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Mark Springer Poem
I come from the borough of Queens, New York
My classmates call me a Klutz and a dork
Those names pervaded my soul, taking a toll
Being at the bottom of the totem pole.
Then Dad took me to the town of Tortilla Flat
I walked into a store, bought a ten-gallon hat
I started talking like John Wayne, also bought some boots
It’s funny how a costume can make a mind slip its roots
The ranchers nodded with respect; I looked like them
Cowgirls smiled in my direction, one shone like a gem
She said there’s a rodeo at half past three
Come join us there, my friends and me.
I said sure, I’ll mosey down there
I’ll bring some popcorn that we all can share
When the time came, I walked into the ring
But through the wrong door, that was the thing.
Two guys lifted me onto a horse, and opened the gate
I shouted, “I’m not a performer!” but it was too late
The horse bolted out, then tried a somersault
I held on for dear life, couldn’t them girls call a halt?
They told me later, t’was the worst horse in the west
I flew over its mane, but it was a personal best
The crowd went wild, but I threw the hat on the mud
Dropped all the popcorn, wiped off the blood
The cowgirl looked adoring, said “that was so cool”
I looked at her, but my mood was cruel
Said “I’m a nerd from Queens, don’t want to pretend
Keep that dang hat, this all got to end."
Dad took me home, the worse for wear
He got me a baseball hat so nobody would stare.
I put it on backwards, I don’t really care
Buy the wrong hat, and it’s dangerous out there.
Copyright © Mark Springer | Year Posted 2024
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Mark Springer Poem
Jack sits in the wheelchair in the grass
a rebel nerd, he thinks of the time
when he cycled up Teton Pass
by a stream through walls of pine
Obsessed, this viewpoint vampire
his memory full of hill and vale
A landscape loon, an odd desire
But now his body is his jail
The harried nurse to her surprise
Distracted from a patient's cries
sees a vision in Jack's fogged eyes
lakes and forests and crimson skies
[chorus]
In each scene, views so grand
At six thousand feet, he biked along
Never quite reached the Promised Land
But the last verse is not the song
Kate sits in the same old age home
A relic from a bygone show
Her friends long dead, she's now alone
Her melody no longer on the radio
She was warm and could be all heart
Now a meteor in afterburn
She knows that bodies fall apart
Resigned or not, the wheel must turn.
[outro]
Jack and Kate were luckier than some
They were free, knew right from wrong
They lived a long life, and had their fun
The last verse is not the song.
Copyright © Mark Springer | Year Posted 2024
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Mark Springer Poem
I met her at a place I dine
along a lonesome road
I tried to think of a pick-up line
I went into clever mode.
But they've taken all the pick-up lines
I didn't want to offend a date
Should I buy her, her choice of wines?
I spent ten minutes in that debate.
Then I asked her if her name was Google, because she was what I was searching for
She said, "I heard that one, it makes me snore."
I said, "how was heaven when you left it?" she said "they've tried that one too:
Why don't you get lost and leave me to my brew."
I could not give up, her beauty gave me a thrill
I tried a different tack, showed a thousand-dollar bill
I said, "how can I plan our wedding if I don't even have your number?"
Her eyes flashed; she picked up a piece of lumber.
the bartender saw me plead
He came forward to intercede
She said "he's hitting on me, but lumber can hit too:
And as for this bar, I could sue."
So I left her in the bar
I felt so sad and old
With the wrong line you can't get far
I guess I had to fold
So I married Mary Lou instead
Though she watches reruns of "Daffy Duck."
Better to take what you can get
it's not always smart to push your luck.
Copyright © Mark Springer | Year Posted 2025
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Mark Springer Poem
I found this site called Poetry Soup
Here you can get applause from a group
So I started writing poems, none make the best
My family tells me to "give it a rest."
I need some tough love, some commenter to say
"Your talent is poor, go outside in the day."
Instead, the site policy is to always give praise
Can anything save me - I hope it's just a phase.
Every time I say a sentence, I think of a rhyme
For instance, "dime, time, buy some outshine"
Can't stop rhyming, can't stop writing
I can't get a life that is more exciting.
So to all you young men, sitting on that stoop
Stay away from Poetry Soup
Find yourself another hobby, get some fresh air
Don't be like me, stuck in this creative lair.
Searching for a word, sinking in despair.
Copyright © Mark Springer | Year Posted 2025
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Mark Springer Poem
Tim was the new judge in Deadwood Flat
Not really qualified, just a rancher at that
He first case was of the outlaw, Horace Slade
Caught red handed in a cattle raid
The jury took ten minutes to recommend the noose
Better than letting this rattlesnake loose.
