Chapter 1
Skylah Brooke

By Treischel

Skylah Brooke
(A Pantuom to Skylah)

To us, a new granddaughter was born,
Been waiting a whole nine months to meet.
Let's toss confetti and toot our horn!
We have a lovely new child to greet.

Been waiting a whole nine months to meet.
Brightened a cold February day.
We have a lovely new child to greet,
Skylah Brooke, you take our breath away!

Brightened a cold February day,
With a shock of hair, and rosy cheeks,
Skylah Brooke, you take our breath away!
Finally, the girl that her mommy seeks!

With a shock of hair, and rosy cheeks,
Button nose, smile that lights up a room,
Finally, the girl that her mommy seeks!
A gift to chase away winter's gloom.

Button nose, smile that lights up a room,
Mom's tender arms she'll sweetly adorn
A gift to chase away winter's gloom.
To us, a new granddaughter was born.

Author Notes On February 19, 2013, we were blessed with a healthy new granddaughter. My daughter, Aisha, named her Skylah Brooke. She had come across the name Skylah, and liked it. Her best friend's name was Brooke.

I wrote this poem to welcome her into the world. Aisha's been wanting a girl for a long time.

This poem is a Pantuom. A pantoum is a poem that is made up of quatrains. In a pantoum the second and fourth lines of the previous stanza are repeated as the first and third lines of the next stanza. For this poem, I chose a syllable count of 9, and a rhyme scheme of classic abab.

This picture was taken the night of her birth. She had been wide awake for hours. The grandparents were babysitting her sibling brothers. By the time we could make it to the hospital, she was asleep. Took this with my IPhone.

Chapter 2
Precious Baby

By Treischel

Precious Baby

Anything more precious than a baby?
Whether it's a first one or happy third,
To think of other options is absurd.

Anything more precious than a baby?
The love from two produces cherished child,
That grows from passions purpose reconciled.

Anything more precious than a baby?
Hospital's just a trip along the way.
Anticipation surrounds birthing day!

Anything more precious than a baby?
A miracle which was held deep inside,
That bursts from mother with a burst of pride.

Anything more precious than a baby?
Doesn't matter if it's a girl or boy,
Baby is a babbling bundle of joy!

Anything more precious than a baby?
All pink and perfect cuddled in your arms,
With tiny toes, chubby cheeks, teensy charms.

Anything more precious than a baby?
Pain of birth is suddenly forgotten
When mom holds that little fluff of cotton.

Anything more precious than a baby?
Mom and Dad can bring baby home today!
Nine months of waiting over! Hip Hurray!

Author Notes My daughter brings the baby, Skylah Brooke, home to her family today.

This picture is a picture of a computer screen with a photo my daughter sent me in December, 2011 when she brought her son, Isaac, home meet the family. So, the camera flash shows on the screen. That is me holding Isaac with his brother, Jeremy, on my shoulder. Today the two boys welcome their new sister, Skylah.

