Left Hand Poetry

A brief, light ode this week to the fuzzy little bunny who lets me take their picture and eats the grass (and probably carrot tops) in my yard. It's a fuzzy little poem that could use a little more work, maybe, just like the little bunny who isn't as scared of me as they ought to be.

My dear fans of the podcast, here we are after 15 months together. I began this podcast for 2 reasons: 1. To make the opportunity to read out loud the poetry I'd been writing for all these years, and 2. To sell some poetry books. Goal 1 - accomplished! Goal 2 ... Folks, I'm not asking you to head over to Amazon and buy my poetry books apropos of nothing. They make great gifts. They look good while taking up not much space on your bookshelf. The proceeds from sustained sales of them would go a long way to making this podcast pay for itself. I've hinted, suggested, proposed that my books are out there, and maybe I'm just impatient, but it's been just the baker's dozen of us (there's 12 of you out there listening regularly, plus me!) along on this journey. As much as I appreciate an intimate venue, if it's not in your means to buy a book, then help spread the word about the podcast. Your friends care more about your recommendation than anything I could tweet or post about. Let's keep this little art project of ours going together. Let me feel your love.

You know who else needs love?

Black People, LGBTQ people, immigrants and refugees.

Open up your bank accounts and give some money to the good organizations doing the work to make the world more equitable for everyone. Or your time, or whatever.

Sometimes I wonder if it's because I made the decision last year to begin sharing this message in every podcast episode and every podcast post like this that my audience has remained limited. But honestly I don't care. It would eat me up more inside if I DIDN'T say something in every episode, every time.

OH OH OH And get vaccinated if you haven't (or if you can, I know this podcast is available worldwide, unlike the vaccine) and keep wearing your mask!

So to recap: Go do some good! Get vaccinated and wear a mask! Tell people about the podcast and the companion books so I can keep doing this.

I've spent almost no time in casinos, and given my awareness of my luck at games of chance there's a good reason why. However, I have been a working musician on and off over the years and many of my friends are full-time working musicians (damn good too). So I respect the hustle and the need to pay rent and furthermore just to perform (hi, I have a poetry podcast, whatsup). So with all that in mind, I give you this week's debut of "House Band at a Casino."

OH - quick note that this week's poem has the theme music I created for the podcast playing underneath the poem itself. Seemed like a neat thing to do, a little experiment. If I had more time to devote to the podcast I'd figure out how to record something fresh to lay under the reading each week. But now I'm just rambling.

If you've read this far, you seem to have some interest in this podcast. Thanks for that, I appreciate it! This is more than a one-way communication, though. Your feedback is important to me. Did you like a particular rhyme scheme? Did a topic strike your fancy and you'd like to hear more poems like that? Did you absolutely hate something I read and worry that I might inflict a similar poem on you in the future? How should I know? That's where you come in. There are so many ways to get back to me:

• Leave a comment on my blog
• Comment on the Tumblr post
• Comment on Libsyn
• @ me on Twitter (@Lefthandrob)
• Like, comment, share on my Facebook page
• Visit my Instagram page
• Rate and review in your podcast app

After listening to the podcast (or while listening), visit one of these sites and donate for the cause, because All Black Lives Matter and my fellow white (and cis) people we need to get in the game:

Donate to Black Lives Matter

Donate to the Souther Poverty Law Center

Donate to the Equal Justice Initiative

Transgender Law Center

The poems will continue to flow, but so must the Justice.

House Band at a Casino

The dichotomy of the soul

That must exist for

the lounge singer

That unknown musician

on stage

at the casino,

the house band

in a house built

on a sketchy grasp of math

But the split

must run deep

For they ply their trade

Express their talent and

speak their vocation

But to a largely

disaffected audience

who are otherwise

consumed

By greed

or addiction

Rare is the soul

who just pops in

to hear the house band play

Thank you, house band.

Play on.

This poem has been, appropriately, in the works for some time. I believe it's the first I've ever written about my father, though I have thoughts for several more. The text of the poem is at the bottom of this post, as this is another debut of a work.

If you've read this far, you seem to have some interest in this podcast. Thanks for that, I appreciate it! This is more than a one-way communication, though. Your feedback is important to me. Did you like a particular rhyme scheme? Did a topic strike your fancy and you'd like to hear more poems like that? Did you absolutely hate something I read and worry that I might inflict a similar poem on you in the future? How should I know? That's where you come in. There are so many ways to get back to me:

• Leave a comment on my blog
• Comment on the Tumblr post
• Comment on Libsyn
• @ me on Twitter (@Lefthandrob)
• Like, comment, share on my Facebook page
• Visit my Instagram page
• Rate and review in your podcast app

After listening to the podcast (or while listening), visit one of these sites and donate for the cause, because All Black Lives Matter and my fellow white (and cis) people we need to get in the game:

Donate to Black Lives Matter

Donate to the Souther Poverty Law Center

Donate to the Equal Justice Initiative

Transgender Law Center

The poems will continue to flow, but so must the Justice.

Scoping

I'm standing on the landing

Of our brand new house,

staring out into the yard.