Tim smoothed out his robe, asked Slade to speak
Slade perked up, though his future was bleak
"It was only my brain, my brain it was me.
Badly constructed, that's how I plea
My thoughts, my feelings, my crooked way
All preprogrammed in my DNA!
"You see Dad was a member of the cardshop mob
Mom always drunk, and moreover a slob
My twin set a cat on fire at the age of three
So, who could predict much hope for me?
Tim panicked, searched his dictionary
Couldn't find DNA, wished he was on the prairie
He had never heard that excuse before
But said to Slade, "proceed, tell us more"
Slade felt hope, and got on a roll
He said "ain't no such thing as a soul'
"I know the computer hasn't been invented yet
"But we're programmed, coded, our path in life set!
"I shot a man to watch him die
Then partied at the bar for an alibi
Not my fault, an MRI would have shown
My limbic system, quiet as a stone.
The jury murmured, Tim gave a sigh
What was a computer, or an MRI?
Slade's nonsense was going too far
Slade could have used a lesson in better P.R.
Tim said, "I hope what you say is not true
I like soul and spirit, the afterlife too.
But either way, some feelings I can't transcend
My brain wants your pointless existence to end!
They planned to hang Slade on the Alder tree
Justice would be served, jury did agree
Then Slade tried a ploy, to explain his crime
He yelled "I'm a traveler through time!"
"I come from the year 2024
DNA, MRI, computers and more
Got stuck in a time warp, had to survive
You'd do the same to stay alive"
They had to let Slade go, agreed he's insane
Tim didn't like to do it, it went against the grain
But Deadwood Flats couldn't hang a guy
Who believed in computers, DNA, and MRI!
Copyright © Mark Springer | Year Posted 2024
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Mark Springer Poem
They turned me away from Hell's Gate
Said I was too much of a reprobate
Said earth deserved me, and I deserved it
Besides, demons were on strike, wouldn't fire the pit.
So I went back to earth, a few memories erased
Looked for money to steal, lives to waste
Set up shop with like minded hoods
Took what wasn't ours, got away with the goods.
Then the strike was over, so a demon made a sell
He said we have a spot for you, down in hell
But I replied, "the government steals more
At least I'm aware I'm corrupt to the core."
"Twisted souls parrot the latest dreck
"On the turn of a dime, good men shot in the neck
"Take the other guys first, then we'll talk about me."
The demon thought, then had to agree.
So I may look old, but I still steal
Hurting the little guy retains its appeal.
My friends are hoods, and thugs, and punks
But hell can be selective for the other skunks.
The demons never came back for me
Hell was overflowing, over-capacity
So many applicants, such a waiting line
Before they get to me, it will be a long time.
Copyright © Mark Springer | Year Posted 2025
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Mark Springer Poem
Einstein imagined chasing a beam of light
It was while walking through Bern he got that insight
Thinking in images in that beautiful place.
He pursued paradoxes and entwined time and space.
Niels Bohr paused a walk to draw circles with his cane
He muttered about quantum jumps but he wasn't insane.
In one walk he realized levels must be discrete:
Orbits quantize, then he continued down the street.
Barbara McClintock walked through fields of corn
She looked at the kernels and an idea was born.
She saw the pattern of a jumping gene:
Many walk in cornfields and miss what she had seen.
Feynman walked one night and got a new notion
that electrons travel in a strange kind of motion.
He imagined each particle trying every route:
and Quantum Mechanics took a reboot.
Alan Turing walked across meadows under a Cambridge sun
sometimes he'd walk sometimes he'd run.
He came up with the Universal Turing Machine:
It could compute any code a programmer could dream.
Michael Faraday walked by the Thames in a rhythmic pace.
He realized forces act in fields spanning space
River ripples looked to him like lines of force
Others walk by rivers without insights of course.
To Helmholz certainty came like a physical blow:
He realized energy can't be lost wherever it might go
he was walking in the Tiergarten in Berlin
a good place for ideas to flow from within.
Mandelbrot walked by clouds and trees
On the coast of Massachusetts he felt the sea breeze.
Saw fractal patterns at every scale
I've walked on coasts; my mind stays stale.
it seems that for some a walk brings insight
Like emerging from a tunnel and viewing the light.
Like a broad field of view that starts you to think
A falling into place where concepts link.
It can be in science, it can be a song
So go on a walk bring the fragments along.
It is grand that new worlds arise:
When you walk away from your desk under blue skies.