Chapter 3
Acrostic for Skylah Brooke

By Treischel

~~~~~~~~~~Acrostic For Skylah Brooke~~~~~~~~

She's the little girl mommy always wanted
issed and caressed throughout all Aisha's dreams
et until now, a wispy wish that's taunted
ike many other things that fell through life's seams
ngels finally heard, granting baby wishes
eaven sent a bouquet of girlie riches

oys are great, but it's a girl that she wanted,
osy cheeks, surrounded by soft curly hair,
pened her eyes, watching the world undaunted,
ffered a smile to everyone who was there,
indled a love only babies can ignite,
xciting every person within her sight.

Author Notes Another Poem for new granddaughter. This one an Acrostic
Aisha is my daughter's name.

Chapter 4
Too Soon

By Treischel

Too Soon

In 2003,
I watched my brother die,
From a long-term
Incurable disease.
He was way too young.
He'd only just
Turned sixty.

He fought a battle
For a couple years
And I can say,
It was a mighty one,
I recall with loving tears.

There was never victory
No success
Can be expected
When you're consumed

The toughest part
Was in
Those final months,
Filled with raging
At the loss of communication.

You see
His mind was very clear,
No speech,
But he could hear.

As slurs changed to grunts,
Than a pen and paper,
Then a machine that typed words,
He became,
A mind,
Trapped in a useless body.

And you would realize within those wise old eyes,
That he was captured within his own mind

My heart still cries.
We've had
Our last goodbyes.
I know
His soul's imprint



Author Notes I was just remembering my brother

A Free Verse Poem with incidental rhyme.

A picture of me with a picture of him that I took in October 2011

Chapter 5
A Prayer

By Treischel

My lover's in pain for which I cannot heal!
If a kiss could heal one broken back,
I'd kiss it 'til the sun comes up
And the aching pain was gone,
But still it goes on and on.
If God would only pass this cup,
And grant this healing that we lack.
I'd pay twice Heaven's price for this appeal!

Author Notes My wife has had dibilitating back pain since 2005 for which we've tried everything. Some days are better than others. today is a bad day. I can only comfort and pray.

Note that during the Agony in the Garden, Jesus asked God to take this cup from him, meaning his suffering to come at the crucifixioihn,

I put together this format. It has a enveloping rhyme scheme of abcddcba, and syllable count of 10-9-8-7-7-8-9-10

Thanks to Bertodi of use of his artwork, My Back.

Chapter 6
Enduring Love

By Treischel

Enduring Love


The greatest love is a love that endures
A love that bridges life's prevailing pains
The kind that sharing sorrow's aches assures
The greatest love is a love that endures
Through pulls and pleasures parenting's allures
The strength that true togetherness ensures
The greatest love is a love that endures
A love that bridges life's prevailing pains


A love that bridges life's prevailing pains
The greatest love is a love that endures
When stormy skies bring overwhelming rains
A love that bridges life's prevailing pains
When couples face the stresses and the strains
That balance out the losses and the gains
A love that bridges life's prevailing pains
The greatest love is a love that endures


The greatest love is a love that endures
That comes through Heaven to Hell and right back
For better or for worse two pledge and track
The greatest love is a love that endures
That takes the heat of stress and doesn't crack
When health and marital problems attack
The greatest love is a love that endures
That comes through Heaven to Hell and right back


Author Notes A triple interlinked triolet. My first attempt at a a triolet. The tempo is 10 beats.

Many thanks to photobeat for the beautiful artwork, Love at SunseLt.

Reflecting 38 years of Marriage

Chapter 7
Newborn Child Pantoum, Isaac

By Treischel

Newborn Child (Pantoum for Isaac)

Nothing is more beautiful than a Newborn Child
As the labor-worn mother takes it in her Arms
It snuggles on the bosom giving a faint Smile
As it melts a mother's heart with its tiny Charms

As the labor-worn mother takes it in her Arms
It suckles there contentedly taking its first drink
As it melts a mother's heart with its tiny Charms
The most lovely baby Ever Born, you fondly think

It suckles there contentedly taking its first drink
You're reminded of Baby Jesus, born so long ago
The most lovely baby Ever Born, you fondly think
He's heaven's link to our Salvation, you truly know

You're reminded of Baby Jesus, born so long ago
Lying in a manger as his mother Mary smiled
He's heaven's link to our Salvation, you truly know
Nothing is more beautiful than a Newborn Child.

Author Notes I reviewd a couple very beautiful Pantoum poems and thought, what a beautiful poetic format. I must try it. So, here is my first attempt.

My Grandson Isaac was born a year ago on December 7,2011
I took this picture on the day Isaac was born to my daughter Aisha. This was in the hospital room just hours after he was born.

This poem is for the mother and child.

The pantoum is a form of poetry similar to a villanelle in that there are repeating lines throughout the poem. It is composed of a series of quatrains; the second and fourth lines of each stanza are repeated as the first and third lines of the next. This pattern continues for any number of stanzas, except for the final stanza, which differs in the repeating pattern. The first and third lines of the last stanza are the second and fourth of the penultimate; the first line of the poem is the last line of the final stanza, and the third line of the first stanza is the second of the final. Ideally, the meaning of lines shifts when they are repeated although the words remain exactly the same: this can be done by shifting punctuation, punning, or simply recontextualizing.

Chapter 9
Little Ray of Light

By Treischel

Little Ray of Light

Little Ray of Light, Sweetly burning Bright,

Kept me up all night, in the fire light,

Feeding her a bite. Hope she keeps alright!

From the angel's height, such a tiny mite,

There's no need to fight . Keep her free from fright.

Tucked her in tonight, in her blanket - white,

Wrapped her up real tight, smiling at the sight.

My little Ray of Light.


Once she had enrolled, in the family fold,

The bells all tolled, the dice all rolled,

I saw my Joy unfold, her personality took hold.

She's a gem just like Gold, that can't be sold.

It would break the mold. It would be too bold.

It will be a joy untold, to have proudly strolled

Down the streets so cold, with her, as I grow old.

My Sparkling Gem of Light.


A bath it would seem, to barely make her scream

Under the water stream, giving off soft stream.

Scrubbing every seam, such a brilliant sheen!

Just a radiant beam, she would almost gleam!

We were such a team, just like a King and Queen.

We'd connive and scheme, and lick at her ice cream.

We were so serene, it was like a dream!

My little Beam of Light.


She is pure sunshine, a rare expensive wine,

The sweetest on the vine, Nectar tastes so fine,

The best on the Rhine, where only royalty dine,

Feeding scraps to the swine. She is that Devine!

A glow you can't confine; a beautiful design

Only Gypsies can define, when planets all align.

Darkness now will shine. I can't believe she's mine!

My Glowing Ray of Light

Author Notes When my daughter was born, I was overwhelmed with Emotions that gushed out of me in this Poem

The Picture is a photograph of me with two of my Grandsons when the most recent was born in December, 2011.
My daughter, the one who I wrote this poem about 35 years ago, and who is the mother of the baby shown, took this picture and eMailed it to me. I took a picture of my computer screen (I know, not very elegant), and used it here.
I thought the glare adds to the detail of the poem.

Chapter 10

By Treischel


You have

Tempted me with the Sweet Honey of your Being,

Beguiled me with your Kind and Gentle Ways

Brought Refreshing Truth to Simple Loving,

Given me many Beautiful, Lasting Days.


You have

Dipped into the Pool of Intimate Knowledge,

Transcended Boundries set to prevent Emotional Pain,

Taught me Truths learned only at a Carnal College,

Set my Heart to Dancing Gladly in the Rain.


You have

Provided Brilliant Light from Fearful Darkness,

Been as close as I've allowed a Chosen Few,

Added Glorious Color to my Jaded Starkness,

Offered me the Simplicity that is YOU.


You have

Touched my Soul with Burning, Heated Passion

Carried me to the Heights of Ecstasy,

Set no Limit on your Female Ration,

Shown me just how Wonderful Life can Be.


You have

Proven to me that your Heart is Faithful,

Been a Source of Mutual Pleasure, and Great Fun,

Made me feel Indebted and Completely Grateful,

For Merging our Two Spirits into One.

Author Notes Ive been married for 38 Years now. We've been through hell together and survived.

Many thanks to Captain Terrible for the lovely picture

Chapter 11
Dog, Most Loyal Friend

By Treischel

Dog .... A Loyal Friend
(A Lisalet Poem)

A dog is man's most loyal friend
A shiny coat, a sloppy kiss
A joyous greeter at day's end
Protector when things go amiss

A shiny coat, a sloppy kiss
A dog can make you smile like this
Remorseful if habits offend
A dog is man's most loyal friend

A joyous greeter at day's end
Wags fluffy tail for emphasis
That happy message it will send
A shiny coat, a sloppy kiss

Protector when things go amiss
Barks when threatened for emphasis
No matter how long it's been penned
A joyous greeter at day's end

A dog is man's most loyal friend

Author Notes My dog Sativa sitting on the picnic bench, watching over the neighborhood. We had to put her to sleep after 16 Loving and Loyal years. She's been gone 3 years now.

This poem is written in Lisalet Style. This is the new 'Lisalet Style/Format' Poem, developed by "L Sherman", a member of FanStory. I'm told I'm the third poet to try it.
This style has similarities with some other styles. The repetition in this poem is all based on the opening stanza. Each successive stanza starts with the corresponding line from the first. (Second stanza starts with 2nd line of first, so on...). Also, the final line of each stanza after the first one is the line directly preceding the repeated lines. Second stanza starts with 2nd line of first stanza and ends with the line immediately above the 2nd line in the first, and so on.
The line flow is like this: 1,2,3,4 - 2,5,6,1 - 3,7,8,2 - 4,9,10,3.
There is no line count or rhyme scheme specified.

For this poem I chose a count of 8. The rhyme scheme fell out as: abab aabb abab aabb a

Picture from my personal collection. This will become one of my picture Poems.

Chapter 12
Brown Chevy Van

By Treischel

Brown Chevy Van
A Limerick Poem

I once owned a brown Chevy van.
All over the countryside I ran,
But the sliding side door,
I accidentally tore
Off the van, pulling hard as I can.

Then, with too many drinks in my gut,
Got in it and pulled driver's door shut.
Broadsided, lost control,
Crashed into a pole.
Then it looked like a big brown peanut.

So that peanut, I finally sold
To a private party, it was doled.
Selling it really stinks.
Vehicle was a jinx.
But it's memories, I still hold.

Author Notes Okay, Okay, I was more to blame than the van. That was back in the 1970's. Drunk driving was more common. I stayed after bowling one night and helped close the bar with my friends drinking. On the way home, I ran a stop light and got broadsided by another car. Hit me just behind the driver's seat. The impact threw the van across the intersection into the stop light pole. It bent the van just behind the passenger seat. Thankfully no one was injured. The van was drivable, but it now looked like a peanut.

Not one of my better moments.

The picture is of the van before it crashed. The Mustang was my wife's.

Chapter 13

By Treischel

Sober reflection on losses:
Reminders we all bear crosses,
Friends are lost and lives are shattered,
Precedence forever scattered,
Broken threads of interaction,
No more social satisfaction,
Worldly karma churnes and tosses.

Author Notes Reflection after Losses of friends and mother in 2011.

This photograph was taken at Union Cemetery, St. Paul, Minnesota in July 2012. Don't know the family, just took a picture of the crows.

Chapter 14
The Life of a Daughter

By Treischel

I just didn't know until she came around, what a marvelous mountain of joy can be found
when her tiny feet playfully patter the ground.
It's a joy you can't replace.


When I come home she'll kerplop in my lap, hug and kiss me and fall off to a nap.
The peace of her dreams is like reading a map,
That's written all over her face.


You should see this child's radiant smile, when her daddy walks down the hallway or aisle.
She makes the whole world become worthwhile
With her impish charm and grace.


Like a monkey she climbs high off the ground. She likes to be twirled and twirled around.
Tickle her tummy for a happy giggling sound.
She brings laughter to our place!


I clearly recall her milk-dabbled chin, and that dimpled, dazzling, dainty grin,
That so lit up my heart and my soul within.
She's a teddy bear to embrace


Well I really shouldn't shamefully brag, but my opinions of other kids woefully sag.
She's the champion who has captured the flag.
She really wins the race.


That's MY girl, I proudly think, whether her face is scrubbed
or covered with ink.
Even when she's bad, she'll give me a wink
And anger won't make first base.


Every day when I think of my little dove, I just thank all
the heavenly stars above
That she's my beautiful Daughter of Love
An orchid in a vase.

Author Notes The life of my daughter is precious. Too think what might selfishly have been. Here is a very personal story.

When Karen got pregnant with Aisha, I had already been divorced and had 2 kids from my first wife. On marrying Karen, I inherited 2 Step children. So I wasn't crazy about the idea of having another. It was 1976, abortion had been legalized by then, so we considered that as a possible option. Ultimately, we decided that a child conceived in love needs to be born.

This is my favorite picture of her when she was about 4 years old in about 1981. She is pictured with my mother. There is a dribble of milk on her chin. My Mother died October 24, 2010. My daughter is now 35 years old with two sons and a duaghter due in February, so this picture gets me a little teary.

Chapter 15
A Tribute to Tiva

By Treischel

*** Tribute to Tiva ***

New York was such scary place.

The move there nothing to rejoice.

Then she cried out in a plaintive Voice,

"A puppy is the perfect choice

To relieve depression and fatigue".

So we set out at a fervent pace,

We found a perfect parking place,

At the North Shore Animal League.


The Crowds were milling around the pens,

Cats, and puppies got hugs and pets,

Each closely examined by the Vets,

Families decide which each Child gets.

And One picks us with its furry face,

Soft and fluffy with floppy ear ends.

Cutest puppy in the doggy dens.

Instant love seemed to be the case!


So we took her home to Jackson Street,

And made her a member of the clan.

Parents fell prey to teenager's plan,

When we named her (so the story ran)

After notorious herbal plant.

Our botanical knowledge was scant!

Named her Sativa! Not too discreet!

She was "Tiva", for short, we all pant.


She was a smart little puppy.

We taught her all the clever tricks

Like "Sit Up", "Lay Down", chasing sticks,

"Shake", "Roll Over", and sloppy licks.

She could catch tossed food, and "Play Dead".

When she climbed the bed, it got lumpy.

Greeting strangers she got quite jumpy,

Her "Hello" was a nose to your head.


Beautiful coloring in her coat,

A face that would melt a child's heart.

Her ears stood high and bent apart,

And around the house she'd prance and dart,

Leaving her long hair everywhere,

Vacuuming didn't need a vote.

Head tilted with a quizzical note,

She charmed us with a questioning stare.


Husky/Sheppard mix her pedigree,

A walk with a leash was pull and choke,

Into a harness was the master stroke

For exercise with the family folk

Where she'd run, hop, and herd in the grass,

Sloshed water pail, her spirit's set free,

She rolled in all the nasty smells with glee,

And chased every dog she could pass.


In her Life with us she traveled wide.

New York, Colorado, Home and back.

In tents she'd sit sentry through a crack,

Never got tired begging a snack

As she licked your hand, head in your lap,

She looked at you with her eyes aside.

You couldn't resist feeling pride,

She'd climb on the couch and take a nap.


As she went to lay herself down,

She would dig and circle and paw,

Scratched at the door with a stubborn claw,

Watched birds and squirrels outside in awe.

She'd hide a bone in a chair or sheet,

With all the children she'd play and clown.

Wait patiently to go to town

With head out the window, down the street.


With funny ways of making a bark.

She'd practice, working to get it out,

Starts with a squeak, a woof, then a shout,

You heard that dog without a doubt,

Fussier eater you'll never meet.

Alert on the deck table at dark,

Ears twitching to hear the meadow lark.

She watches the yard, neighbors, and street.


Sixteen years she was with us all,

One hundred and twelve in doggy years.

She was deaf in both her floppy ears,

Cataracts, bad teeth, and pain brought tears,

Slowed down, couldn't catch anymore,

Dropped food, couldn't play with a ball,

Slept restlessly on top of the hall,

Left urine and barf all over the floor.


Day came when we had to put her down,

The dreaded task couldn't be harder.

The truth didn't make us smarter.

The ride to the Vet a non-starter.

We needed help from heaven above,

Nothing could change our painful frown

Loyal, lovable pet! Joy to own!

HURT to put to sleep the Dog we Love.





Author Notes Its been 2 years since we are to put our best friend, and loyal family pet for 16 years, to sleep. But we still miss heeryery day. There was a story.

In 1991 I had just uprooted my wife and teenage daughter from their home on Cheyenne Mountain in Colorado Springs, Colorado to change jobs and move to Long Island New York. The transition wasn't going well with my daughter, so we decided to get her a dog. We went down to the North Shore Animal League dog shelter and she picked out a cute little Husky/Shepherd mix.

When it came time to name her, our daughter suggested the name Sativa. We naively agreed that it was a very pretty name. Month later, we found a poster of a marijuana plant in her room with the subscripted scientific name below - Cannabis Sativa. Well from then on she was named Tiva. This poem is her story.

This poem has a very complex rhyme scheme of abbbcaac.
The tempo is 8 or 9.

Chapter 16
Electric Lady

By Treischel

Electric Lady

My Electric Lady, so warm and Free,

Send your Shock Waves churning all over me.

Your skin's a Magnet as it draws my touch.

You're alive with Love, I want it very much.


My Electric Lady, you're my Heart's desire!

Let me squeeze you Tightly , feed your burning Fire.

I am filled with Wonder! I'm a Newborn Child!

These Exploding senses really drive me Wild!


My Electric Lady, Hold me to your Soul.

Let me join our circuits in a Common Role;

Feel your inner Motions, sense our Melting Minds,

For our Total Oneness is an Awesome Find.


My Electric Lady, with those Loving Eyes,

My feelings about you are a Big Surprise.

When I touch you Gently, make your nerve-ends Spasm,

You're Alive, Electric, A Living Orgasm!

Author Notes I wrote this poem back in 1974 When I was dating my Wife.
It was pretty risque back then.

This picture is an old faded print of us back then.
I was a hippie and she was in love, and so was I.
After all the years of wars and tears, we still are.

Chapter 17
Sir Charles McSpeed

By Treischel

Here lies Sir Charles McSpeed (1948 - 2009)

Sir Charles McSpeed

Had a Need for Speed

And a Motorcycle Creed

'Til a Tree made him Bleed


Author Notes My Brother-in-law died when his Ninja hit a pine tree at 180 MPH beheading him.

Chapter 18
Heal the Pain

By Treischel

Heal the Pain

Please! Hear my prayer, OH Lord!
For one who suffers pain.
The woman that I love
Needs relief from her strain.

I don't ask it for me!
She's the one suffering!
If you would just decree
Relief only You can bring.

I don't know what to do!
We've tried most everything!
That's why I'm asking You
To stop her suffering.

Please! Come and fill our cup!
Pain's shadow, God, destroy!
So, when it's been filled up
We'll savor blessed joy.

Author Notes My wife suffers from severe lower back pain. It not getting better.

