Five Poems by Gerard Donnelly Smith

 

A Poem You Can Ignore 

 

I don’t want to write a poem 

that waves its arms, jumps 

from one foot to three feet 

to grab your attention,  

or that leaping off the cliff kind 

that lands on an incongruous line 

strung across the past, like a tripwire 

to trigger emotional responses.  

 

I want a poem that sits 

on a park bench feeding pigeons 

eggshells that have not been shaken  

from fragile minds, a poem quietly 

whispering secrets to itself  

as dog walkers dutifully clean up  

excrement, a poem that’s not afraid 

to say anything and nothing at all, 

a poem that’s just sits there 

quietly minded its own business, 

a poem you can ignore.

 

 

The Chicken with the Red Hat 

After Charles Simic 

 

The chicken with the red hat has lost its head 

that blows a discordant trumpet in the barnyard 

beside the red wheelbarrow, left to rust in the rain, 

the dirt within, turning to mud, grumbles to the sky, 

while a seed, searching for a place to germinate, 

spirals like a kayak down a drain full of rainwater. 

The chicken with the red hat has left the barbecue  

unattended and the ears of the beholders perk up 

to the discordant trumpet rioting in the cornfield, 

and the ears, covered with ergot, wait to be eaten 

by the faithful who, waving flags on the overpass, 

chant admonitions at the speeding motorists. 

The chicken with the red hat has had a revelation 

that it doesn’t need a head telling it that 

the sky is falling like a downpour after a drought 

and the dam will break and the dirt,  struggling 

to stay afloat,  will be carried beyond the horizon. 

 

 

Off with the Fairies 

 

When I stared out the window, the nun 

would bring me back from daydreaming 

with a ruler whack on the wooden desk, 

then the veil would quickly close, back 

to numbers again or the lives of the saints 

which I illustrated with bright red crayon 

drips from their many wounds, then 

I’d be off again daydreaming about the  

saints fighting back, then whack again. 

 

At home, practicing penmanship, I would, 

still holding the pencil above the curl of an  “e”, 

be off again, running to the water’s edge, catfish 

waiting to be hooked, then my mother would ask 

“Where is your brain, Gerard Michael?  Off 

With the Fairies again”?  Then I would imagine, 

being that the kidnaped child replaced 

by a changeling, never having to practice  

cursive again. 

 

 

The Evolution of Mr. Mean 

 

I spied him by the side of the road, 

a dangerous place to squat and wait 

for infrequent rain. He was needy then. 

the car exhaust covering  

the Angel’s Wings with carbon dust.  

 

I wrapped him in a wet towel 

and cozied him in the back seat, 

he seemed appreciative then. 

Later I gave him water and feed 

and he thrived, flowered even, 

settling into the new environment, 

gazing out the southern window. 

 

Each time, he needed more room,  

He became pricklier, even so 

I suffered his minute needles, that 

seemed to fly toward exposed flesh. 

 

Despite my warnings, my  young son, 

who like other children might touch  

a stove in order to learn “hot”, 

touched the Bunny Ears, and  

recoiling in pain,  named our cactus: 

“Mr. Mean”.

 

 

The Tortoise Explains 

 

I am, by all accounts, 

Much  faster than a  snail, 

Compared to a starfish,  

I approach the speed of light. 

But sloths are deceptive, 

For they only appear slow 

When under observation 

And everyone knows that slugs 

are capable of teleportation. 

Everyone thinks the fable 

Is how the race went down; 

The claim that the rabbit slept 

While I plodded on to win, 

That’s fake news, Rabbit  

Propaganda.  In fact,  

I withdrew into my shell, 

And therein folded time and space, 

And crossed that finish line 

Before the hare took two hops. 

In truth, you falsely assume  

That I am one among many,  

but there is only one of me 

And I am everywhere 

All at once.

Gerard Donnelly Smith is a retired teacher of composition, literature, and poetry writing residing in the Pacific Northwest.