My son asks me what I'm doing,

and I reply

That I'm thinking about something.

In my thinking I am tinkering

Building out a shape,

Resolving the problem.

Working out the requirements

As my father did

So many times when I was a son.

I never gathered why it mattered

why he just stood there.

Staring at an empty parcel of our yard,

or a wall of the house

Why not just start doing?

He was scoping in that moment

As he stood there still.

His mind assembling the pieces

and the measurements

He would tell me.

Eventually I knew I would see

Something new out in the yard;

Or some fresh construction:

Bringing craftsmanship

And utility to our home.

And as I am standing on the landing

Staring out the window

of our brand new house,

My son asking me

why I was just standing there…

I know that in so many small ways,

I have become my father.

Another fresh poem making its debut on the podcast this week! I've been reading a lot of more sparse poems lately, but "Ask Not For Whom The Vulture Lands..." is step back in the direction of using more words to give us some rhythm in addition to rhyme. You can find the text of the poem at the bottom of this post, but before moving on I wanted to offer my apologies to John Donne, Ernest Hemingway, and Edgar Allen Poe for borrowing from all of them in the writing of this piece. Like Harry Chapin said in his live recording of "30,000lbs of Bananas," you'll know it when it comes by.

If you've read this far, you seem to have some interest in this podcast. Thanks for that, I appreciate it! This is more than a one-way communication, though. Your feedback is important to me. Did you like a particular rhyme scheme? Did a topic strike your fancy and you'd like to hear more poems like that? Did you absolutely hate something I read and worry that I might inflict a similar poem on you in the future? How should I know? That's where you come in. There are so many ways to get back to me:

• Leave a comment on my blog
• Comment on the Tumblr post
• Comment on Libsyn
• @ me on Twitter (@Lefthandrob)
• Like, comment, share on my Facebook page
• Visit my Instagram page
• Rate and review in your podcast app

After listening to the podcast (or while listening), visit one of these sites and donate for the cause, because All Black Lives Matter and my fellow white (and cis) people we need to get in the game:

Donate to Black Lives Matter

Donate to the Souther Poverty Law Center

Donate to the Equal Justice Initiative

Transgender Law Center

The poems will continue to flow, but so must the Justice.

Ask Not For Whom The Vulture Lands, It Lands For Thee

One hazy morning while out walking

The wife, the dog, and I were talking

(Only spouse and I were talking;

The dog was just out there to pee).

We happened on a large black bird

I wondered if she had overheard?

Of what and which we both were talking

And if she'd swooped down to see.

At first I thought she was a turkey

We get them 'round here, so often lurking

In the woods where folks go walking

Maybe it … was a he?

And then I took a closer look and found

That this bird was far too round

I took his measure, firmly marking

That bird was not a wild turkey.

I paid my wife this next cognition

Aided by my further vision

A closer look without gawking:

This was a vulture, Comma, turkey.

A turkey vulture there just sitting

Eying roadkill, stock-still sitting.

Dare I say its best at lurking

Against the roadbed's adjacent quey.

And so we left him (her?) there in peace

The wife, the dog, and by default, me.

We left that turkey vulture to his hawking

Obeyed his silent, hungry plea.

Thus some truths eternal hold

Be they often meek or seldom bold

See me sane and never barking,

Ask not for whom the vulture lands:

It lands for thee.

One of the things I enjoy writing poems about - as you may have guessed by now - is the weather as I experience it throughout the year. My problem of writing snow poems is well documented, both here on the podcast and in my poetry books (which you should be buying, look, the link is right there). But now I turn my sweated eye toward our current season here in the northern hemisphere, as we find ourselves in the depths of Summer. This is born "Axial Tilt," this week's entry. Well, last week's entry, but I'm a little late to the game this week.

If you've read this far, you seem to have some interest in this podcast. Thanks for that, I appreciate it! This is more than a one-way communication, though. Your feedback is important to me. Did you like a particular rhyme scheme? Did a topic strike your fancy and you'd like to hear more poems like that? Did you absolutely hate something I read and worry that I might inflict a similar poem on you in the future? How should I know? That's where you come in. There are so many ways to get back to me:

• Leave a comment on my blog
• Comment on the Tumblr post
• Comment on Libsyn
• @ me on Twitter (@Lefthandrob)
• Like, comment, share on my Facebook page
• Visit my Instagram page
• Rate and review in your podcast app

After listening to the podcast (or while listening), visit one of these sites and donate for the cause, because All Black Lives Matter and my fellow white (and cis) people we need to get in the game:

Donate to Black Lives Matter

Donate to the Souther Poverty Law Center

Donate to the Equal Justice Initiative

Transgender Law Center

The poems will continue to flow, but so must the Justice.