Artwork care of Microsoft ClipArt

I pray for her relief.

Chapter 19

By Treischel


Ka-ching, ka-ching, I like that ring
A Favorite thing.

When I get the urge, want to splurge,
Emotions surge.

The casino calls, I climb the walls,
The pull enthralls.

Forget the sin, 'cause I want to win,
So, I'm all in.

A night of thrills, gives the chills,
Win dollar bills.

Ka-ching, ka-ching, I like that ring
A Favorite thing.

Author Notes Got home from a winning night.

My wife and I like to go to the Casino. Between us we split $100 into $5 bills and play until we're out, or for hours. Sometime win, sometimes lose. The most we've ever lost is $200. I went to a professional hockey game last weekend. The tickets were $79 each, parking $15, 2 pretzels $15, a beer $8 each. It was fun, but so is the casino.

Heading out to Vegas soon. Budget. $100 per day.

This is a picture I took in Vegas, June 2011.

Chapter 20
Over the Water Fall

By Treischel

Over the Waterfall

Over the water fall,
A very strange place for a first date,
But when she got the call, she was in for it all
Going out
On a date
Was a fate
To relate
Not a doubt
It's about
Feeling great
Sing and shout
So, she set aside her fears, and got a baby sitter.
She was so in love, she didn't know what hit her.

Over the water fall,
Off to the river, into the raft.
Wolf River, Wisconsin, there to learn a new craft.
Learn a skill
It's a thrill
That she will
Down the hill
Be set free
In the chill
Due to me
But she is off to the first adventures of life,
With the man of her dreams to become his new wife.

Over the water fall,
She heard a sound that made her worry.
A roar like thunder, he called just a wind flurry.
Then she's in
to a spin
with a grin
on her chin
Then a twirl
And a whirl
Grab the pin
As they hurl
Ten feet in the air, over the edge they both go
Down Old Smokey Falls, with splash and a laugh, they flow.

That first date
It was fate
That we'd mate.
It was Great!

Author Notes
Just a little fun and personal history.

On one of our first dates, I took my, soon to be, second wife on a rafting trip down the Wolf River in Wisconsin. I failed to mention to her we'd be going over 10 foot high Old Smokey Waterfalls. I thought it might scare her too much if I told her, and wanted to see what stuff she was made of. She got a bit apprehensive when the horizon suddenly disappeared and she heard a great roar. I told her it was probably the wind in the trees, but to grabf the safety pin bars and hold on.
Well, the first thing she said to me after we landed in a deep pool at the bottom was, "Let's do it Again!".
She says she fell in love the first minute she saw me, but I think this, was when she fell for me. That was in 1974. We got married in 1975, and still are together.

I tried to write this poem to look like each stanza was a waterfall. Each stanga has 13 lines.
The syllable count is: 6,9,12,3,3,3,3,3,3,3,3,12,12.
The rhyme scheme is: Abacdddcac Abbccccdcdee Abbccccdddcdee

I borrowed this format from David Bastion, upon reviewing his similar free verse version, Love is...

The picture is mine, of Minnehaha Falls. The owners of Old Smokey Falls blew it up after too many law suits. It's now a long rapids.

Chapter 21
The Vision

By Treischel

Evening, 1987

Dear God,

I must admit that I was totally surprised the other day by a vision you sent me. I don't believe in such things, so you must understand how shocking it was. A vision? Me? I heard about them, yes, but those are just for Saints and crazy people. I'm not one of them, surely.

Lord, in the middle of the freeway at 65 MPH, is an equally unbelievable place to have such a thing as that. Are you trying to kill me?

Here I was, coming through that big curve in Colorado Springs, going south on I25, just at sunset, and what do I see? I see a vision of your son, Jesus Christ, hovering in the air, just in front of the right, passenger side headlights. It's him all right, right there, moving in fixed tandem with me. He looks just like that statue I've seen many times: that favorite one of mine, The Sacred Heart. You know, the one with His bleeding heart showing, glowing with a ring of gold around it, topped by a tiny crown? Yes, that one, the one with the red robe.

It's a good thing he was transparent, because I was in some pretty heavy traffic just then and couldn't stop. The amazing thing was that one hand was beckoning me to come. His hand was reaching out, and He was drawing it gently back towards his heart. I'm not sure, but I think I heard a soft whisper above the traffic noise. "Come", it said. I almost did too, as I swerved into another lane.

Now Lord, you know I've been avoiding you a lot lately. It's not that I don't love you, or believe in you. I do! It's just that, every time I get close to you, bad things start to happen, crazy things. I get scared Lord. This time was the worst, because, just when I saw that beautiful, compelling vision in front of me. I also heard another voice, an evil voice. It was whispering in my left ear, right by my shoulder. It said, "Don't, if you do, I will kill your daughter." That thought grabbed me with a fearsome terror. A thought so terrifying to me, Lord, as to be unbearable.

So, I drove on. I ignored your son, Lord! I couldn't help it!

Now, I've calmed down a bit Lord. I picked up your book. I drenched the pages in tears. But I found some things there. They tell me that Satan is a liar, Lord. I'm not to believe him. I'm to trust in you.

Well, that's very easy to say, isn't it? What if that's wrong! My daughter, Lord, is a very precious thing to me. I'm not sure I could bear to lose her, Lord.

So Lord, I am trembling as I put this in your hands. I take a step of Faith, here. Will you watch out for her for me? Please protect her and all my family Lord.

Yours truly,

Sinful Man

Author Notes This is a true story that actually did happen in 1987.

Later, my daughter did become a drug addict. Hooked on crystal meth and many other drugs. She became incorrigible. I thought she was going to end up dead. But we got through it. Now she's married with three wonderful kids. Praise the lord!

The picture comes from Yahoo Clip Images

Chapter 22

By Treischel

(A Cinquain Suite)

I rode
Upon metal
Wings that soon swiftly strode
Marshmallow clouds, then to settle
The load.

The states
Below drift by
Lonely landmark relates
Places people choose to apply
Their fates

Time zones
Changes reference
That seeps about my bones.
I seek to know the difference
To home's

To see
Exotic spots
Around our big country
Are perfect photographic shots
To me

But it
Also relaxes
Daily care caught culprit
That causes the stress that taxes

But then,
What's also good,
It's understood, is when
I'll be back in my neighborhood

Author Notes Just got back from a trip. Vegas, Atlanta, and back to Minnesota. Hit Pacific, East, and Central time Zones. Glad to be back in my own bed.

Picture is from Author's own collection.

Chapter 23
My Muse

By Treischel

My Muse

I point my camera lens
I snap
The direction depends on my
Point of view

I look

I see

Amazing moments everywhere
There's a new found focus on the world
A click
Transforming vision into

Frozen Images
To capture a moment in time
Is as simple as
A snap
A focus
An angle
A click

The beauty in every place I look
A point of interest
and click

A flower
Beautiful butterfly
The colors of the sky
The reason why
I try

To put it on a page
With rhyme
A gift
The pleasure

Where would I be?

Author Notes My Muse comes to me from many directions, but most often, through my camera lens.
I feel doubly blessed to be able to combine both my talents, and display them here.
I tried to convey a little of that in this free verse poem.

This is a picture of a sunset I took while out walking one evening with my wife at Battle Creek Park. It was in March, 2012. The leaves weren't out yet on the trees. The sky was very interesting. What I liked about this picture is the sun shining through a heart shaped configuration of branches. I thought it was stunning. This will become one of my collection of picture poems.

Chapter 24

By Treischel


Have you ever heard the story of William Tell?
Was forced to shoot an apple off his own son's head.
With stellar marksmanship, it came out well.
His faith and steady aim was true, it can be said.

His skill at hitting targets, meant to emulate,
As I considered self of equal mastery.
For what young man's ego doesn't believe he's great?
I only lacked a target up against a tree.

Convieniently I had a willing brother, Joe,
Who was a trusting, fearless little 5 year old.
Put apple on his head to catch the dart I'd throw.
Unfortunately low aim was a bit too bold.

With dart stuck in forehead, I didn't try another,
I never again made target of my brother

Author Notes This is a true story.
I came from a family of 5 boys and 2 girls. Joe was the youngest brother. He was a fearless little guy who followed his older brothers everywhere. Sometimes that wasn't so good. If you have ever seen that commercial of a while ago with the brothers who said "Lets have Mikey try it!". That was Joe for us. He was just willing to try anything.

Ironically, today I live on a Street named William Tell Road.

This poem is a Sonnet, written in iambic hexameter (12 Syllables) with the classic abab rhyme scheme on the three quatrains, plus a rhyming couplet.

This artwork is from Microsoft ClipArt.

Chapter 25
Running Away

By Treischel

Running Away

Mom punished us for being bad,
And made us take a nap every day.
Then one day we decided to rebel,
And told her we were running away.

I was nine, Dick was six,
Little brother Joe was three.
Sick of naps and momma's rules
Decided we wanted to be free.

We had been to a park with sandstone cliffs
That was five miles away, or so.
It had a number of Indian digs
That's where we decided to go.

So off we went, our food was packed.
Tom, Dick, and Joe, three foolish knaves
With 3 PB&J sandwiches and apples sacked,
We headed off to live in those caves.

I in the lead, with Dick pulling Joe
With a wagon, headed off down the road.
Three fearless boys trudging along
With a bat, a sack, and pet toad.

Traveled through town, crossed several streets
Before our momma started to worry.
Thought we were going round the block,
Now she started to search with a flurry.

Remembering what I said, about running away,
She sent Dad off to search in the car.
The two panicked parents finally found their kids,
Amazed that they'd gotten so far.

Found trudging along on a busy road,
They had actually gotten several miles.
Dad was quite angry about our adventure,
But Mom was all love, hugs and smiles.

Author Notes This is a true story about my brothers and I. The author was more concerned with getting the story down, than with tempo and syllable count.

There is a Park near our house named Battle Creek, that had a number of caves that the Native Americans used to live in along side a lovely creek. These caves were dug into the sandstone cliffs. Some had a couple of rooms in them. Our family would picnic there often. It was a great place to explore and climb around on the cliffs.

Kid's logic said we would need some food, so we packed three peanut butter and jelly (PB&J) sandwiches and three apples to live on. Threw it into a sack.

We brought along a baseball bat for protection.

Joe was too slow to walk along with us, so we pulled him along in a wagon.

We passed a swamp along the way and found a toad that we tossed in the wagon with Joe.

We had actually crossed several busy streets in town and made it across a major highway that had a stop light where we crossed it. Almost made it all the way to the park.

I thought we were going to get a beating when they found us, but mom was just so happy to find us, we only got lectured,with hugs and kisses.

The caves were determined to be dangerous, and are now sealed up, after a few people had died in them due to cave-ins and asphyxiations.

The picture is not my brother, but reminds me of him at that age. It's actually from Microsoft ClipArt.

Chapter 26
Hanging On

By Treischel

Hanging On

I hang on to everything.
I hate to throw anything away.
My wife thinks I'm the garbage king,
But I hang on anyway.

Sometimes it's a good thing.
Never know, might need it someday!
When she asks to toss something,
"I need that", is what I say.

So, she just waits 'til I'm not looking,
Then puts it in the trash.
Some simple emotional unhooking,
She knows I'm full of balderdash.

It usually works out the same.
Doesn't matter if it's June or November,
She's pretty sure there'll be no blame.
The thing is, I don't even remember!

Hey! Where's my High School yearbook?

Author Notes What can I say?

Picture from Microsoft ClipArt

Chapter 27
My Pet

By Treischel

My Pet
(A Parallelogram De Crystalline)

Like a deer,
Shining eyes hypnotize.
Her windows of love, perfectly clear

Makes me smile,
At times, with monkey shines.
A humorous style stays all the while

Puppy love.
Cuddly and loyal,
Cozy companion, fits like a glove.

Pussy cat.
Soft fur you pet, she purrs.
Soft sweet kisses, she really likes that!

Author Notes To my sweetheart

This poem is a Parallelogram De Crystalline.
A Joree Williams style of Poetry is written in 4 stanzas; each describes a love's beauty using things of nature as comparisons.
Stanzas are 3 lines each with syllable count of: 3, 6, 9.

The picture is from my photograph collection. Taken a Como Zoo I November 2012.

Chapter 28
Kiss Me, My Love

By Treischel

A kiss

upon willing lips

from the fond one, who's meant for me

heats my soul

burns moments into memories

that embrace a beating heart.

My love

Author Notes Never pass up a kiss from the one you love.

Offer kisses to those you love, often.

Picture from Microsoft ClipArt

Chapter 29
Ballpark Blues

By Treischel

Ballpark Blues

As sun shines through the broken cloud,
I sit wondering to myself aloud.
Will day stay in its misty shroud,
To burst a shower on this crowd,
Or, will play resumption be allowed
For baseball team, of which I'm proud,
As weather gurus have avowed?
Well, most of the fans have gotten plowed,
At sheltered bar, under which I'm bowed,
While swearing curses quite out loud.

Author Notes Rain delay at the ball park

Mono-rhyme is a poem where every line rhymes with the same rhyme variation.

Getting plowed is: getting drunk.
Sheltered bar is: the pub inside the ballpark.
Weather gurus: weathermen, meteorologist.

This is a picture the author took with his cellphone at the ballpark in June 2012.

Chapter 30
Watching Weight

By Treischel

Watching Weight
(Free Verse)

Watching my weight

Lately it's been going down

Had been on
A See Food diet
See food
Eat Food

Had to change my ways
Had to lose some weight

Found out, too many French fries
And so many nutrition alibies
Had an impact on my size


Had to think another way

Grab food
Fast food
Not the way

Down 18 pounds

A start

Author Notes What can I say?

Picture from the author's collection.

Chapter 31

By Treischel


I wakened to the morning dew,
With thoughts of you.
Sun shine on pillow, coming through,
With thoughts of you.
It seems like only yesterday
When we were happy kids at play,
So long ago and far away,
With thoughts of you.

Those days were such a happy time.
The streets were safe and free of crime.
Reminds me of us in our prime,
With thoughts of you.

So easy when we're young and bold,
But lately I've been feeling old.
I feel the memories getting cold,
With thoughts of you.

Older brother was my hero,
As we both grew.
His life turned on a freak dice throw,
I wish we knew.
For granted, those that we depend.
How little time we had to spend.
So unaware it was to end,
With thoughts of you.

Author Notes My older brother died 11 years ago, at the age of 60, from ALS. As I face my 65th birthday, I've had many thoughts of him. I wish we had been able to spend more time together, but we lived in different parts of the country and only saw each other twice a year. He was a liberal Democrat, and I a Republican. Our times together often erupted into heated political debate. I sure miss those times.

I modeled this poem a bit off an Octogram, but changed the rhyme scheme somewhat, and added two inserted quatrains.
The syllable counts are 84848884 8884 8884 84848884.
While the rhyme scheme is aAaAbbbA cccA dddA eaeafffA, where the capital letters represent the repeated lines.

That picture is of both of us. I am in the foreground. My brother, Chuck, is in the background photograph. Took this picture myself in February 2012 with camera on tripod and using time delay.

Chapter 32
Camping Thoughts

By Treischel

Camping Thoughts

Bird songs in the morning,
Cricket's creak in the night.
The crackling of the fire,
A serenade delight.

The calling of the Loon,
Owls giving out their hoots,
Howl of the lonely wolf,
Amazing camp pursuits.

Clear refreshing morning,
Drink coffee with the dawn.
Watching colored sunrise
As I spy a spotted fawn.

Silvered starry evening,
Tall tales around a fire,
Marshmallows are roasting,
The things that I desire.

Revel in God's nature
Memories that will stick
To treasure forever
Hear my camera click.

Author Notes I'll be there soon.

For me, camping and photography go well together.

Simple Quatrains. ABCB rhyme scheme. Syllable count 6.

This is a photograph I took of my daughter, Aisha, my son-in-law Jeremy, and grandson, Jeremy Thomas (JT). Taken in July 2011 while camping with me at Lake Elmo Regional park in Minnesota. My RV in the background.

Chapter 33
Pieces of Puzzle

By Treischel

Pieces of Puzzle

Pieces of puzzle are perfectly placed
Upon the frame of the edges, connected,
As the shapes and colors, slowly embraced,
Form the picture the artist perfected.

Hours detecting unique subtleties,
Sorting, selecting, each piece one by one.
To determine connection properties,
Until the proper placement has been won.

Each day keep searching to find just a few,
And wonder, if all the pieces are there,
Due to one spot, I keep going back to,
"This piece just has to go there", I swear.

Then, that big day, after NOT giving up,
And all that persistence finally pays off,
The puzzle is finished at a gallop
As last parts simply slip into the trough.

Cheers go up from the admiring crowd!
OK! It's only my wife that I wowed.
It was to her, I most graciously bowed.

Author Notes I just finished this 2000 piece puzzle of a vintage car.

The quatrains are in 10 syllable meter.

The picture was taken by me the morning of May 28, 2013 after completing the puzzle.

Chapter 34
Little Pirates

By Treischel

Little Pirates
(A Story Poem in Rhyme)

When I was a boy,
A very young snip,
Dreamt about sailing
On a pirate ship.

It was way back when
I was barely ten,
But I had a yen,
And a crew of men.

OK, not real Men!

They were my brothers,
A couple others.
We all had hopes.
Thought we knew the ropes.

Oh boy, so naive.
But we still believe!

So we grabbed dad's tools
And like crazy fools,
With some old scrap wood,
And rolls of duct tape,
Did the best we could.
Knocked it into shape.
Plastic bottle floats,
With two painted coats,
It looked pretty good.
Built a pirate craft.

Well, I guess a raft.

On the maiden trip
Of our pirate ship,
Pushed it in the drink,
As we watched it sink,
Floundering in the bay,
Heard my mateys say.

As pirates, we Stink!

Author Notes A tale of sunken dreams. Boys make a raft.

This photograph is from Yahoo Images.

Chapter 35
These old Bones

By Treischel

These Old Bones

Oh how these old bones creak!
There's distinct possibility
Of declining agility.
I guess that's not unique.

Author Notes Went out golfing 18 holes in the heat. Can't hit the ball as far as I used to. The aches this morning, I think I need traction!

This is a single Quatrain with abba rhyming (enveloping). The syllable count is 6/8/8/6.

Thank you for the artwork, Aging together by camera68 of FanArt

Chapter 36

By Treischel


Deep rooted trees, uprooted,
As wild winds wreak havoc on the ground.
Power lines down, lights are out.
Danger is real! Heed the siren's sound!

Uprooted trees: cleared away

Hard rain pours down in torrents,
As hail plummets to punish below.
Titans clash in lurid flash,
When overwhelmed cauldrons overflow.

Uprooted bridges: are gone

One storm follows another
In a series of soggy ruined days
Yet, between crackling thunders,
Life moves on as we manage to play.

Uprooted plans: slight delay

Chain saws remove the rubble.
Soon downed power lines have been restored.
Mother Nature let us know
That her weather plans can't be ignored.

Uprooted lives: move on

