Its family and friends that really call. Dividing my time between them all.
A birthday here, a zoom call there; I can't be expected to be everywhere.
Truly, what decides, is what's in my heart and in my mind.
Through memories fond and a bond that is strong I am always at home, wherever I roam, between the two oceans I call my home.
Did I see an alter ego twirling round the edges of a microscopic slide
or just another doughnut cell the crosshair must endure?
The answer surely lies upon the fractal shoulders of a dinosauric factor tree I’ll certainly become.
Where looping lens intrudes on self-mirage,
with virtual slant as piggyback I dimly met before the
hidebound claw of precedent took root.
A wagtail canine bark at hoop nose faculty.
Amid that fractious world there lurks
an imposition deep inside a thin glass frame.
Dry bone flock turned upshot on a skeletal
squint to minds off course.
Deep freeze cabin vacuously threadbare.
Polarising focal point for ardent scholar smitten by their optical zoom.
Indebted to a cobalt marker label on one’s being for posterity to clinically dissect.
Field of vision analyte or pentecostal ocean’s
blue-green algae.
Nail file rigor mortis on reflection
to awkwardly deflect or misconstrue.
Egghead hatching schemes on concave glassware
where annotation floats around dimensions,
with axis dumbing down prophetic tombs.
Date Written : 30/4/2020 Thirtieth April 2020
Date Judged : 26/5/2020 Twenty sixth May 2020
Name Of Contest : BRIAN’S CHOICE V, any form, any theme
Result ; NA for Thin Glass Frame
Date submitted ; Fourth of October 2020
Contest : Second Chances NA poems of 2020 Part III
Sponsor : Chantelle Anne Cooke
I suppose in every neighborhood there is bound to be,
An old grouch who with everything tends to disagree.
It matters not whether it happens to be a her or him;
He or she will zoom into orbit at the slightest whim!
The neighbor's pooch performed an indiscretion upon his lawn.
With that a figurative line in the sand was severely drawn.
Said he, "If again over that fence your scruffy cur hops,
Me and you will have a little chat with the local cops!"
A car flew down the street like a bat out of you know where.
All the old grouch could do was shake his fist and swear!
A kid with his boom-box on max drove him out of his mind.
The grouch told him to cool it or he'd kick his scrawny behind!
The old crab was kept awake all night by packs of barking mutts.
The sheriff he will call tomorrow, no ifs, ands or buts!
When the neighbor kids trampled all over his blooming flowers,
They scurried home to mommy as a result of his fiendish glowers!
The old curmudgeon has had many acrimonious conversations,
As upon the neighbors he has expressed his manifold frustrations!
The old grouser will undoubtedly start a heated debate,
When attempting to enter Saint Peter's Golden Gate!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
Watched “Man Of Steel” last night
Reminded me of my own Souper powers
Don't want to brag or anything like that
But this role is not for cowards
My mission is, should I choose to accept it
To rid this old world of sadness
Not an easy task the way things are going
But SOUPERMAN can end this madness
He does it with love, lightness and laughter
Acts silly, plays the part of a clown
Always upbeat and ready with the funnies
So people can't possibly be down
He doesn't expect a reward or great fame
Just to know the sadness he defeated
Then zoom up high to the heavens above
To return whenever he's needed
© Jack Ellison 2013