We walk the dog every morning and our walks take us past some of the drainage ponds that dot our little subdivided corner of the world. The pond in question - the pond that inspired this poem - is affectionately called "The Duck Pond" by my wife and me. Because last Fall we saw a number of ducks congregating there, I mean, it's pretty simple. Anyway, while walking the dog one morning recently I noticed a big white heron (egret? I think this was a heron, for the purposes of the poem it was a heron, but you can check the photo for yourself: https://lefthandrob.tumblr.com/post/655522651118403584) hanging out in the pond. Given the morning light and the fullness of the pond from recent rain, this was too good a photo opportunity to pass up. Of course as I crested the hill between myself and the pond I soon realized that there was not 1 but three herons (egrets?) hanging out. And a mother duck with her ducklings going for a swim. And thus the photo linked above was born. And thus this week's poem was inspired as I meditated on how damn peaceful the whole scene was, even though there's construction happening a hundred yards away from this bucolic vista.

Hey, you know the drill:

I want to hear what you think of the podcast, whether it's a specific poem or the format, or whatever's on your mind! Leave a review or a comment in your podcast app, or catch me on Twitter @Lefthandrob.

After listening to the podcast (or while listening), visit one of these sites and donate for the cause, because All Black Lives Matter and my fellow white (and cis) people we need to get in the game:

Donate to Black Lives Matter

Donate to the Souther Poverty Law Center

Donate to the Equal Justice Initiative

Transgender Law Center

The poems will continue to flow, but so must the Justice.

America: The United States thereof. I'm a firm believer that if we work toward the principles that we espouse that we could actually have a decent place for most everyone. I am also fully aware that this has not, is not, and will not be the case for a good number of people for years to come. But the work continues. This week's poem focuses on some of the symbolism of this nation-state we call home and hopefully you feel the call towards a better America for everyone in the poem.

Happy Independence Day, America!

Hey, you know the drill:

I want to hear what you think of the podcast, whether it's a specific poem or the format, or whatever's on your mind! Leave a review or a comment in your podcast app, or catch me on Twitter @Lefthandrob.

After listening to the podcast (or while listening), visit one of these sites and donate for the cause, because All Black Lives Matter and my fellow white (and cis) people we need to get in the game:

Donate to Black Lives Matter

Donate to the Souther Poverty Law Center

Donate to the Equal Justice Initiative

Transgender Law Center

The poems will continue to flow, but so must the Justice.

Y'all. Folks. My friends. Listeners. Poetry fans. A week ago my wife and I were on our way - in the car- to New York City to see the Foo Fighters perform the first concert @ Madison Square Garden since the pandemic began for most of us last March. And it was a glorious show. Whether or not you're a fan of that specific band, we all know the feeling of joy that coming back into the world and doing something that was not possible while we all worked to fight the disease that ravaged the world -- and in many places still does! Get your shots, people, if you haven't! This is important. This concert was for those of us who have been fully vaccinated and it was amazing. You too can enjoy amazing things again when you've had your shots and are back in the world. This week's poem is about that joy.

Hey, you know the drill:

I want to hear what you think of the podcast, whether it's a specific poem or the format, or whatever's on your mind! Leave a review or a comment in your podcast app, or catch me on Twitter @Lefthandrob.

After listening to the podcast (or while listening), visit one of these sites and donate for the cause, because All Black Lives Matter and my fellow white (and cis) people we need to get in the game:

Donate to Black Lives Matter

Donate to the Souther Poverty Law Center

Donate to the Equal Justice Initiative

Transgender Law Center

The poems will continue to flow, but so must the Justice.

Another ambient piece this week, meant to evoke the feeling of standing under low-hanging clouds in the night sky of June when you're trapped between the awe of nature and the fact that you're tired and you wish the dog would just wrap up his business already because you're ready for bed.

Hey, you know the drill:

I want to hear what you think of the podcast, whether it's a specific poem or the format, or whatever's on your mind! Leave a review or a comment in your podcast app, or catch me on Twitter @Lefthandrob.

After listening to the podcast (or while listening), visit one of these sites and donate for the cause, because All Black Lives Matter and my fellow white (and cis) people we need to get in the game:

Donate to Black Lives Matter

Donate to the Souther Poverty Law Center

Donate to the Equal Justice Initiative

Transgender Law Center

The poems will continue to flow, but so must the Justice.

I have a fraught relationship with Amazon. On the one hand, they provide a facility for me to publish my books (including my poetry books. Ahem) and also get pretty much whatever I realize I need with a few swipes and taps while also donating a tiny bit of that purchase back to an organization for which I care. ON THE OTHER HAND, Amazon exploits people via horrible working conditions and my consumer habits are funding the second-coolest billionaire rocket out there when he could be putting a good chunk of that money into any number of social programs, soooooooooooooooo

But when I leave product reviews, I like to do them in the form of poems, because duh. Thus this week's poem.

Hey, you know the drill:

I want to hear what you think of the podcast, whether it's a specific poem or the format, or whatever's on your mind! Leave a review or a comment in your podcast app, or catch me on Twitter @Lefthandrob.

After listening to the podcast (or while listening), visit one of these sites and donate for the cause, because All Black Lives Matter and my fellow white (and cis) people we need to get in the game:

Donate to Black Lives Matter

Donate to the Souther Poverty Law Center

Donate to the Equal Justice Initiative

Transgender Law Center

The poems will continue to flow, but so must the Justice.