Author Notes Went camping this weekend: Friday to Sunday. All three days had severe thunderstorms with high winds. The picture represents a typical scene on the nightly news. At the park where I was, cleanup crews were out every day clearing downed trees from paths and roads. Only to repeat the next day. Walking paths were under water in many places. Firewood was hard to keep dry. Yet, we managed to do things and make the best of it. Trying to give the flavor of it here.

This poem is a set of quatrains in a 7/9 syllable count with single commentary in between.

The picture is from Yahoo Images.

Chapter 37
Pirates Plight

By Treischel

Pirates Plight
(Faux Shakespearean Sonnet)

Forsooth! Fair maid hath slipped the knot
That tightly bound these hands of mine.
Oh what fair wind did change my lot!
Twas judged to swing upon the vine.

I'd thought these evil deeds I'd done
Twould stretch this misbegotten neck,
When captured at the point of gun,
Upon defiant pirate deck.

Sweet wench took note, unknown to me.
She took to heart my fated plight.
It seems love's spark was meant to be.
Once love's price paid, I fled the night.

I do confess, that I shall miss
Her probing hands and soft sweet kiss.


Author Notes She wanted more.

This is a Sonnet that is near Shakespearean, except it is written in iambic tetrameter rather than pentameter, plus I added an additional word.

Thanks must by shared for this fabulous artwork, escape by adr1an from

Chapter 38
Visit to the Cemetery

By Treischel

Visit to the Cemetery

At quiet meadow of the soul,
To help bereft to become whole,
During visit with offered prayer,
When lost emotions loved ones bear,
Release to deceased pain they share.

And so to trundle up the grass,
By marbled headstones that you pass,
To visit those who've met their doom.
Consoling stop to lift the gloom
By placing wreath upon a tomb.

You scrape the grime of time away,
Removing filth of yesterday.
Then on your aching knees you kneel,
And to passed souls you make appeal,
Sending them love you hope they feel.

Then once reflections have been made,
And pretty flowers have been laid,
Recall with them the dreams they had.
Then tell them that you won't be sad.
Now, bid adieu to mom and dad.

Author Notes With Memorial Day coming up, the family usually visits the various cemeteries where relatives are buried, to pay our respects. Usually, we have to bring a knife and broom to clean off the grave markers in the ground that get overgrown by grass and weeds.

This poem has a syllable count of 8, and a rhyme scheme of aabbb.

The picture is of the Reischel plot where a brother, two uncles, an aunt, a niece and my mother are buried. I have a plot here, and this is where my wife and I will be buried. The inscription on the stone reads. "Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep."

Chapter 39
To Mom

By Treischel

To Mom

It's hard to believe that you're gone,
And I still miss you so.
You've been gone a couple of years
It doesn't seem so long ago.

It seems like only yesterday
When last I saw your face,
And not so very far away,
I still can feel your present grace.

I know you lived to ninety three
And that's a long long time,
But I still wish you here with me,
It's just the thought is so sublime.

You were my shining example.
You had an open door!
Your generosity ample,
When you would pray and feed the poor.

You would deliver meals on wheels,
Until you couldn't drive,
And supported all the church appeals,
The whole long time you were alive.

There was always room at table,
Just find another chair.
Just as long as you were able,
A warm welcome was always there.

You had such a stubborn spirit,
And a heart of pure gold.
Well, I often didn't hear it,
When you would give a needed scold.

Though you're gone I feel your presence.
I feel your wisdom in my soul.
Things you taught me are the essence,
Of the spirit that makes me whole.

Never said enough "I love You".
I really hope you knew.
Your hand is on my shoulder too,
When I still wonder what to do.

Author Notes Missing you Mom

This poem is a set of Quatrains written in an 8/6/8/8 syllable count and an abab rhyme scheme.

This is a picture of me and my mom in 1984.

Chapter 40
Muddled Morning

By Treischel

Muddled Morning

Comfy cozy in my covers,
Lying in my bed.
Lots of crazy thoughts are dancing
In my sleepy head.
Had the strangest dreams remembered,
Left a feel of dread.
Slowly my eyes greet the morning,
Rising from bedstead.
The sun is shining brightly now,
Time to toast some bread.
I start up the morning coffee
Seeking to be fed.
Go to fetch the morning paper,
Sipped coffee and read
About a deadly accident.
Startling what it said!
Saw a familiar vehicle,
Favorite color red.
Turned to the obituaries,

Read that I was dead!

Author Notes Hmm, maybe that was such a crazy dream.

Just some poetic nonsense that popped into my head. Wasnt sure to categorize this as humor or horror. I thought it was funny after you get past the shock.

This poem was written in an 8/5/8/5 format with an abcb rhyme scheme. Mono-rhymed.

Artwork from Microsoft ClipArt.

Chapter 41
Chronic Backpain

By Treischel


ringing from the torment,
Hurting every hour.
Rest, a fleeting memory,
Only torture to endure.
No end to silent suffering,
Intense synaptic surge,
Captured in the nerves.

Below the lumbar plexus,
Above the lower hip,
Chronic aching nerve ends
Kills thoughts of pleasure trips.
Pain within the body,
Aches along the spine,
Increases tense depression,
No matter what you try.

Author Notes Living with Pain. Based on my wife's suffering.

Picture from Microsoft ClipArt.

Chapter 42

By Treischel


As I watch my certificates die,
My poetry unread,
I begin to wonder why.
Are there dreams I've left unsaid?

What does one conclude,
While it's dampening my mood?

When annoyance grips my soul,
About my FanStory role,
There's one thing to depend upon.
I'm going to keep writing on.

At least for now.

Author Notes Woke up this morning with another note that a 3 day certificate has expired with just 13 reviews. Flotsam on the shore is collecting.

This picture is of me that I submitted to the "Expressions" contest on FanArt Review. Im doing equally well over there, came in 9th place in the contest. Got 2 votes on this mug shot. That was me last December after growing out my beard for 18 months. Cut it off in December 20, 2012.

Chapter 43
Sharing Time

By Treischel

Sharing Time
(5-7-5 Poetry)

On white sandstone cliffs
Among the Indian Caves
Spent time carving names

Sparkling stream was high
Warm sun beating on the sand
Pathways through the woods

Hand holds on a ledge
Just above the waterfalls
Strong hand holds young trust

Passing passion on
From older to the young one
Shared time and values

Author Notes Spend another day with my grandson. One place, of several outdoor spots we went,was to Battle Creek Park. There are caves and sandstone cliffs there. Brought the camera and binoculars along. The picture above shows one cave we went in. To get there we had to scale a ledge above a waterfalls. Sandstone in soft, and there are handholds dug into the cliff, just like a climbing wall. At one spot he had to jump down. To get back up, he needed to use the hand and foot holds, and at one point, I had to reach over, grab his hand, and pull him up. It was quite an adventure. Being a typical boy, he loved it. We also carved our initials in the wall of the cave, like many others have down in the past. PS. Don't tell his mom!

This picture is of the cave we had to scale the cliff to get to. You can't see it in the picture, but there is a stream that cuts in front of that cave. In summer the water level is low enough to wade or jump across. With the runoff from recent snows, it was a torrent. Took this picture in April 2011.

Chapter 44
Grandson and I

By Treischel

Grandson and I

Grandson and I
Laid out some seed,
Then watched them feed,
Birds from the sky.

First came the Robin,
Then Chickadee,
So pretty and free.
Pickin' and bobbin'.

Watched them with joy,
Sparrow and Bluejay.
Sat there all day,
Just me and the boy.

At end of the day,
Seeds were all done.
They ate every one.
Birds flew away.

Grandson and I
Had a good time.
Didn't spend a dime,
Watching birds go by.

Author Notes Sharing some appreciation of nature

My grandson Jeremy likes to come over to visit. I let him set out some bird seed on the deck. Then we watch the birds come. He loves to do that, and chases away the pesky squirrels that want to hog the seeds. He looks up the birds in my birdbook. He likes the chipmunk that came to eat too. My idea of a perfect day.

The picture is from Microsoft ClipArt

Chapter 45
Midnight Masterpiece

By Treischel

Midnight Masterpiece
(A Free Verse Poem)


I dreamt
A poem last night
So lucid in my dreams,
A masterpiece of eloquence
Etched upon my


Crafted with care


Began to ignite
In my sleep

Such eloquent

I wrote it
Three times
In my mind's eye

My epic poem
A gift for mankind
To be cherished through the ages

World renown was on tap
As I dream


When morning's light
The dawn

Like bursting bubble

I woke up

It was

Author Notes Yes. it's true

Thanks for the lovely artwork, A Single Bubble by Aunita on

Chapter 46
Top down day

By Treischel

Top Down Day
(A Whitney Poem)

Top down day
What's more to say
Sunny play
Along the way
Windblown hair
Refreshing air
Down the road without a care

Author Notes Finally, after six months of winter, I got to put the top down!

The photograph is of my 2007 G6 Pontiac. I took the shot last July, 2012.

Chapter 47
Sing Song

By Treischel

Sing Song
(A Sonnet in Minute Poem)

Just listen as birds sweetly sing.
A lovely thing,
A chirp, a peep,
So smooth, so deep!

Then choirs match their voices well.
The rhythms swell,
A lovely blend
To God they send.

My voice is not as beautiful.
It's rather dull,
A croak, a howl,
And sometimes foul!

It's often mistaken for monkey's cry.
I don't know why! But, at least I do try!

Author Notes Just a bit of self-deprication humor. I'm not that bad. Really!

Thought I'd try a Minute Poem, but added a closing couplet, making it a Sonnet.
The Minute Poem is a poem that follows the "8,4,4,4" syllable count structure. It usually has 3 stanzas that are exactly the same. So: 8,4,4,4; 8,4,4,4; 8,4,4,4 syllables.

A traditional Minute Poem has 12 lines total. It has 60 syllables. It is written in a strict iambic meter. The rhyme scheme is as follows: aabb, ccdd, eeff.
With the closing couplet I added, this poem has three iambic meters. The 8 count lines are in iambic tetrameter. The 4 count lines are in iambic dimeter. The rhyming closing couplet is in iambic pentameter.
By adding the closing couplet, I now have a 14 line Sonnet.

The picture is from Microsoft ClipArt. The poem origanally read "feline cry", but when I found this picture, I changed the line.

Chapter 48
The Roof Off

By Treischel

The Roof Off

Rambling with the roof off,
Unfettered and full free.
Down the road to nowhere
That I don't want to be.

Going to feel the sunshine,
Not feeling any pain.
Searching for that sometime,
Finding myself again.

Author Notes With the weather finally nice, I can drive with the top down. This poem expresses how I feel.

This set of quatrains has a rhyme scheme of abab and a syllable count of 6.

This is a picture of my 2007 Pontiac G6. The exterior is black. We'll become classics together.

Chapter 49
On Retirement

By Treischel

On Retirement
(A Roundabout Poem)

Often wondered , what would I be?
To what would I aspire?
Under the sun
Could I have fun,
After I retire?

I desire to take a flier,
Before my days are done.
Truth be told,
I am an old
Worn out son-of-a-gun.

That doesn't mean that I can't run,
Or be a little bold.
Because, you see,
That I am free
To seek my pot of gold.

Gonna fly 'fore these bones get cold
To find what's there to see.
I'll climb higher
Before I tire
And face eternity.

Author Notes This plaque was on the back of a park bench near Vermilion falls in Hastings, Minnesota. It seems to carry the essence of this poem perfectly. Bravo to those who commemorated this free spirit in such a manner, in such a lovely spot.

This poem is a Roundabout. I have Sunnilicious, a fellow FanStorian, to thank for bring it to my attention. She spotted it in a Reader's Digest poetry contest, and tried it herself. Of course, I had to give one a run too. Hope you like it!

Here's the rules.
A Roundabout is a poem with four each, 5 line stanzas, with a fixed rhyme scheme and unique syllable count. The twenty total lines mix together four sets of rhymes (a,b,c,and d rhymes) that intermix but begin and end with the ab rhymes. The rhyme scheme for those 4 stanzas is:
abccb bcddc cdaad dabba.
The syllable counts are as follows: 8/6/4/4/6, repeating the same for each stanza.

The author took this photograph at Vermilion Falls Park, in June, 2012.

Chapter 50
senryu (life's twists)

By Treischel

3-5-3 senryu (life's twists)

turns and twists
like life's push and pulls
knit and pearl

Author Notes My wife is a knitter. I am always amazed how from simple raw materials, like yarn, with unfathomable twists and turns, pulls and stretches, become beautiful creations. Much like life itself, I think.

This photograph was taken by the author himself, while capturing his wife in action. Those creative worn hands that I love to hold.

Chapter 51
So Many Goodbyes

By Treischel

So Many Goodbyes

Seems like that I just got here,
And made a few good friends,
But the group keeps getting smaller.
As each meets their different ends.

A few have become frustrated
At the limits and all the rules,
Suffocated by the formal process,
And some don't want to suffer fools.

Some are sick, and some have died.
There are those with other issues.
So as the sad sad songs are sung,
I am running out of tissues.

Yet, even with all the tears and gloom,
There's got to be something's right.
I think I'll go find a quiet spot,
And write something a little more light.

Author Notes Something to be said

Photo from Microsoft ClipArt

Chapter 52
To Catch a Train

By Treischel

To Catch a Train
(A Free Style Poem)

The cinders
scramble at my feet,
along the iron track,

With ties
spread out in measures made
to upset my youthful gait,

Buddies heckle at my back.

As train rolls in
along the curve
that slows it to
a pace for which
fools would wait,

I charge off reaching
for the cars
that clatter by
in endless rows.

I hasten to my fate!

Before black engine gathers steam,
and the piercing whistle blows,
I race to match the pace
of traffic flow ,
and strain to hop that train.

But then,
just as the burnished handle,
beside the open car,
brushes against
my finger tip,
while I stretch to catch
a purchase on the bar,

At my fastest power burst
my footings slip

and then

I trip.

Author Notes When I was young and stupid I would do this with some buddies. We'd wait under a bridge at a curve where the train slowed down. Hop it. Ride about a mile. Then either walk back, or catch one going the other way. Teenage boys do dangerous things. Hopefully they survive.

This is a Free Style poem. Like a Free Verse poem, it has no formal structure, but it does carry rhyme in unusual manners.

This picture is from Yahoo Images.

Chapter 54
senryu (life spins on))

By Treischel

Life Spins On
(A Senryu)

as my life spins on
I see pinwheels everywhere
even flowers seem ...

Author Notes Today is my birthday. This Blue Gentian reminded me of a pinwheel.

The photograph was taken by the author. They were on a fence at the entrance to the Rose Garden at Lake Harriet.

Chapter 55
Child's Delight

By Treischel

Child's Delight

spin sparks in the dark
sparkler sends its sulfur glow
happy child's delight

Author Notes Grandson JT ON THE Fourth of July

Author took this photo

Chapter 56
Youth Football

By Treischel

Youth Football
(10/8 Meter)

I coach local age 9 youth football team.
We practice on three days a week
Then Saturday, of victory they dream,
And parents' praises they all seek.

They often get distracted and confused,
Frequently forget the snap count,
The quarterback called on play number used.
Still, youthful joy is tantamount.

They dash about upon the field of play,
Uniforms shining in the sun,
All running around, each and every way,
Until their game is lost or won.

Yet through the chaos of it all,
They learn to play the game, football.

Author Notes The poem says it all. I'll add a picture of them later. We won today's game 48 to 0. But lost the first game last week 28 to 14.

This poem is just simple Quatrains with a 10/8 meter and closing 8 syllable rhyming couplets.

Chapter 57
Can it Be?

By Treischel

Can it be?
(Cinquains - 3)

Oh Joy!
Awake and fine
Skills that doctors employ
With just a touch of the Divine
She's mine!

I'm awed.
Modern med'cine
truly deserves applaud,
as my wife's healing has begun.
Praise God!

And if
it all goes well,
she can finally say goodbye
to all her years of chronic hell,
I'll cry.

Author Notes Call me a cry baby, but I will.

This poem is a set of Cinquains.
A Cinquain is written using a pattern. "Cinq" [pronounced SINK] is French for the number 5. This type of poem only has five lines. Each line follows a specific pattern.
The traditional Cinquain, as developed by Adelaide Crapsey, has five lines and a strict structure based on syllable count.
Line 1: Two syllables
Line 2: Four syllables
Line 3: Six syllables
Line 4: Eight syllables
Line 5: Two syllables
There is no required rhyme scheme.

The picture is from Yahoo Images.

Chapter 58
For You

By Treischel

While I wait
This candle burns

Author Notes A Vigil light

Photo courtesy of Microsoft Clipart

Chapter 59
When Pain Controls the Brain

By Treischel

When Pain Controls the Brain
(A Pantuom Poem)

When chronic pain controls the brain,
The searing days become ordeals,
While night provides relief from strains,
Just fleeting gains the body feels.

The searing days become ordeals.
There are no lasting remedies,
Just fleeting gains the body feels,
And many prayers, that pain might ease.

There are no lasting remedies,
But patience 'til it all begins,
And many prayers, that pain might ease,
With pleas to God 'bout suffering sins.

But patience 'til it all begins,
While night provides relief from strains,
With pleas to God 'bout suffering sins,
When chronic pain controls the brain.


Author Notes My wife suffers from chronic backpain. I've had 2 back surgeries myself, and its acting up again. It seems, for both of us, that we wake up fine, but by evening, the pain has flared up, and in her case, it becomes unbearable. The pain takes control and makes it hard to think. Sometimes you wonder what sins God is punishing you for.

This poem is a Pantoum.
The Pantoum is a form of poetry where are repeating lines throughout the poem. It is composed of a series of quatrains; the second and fourth lines of each stanza are repeated as the first and third lines of the next. This pattern continues for any number of stanzas, except for the final stanza, which differs in the repeating pattern. The first and third lines of the last stanza are the second and fourth of the penultimate; the first line of the poem is the last line of the final stanza, and the third line of the first stanza is the second of the final. Ideally, the meaning of lines shifts when they are repeated although the words remain exactly the same: this can be done by shifting punctuation, punning, or simply recontextualizing.
The rhyme scheme can be defined as follows:
It is typically written in iambic tetrameter.

This picture is courtesy of Yahoo Images

Chapter 60
The Eve of the Knife

By Treischel

The Eve of the Knife
Free Style Pre-surgical Thoughts

On the eve of the knife,
as I contemplate my life
and my worries tumble with my fears,

I toss
and I turn,
weighing each concern,

not the least of which
"Am I doing the right thing"?

Anesthesia's a risk,
as is a slip of doctor's wrist.
Plus there's germs in every hospital
that may cause
my demise.

Recovery sounds tough,
but if I do it well enough,
and I complete my therapy

Then I pray
that I finally get well.
I guess only time will tell.

is in God's
my surgeon's

Hope my insurance is enough.

Hope this time it works.

Hope I don't die.

Hope ...

Author Notes My wife is undergoing back surgery tomorrow morning at 7:00AM in hopes of relieving 9 Years of chronic back pain. We need to be there by 6AM. These are some of the things going through her mind.

Just a simple Free Style poem as I woke this morning with these impressions. A Free Style poem is unstructured in rhyme and meter, like Free Verse, but may contain rhyme.

This picture is courtesy of Yahoo Images.

Chapter 61
Games and Rain

By Treischel

Games and Rains
(A Canzone Poem)

With high winds, thunder, lightning flashes at play,
The games are interrupted.