Copyright © Mark Springer | Year Posted 2026
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Mark Springer Poem
I was driving a station wagon, Dad on my right
Mom, young kids, and dog in back seat
Construction ahead, a warning light
In my mind I keep the scene on repeat
I saw the truck in my rearview mirror
It was going fast, I was going slow
I couldn't accelerate as it got nearer
It climbed on our wagon, in Idaho.
It forced the rear of the car into asphalt
The rear doors sealed, but the dog did a vault
Mom lifted the kids over, seared her skin
Moved sideways and a flame shot up where she'd been.
We all made it out, and Mormons took us in
Kids made Mormon friends, and we regrouped
Took an airplane the rest of the way to the coast
Not a story of which I can boast.
Dad's summer teaching had to cover the cost
But we won something, not just lost
We found strength and friendship where we didn't expect
From people whose kindness I'll never forget.
Now every flashing warning light
Takes me back to that July.
A rearview mirror, one long breath,
The line between life and death.
Besides the Mormons, I also thank fate
Death has to come, but death had to wait.
Copyright © Mark Springer | Year Posted 2026
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Mark Springer Poem
Title: Wind on our back
A camp counselor once, I thought I should glide
I ran fifteen miles, at the airport applied
A pilot took me up, above the Pocono grass
But I got airsick when the plane took a pass.
The pilot didn't want me throwing up in his plane
He dived to the ground, like an eagle gone insane
So I learned I can't soar, on the road I can glide.
Nothing wrong though with my having tried.
As a teen I ran track at Avebury High
Sometimes slow, rarely fast, I wouldn't want to lie
Then in college I hatched a different scheme
I wouldn't compete, just run with the team.
The coach sat us down, asked our time and event
Each kid's time incredible, I knew what that meant
I said "Skip me, please" ready to escape out the door
But their good natured laughter rose to a roar.
At the U of Delaware, I tried the same scheme
I didn't compete, just ran with the team
Came by in street clothes one day, but led the pack
Then the captain sprinted, a successful attack.
[chorus]
It was a healthy time, and my pace improved,
It was fun to go fast, and with grace I moved.
When you're in great shape the road ahead seems free,
Like running with the wind, like sailing on the sea.
I had short encounters on roads and trails
Other runners, unassuming, but tough as nails
I caught up with a Marine, matched his stride,
"I love hills!" he said, a matter of pride.
On a back road ran a woman, a running blonde blaze
I caught up, but there was steel in her gaze
"Don't bother", she said, "I've run men into the ground"
I had a brief vision of scattered bodies around.
She was swift, and no doubt those guys lost face
But she had thrown the gauntlet, I had to keep pace.
Two runs I remember, they were so nice
One Delaware winter, trees sparkling with ice,
And with Westchester Roadrunners in fields of lush green
Don't know how I kept up, but magic in the scene.
[outro]
That was 40 years ago, but when night descends,
I think back to running with two teams of new friends
At Manhattan, then Delaware, both let me come
Wherever they are now, long may they run.
And may the wind be always at their back
On life's winding path, or off the main track.
Copyright © Mark Springer | Year Posted 2024
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Mark Springer Poem
She found a job near Annapurna and when she trekked around a turn
It was like walking into a wall of beauty, awesome like a burn
It sometimes stopped her cold; this display words could not surpass:
Alpenglow on distant peaks, flags on a mountain pass.
Her ancestors lived by Polish rivers, but none were like Dudh Koshi
From Glacial Lakes on Everest and eventually to the sea.
A torrent crashing down, sometimes turquoise, sometimes white
Slowly weaving through dense forests at Nepal's lower height.
Get up early at Kala Patthar, witness Everest catch the sun:
Its light chases over the lakes and on the ridges runs.
Paraglide off Pokhara, see dawn mountains pink and gold:
Bright greens of forests, rhododendron blooms unfold
Cross Mountain rivers: the bridges sway like cradled dreams,
Ski the slopes in Auli, or row on quiet streams.
You can see the highest mountains mirrored inside the highest lakes
Look up at the clouds pierced by peaks, the patterns nature makes.
In Spiti’s stark embrace, stars hush all petty human talk,
Past Khardung La’s high pass, desert camels softly walk.
Dharamshala’s pines and meadows whisper in your heart,
Yet after a vacation spent in awe, you know you must depart.
Some trek here after wars they fought, or before new roles begin,
Some come from countries flooded with crime, their leaders do them in.
I'm pessimistic; on our future I'd hate to bet
I feel a sword hangs overhead, but we just don't know it yet
But this is a place you can remember, before fate hits the fan
Just don't drive on the roads don't breathe the dust, make sure to have a plan.
And as you climb to basecamp, here's another reason why
From real to metaphoric, you can use a Himalayan High.
Copyright © Mark Springer | Year Posted 2024
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