Posts filed under ‘poem’
ELMO’S INVENTION: CHAPTER 5, ELMO’S PRISON
But first, a message from my poet friend, Steve.
Local poet Steve Kupferschmid has published a poetry chapbook with Kelsay Books entitled “Weight of Water.” The thirty-one poems in the collection reflect upon the joys and sorrows of youth and age, of love and loss. Compact in form yet rich in imagery, this collection offers an enjoyable, memorable read. Available from Amazon or any bookstore.
I have heard my friend, Steve, read his poems and they call to mind the poems of Billy Collins. Poems which tell a story, but at the same time, have a deeper meaning.
CHAPTER 5
ELMO’S PRISON
When Kingsley rose, everyone looked in his direction. It was not unprecedented that he would speak at a meeting, but it was a rare occurrence. What Kingsley said to the group would usually solve the problem at hand. Elmo prepared to hear great things from Kingsley and gain insight on how to fix his machine.
After once again clearing his throat, whether to gain everyone’s attention or because he found talking to be an effort, no one was sure, he began to speak. “Elmo, you must be rewarded for your effort. Although you have not accomplished what you set out to accomplish, and perhaps never will, your invention could possibly change the course of society. I have no doubt that mankind will greatly benefit from your invention, if they choose to embrace its benefits is a different matter. Only time will tell.”
Elmo, along with the rest of the group, was both puzzled and full of anticipation.
Kingsley continued, “However, I am a mathematician and not an ethicist and cannot predict the consequences of your discovery.”
Elmo said, “I am totally lost. You say I have made a great discovery, yet at the same time say that its use will produce ethical problems.”
“That’s correct, Elmo. Your invention, in my mind, would be the perfect prison.”
Elmo, along with William and James, stared at Kingsley in total disbelief, and then slowly began to understand what he was saying.
After a few moments of deep thought, Harold Kinter voiced his thoughts to the gathering, “Of course, I can see it now. Elmo, your invention, though unintended, could do away with prisons as we know them. Year-long sentences could be served in a matter of minutes. It would save society millions of dollars and save prisoners from the dangers inherent in incarceration.
“Think of it! No matter what the length of a prisoner’s sentence, the punishment could be delivered in a matter of minutes. Your invention could funnel money into projects that benefit society and save prisoners from harm.”
They all looked at Elmo. His visage was one of disappointment and disbelief. “I meant my invention to be a time machine; instead, you say I invented the perfect prison. I failed.”
Kingsley stepped totally out of character and attempted to comfort his colleague. “Elmo, some of the greatest discoveries in the world were made by accident. Look at all the lives that were saved by the discovery of penicillin. If Fleming had not noticed that petri dish with mold and dying bacteria, who knows how long it would have taken for someone else to discover that life-saving antibiotic.
“Think of the value of your discovery, and someday I am sure that you will determine the principle behind the device. With your invention, no matter the length of a prisoner’s sentence it could be served in minutes with virtually no expense to society. And when it comes to a death sentence, your machine can accomplish that too, but a death sentence is a death sentence no matter how it is accomplished.
Then James Forsyth began to speak, “I can think of another question which requires an answer. After a prisoner serves his term in your machine, what is his mental state? Is his mind the same as it was before the prison term? Or does his mind age along with his body? Although I cannot imagine how the mind ages with the lack of experience.”
Elmo said, “I can think of no answer to the question of mind aging. I feel this can only be determined with the test of a human subject. But I must add I owe a great deal of gratitude for introducing important questions I had not considered.”
“Your device could save society millions, perhaps billions of dollars and funnel the revenue into efforts that would better society. Education, medical research, providing for the elderly and that is only the tip of the iceberg of what could be affected by this machine. But I fear there will be obstacles to this scenario which I cannot anticipate.