When violent signs portend stark stormy day
Planned schedules get corrupted.

We know that these conditions can't be sustained,
So we safely wait it out.
In clubhouse, the anxious golfers are constrained
'Til weather changes come about.

At last, the storm has run out of fearsome force.
Players scramble for their carts,
As happy golfers are let upon the course.
That's how this tournament starts!

Damp fairways and soft greens now,
With high hopes to win somehow.

Author Notes I was in a Golf tournament at Red Wing Country Club just south of St. Paul, Minnesota, yesterday, 9/19/2013. The start was delayed due to a thunderstorm rolling in. But then it blew through and we were let out on the course. After two holes of play, another storm pulled us off the course with thunder and lightning all about. But after 20 minutes of downpour, play resumed and it was a nice day after that. My team placed in the money. Although my brother broke a picture window of a house when he sliced a shot way out of bounds. Oops! That was an expensive drive. Anyway, it inspired this little Canzone. I didn't mention the window because my brother wasn't in too good a mood after that.

This poem is a Canzone.
Canzone: An Italian lyric poem of varying stanza length, usually written in a mixture of hendecasyllables(11) and heptasyllables(7), with concluding short stanza or envoi.

This photo is from my own collection, taken June, 2012 at Cannon Falls Country Club.

Chapter 62
senryu (too much)

By Treischel

when your back hurts bad
and the pain becomes too much
can I kiss you well

Author Notes For Karen, my wife who suffers from chronic back pain

Many thanks for this wonderful picture Misery by Angelheart at FanArt Review

Chapter 63
Recovery Begins

By Treischel

Recovery Begins
(Sans Limerick)

Oh how my heart beats sing!
As she's home recovering,
From the trauma
And the drama,
The ordeal's suffering.

There is no place like home,
And she won't be alone.
She recovers,
Hubby hovers,
So that she may stay prone.

Together we'll succeed,
As the doctor's decreed.
Fully embrace,
Challenge we face,
Where healing is our need.

No obstacle's too tall,
No issues are too small,
That we can't meet,
Or can't defeat,
Together through it all.

Author Notes Brought my wife, Karen, home from the hospital today. So far, things are going well. After her back surgery, she'll be on bed rest and crutches for 3 weeks. 3 months for full recovery.

This is San Limerick. "Sans" meaning near or similar to. It has 5 lines per stanza and a rhyme scheme of aabba, like a Limerick, but the meter is much shorter. Instead of a typical meter of 9/9/6/6/9, this poem has much shorter meter of 6/6/4/4/6.

This picture is from Yahoo Images

Chapter 64
My Prayer

By Treischel

Pain relief
my sincere belief
it's not brief

Author Notes The surgery went very good. She's doing well, but on pain pills yet, so too early to tell.

Thank you for the lovely artwork, Breakthrough by VisionaryPerspective of FanArt

Chapter 65
Mixed Messages

By Treischel

Mixed Messages

Mixed messages on this site abound.
It's filled with drastic ups and downs,
With glowing reviews and six sweet stars,
Then insulting results from contest tzars.

It's not so much, I didn't win,
But it hurts not to even get a mention.
I grimace as the tally totes,
'Cause it's painful when you get no votes.

I read the winners every time
Comparing every line to mine .
I search to find distinguishing clues,
But it only seems to give me blues.

What great excitement to get a fan!
But, they disappear like sifting sand.
I get depressed as the ratings cool,
And begin to think that I'm a fool.

I started with such great anticipation,
Excited with each new participation.
My disappointments are getting sore.
Not sure I can take this anymore!

Author Notes I'm thinking about taking a hiatus from the site.
Here's a clue.

Yes, that picture is me.

Chapter 66
Miracle or Mix-up

By Treischel

As the anesthetic cobwebs cleared from my mind, I awoke in the intensive care unit of the Stony Brook University Hospital in Long Island, New York.
I immediately knew something was wrong. The clock, as my blurry vision cleared, read two hours later than I was told my operation would last.

But that wasn't it, completely.

It was the attitude of the nurses and staff around me that told my gut - something was up.

Oh yes, there was a lot of pain in my groin area. But, I expected that! After all, my surgery was on my testicles. Well, at least one of them.

It's just that the nurses were acting with a degree of sadness.
Pity maybe?
Possibly fear?
Certainly a sense of secrecy.

When I asked, "What happened?" The matronly nurse, with that mole on her cheek, looked worried and said, "You'll have to wait for the doctor."
Oh, oh! It must really be bad news, I thought.

This was supposed to be a relatively simple surgery. Nevertheless, it was one that I dreaded even considering for several years. In my heart, I knew something was bad, but I was afraid to really find out what was wrong. I guess I was just a coward at heart. You know, some things you're just better off not knowing. At least, that was the way I felt about it.

I recall telling my mother about it a few years before, once I overcame being embarrassed to talk about it to her. Well, that was a mistake! She continued to nag me about it every time, after that, when I called her. I guess you should expect that, when you tell your mother that one testicle is larger than the other one and that you sometimes get pain there. Whenever we talked on the phone, after that (she in Minnesota and I in New York), she'd always asked, "Have you had a doctor check that out yet?"

So, I finally did.

That visit went well, if you don't mind a doctor and his nurse poking around down there, and even shining a light through the scrotum.

"Hold that light a little closer, Stacy".

He determined that I needed an operation called a Hydrocele Surgery. You see, there is a protective layer of membrane around the testicle that sometimes fills with liquid, causing swelling and pain. The solution is to simply remove that membrane. No big deal; been done a thousand times. It's quick and easy. Of course, that testicle is out of commission then, but the other one will work just fine. Well OK, I agreed to go ahead with it.

So, now I lay on a gurney in the Intensive Care unit of Stony Brook Hospital wondering what happened.

The doctor finally came in.

He said that, while he was in there, he found and biopsied some unusual tissue around that area. Amazingly, he said that he almost removed both my testicles, right then and there. However, since I was still a fairly young man, he decided to wait for the lab results. Based on the pain I was having there, I wasn't too sure that he wasn't lying to me. Still, I mustered up a smile and thanked him for being so conservative.

When the lab results finally did come in, they carried some words that I didn't understand - Testicular Mesothelioma. Turns out, that means testicular cancer, a very rare and particularly aggressive strain where patients typically don't last more than a year, and often less than 4 months. It's also very rare, only about 14 people had been diagnosed with it in the last 20 years, world-wide.

Death sentence!

My surgeon said that, in my case, I likely had less than six months to live. However, there was a new and rather radical surgery. With it, I might get two more years, but there were no guarantees. The mortality rate of my disease was 100% and very rapid, but with the surgery, it was reduced to 90% after the surgery. I might live a bit longer. It involved removing both my testicles, cleaning out any cancerous cells in the groin cavity (including the wall lining between that area and the stomach, and replacing it with a mesh), plus removing all my lymph glands, located under my arms and down my legs near the groin. That was in November 1992. I told him to go ahead and schedule it. I felt I didn't have much choice. It was either, go home and die very soon, or let them butcher me up and get a little more time.

I was sent home, while they set it up.. I started to plan my own funeral.

During that time, two significant things happened.

First of all, my older brother, Chuck, was expressing serious concerns. He felt that I shouldn't undergo such serious surgery without at least getting a second opinion. Furthermore, he thought that if I was going to have such radical surgery, it should be from one of the best surgeons possible. New York has some of the best surgeons in the world, so why should I leave it to an unknown surgeon at Stony Brook when I wasn't far from major medical centers. Soon, I was being deluged with emails from him with information all about my disease. He also researched where the best cancer treatment organizations in New York were located. He recommended the Sloane-Kettering Institute in downtown Manhattan. He called me every week. We hadn't been close for years, and often argued about politics and religion, when we did get together. So, this was unusual behavior.

Ok, he had some good points.

So, I went to Stony Brook and had them release my medical records, CAT scans, and the biopsy samples to me personally, and hand carried them to Sloane-Kettering where my brother had arranged for them to be reviewed.
The doctors there were very excited about my case because my diagnosis was very rare. One of their top surgeons was very interested. In fact, he was willing to perform the operation on me for free, if I would allow him to try out his new technique and let it be closed-circuit televised to a group of renowned surgeons located around the world. I'd become a famous case within the medical journals.
Of course, I was interested, if only to save my wife some very large medical expenses and maybe, this guy might actually cure me. At that time, I considered it to definitely be worth the gamble. So, I scheduled it with them to perform it there on the first Wednesday in February, 1993.

The second thing going on came from an unexpected source - my boss. He was a very religious man, practically a saint. He was the Director of Procurement at the Unisys/Loral/ Paramax/Lockheed Martin facility (our division had been bought and sold several times while I worked there) located in Great Neck, New York. He belonged to a Charismatic Evangelical church on Long Island named The Smithtown Gospel Tabernacle. They believe in the power of prayer, and the ability of the congregation to heal by "the laying on of hands."

His name was Joe. He came to my house one evening. I had been out of work on medical leave for two months by then. I had gotten get well cards from various groups of people at facilities I had worked in before: Eagan, Minnesota; Pueblo, Colorado; and Great Neck, New York. It was just past New Year's Eve when he came. Even so, my testicles were swollen up like bricks and were still black and blue. I could barely walk, and I was depressed. We talked. He prayed with me. Then, he put his hands on my head as I knelt , and asked God to send us a miracle - to heal me. Amazingly, I felt something move within me. It was like something shifted, and a very small bit of electricity was going through me. That was it.

I'm a bit skeptical, but I thanked him and sent him on his way. The next day the swelling had gone down and I was feeling better. Still, I'll admit, I didn't think much about it after that. I attributed it to normal healing.

In the meantime, my February operation date was rapidly approaching. I became consumed with thoughts of impending death. I decided that, whether it was this year or the next, when I died, it would be with dignity. I would make the best of it. I would be the best possible example that I could be, for my family, and children, just like my Uncle before me had been to me. You see, I had a favorite uncle. We called him Uncle Lee. He was more of an example to me of how a man should live, than my own father. He died in 1987 of prostate cancer. My mother moved down to Tucson, Arizona, to live with him and his wife while he was very ill and dying. My sister even held her wedding there, so that he could give her away, since my dad had already died. He lay there in his hospital bed, dressed in a tuxedo, and beamed from ear to ear as the ceremony took place. He planned every detail of his funeral mass too, even picking the songs and having the church choir come over to his house to sing them with him. He died in the arms of his sister, my mother, with his wife and friends surrounding him. It left a great impression on me. After he died, my family attended the funeral at his church. I remember thinking," that man really knew how to die."

That's what I resolved to do too.

I was also beginning to question my decision to go ahead with the surgery. As the day grew closer, I was imagining what the surgery would be like, and what the recovery would entail. I thought about the operation. I would have incisions under both arms and down both legs from my groin. I would have no testicles. There would be a mesh of some sort separating my intestines and stomach from my bladder and urinary tract. How long would it take to recover? How much pain would I endure? Would it be successful? And for what? What kind of quality of life would I have? A few more months at most? Is the trade off worth it? Who was it benefitting, if I died anyway? These were the issues that were floating through my mind.

With a lot of thought, and agonizing about it, I resolved that it wasn't worth it.

That realization came to me on the Monday night of the week in February that I was scheduled for surgery. I was going to call the next day, Tuesday, and tell that famous surgeon that I had changed my mind. I didn't want to participate in his magic show and become a famous medical case. I don't subscribe to the American Journal of Medicine, and neither does my family. I just want to be left alone to die in peace. Not be cut up and displayed for medical science, only to gain a few more months of a miserable existence. So that was my plan. I figured there would be anger, and possibly some financial repercussions, but I still felt that that was the best decision for me.

Was I afraid? You bet!

I was probably as skittish as a bride who has decided to call off the wedding, after everyone is already in the church. But it is, what it is, and this is my life.

As it turned out, I never even needed to make that tremulous call.

They called ME on Tuesday!

The lab results at Sloane-Kettering had finally come back. They said that the biopsy results showed something very strange. What they originally thought were cancer cells, now showed up to only be some standard scar tissue, not Mesothelioma.

Now, I don't know if there truly was a miracle that changed both me and my biopsy, or if it was just some stupid medical mistake.

I just know that I'm alive and well.

You decide!

Author Notes It is all true

2041 Words

Chapter 67
Sleeping Child

By Treischel

Sleeping Child
(A Quatern Poem)

The angelic face of a sleeping child,
Which gives people a very special sight,
A scene that keeps their aching hearts beguiled,
In the car or nursery bed at night.

Matters not whether a daughter or son,
The angelic face of a sleeping child,
To mom or dad is a precious one,
Even better if that little child smiled.

With button nose and hair pixie styled,
A beloved sight since the world's begun,
The angelic face of a sleeping child
Is another way that the heart is won.

There's no finer sight, when the eye's shut tight,
And a day of play has been reconciled,
The look that brings a sense of pure delight,
The angelic face of a sleeping child.

Author Notes This is my granddaughter Skylah, the inspiration for this poem.

This poem is a Quatern. I must thank Adewpearl for her poem, There Isn't Any News, for reminding me of this perfect format to use for this photograph.
The Quatern is a French form of poetry that is composed of four quatrains, (four-line stanzas). It is similar to the Kyrielle and other French poems, in that it has a repeated refrain. But, unlike other French forms, it doesn't have to rhyme--there is no rhyme scheme specified. Similar to other French forms of poetry, the Quatern consists of lines with eight or ten syllables each, and has no required meter.

Even though they do not have to rhyme or follow a specific meter, I have chosen to write this Quatern poem in pentameter with a rhyme scheme of: Abab, cAca, acAc, babA, where the first and third lines of each stanza rhyme and where the second and fourth lines of each stanza rhyme, and the A represents the Refrain line.

This picture was taken by the author himself while his granddaughter was sleeping in a car seat.

Chapter 68
Thomas Reischel

By Treischel

Thomas Reischel
(A Bio Poem)

Retired manager, couch potato, photographer, poet
Brother of Chuck, Bobbie, Dick, Joe, Marilee, and Laurie
Lover of his wife, the state of Minnesota, Viking Football, Rain
Who feels the majesty of nature, connection with the Cosmos, the pull of curiosities.
Who fears some bugs, rejection, and pain
Who worked 44 years for same company, married 38 years, born on 9/11
Would like to see - the world, man in space, world peace
Has lived in New York, Colorado, and Minnesota, now St. Paul, Mn.

Author Notes I found this neat format, so I thought I'd have some fun with it. I created a set of pictures of me in the last two years. I'm such a chameleon sometimes as I'll grow my hair out, then cut it short, then grow a beard, and then cut it off. Right now I'm working on mutton chops. Anyway, here's the pictorial I assembled. Hope you get a laugh. Others may want to try one of themselves or someone else.

This poem is called a Bio Poem. It is meant to provide a poetic portrait of the person named. There are very specific rules. Here they are:
There are 10 Lines that comply to the requirements listed below.
(Line 1) First name
(Line 2) Three or four adjectives that describe the person
(Line 3) Important relationship (daughter of . . . , mother of . . . , etc)
(Line 4) Two to four things, people, or ideas that the person loved
(Line 5) Three feelings the person experienced
(Line 6) Three fears the person experienced
(Line 7) Accomplishments (who composed . . . , who discovered . . . , etc.)
(Line 8) Two or three things the person wanted to see happen or wanted to experience
(Line 9) His or her residence
(Line 10) Last name
That's it!

This collage is a compilation of 4 of the author's photographs taken himself.

Chapter 69
Internet Gaming

By Treischel

Internet gaming
I'm embarrassed when I get
beat by my grandson

Author Notes Just playing around

Author's photograph

Chapter 70
Morning After Retirement

By Treischel

Morning After Retirement
(Just A Poem)

I felt the tinge upon my skin,
Of early misty morn,
That made me snuggle tight within,
The blankets that adorn
My warm comforting bed.

I pulled them over head
To capture dreams galore.
"An hour more", I said.
"Please, just an hour more!"

But daylight made a mockery,
Weighed heavy on my eyes.
Then barking dog, and bird in tree,
They finally forced me to arise.

Now that I'm sitting up,
I'll sit and sip my cup.
I'll watch the fog burn through,
And ponder what to do.

Author Notes It's been 2 years now since the company I worked for, for 44+ years, shut down our division and laid everyone off. I was fortunate to be over 62 years old, so I took retirement. I remember well that Friday morning when I was let go. By noon, I was at a campsite on Lake Byllesby in Cannon Falls Minnesota. The next morning was foggy. This poem that I wrote today, is in memory of that morning.

Nothing special about this poem. Just mixed syllable and lines playing with an 8/6 meter.

This picture was taken by the author, that morning in August,2011.

Chapter 71
Deadly Thoughts

By Treischel

Deadly Thoughts
(Push and Pull, Part 2)

When troubled times come crowd out the room
To bury souls in dark thoughts of gloom
Depression drawing deep
Seeks out a path to keep
The quiet solace of ocean's tomb

How easy to walk into the sea
To begin the end of what was me
To take that gasping breath
Embracing soggy death
And let those problems of bad times - flee

But flee to what? Hell's hot eager fires?
From cooling waters to burning pyres?
And what is left behind?
To haunt my children's minds
These thoughts were those that changed my desires

Author Notes A follow-on to my poem about darker days in my life.

This poem is wittten in a Limerick-like format that has a meter of:
And the typical Limerick rhyme scheme of:

The picture is from Yahoo Images

Chapter 72
Push and Pull

By Treischel

Push and Pull
(A Spenserian Sonnet)

