schmits.org

Welcome to schmits.org: , , , and virtual front porch. This web site is just that; a place to visit for family, friends, and anyone, who are too far away, to stop by in person. Pull up a chair and stay a while....

Rain

As I lay on the edge of sleep,
rain drops pitter patter on my tent
like the footsteps of a hundred children running.

As I drift away,
I overhear the rain talking.
What does it say?

As I wake,
the foggy sunlight evaporates the message of the rain tangled in my dreams.
I reach for them with the fingers of my mind,
but, as I grasp, they disappear.
So, I stop and let them linger until every drop is gone.

Double H Ranch, New Mexico
26 July 2008

Dylan's First Poem

Dylan composed his first poem this morning. Fortunately, I was listening carefully and captured it.

The sun comes in my window
And sleeps in my drawer,
And then it plays on my bed.

Naperville, Illinois
19 July 2007

Untitled

     Faster, faster,
I must keep going.
I hear the monotonous sound of foot steps behind me.

     Faster, faster,
My chest constricts restraining my breathing.
I continue to hear the steady thump of boots.

     Faster, faster,
I turn down the alley hoping for a way to escape.
I sense his presence still behind me continuing this nightmare.

     Faster, faster,
I see a chain link fence at the end of the dismal alley.
I smell the leather of my persuader's jacket.

     Faster, faster,
I jump and begin to scale the rusted barrier.
I feel his hand grasp my foot.

     Faster, faster, I try hopelessly to break away and escape.
I turn and scream when I.......

Fenner, New York
late 1980s

Cue the Hitchcock music.... Remember I'm posting my poetry collection in reverse chronological order. So, while the poems may not be as good, remember that I was at least cuter back then.

Memorandum

Silent as an Indian through the brush,
It lays,
   a crushed page of notions.
   a forgotten memory outside the memoirs,
Who will note it?
Not a one.

Still as water of the indigo pool,
It lays,
   a crumpled sheet of recollections,
   a disregarded conception within convolutions.
Who will grasp it?
Not a one.

Shadowed like the mind of man,
It lays,
   a deserted file of impressions,
   a mangled idea beyond understandings.
Who will read it?
Not a one.

Fenner, New York
late 1980s

I don't remember what, specifically, inspired me to write this poem. I was obviously thinking of a discarded notes of some sort, but I'm not sure if just this general concept or a more specific experience was the impetus.

Adapt to Survive

An earthquake tilts a pin oak to the Earth,
Yet its toppled limbs continue to thrust.
The fire that transmutes a jack pine to dust
Stimulates it seeds for the wood's rebirth.
Flood waters flow from sky, river, and firth,
And yet a cyprus swamp remains robust.
A wind enraged shreds maple limbs; the gust
Is beaten by buds that increase its girth.

A skyscraper is toppled to the ground;
A cottage becomes a smoldering hive;
A steel bridge is buried beneath the sound;
A barn is tumbled in a windswept dive.
   Man needs to learn from nature so profound.
   That nature always adapts to survive.

Cazenovia, New York
1990

This is the first sonnet that I wrote. I think the second one is stronger. Like the second sonnet, this one is also inspired by Transcendentalism philosophy that I was studying in school at the time.

Philmont Skies

As I stood upon the mountain top,
The sky was but a sea;
And the clouds, islands.

Cimmaron, New Mexico
1990

Once you're there, you understand why its called "God's Country."

The Cycle

Leaves fall, a skeleton of limbs extends,
Yet with the warmth of springtime new buds grow.
The rhythms of the grizzly bear's heart slow,
Yet as the daylight grows, his slumber ends.
The petals of the rose the snow suspends,
Yet flowers return from the seeds below.
The earth is frozen by the hoary snow,
Yet desolate soils the spring rain amends.

Pestilence, war, famine, death daily ride;
Hooves spark the holocaust that lights the way
To Armageddon: Void. Nihil. Empty.

Light. Genesis. Spring. And a baby cried;
Then mankind toddles to begin its day
And strides to a halcyon melody.


Fenner, New York
1990

This sonnet, one of two that I have written, was very much inspired by the Transcendentalism philosophy that I was studying in school at the time. The influence of the Transcendentalists is reflected in terms of theme and natural imagery as well as the language.

f(x)

Life:
   a continuous function,
   without limits,
   or asymptotes.

   an integrable function,
   the virtuous area above the axis;
   the malicious below.

   an oscillating function,
   with elated maxims,
   and depressed minims.

   an implicit function,
   with an inverse curve,
   and their common point -- death.

Life:
   a continuous function,
   that after its intersection,
   deviates beyond the Cartesian plane.


Middlebury, Vermont
1991

This is another poem written at the New England Young Writers Conference at the Bread Loaf Campus. This poem is an example of what can happen when a philosophical teenage poet is a little too excited about calculus.

It Has Begun

The seven bowls of His fury
      are poured upon the earth
      to commence the Apocalypse.
It has begun.

The first,
      that kindles caustic sores,
      is the cancer of ultra-violet rays.
The second,
      transmuting the sea to blood,
      is the red tide of prolific microbes.
The third,
      that poisons the rivers,
      contaminates with toxic chemicals.
The fourth,
      that annuls the shelter from the burning sun,
      fracture the ozone shield.
The fifth,
      enveloping the world in darkness,
      is the blanket of cities' smog.
The sixth,
      that parches the Euphrates,
      is the searing greenhouse.
The seventh,
      that ignites the lightning,
      thunders from the ocean's ominous clouds.

The seven bowls of His fury
      are poured upon the earth
      to commence the Apocalypse.
It has begun.

Middlebury, Vermont and Fenner, New York
1991-1992

I began this poem, inspired by the book of Revelations at the New England Young Writers Conference at the Bread Loaf Campus. Over ten years have passed since I wrote it, and, unfortunately, the environment is even more damaged and at even greater risk than it was then.

Antipodes

Vacant,
With its Lordly
Beds, the Royal Palace
Lies; outside a man sleeps on a
worn bench.

Cazenovia, New York
1991

This poem was one part of the first exercise of my Advanced Placement English class in high school. It was a wonderful exercise. It started like most first assignments in English class in that we were to write about our summer vacation. However, after that initial part, the exercise was quite unique. I believe the second part of the assignment was to condense what we had written to a single page; next, a single paragraph; next, a single sentence. The second to last part of the exercise was to write a poem based on the original writing. The final part of the exercise was to reduce our report on our summer vacation to one word. Mine? The title of the poem, Antipodes.

The inspiration for this poem was the Royal Palace in Madrid, Spain in all its magnificence and opulence. As we were walking by the palace, I noticed a homeless man sleeping on a park bench out front. At some point, we heard that the Royal Family was traveling abroad. That juxtaposition remains a vivid memory.