“You see, our society is inconsistent. It professes one set of values yet lives by another. We say how important education is, but we do not support it the way we should, not to mention that the key to education is parental input. We pay lip service to medical advancement, but do not fund the conjecture that could become reality. And when a discovery is made, many times it is beyond the reach of those who would benefit. We say we value the elderly yet turn away when we could make their final years more comfortable.
“I fear there will be great objection to your discovery but cannot anticipate the form it will take. Good luck, Elmo. You have a difficult path ahead of you.”
TRANSITI0NS: A POEM OF CHANGE
When you’re old enough to look back.
TRANSITIONS
The years, they march unceasing,
Dreams flare, then fade away,
Some reach, some corner of my mind
Still plays with yesterday.
The years, they take their toll,
Hopes dim, then fade away,
My youth, now past now spent
Has abandoned me this day.
I pause, I catch the sound
Of small children, my children at play,
The world does comes full circle,
I pause, not knowing what to say.
Their years, they grow, they flourish,
Their dreams, they seize the day,
I retreat, then yield and vanish,
Hope fills their world today.
SNOW: A POEM FOR THE TIMES
SNOW: A POEM FOR THE TIMES
For those familiar with my blog I’m sure they expected to see this poem again with the major snowstorm we have just seen and are still experiencing.
Snow is a poem I post every time there is a significant snowfall. I feel this current storm merits its posting.
This poem was inspired by Edgar Allan Poe’s, The Bells.
SNOW
See the delicate snowflakes fall,
Falling, falling, falling.
Whitening the earth, awaiting below,
Falling, falling, falling.
See the mounds of glittering white,
Building, building, building.
As they hide the ground from our sight,
Building, building, building.
See the ceaseless falling snow,
Falling, falling, falling.
Will it stop, no one quite knows,
Falling, falling, falling.
See the drifts accumulate,
Building, building, building.
My longing for spring will no longer wait,
Building, building, building.
SEE THE DAMNED WHITE BLANKET GROW,
HIDING, HIDING, HIDING.
MY CAR, MY LAWN, ALL I KNOW,
HIDING, HIDING, HIDING.
SEE MY MADNESS, MY URGE TO KILL,
GROWING, GROWING, GROWING,
CROSS MY PATH, AND I’LL DO YOU ILL,
SMILING, SMILING, SMILING.
SNOW: A POEM FOR THE TIMES
Snow is a poem I wrote every time there is a significant snowfall. I feel this current storm merits a posting.
This poem was inspired by Edgar Allan Poe’s, The Bells.
SNOW
See the delicate snowflakes fall,
Falling, falling, falling.
Whitening the earth, awaiting below,
Falling, falling, falling.
See the mounds of glittering white,
Building, building, building.
As they hide the ground from our sight,
Building, building, building.
See the ceaseless falling snow,
Falling, falling, falling.
Will it stop, no one quite knows,
Falling, falling, falling.
See the drifts accumulate,
Building, building, building.
My longing for spring will no longer wait,
Building, building, building.
SEE THE DAMNED WHITE BLANKET GROW,
HIDING, HIDING, HIDING.
MY CAR, MY LAWN, ALL I KNOW,
HIDING, HIDING, HIDING.
SEE MY MADNESS, MY URGE TO KILL,
GROWING, GROWING, GROWING,
CROSS MY PATH, AND I’LL DO YOU ILL,
SMILING, SMILING, SMILING.
A TWO-YEAR-OLD DIED TODAY
A TWO-YEAR-OLD DIED
12/22/2025
I heard on the news this morning that a two-year-old just died. To make the news the circumstances must be suspect. This news grabbed me and would not let go. I suspect the reason is the season and I associate children with happiness, especially now.
What follows are thoughts trying to be a poem.
A TWO-YEAR-OLD DIED
A two-year-old died today,
Does anyone ask, “Why”?
Or break down and cry.
A two-year-old died today,
Will it happen again?
Just a matter of when.
SNOW: A TIMELY POEM
As a resident of Pennsylvania, I’m gazing at a winter wonder land. We have just had our first snow storm and I post this poem to express what some residents will soon be experiencing with their shovels.