I stood transfixed upon the rocky shore
As brooding waves did dare to draw me in.
It seemed life had no meaning anymore.
I felt I couldn't stand this pain again.

Was this condition cruelly caused by sin?
Or, was it just a consequence of luck?
Well, either way, I thought I couldn't win
Or find relief from fate, where I was stuck.

These deadly thoughts were those I couldn't shuck.
The ocean pulled me on to be consumed.
As all my hurt emotions ran amuck
The crashing waves sang Siren songs of doom.

And yet, a seed still stirred there to survive,
A speck of hope caused me to stay alive.

Author Notes There was a time I wanted to end it all. The currents were strong that day on Long Island. Some day I'll tell the story.

This poem is a Spenserian Sonnet. I was reminded of this format by reviewing fellow Fanstorian denhagen's poem, Grateful in this Modern Age.
The Spenserian Sonnet is a third major type of sonnet, (along with the Italian and English sonnets). It was invented in the sixteenth century by the English poet Edmund Spenser. It has the same structure as the English sonnet, but it employs a rhyme scheme of:

abab, bcbc, cdcd, ee,

which links the couplets within the three quatrains together. This puts less pressure on the final couplet at the end to resolve the argument. The three quatrains develop separate ideas, but they are closely related to each other. The couplet then simply provides a different idea or commentary.
The Spenserian sonnet is written in iambic pentameter, like the other two major sonnet forms.

I took this image from Bing Images.

Chapter 73
Last Dose

By Treischel

Last Dose


Took the last dose of my NyQuil last night
I'd say it really knocked me out alright.
While blizzard blows at my windows 'til light
Took the last dose of my NyQuil last night


Guess must have slept for 16 hours straight
Amazed that I had gotten up so late
This medicine is really something great
Took the last dose of my NyQuil last night


Now, lying in my bed, I feel a freeze
Today I'm really hacking when I sneeze
Bed shivers with the shaking of my knees
Took the last dose of my NyQuil last night


I don't think I can take it any more
The Reaper's nearly knocking at my door
Just bundle up and head out to the store
Took the last dose of my NyQuil last night


Author Notes This is true. Was sick last night, took the last dose of my Nyquil, and slept through a snowstorm for 16 hours.

Chapter 74
Just Once

By Treischel

Just Once
(Free Verse)

I touch the inner pain within
And then
it comes again
From the unhealed wound
in my soul

A latent legacy from my childhood

That yearning void
A desire
To be approved
To be loved
By my father

A stern man
Quick to anger
Hard to please

But mostly
A need to feel
Some worth

I recall these things
At unexpected moments
Whenever I see a father
And son interacting
In a positive way

It might be during a movie
Or watching a TV show
Or even out and about
Where people are doing
Their thing

Then the tears
That I don't want to
Even acknowledge exist
Stream from my eyes
I try to hold them back
I fight them back
But they come anyway
These unwanted feelings
That I thought I buried

To only hear those words
Those words I tried
And tried
And tried
To elicite
But never came

Just once
But they never came
Not once

Would it have been too hard to hear?
Maybe just feel?

These words
"I'm proud of you son"



And now you are gone.

Author Notes Even though he died in 1986, the wounds are still there. This is his gravesite, with his second wife. The man who brutally beat me often with a belt. Who told me how stupid I am. Who said I was too dumb to go to college. Whose last words to me in the hospital before he died were "Will you shut up, your giving me a headache". Sorry. I just had to get it out.
BTW, I did graduate from college. I guess that was his method of motivation.

This photograph is by the author himself.

Chapter 75
Need for Speed

By Treischel

Need for Speed
(Rhyming Couplets)

I had a brother-in-law with a need for speed,
Who flew down the highway in that fast Ninja creed.

At 184, on a slick shoulder of sand,
His bike was caused to careen all over the land.

In the boughs of a pine tree, he ended up dead,
When its prickly arms sheared off his helmeted head.

Author Notes The death of Paul Walker, of the Fast and Furious movie series, reminded of my brother-in-law who died in a high speed motorcycle crash in 2010. His was doing 184 mph when his bike hit some sand on the should and careened off the road, down an embankment. When I went to the scene, I saw the skid marks he tried lay the bike down 20 yards in front of a pine tree, according to the handlebar trench it dug, but he still took out 1/4 of its lower branches. His head was found 20 yards from the bike, still in its helmet. His bike continued through the tree and blew through a chainlink fence. Anyway, that's why I wrote this poem.

This picture is from Yahoo Images.

Chapter 76
Mug Shot

By Treischel

Mug Shot
(A Free Style Poem)

a recent picture.

Hope you don't think
that I am

It's a photograph
of me,
you see,
posing patiently,
using books
photographic backdrops.

I was
showing off my look,
after growing

Hope you're not offended
by my mug.

It's good to
give a tug,


prefer a

Author Notes I grew out some muttonchops during the Movember event. Movember is held during November each year around here. Men grow out their mustaches (their MOs) during the month. Just because.
For some reason, most ladies decline to participate.

My wife took this picture. Thought I'd show it off. It (my MO) will be gone within the week, but it was fun to have this look that harkens back to earlier eras.

Chapter 77
There is Ringing in My Ears

By Treischel

Ringing in My Ears
(Free Style)

There is a ringing
in my ears
that will not go

When too loud,
it draws
some tears,
that feeling doesn't stay.

there are crickets,
a roar.

When occupied
my mind forgets
and thinks,
it isn't anymore.

But there it is
in the background.

Just like
its always been,
a constant,
irritating sound.

Author Notes This has been bothering my a lot lately.

This picture is from Yahoo Images.

Chapter 78
Tax Day

By Treischel

Tax Day

Doing my taxes
Spending all day
Working the numbers
I'll have to pay
I'm sorry to say

Author Notes Yup, it's that time. Groan!

A quintain is a poem of 5 lines with any rhyme or meter.
This poem has a meter of 5-4-5-4-5 and a rhyme scheme of abcbb.

The picture is from Yahoo images.

Chapter 79
Sweet Sleep

By Treischel

Sweet Sleep
(A Sonnet)

While tucked within the creases of my dreams,
With pillow gently to caress my head,
I tossed within the soft and silken seams
Of comfort from the covers of my bed.

My eyes were tightly closed on peaceful face,
My body prone, serene, and quite relaxed,
My mind adrift away to far off place,
I smiled while possibilities climaxed.

This place I rest is too good to believe.
I want to stay as long as possible,
Prolonging all these joys that I perceive.
I loath to leave a spot so beautiful.

So let me sleep a little more, I pray.
It's yet too soon to greet another day.

Author Notes Shhhh!

Yup, that's me. Don't disturb.

This poem is a sonnet with abab rhymed quatrains and closing rhymed couplet. Written in iambic pentameter.

Chapter 80
Slippery Situation

By Treischel

Listen! Cars and ice don't mingle well.
There are many stories I could tell,
'Bout the bitter damage that was done,
But there comes to mind this certain one.

It all began on one rainy day,
When a bitter cold came into play
While I was driving down steep-slopped street
Unaware there was an icy sheet.

The road contained a sloppy layer
That made me make a hasty prayer.
As I approached that slickened hill,
Started spinin' 'round against my will.

But even though I'd been goin' slow,
The terrain made my momentum grow.
My brakes, no assistance as I spun.
This total terror had just begun.
My wheels hit hard against concrete curve,
Creating a bounced gyrating swerve,
To test the limits of my frayed nerve,
In conditions drivers don't deserve.

It was like I had no steering wheel,
That made it such an intense ordeal .
As I approached an intersection,
Could not effect a course correction.

Desperate attempts were made to warn
Drivers, as I loudly honked my horn.
As I slid backwards against the light,
I prayed to God to protect my plight.

Well, He must have heard my anguished plea,
Because no other cars approached me,
Even though traffic had a green light,
There was no vehicle within sight.

So I can gladly say,
That I'm still here today.

Author Notes This really happened, although this picture is of someone else on a different slippery hill.

AABB rhyme scheme in 9 syllable meter with 6 syllable closing couplet envoi.

Photograph by the author.

Chapter 81

By Treischel

Raindrops on windows
That fell from the sky
Teardrops from cloud banks
So clear to the eye

Short moisture moments
That sprinkle the day
Delays departure
Inside we must stay





Author Notes A short cloud burst kept me in under cover until it blew over.

Quatrains with abcb rhyming in a 5 beat meter.

This poem can also be sung to the tune - These Are a Few of My Favotite Things by Julie Andrews in the Sound of Music.

This photograph taken by the author himself.

Chapter 82
Skateboard Plans

By Treischel

I watched my brother
doing it so well.
It looks so easy,
far as I can tell.

If you ask about
my skateboarding plans,
I'll have to answer
That "I think I can".

Author Notes My grandson Isaac, now 2 years old. He watched his big brother, Jeremy, skateboarding and now thinks he can do it.

A poem of two abcb rhymed quatrains with a 4-5 tempo.

This picture taken by my daughter on her cell phone.

Chapter 83
First Birthday

By Treischel

I made it to
be one year old.
A grand achievement,
so I'm told.

Thank you family.
'Cause you all sent
to me a lovely
birthday present.

Now I just love
to eat my cake.
But mommy hates
the mess I make!

Author Notes My grandson, Isaac, on his first birthday.

Simple abcb rhymed quatrains with a 4-5 tempo.

This picture was taken by my daughter on her cell phone.

Chapter 84
Purple Pain

By Treischel


Wraps a body
In tight cocoons
Of burning tendrils
Like the Python
Cruelly crushes
Captured prey

Imprisoning a soul
In silent slavery
Stealing life's

A Scorpion's sting
An insidious thing


Overcomes the mind
Overrides all other thoughts
Occupies your time
Like a magician
Can hypnotize

Who changes perception
Into his reality
With a snap
Of fated fingers

Confounding senses
Controlling pretenses


Colors the world
In darkest reds
Deeper than blood
In sluggish veins

Oh Purple Pain!
What will it take
For you
To go

Author Notes When pain is in control, your mind is not
Dedicated to my wife who suffers chronic back pain.

This poem is Free Style, a Free Verse that contains some rhyme.

This picture is from Yahoo Images.

Chapter 85
A Busy DAY

By Treischel

When you go
out to the fair,
Never know
what's waiting there.
you'll have some fun,
long before the day is done.

Ride the sky,
or eat fair food.
improve your mood.
Don't forget
the doggy show.
Pretend to make tractors go.

Matters not
what things you choose.
There's a lot
To chase the blues.
brings many joys
to ten year old playful boys.

Author Notes I took my grandson, Jeremy, to the Minnesota State Fair. We had a great time together, despite the crowds. Fair food was plentiful and yummy. We rode the sky tram, climbed the machenery on display, watched a dog show, and enjoyed the butterfly room (amomg many other things). Spent the whole day there.

This Poem consists of 3 Whitneys.

A Whitney is a poem that has a set format of 3/4/3/4/3/4/7. I've done this one in three Whitneys to make stanzas in Whitney format. I've also added rhyming which is not a requirement of this style. The rhyme scheme is: ababcdd.

This picture montage was taken by the author at the State Fair on August 29, 2014.

Chapter 86
Birthday Begonias

By Treischel

These beautiful begonias
Are a family's gift
To their sister, to a daughter
Providing birthday lift

She put it in the bright sunlight
And let it drink its fill
Of both water and the sunshine
Right by the window sill

And there they grew contentedly
Delighting grateful eyes
Amongst all her precious items
As her most cherished prize

Author Notes My wife, Karen, received these beautiful Begonias from her mom and sister for her birthday. I took this picture, and she asked me to write a poem for it. Here it is.

Simple 8-6 abcb rhymed quatrains.

I took this photograph in our living room with the afternoon light streaming through the window.

Chapter 87
Golden Globes

By Treischel

Golden Globes
That spin around
Tick-tock time
With hourly chime
Shiny face
Images found
Reflected on the surface

Mother's clock
Bequeathed to us
Spinning balls
Are marvelous
Rhythms unlock
When every hour falls

Think of her
Each time it chimes
Saint above
Reflecting love
Many times
Within our day
A sound sent by our mother

Author Notes This clock was my mother's. It sat on an end-table next to her for years. It chimes a soft lovely tune every hour. When she died, my wife and I received it, and now cherish it in our home. Every time the chime plays, we think of her. It is a heavenly sound. I tried to capture that here.

This poem is a Whiney. Actually, 3 Whitneys.
Whitney Created by Betty Ann Whitney. This is a seven-line versed poem based on Japanese patterns that key off of syllable counts. This one has a fixed syllable format that contains:
3, 4, 3, 4, 3, 4, 7 syllables, respectively.
The short, expressive lines carry a lively verse that resonates well to almost any subject.
No rhyme scheme is required, but may be incorporated if desired.
For this poem, I did include a mixed rhyme scheme.

Verse 1:abccdbd
Verse 2:abcbdac
Verse 3:abccbda

This photograph was taken by the author of that clock on a table in our living room window.

Chapter 88
First Day of School

By Treischel

It's back to school when Summer wanes.
Now teachers soon will test the brains
of students in their classroom walls,
while culture plays out in the halls
where boys and girls may mix and mingle
as adolescent juices tingle
while dressed in new-bought fashion clothes,
adorned to please from head to toes.
But who knows what the future brings?
As fickled fate sets snares and slings.

Author Notes This is my Grandson, Jeremy, who is now 10. The picture was taken by his mother on her cell phone in September, as he ended the summer by heading of to his first day in the fifth grade. What a handsome, debonair fellow. I'm sure he'll have all the girls chasing him. Anyway, he inspired this poem.

This is a 10 Line Ryming poem of 5 simple rhyming couplets done in iambic tetrameter. It contained a couple a femanine lines (9 syllables).

My daughter, Aisha took this shot. I am grateful for its use.

Chapter 89

By Treischel

I know that I've been cranky,
But I'm happy underneath.
My mood has changed completely,
'Cause I finally got my teeth.

Author Notes We all know how cranky kids get during teething. This is my grandson, Isaac, showing off his choppers.

A simple abcb rhymed Quatrain.

My daughter, Aisha took this photograph. Thanks for this image.

Chapter 90
A Twinkle in Her Eyes

By Treischel

Always a twinkle in her eyes,
a hint of the humor within,
and the sweetness it underlies.
Shown by the smile 'twixt nose and chin.

Time may have taken its toll, but
always a twinkle in her eyes,
as corners crinkle there somewhat,
but that smile comes as no surprise.

Her counsel shared is always wise,
in circumstance, open or shut,
always a twinkle in her eyes,
to pull a lost soul from their rut.

To know, to feel her soul therein,
is to know where true love applies.
Her face is where the signs begin.
Always a twinkle in her eyes.

Author Notes This is a recent picture of my wife, Karen. Next week will be our 39th anniversary. Next year will make 40 years together. Amazing. I wrote this poem as a tribute to her.

This poem is a quatern.
The Quatern is a French form of poetry that is composed of four quatrains, (four-line stanzas). It is similar to the Kyrielle and other French poems, in that it has a repeated refrain. But, unlike other French forms, it doesn't have to rhyme--there is no rhyme scheme specified. Similar to other French forms of poetry, the Quatern consists of lines with eight syllables each, and has no required meter. The Refrain starts as the first line of the first Stanza, then the second line of the second, the third of the third, and the last line of the fourth stanza. So it moves through the poem in a cascade.

However, for this poem, I chose to rhyme it. I used a basic abab rhyme scheme, but added a twist. I used only three rhymes in this poem. The third and fourth stanzas are the inverse of the first two. The a rhyme remains constant through the poem.
So, the rhyme scheme becomes: Abab cAca acAc babA, where the capital letter shows the line that repeats.

This photograph was taken by the author in our living room om November 13, 2014.

Chapter 91
Hop On

By Treischel

My brother's always hangin' 'round.
He sticks to me like glue.
You'd think that it would bother me.
He follows everything I do.

He thinks that he's as big as me.
Wouldn't that bother you?
You'll find him always underfoot.
He wants so bad to do things too.

'Course he's a bit misillusioned
'Bout his abilities,
But that doesn't stop him tryin'
The many possibilities.

I'm tired of him underfoot,
And often getting hurt.
So, I've thought of a solution
Meant to protect the little squirt.

The kid really isn't heavy --
Lighter than a boulder.
I thought I'd simply lift him up,
And just put him on my shoulder.


He's no burden
He's no bother
He ain't heavy
He's my brother

Author Notes My grandsons Jeremy and his brother Isaac. Inspired by the picture and the song, "He Ain't Heavy".

Simple abcb rhymed Quatrains. Syllable count: 8-6-8-8

Thank you to my Daughter, Aisha, for capturing the moment in this photograph.

Chapter 92
Gather 'Round

By Treischel

Let us gather 'round the table
Join as family while we're able
Share our blessings in prayerful word
Feast well upon Thanksgiving bird


This was a 30 pound bird that my son, Sean had. It was wonderful to get together with our family and his wife's family.

Simple aabb rhymed quatrain

Author's photo.

Chapter 93
Just Around the Bend

By Treischel

So often when I travel
on a river or a road,
my passengers unravel,
impatient to reach our goal.

The scenery on the way
can so often look the same.
As the byways interplay
In such similarity.

It is then when I contend,
with much assured conviction,
"It's just around the next bend.
So hang on to your britches."

But bends can be contentious,
as I frequently have found,
despite the best intentions,
that I sometimes can be wrong.

Author Notes My wife always dreads when we're on either a canoe trip or a road trip, when asked how far is it to the next stop and I say "I think it's just around the next bend". Then it turns out to be the next 10 bends. Sadly, she doesn't trust me anymore.

This Poem is a set of abac rhymed quatrains in an anapestic meter of 7 syllables.
An abac rhyme is just the inverse of an abcb rhyme. Instead of only lines 2 and 4 rhyming, only lines 1 and 3 do.

This lovely curve in the road was photographed by the author on East River Road, St. Paul, MN. in October 2014.

Chapter 94
Between the Words

By Treischel

I hear it in my loved one's voice.
It's there between the words;
The pauses and the subtle choice
Of grunts reduced by thirds.

She tries to hide the pain inside
When pressure in her back's applied.
But still, the symptoms show,
And they will let me know.

I read between the words; the signs,
The pauses, and the quiver;
The grimace and the stressful lines
That show up whenever......

I pray to Holy God each day,
The pain will go away.
But it still seems to linger on,
No matter what I say.

So, she can only continue
To keep the senses blurred.
Hope to stop what she's going through,
Reading between the words

Author Notes My wife, Karen, suffers from severe chronic backpain. We've tried everything from heavy drugs, to pain clinics, to specialized back exercises, to several surgeries. Nothing works. She usually wakes up OK. but as the day goes on, it gets worse and worse. I usually can tell by the quiver in her voice when its really bad. She tries to hide it from me as long as possible, but I can tell. I love her and wish there was something I could do. She is trying to live with it. This poem is about that moment when I know she is suffering too much.

This poem is written in simple Quatrains with an 8-6 meter and abab rhyme scheme.

This image is from Yahoo images.

Chapter 95

By Treischel

I feel the sorrow deep within my veins,
That flows so slow with stresses and the strains.
I worry that the pain may never heal.
So I must kneel, to God make an appeal.

The loss of someone meaningful to me,
Can sap the soul of all vitality,
To spread a dreadful darkness deep within.
Such bitterness must surely be a sin.

But I shall carry on with all my might,
And hope someday that I will see the light.
I feel an angel near, holding my hand.
Although I find it hard to I understand.

So I shall shed all my tart tears today.
I'll find my happiness another day.

Author Notes With my wife's mother passing away, I felt these thoughts emanating through her as she dealt with her grief. This poem just materialized effortlessly in minutes as if my Muse was controlling the pen.

This poem is a Sonnet. I was going to post it in the Sonnet contest, but the rules required an abab rhyme scheme. I wrote this in an aabb scheme. So, I just decided to post it here instead.

I must thank Alveria for the use of her picture, Deep Sorrow, from Fanart Review.

Chapter 96
Richard and Renie

By Treischel

When two hearts have come together as one,
Heavenly sparked by Colorado sun,
Nuptial bells proclaim husband and wife.
Together, forever, life's journey begun.

Richard and Renie's adventurous life
Was not without storms and perilous strife,
But love for each other has dampened their fears.
It cuts through the problems, sharp as a knife.

And now they have made it for forty years,
A life full of their love, laughter, and tears,
Their child and grand kids now take up their time -
An affectionate task that sweetly endears.

Now, lets acknowledge their glorious climb.
So cheeer! And here's to their love so sublime!

Contratulations Richard and Reenie!

Author Notes My Brother, Richard, and his wife Corine(Renie) are celebrating their 40th wedding Aniversary in April this year. I wrote this poem for that upcoming event. They met in Vail, Colorado, and got married there. They now have an adopted daughter and 3 grandchildren.

This poem is a Rubiyat Sonnet. It combines the attributes of a Sonnet, having 3 Quatrains and closing couplet, with a Rubiyat, having quatrains that interlink rhymes. The Rubiyat mono-rhymes line 1,2,and 4 of each stanza, while line 3 creates the rhyme for the following stanza, thus interlinking them. So, the rhyme scheme for this poem is:
aaba bbcb ccdc dd.

This picture was taken by my sister Laurie, and my brother Joe's wedding in June of 2010.

Chapter 97
A Baby's Smile

By Treischel

What loveliness shines brighter than
A baby's smile?
I know that I'm a fervent fan.
It's so worthwhile
To see a smile light up a face,
A cure for blues most any place.
What marks a happy juvenile?
A baby's smile!

The gloom of life was overran.
It did beguile
Just when that fetching look began.
I watched awhile,
Captured by that infectious grin
That filled her face from nose to chin.
It pulled my heart strings by a mile --
A baby's smile.

Author Notes After writing several somber poems, I thought I'd lighten things up with a more upbeat poem. What better way than with one having a smiling baby girl. This one is my granddaughter Skylah Brooke. I loved this shot with the smile and tiger print. Hope you enjoy it as well.

This poem is an Octogram, one of my favorite formats. I've written quite a few.
The Octogram is a style of poetry invented by Fanstorian Sally Yocom (S.Yocom). It consists of two stanzas of eight lines each, with a very specific syllable count and rhyme scheme.

Syllable count is: 84848884, repeat on second stanza.

Rhyme scheme: aBabccbB ababddbB, where B repeats same text repeated.

No more than 16 lines.

This picture was taken by my daughter, Aisha on her cell phone. Many thanks for its use here.

Chapter 98

By Treischel

Four years short of a century
A tired soul has gone to God.
Four Children raised, a husband gone,
Today we gather to applaud.

For mother's duties now are done.
Only memories now remain,
Of ups, and downs, and battles fought,
Too long ago to now explain.

Those left behind must now live on,
Forever touched by legacy
That fills the lives of all her heirs
With her wit and literacy.

Six grandchildren and ten great-grands,
Several seeds from fertile grounds
Now fill the earth with light and love,
Where Betty's influence abounds.

Remember her for all her charms:
The laughs, the smiles, the thoughts, the hugs;
The gourmet dinners that she made;
Her needlework, with pulls and tugs.

She often walked. She had great faith.
Her love of music was renowned.
She loved to play that UPWORDS game.
She loved to keep nice plants around.

So, now that she has gone from us,
Let's hope that these prayers we utter
Are pleasing to the ears of God
Elizabeth Sweetnam Cutter.

Author Notes This is a poem I wrote about my wife Karen's mother - Betty Cutter. She died Jan 13, 2015 at 6:10 PM.

This poem is an Elegy.
An Elegy is a sad or thoughtful poem about a person who died. This one is written in abcb rhymed quatrains. with an 8 syllable mixed meter.

This picture is a family portrait.

Chapter 99
Hard Feelings

By Treischel

Who gets the furniture?
Who gets the clothes?
Who gets the knick-knacks,
That we dispose?

Hard Feelings

Who gets the ashes?
Who gets the books?
Who gets the pictures
Of family she took?

Hard Feelings

Who says the eulogies?
Who sings the songs?
How's it determined,
The rights and the wrongs?

Hard Feelings

Who gets the jewelry?
Was there a will?
The family is clashing.
I've had my fill.

Hard Feelings

Author Notes More residual inspiration, or should I say "fallout", from Karen's mother's death. I have seen this before after several parent's deaths. The squabbling starts and there are some hard feelings.

This poem is made up of simple abcb rhymed Quatrains with a one line refrain.

The picture is from Yahoo images.

Chapter 100

By Treischel


Author Notes Usually it's the snake that gets charmed.

This is a Brevette Poem. It is written in response to a writing contest prompt. I did not enter the contest, but was intrigued and am posting one now.
The Brevette, created by Emily Romano, consists of a subject (noun), verb, and object (noun), in this exact order. The verb should show an ongoing action. This is done by spacing out the letters in the verb. There are only three words in the poem, giving it the title Brevette.

l e a k s

Each of the three words may have any number of syllables, but it is desireable that the poem have balance in the choice of these words. Unlike haiku, there are no other rules to follow.

This picture was taken when my Grandson and I went to the Shrine Circus in 2014.

Chapter 101
Counting Grandkids

By Treischel

Counting grandkids can be a taxing chore,
With the world evolving forevermore.
Where adoption, divorce, can complicate
Who gets absorbed within the aggregate.

Some people point only to pure bloodlines
As all that matters as heritage signs.
But is that quite fair to the children raised
In relationships too hard to be phrased?

Most difficult are attitudes taken
Of acceptance, which can be forsaken
From bitter divorce, great anger, or crime.
These things are happening all of the time.

Bloodlines should count, but so should the nurture
Given by parents, both past and future,
Who raised children up with love and with pride.
So, all prejudice should be put aside.

Confusion arose as tally mounted.
Whether this or that should be counted
Is significant to where numbers fall.
If parent bore or raised them, count them all.

Author Notes In counting grandkids, and particularily greatgrand kids, for the obituary of Karen's mother, the issue described in the poem arose. It all depended on who was counting and who they counted. There ended up being two obits. One read 10 greatgrand children, the other read 15. I think both were wrong. There were 4 siblings (1 son and 3 daughters). The youngest daughter had three children and clearly 6 grand children. The son married a woman with 3 teenage children from a previous marriage (now with several grandchildren), but not children of his own. The next daughter had no children. The oldest daughter (my wife) had two young children from a previous marriage, and married me with two from a previous marriage, and we had one together. When it gets to great grand children, it gets even worse. One grandchild, had a child but never married the mother, who has now remarried and the child has been adorpted by another man. He then got another woman pregnant and is paying child support to her. Then he married and is now raising a son. There are other marriages, adoptions, and divorces in the mix. So the real count is anybody's guess.

The author took this random picture of children at a playground, and used it here because they were running around so much that he couldn't get an accurate count.

Chapter 102
The Last Moment

By Treischel

Her dying moment was full of grace,
As the sweetest smile lit up her face.
Then her soul took flight,
Through eyes shining bright.
Along with angels, she took her place.

Author Notes Friday, February 6, 2015,m is the day of the memorial service for the mother of my wife, Karen. So, I'm still thinking thoughts of her. Karen's sister, Sherry was there at the moment she died and described how her mother opened her eyes wide and smiled. It was as if a light was shining from her eyes. Then she quietly passed away. That description moved me here.

This poem is a Faux Limerick.
The well-known form can be found in England during the early years of the 18th century. The typical structure of a Limerick is two long lines of either 8 or 9syllables (9 is the most common), followed by two shorter lines of either 5 or 6 syllables. Then a closing longer line the same count as the first two lines.
The rhyme scheme of Limericks is usually aabba. There is a lyrical tempo also to each line.
What makes this a Faux Limerick is, that I didn't follow the meter requirement, or humor aspect. So it's similar, but not exact.

This photograph is a family portrait that I slightly modified.

Chapter 103
Last Goodbye

By Treischel

We wished our mother's last goodbye
With these roses of purest white,
On the altar with ribbon tie
That simply said "Mother" outright.
All our prayers were in that basket,
As flower meaning came to light.
Soon they will adorn the casket,
Being our mother's last goodbye.

Sisters and brother sending love
With these roses of purest white,
Basket below, ribbon above
That simply said "Mother" outright.
Blue and white flowers speaking in hue
The loss suffered that fateful night,
Token of the tears that it drew,
Saying our mother's last goodbye.

Prayers are said and blessings are made
With these roses of purest white,
Addressed to Mom on ribboned braid
That simply said "Mother" outright.
Beautifully done in floral blaze
Of deepest blue and white delight,
It sends our love in special ways
To be our mother's last goodbye.

Author Notes Another poem resulting from Karen's mother's Memorial Service held on Friday, February 6, 2015 . The flowers were gorgeous. The children were represented by this lovely blue and white arrangement that included white roses, irises, hydrangeas, and deep blue bluebonnets. Set on the alter during the service it said a wonderful floral goodbye.

This poem is a Canzonetta.
A Canzonetta is a variation of the Canzone. It's a lyric poem of varying line length and metrical patterns. The Canzonetta consists of at least two octaves (stanzas with 8 lines), and each octave uses a series of alternating couplets. The last line or last phrase is repeated in each stanza of the subsequent stanzas. The rhyme scheme is thus:
a. b. a. b. c. d. c. D.
a. b. a. b. c. b. c. B.
The latter one is called Canzonetta Prime. The use of a repeating rhyme word is helpful but not mandatory in order to strengthen the repetition bond. There is no set meter or line length.
I used the Canzonetta Prime format with an 8 syllable meter in this poem. I added an additional feature repeating two of the B rhymes identically in each stanza to become B1 and B2. So, the full rhyme scheme for this poem is:
a.B1.a.B2.c.b.c.R - d.B1.d.B2.e.b.e.R - f.B1.f.B2.g.b.g.R.
The R is the refrain taken fron a phrase of the first line.

The author took this photograph of the arrangement.

Chapter 104

By Treischel


Author Notes This is my obsession - puzzles. I love doing them. The more pieces, the better. I may have our dining room table tied up for months doing one, so we eat at the counter.

This poem is Word Sonnet. (The last one, I promise. For now)
Still experimenting with this format. In this one I was playing with the rhyme scheme. It is:

The Word Sonnet is a relatively new variation of the traditional form that was championed by Seymour Mayne, a Canadian poet who teaches at the University of Ottawa. This is Seymour Maynes's long-running project of what he calls and practices as "word sonnets." In their one-word structure there is a strong resemblance to the look and feel of Chinese poetry. These minimal forms of poetry and verbal composition go back to the 1960s. In essence, it is a fourteen line poem, with one word set for each line. Concise and usually visual in effect, this "miniature" version can contain one or more sentences, as the articulation requires.

Word Sonnets attempt to be pithy and suggestive poems in their own right. Many draw on the seasons and also aim for a compact resonance that may attract the reader to return to them again and again.

If you are interested in learning more about the style, here are two very informative links that you may want to paste into search line. The first is an overview by Seymour himself. The second is a hilarious, and very good, discertation on how to make it into a 14 Word Shakspearian Sonnet.



This picture was taken by the author in April, 2013.

Chapter 105
Sore Loser

By Treischel



Author Notes These two always fighting over toys. Here are my granddaughter, Skylah, and grandson, Isaac, playing together but seperately. Each in their own world.

This poem is a Word Sonnet.
Playing here a bit with letter count and form. Lack of punctuation intentional. The letter count is: 1,2,3,4,5,4,3,2,1 : 2,3,4,5,6

The Word Sonnet is a relatively new variation of the traditional form that was championed by Seymour Mayne, a Canadian poet who teaches at the University of Ottawa. This is Seymour Maynes's long-running project of what he calls and practices as "word sonnets." In their one-word structure there is a strong resemblance to the look and feel of Chinese poetry. These minimal forms of poetry and verbal composition go back to the 1960s. In essence, it is a fourteen line poem, with one word set for each line. Concise and usually visual in effect, this "miniature" version can contain one or more sentences, as the articulation requires.

Word Sonnets attempt to be pithy and suggestive poems in their own right. Many draw on the seasons and also aim for a compact resonance that may attract the reader to return to them again and again.

If you are interested in learning more about the style, here are two very informative links that you may want to paste into search line. The first is an overview by Seymour himself. The second is a hilarious, and very good, discertation on how to make it into a 14 Word Shakspearian Sonnet.



This picture was taken by my daughter, Aisha, on her cell phone. I appreciate the use of it here.

Chapter 106
The Colorado Rake

By Treischel

On Colorado mountain top,
My home adrift with leaves,
Chinook high winds that just won't stop
Create a blust'ry breeze.

The winds so strong they shake my home,
And crack my window panes.
It blows so hard I fear to roam.
It's nasty when it rains.

But when it stops, it gets so dry,
The winds are like a rake
That sweeps the yard and makes leaves fly
On journeys they will take.

A wisp of wind will lift them high,
On frantic flights they go
Without as much as said "goodbye"
They leave Colorado.

Among the clouds they flip and float,
Fluttering to and fro,
On thermal winds, so high, remote,
The paths the eagles know.

As from my window I would watch.
Blown away to Kansas
Were thirty bagsful in a swatch,
Leaves of living canvas.

I've often wondered where they went,
And where they would touch down.
This autumn gift of foliage sent,
Seems like it's Kansas bound.

Drifting over old Dodge City
Then on to Wichita.
Yardwork done, I felt no pity,
No link to what I saw.

Some unsuspecting citizen
Gets dumped upon his lawn
A Colorado denizen
One windy Winfield dawn.

Author Notes I lived in Colorado Springs in a house I had built by a local contractor on Cheyenne Mountain. This is a picture of that house. This picture is grainy because I had to take a picture of an old picture. You can see it was surrounded by Scrub Oak. So there were lots of leaves in the fall, but I never had to rake, as that house often got such fierce winds I thought the house was being ripped off the hill. Gusts would actually cause a cracking sound in the windows. I often wondered where the leaves went.

Chinook Winds - according to Wikipedia, Chinook winds or simply Chinooks, are high winds in the interior West of North America, where the Canadian Prairies and Great Plains meet the Rocky Mountain ranges. A strong Chinook can make snow one foot deep almost vanish in one day. The snow partly melts and partly evaporates in the dry wind. On rare occasions, Chinook winds generated on the eastern slope of the Rocky Mountains have reached or passed the Mississippi River.

Denizen - a plant or animal that inhabits a particular region.

I recently was asked to Judge a poetry contest called "Kansas Voices" sponsored by the Winfield Arts and Humanities Council. So, like my leaves, my poetic experience has traveled into Winfield, or so the link I imagined here in this poem.

The poem is simple abab rhymed quatrains in an 8-6 meter,

The original picture was taken by the author in the fall of 1986. I do miss that house. It was at an elevation of 7,000 feet above sea level, and 1,000 feet above Colorado Springs.

Chapter 107
Memory of Mom

By Treischel


is gone

But her memory lives on

In the impressions
she left in me
the whole family

In her
loving ways

In her
smiling face

In her
peaceful way

In her
charming grace

On this day
of all days
I miss her

Love you mom
Rest in Peace

Author Notes Mother's Day is here and I'm thinking of my Mom. She passed away in October, 2010, after 93 years.

This is a Free Style poem which is a subset of Free Verse, but with ocasional rhyme.

This picture is of me and my mother around 1983.

Chapter 108
Neil Diamond World Tour Concert

By Treischel

The night was like a sweet dessert.
Neil Diamond sang a whole concert.
The melodies were coming through.
His voice was so appealing too.

The hall was full and people-packed.
Amazing crowd that he'd attract,
Consisting of most every age
To hear him sing upon the stage.

As "I'm a Believer" began
Applause rang out from every fan,
Erupted with "Hello Again",
Then swooned to "Solitary Man".

That baritone was so divine.
Neil sang the song named "Red, Red Wine".
Then "Girl, You'll be a Woman Soon"
Became another pleasin' tune.

"I Am, I Said" blew off our socks,
Then came tears with "Love on the Rocks".
Which soon became hysteria
With "Comin' to America".

He sang the ballads soft and slow
That built to a full crescendo
That carried forth to fill the halls
With echoes off the concert walls.

Which generated "Oohs" and "Ahs"
That finished to a great applause.
Then with a true performer's grace
He deftly changed the concert pace.

Now "Brother Love" made tapping toes,
As well as famous "Cracklin' Rose".
Extolled the sense of New York joys
In rhythms of "Beautiful Noise".

After "If You Know What I Mean",
He brought new songs upon the scene.
"The Art of Love" was so sublime.
He followed it with the "First Time".

Home movies shared in "Brooklyn Roads"
Revealed the love his parents showed.
He made "Kentucky Woman" shine
And closed it with "Sweet Caroline".

He mesmerized by voice and band.
The best vibrato in the land
He was backed by the best musicians
And some amazing stage conditions.

A man with such talent in his favor
Gave a stunning show to see and savor.

Author Notes My wife and I went to see a Neil Diamond concert on Sunday night, April 12, 2015. He is one of our favorite performers. His deep baratone voice and wonderful songs are treasured by us. His is and excellent singer-songwriter. His lyrics are very personal and touching. even now that he is over 70, that gifted voice and energy still prevails. Of course we bought his newest album - Melody Road. Here is my poetic review of the concert.