This poem was inspired by Edgar Allan Poe’s, The Bells.
THE SNOW
See the delicate snowflakes fall,
Falling, falling, falling.
Whitening the earth, awaiting below,
Falling, falling, falling.
See the mounds of glittering white,
Building, building, building.
As they hide the ground from our sight,
Building, building, building.
See the ceaseless falling snow,
Falling, falling, falling.
Will it stop, no one quite knows,
Falling, falling, falling.
See the drifts accumulate,
Building, building, building.
My longing for spring will no longer wait,
Building, building, building.
SEE THE DAMNED WHITE BLANKET GROW,
HIDING, HIDING, HIDING.
MY CAR, MY LAWN, ALL I KNOW,
HIDING, HIDING, HIDING.
SEE MY MADNESS, MY URGE TO KILL,
GROWING, GROWING, GROWING,
CROSS MY PATH, AND I’LL DO YOU ILL,
SMILING, SMILING, SMILING.
MY ATTEMPT AT WRITING POETRY: THE WHEATFIELD REVEALED
The following poem was published in the Clover Collection of Verse Vol. XII, edited by Evelyn Petry, in 1976.
THE WHEATFIELD REVEALED
Friendless you toiled with palette and brush,
Forlorn amidst wheatfields with only the rush
Of flying crows to mark the day,
Crossed paths unite yet yield no safe way,
Fulfillment beneath sorrowful skies
Painting with troubled soul once cries
Out for love but finds only torment,
Thus, your life spent.
Tramping through fields of cypress and corn
With stars and suns swirl in a morn,
Hatband-held candles yield flickering light
Sustaining your soul on last starry night,
Rooks swirled in violet a soul hungers still,
Standing alone – the wheatfield revealed.
MY ATTEMPT AT WRITING POETRY: CAMERA’S EYE
For a while I was living in Newark, New Jersey, working in the Bronx and driving to work on the New Jersey Turnpike. The drive took me through the marsh between Newark and the Hudson River. Along the way I noticed a small dock with a boat or two there. The surrounding area was less than attractive but, in my mind, I would imagine the dock on a tranquil lake or on an inlet leading to the ocean. This poem is the result of those thoughts.
The following poem was published in the Clover Collection of Verse Vol. XII, edited by Evelyn Petry, in 1976.
CAMERA’S EYE
Camera’s eye catches delicate flowers,
Views the graceful bee in pollination flight,
Spies the brushing of pollen – laden stamens,
Holds in time a scene most tranquil;
Yet does not discover the roadside trash,
The flower’s home amid mud and mire;
Does not smell the exhaust raining acid
On delicate flowers.
Camera’s eye gazes upon a child framed in a window,
Beholds the easy lean of chin in palm, elbow on windowsill,
Wide eyes looking out at the world in wonder,
Knows the innocent child – wisdom;
Yet ignores the window’s building,
Screens out the ghetto of rotted houses and dreams.
MY ATTEMPT AT WRITING POETRY: CITY DEATH
Published by New Worlds Unlimited in Whispers of the Unchained Heart in 1977.
CITY DEATH
Gone-
Murdered by concrete
And polluted air,
Witness to city’s growth,
Yielding shade on sultry days,
Forming crystalline sculptures in winter,
Morning drones with saws,
A barren stump your marker,
Death your reward.
MY ATTEMPT AT WRITING POETRY: PARK RESIDENT
Published by New Worlds Unlimited in Shadows of the Elusive Dreams in 1975.
PARK RESIDENT
Winding through city streets,
Stumbling from a park-bench sleep,
In the uncertain light of dawn
He wanders,
Eyes brimmed with despair,
Blessed with another day
His mind recalls vague dreams,
Dreams of his youth
Gone to mist,
Less often now come dreams
Unknown to park-bench beds,
Night brings only cold,
Thoughts void of future.
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