I wrote this poem in simple aabb rhymed quatrains on a mixed pentameter with a closing couplet.

This picture is from the event ticket.

Chapter 109
My Golf Drive

By Treischel

It was a breezy night
As I addressed the ball
Prepared to make a swing,
To give the shot my all.

The sun was setting soon.
Was facing to the sun.
The lake was to the left.
The round was nearly done.

I took a solid swing.
Made contact with the ball.
It headed over rough --
The tree-lined, lakeside sprawl.

Then true dynamic spin
Imparted by club force
Began a curving arch
Above the playing course.

The ball was sailing well
And banking like a glider
In flight I aptly call
My typical "Rough Rider".

In fairway looking towards
Two hundred twenty yards.

Author Notes My typical golf drive slices (bends in a large curve), so I usually "play the slice" aiming left over the rough. So, my friends call it the "Rough Rider", a play on Teddy Rosevelt's
famous Spanish War calvary group.
I had just explained to my opponent about Fanstory and my books. He said it must be hard to come up with ideas for poems. I said yes. On the last hole, when I hit that shot, everybody in the 4some commented on how it curved over the rough and landed beautifully in the fairway. So, he said, "Why don't your write a poem about it." So, I did.

For those not familiar with golf, here are some term explanations:
Round - A round of golf is when someone plays 9 or 18 holes.
Rough- it is an area of longer grass the goes along the edge of a golf hole.
Fairway - shorter grass in the middle of the playing area.
Course- golf is played on a golf course.
Club-the handheld instrument you hit the ball with.
Toward- about.
Address the ball- set the club behind the ball in order to line up a golf swing.

This poem is of simple Quatrains in an abcb rhyme scheme in iambic trimeter (6 syllables). I did use two feminine iambic lines of 7 syllables.

This picture is one I took at a golf course.

Chapter 110
In A Tree

By Treischel

I found that it was most surprisin'
As I searched for new horizons,
'Cause I never thought I'd be
On pins and needles in a tree.

Yet, here I'm in the branches
Takin' death-defyin' chances,
And as you can plainly see,
I'm really stuck here in a tree.

Author Notes My Grandson, Jeremy kicked a football that didn't come out of this pine tree. After several unsuccessful attempts at throwing things to dislodge it, he had to climb the tree. That caused me to write this little poem.

This poem is simple aabb rhymed Quatrains in an 7-8 meter.

This photograph was taken by the author himself on Monday, May 4, 2015.

Chapter 111
I Need to Show

By Treischel

Hey mom, I have a nasty bruise
I need to show.
Since it's the latest bit of news
You need to know.
It's when I came in through the door,
Encountering the slip'ry floor,
My knee received an ugly blow,
I need to show.

I slipped when I removed my shoes.
I didn't know
That shiny wood should give the clues
It's slick below.
So, see the signs my pain asserts,
Because by showing where it hurts,
And mommy's kiss will make it go,
I need to show.

Author Notes My grandson Isaac isn't really hurt, but he knows he can get his mom's attention and affection if he shows his mommy his bruises. He'll get a kiss on it. Remember doing that as a kid? Her kiss always made it better.

This poem is an Octogram.
The Octogram is a style of poetry invented by Fanstorian Sally Yocom (S.Yocom). It consists of two stanzas of eight lines each, with a very specific syllable count and rhyme scheme.
Syllable count is: 84848884, repeat on second stanza.
Rhyme scheme: aBabccbB ababddbB, where B repeats same text repeated.
No more than 16 lines.

This picture was taken by the author himself of his daughter, Aisha, and grandson, Isaac, on November 25, 2014.

Chapter 112
My Brother's Backyard

By Treischel

The pool says "Peace", in my brother's backyard.
We gather here as friends to celebrate.
The table with anniversary cards
Is filled with words the two appreciate.
Of course you'll find there's lots of luscious food,
Enough around to feed a hungry brood.
Libations freely flow to set the mood,
In my brother's backyard.

This place he has reminds me of a park,
Where open spaces blend with quiet nooks.
There's areas where dogs can play and bark,
And vegetation everywhere one looks,
To fill the eyes with multicolored sights.
Around the ponds and trees are hanging lights
That set the scene amongst the yard's delights,
In my brother's backyard.

The water freely flows in two small ponds.
A bridge exquisitely crosses the span.
A lily pond with waterfalls responds
Esthetically, like gardens in Japan,
With terra-cotta water-spewing fish -
A most relaxing place to make a wish.
Those are among the many things to cherish
In my brother's backyard.

A lovely place that excites and delights me.

Author Notes This is one of two ponds that my brother, Richard, has in his backyard. He owns several acres in Andover, Minnesota, which is a northern suburb of Minneapolis. He and his wife, Corrine, just celebrated their 40th Wedding Anniversary with a party in his backyard. He did all the landscaping himself. I like it out there.

I wrote this poem in Octaves (8 lines), having a refrain taken from part of the first line, and closed it with a one line Envoi. It is written in iambic pentameter, with a couple feminine lines. The entire rhyme scheme is:

ababcccR cdcdfffR ghghiiiR.

You'll notice my favorite set of triple rhymes.

This photograph was taken by the author himself on July 11, 2015.

Chapter 113

By Treischel

I'm a tired old man
With nothing to say,

"I'll get through another day."

Morning blues,
Just go away.
Put on those shoes.
Go out and play.


Nay, nay!


Author Notes Ok, it was 6:00Am.

Free Style Poem

This poem is a selfie, taken by the author himself, of himself, back in 2012, when he had his Santa beard. Then it was pencilized on a computer APP. The beard was grown for about a year after he retired.

Chapter 114
Paper Trails

By Treischel

Oh the joy of being a paperboy's parent!
Up bright and early at 4:00 AM -- yeah right. Ever try getting a 12 year old up?
Who gets to be the back-up to a reliable teen? Me -- that's who.
Who gets calls from irate subscribers when things go wrong? Yup, you guessed it.

And then ....

There's the collections, with door-to-door personal interactions -- paperboy to client -- with valuable lessons in finance: accurate accounting, handling of cash. Yup, when the account falls short, my pockets get picked to make up the shortfall. Oh, did I mention that there's a candy store conveniently located along the route, ready to tempt a boy with pockets full of cash? He seemed to feel the account was a convenient source of a personal allowance, forgetting that the newspaper needs to get that money first. He doesn't get to keep it all!

Well, those are the annoying pitfalls, but not the cause of my embarrassment. That just sets the stage.

It started one Sunday morning.
Sunday papers are such a joy to deliver, being heavy and thick with all those advertisements and such. Well my son, Sean, was sick that particular morning. So my wife gently shook me awake and assigned me the take-over duties. Up I got at 3:30 AM, in order to meet the truck when it dropped off the load of papers -- a pallet load. I wasn't feeling all that chipper myself.
The route covered an area of six city blocks by 2 blocks, with several apartment buildings interspersed.
I trudged along pulling a wagonload of papers, delivering them after rolling them up and inserting them into a plastic bag as I went. The newspaper conveniently provided them. Takes a bit of dexterity at 4 AM, when you're tired and not feeling all that good, to accomplish that feat about 100 times.

All went well until about half way through the route, I started getting very uncomfortable. I clenched up. There was a painful knot in my stomach. I was in the middle of a neighborhood. It was 4:30 AM. There was nothing around me but the closed up houses, the wagon, parked cars, the birds -- maybe some cats. Suddenly, I had an explosive bout of diarrhea. Not the watery kind. Oh no! This was a true lava flow that filled my bluejeans and poured out my pant's leg.

Of course, I still had papers to deliver. So, I continued on, like the trooper I was, leaving a spotted and smelly trail behind. Some people were by now heading off to work. One guy was waiting, sitting on his porch. OH the LOOKS, the comments! Even got one offer to help.

The worst part was when I got home, and my wife had to peel those jeans off of me. She's the real trooper.

That was the end of the paper route experience.

Author Notes 488 Words

Ever hear of those joke book titles: Trails Across the Desert, by Diarhea Dan; Spots on the Wall, by HU Flung POO; and 50 Yards to the Outhouse, by Willy Makeit. Well here's my real life story, that would fit those books.

Image by Yahoo, Images

Chapter 115
Mom's Wish

By Treischel

Her ashes swirling in the breeze
In movements that bring reveries,
That touch the waves to tarry yet,
Then mingle with Lake Harriet,
Brings closure possibilities
To her life.

For here it was she often went,
A place she was at peace, content,
To walk a daily path around.
It's here where she was often found --
A certain clue to what it meant
To her life.

So here is where she asked to be.
She stated this with certainty
To me, her first and oldest child.
So I am truly reconciled
To honor this, the last decree
Of her life.

I stand here on this favored shore
With ashes strewn forevermore.

Forever remembered

Forever missed.

Author Notes On Friday, July 21, 2015, my wife and I decided it was the perfect day to finally scatter her mother's ashes in the Lake she so cherished, Lake Harriet in Minneapolis, Minnesota. You'd think it would be a simple task, but there was quite a bit of sibling argument about where she should be interred. my wife's sister was the primary caregiver of her mother in later years, and she wanted all the ashes buried in the local plot in Lakewood Cemetery. But Karen, my wife, had discussed scattering them in Lake Harriet with her mother several times. It was finally allowed to give her a few ounces of her ashes to go into the Lake. We waited for a windy, sunny day in summertime to do it and purchased a stone plaque to place in the water where the ashes were scattered. The collage shows the site, the plaque front and back, and what is written on it. Her ashes floated a bit then disolved into a milky substance that sunk to the bottom slowly. On one side we wrote her name, birth and death date. The other side reads "Forever Remembered, Forever Missed".

This poem is a set of quintains witrh a refrain and closing envoi. The rhyme scheme is:
aabbaR ccddcR eeffeR gghi

The photographs for the collage were taken and organized by the author himself.

Chapter 116
Another Family Pet

By Treischel

You'll take a second look
When you see a puppy
In woman's pocketbook.

A breed for a yuppy,
Downtown apartment gal,
Who was unhappy.

She needed a new pal
as you rightly surmise
In an urban locale.

Then much to her surprise,
A puppy, cute and smart,
That was just the right size,

Found and touched her heart
In a very special place.
You can't keep them apart.

He doesn't use much space.
He'll fit cosmetic bag
Or fancy fanny case.

Quite often she will brag
'Bout Charley, her new chum.
He matches her hair shag.

King Charle's dog, Blenheim
Is as cute as they come.

Author Notes Meet Charley, my step daughter Jodette's (Jodi's) puppy, that she welcomed to the family about two months ago. He is a Cavalier King Charles Spaniel. A perfect dog for her small, one bedroom apartment in downtown Minneapolis, Minnesota. Jodi received a Master's degree, and was promoted to Manager for a corporation. Thus the Yuppie designation.t

Yuppie - young upwardly mobile professional person
Pocketbook - purse, a leather bag the women carry their essential items in.
Blenheim - pronounced Blen-um
Shag - as in shaggy, rough hair, heavily matted wool or hair.

The Cavalier King Charles Spaniel is a small spaniel classed as a toy dog by The Kennel Club and the American Kennel Club. It is one of the most popular breeds in the United Kingdom, where it also originated. During the early part of the 18th century, John Churchill, 1st Duke of Marlborough, kept red and white King Charles type spaniels for hunting. The duke recorded that they were able to keep up with a trotting horse. His estate was named Blenheim in honor of his victory at the Battle of Blenheim. Because of this influence, the red and white variety of the King Charles Spaniel and thus the Cavalier King Charles Spaniel became known as the Blenheim.
A Cavalier should be between 12 to 13 inches (30 to 33 cm) with a proportionate weight between 10 to 18 pounds (4.5 to 8.2 kg). The tail is usually not docked, and it should have a silky coat of moderate length. Feathering can grow on their ears, feet, legs and tail in adulthood. Standards require this be kept long, with the feathering on the feet a particularly important aspect of the breed's features. Spource: Wikipedia.

This poem is a Terza Rima.
Invented by the Italian poet Dante Alighieri in the late thirteenth century to structure his three-part epic poem, The Divine Comedy, Terza Rima is composed of Tercets woven into a rhyme scheme that requires the end-word of the second line in one tercet to supply the rhyme for the first and third lines in the following tercet. Thus, the rhyme scheme (aba, bcb, cdc, ded) continues through to until the final stanza. There is no limit to the number of lines, but poems or sections of poems written in Terza Rima end with a couplet repeating the rhyme of the middle line of the final Tercet:
d-e-d, e or d-e-d, e-e.
There is no set rhythm for terza rima, but in English, iambic pentameter is generally preferred.
For this one, I chose Trimeter (6 syllables), but not iambic.

These pictures were taken by Jodi, but the author created this montage.

Chapter 117
Are You Really a Poet?

By Treischel

I wrangle words.
They're most sublime.
Some people say
I speak in rhyme
All the time.

I'll dream in verse,
Long or terse.
When my muse leaves,
I turn for worse.
It's a curse!

You may find me writing lines,
As lilting meter intertwines
With complicated thought designs
To paint poetic images,
As text aligns.

Or maybe I'll just break the mold
When thoughts take hold
And I get bold.
Or maybe I'm just getting
Too tired and old.

The world yet doesn't know it,
And maybe I'll blow it,
But I hope my words show it.
Then I'll admit
That I'm a poet.

Author Notes I meant to post this in the contest, but missed the deadline by 15 minutes. Oh well, I never win them anyway, so I guess I saved myself $5.50. At any rate, I posted it here.

My wife took this picture a while back. Not sure of the date. Grabbed it out of my Facebook account.

Chapter 118
A New Addition

By Treischel

Our family has gained a pet,
The cutest dog.
We've had her to the local vet
To catalog
All issues that her health may show.
She passed with flying colors though.
Her picture's been placed on our blog,
The cutest dog.

With Miniature Pincers you get
A dialog
About their size and silhouette
With ears that jog
The air like pointed angel wings,
A puppy face that pulls heart strings,
A pet who sets us all agog,
The cutest dog.

Author Notes Meet Bindi, a Miniature Pincer that my daughter, Aisha, recently got for her family with three children. You can definitely see its Doberman Pincer pedigree. It is a small dog, that won't get get much bigger than a puppy. It has a sweet temperament, and is happily adjusting.

This poem is an Octogram.
The Octogram form of poetry was invented by Fanstory member S .Yocom (Sally). It is a challenging form of poetry that can be written effectively on many topics.
The rules are:
- 2 stanzas of 8 lines each for a total length of 16 lines.
- The syllable counts line by line are; 8-4-8-4-8-8-8-4, 8-4-8-4-8-8-8-4.
- Each line must be written in Iambic Meter.
- The rhyme scheme for the first stanza is; a B a b c c b B
The rhyme scheme for the second stanza is; a b a b d d b B
(Capital B letters denote lines that must repeated EXACTLY THE SAME.
Line two of the first stanza is repeated as line eight in that stanza,
and as line eight of the second stanza.
- No other lines should be repeated

The author created this montage from family photographs.

Chapter 119

By Treischel

I rode my Baja scooter yesterday.
It had been sitting idle and ignored.
I felt just like a kid again at play,
delighted I had finally climbed aboard.

I felt the freedom of the open road,
enjoying sights that autumn had bestowed:
the sun on shoulders, wind to whip my hair,
and endless roads that lead to everywhere.

Author Notes Haven't ridden this for about 2 years. Finally got it back on the road.

This poem is a Heroic Rispetto.
A Rispetto, an Italian form of poetry, is a complete poem of two rhymed quatrains with strict meter. The meter is usually iambic tetrameter with a rhyme scheme of:
abab ccdd.
A Heroic Rispetto is written in Iambic pentameter, usually featuring the same rhyme scheme.

This photograph was taken by the author himself. In October 2012.

Chapter 120
Thomas - Motto and Mode

By Treischel

1. (Motto)

T ake
H ome
O nly
M emories
A fter
S afari

2. The Hunt
(Free Style)

I go out
to the woods
and valleys
and the lakes.

I'm on safari
to hunt
the wildlife about,

to seek the birds
or bears
eagles and seagulls
or even insects

I'll climb hills
walk trails
and do
whatever it takes

to get a shot,

but still
I will not

take a life.

For my hunt is
only with the camera's eye.

My capture delights
are made of
digital sights,
where none of my
hunted targets
will ever die.

My rarest trophies come
in megabites.

I roam
to bring memories home
not to
take a life.

When I'm home,
I write a poem.

Author Notes Missed the Motto Contest. Liked the concept. Thought I'd combine it with a little more meat, so I wrote a Free Style poem to go with it.

This picture is of me, taken by my wife along the Bruce Vento trail. It was when I had a beard, and was taken April 10, 2012.

Chapter 121
Living with Chronic Pain

By Treischel

What can any soul-mate do,
Lend or lose or gain,
When their loved one is
Wrapped in searing pain,
But offer support --
Words just seem so weak --
While her joints burn, and the pain leaves her
Unable to speak?

It's helplessness that prevails
In the healthy mind,
With hers ensnared in
Illness so unkind.
Its pain beats the brain,
Making spirits sink,
While her joints burn, and the pain leaves her
Unable to think.

You can see her noble face
Straining to survive,
Movement with purpose,
Bravely forced to strive
To do simple tasks,
Groaning all the while,
While her joints burn, and the pain leaves her
Unable to smile.

You can see it in her eyes,
Filled with massive hurt,
So red and bleary,
Forced to be alert.
So hard to focus.
So hard to align,
While her joints burn, and the pain leaves her
Unable to shine.

A sheen of pain surrounds her,
Constant company,
An aura of green,
Without sympathy.
Intense the color,
Hurting but alive,
While her joints burn, and the pain leaves her
Unable to thrive.

As the suffering goes on,
We do what we can.
Seeking some relief
Since the pain began.
A heavy burden
To bear day by day,
While her joints burn, and the pain leaves her
Left only to pray.

Author Notes My wife, Karen, lives with constant chronic pain, due to arthritis in her lower back and knees. Lately, her knee pain has overtaken the back pain, as her left knee has deteriorated to bone-on-bone. She has already had two unsuccessful back surgeries, but now she needs a total knee replacement. She is scheduled for that next week. As her spouse, there is little I can do but to offer help and support. I wish I could heal her, but I can't. Let's pray, this is successful, and maybe even help her back.

This poem is a LyriCat .
Congratulations are due for a newly invented verse form by I am Cat, a fellow FanStorian, which she calls a LyriCat. (See 'Refreshing My Soul', posted on 29 October).

A LyriCat has a syllable count of:
7, 5, 5 , 5, 5, 5, 9, 5,
and the rhyme scheme of each individual stanza is:
a, b, c, b, d, e, F, e.
No set rhythm is prescribed. It has a 3 stanza minimum and the 9 syllable line (F) in each stanza is a repeating line.

This photograph was taken by the Author himself of his wife, then modified for effect.

Chapter 122
Knee Replacement

By Treischel

The doctors have performed their job,
A brand new knee,
To quell the aching, grinding throb
There used to be.
They pierced the skin, exposed the bone,
Retracted nerves and muscle tone,
Then engineered through surgery
A brand new knee.

Replaced the bone with stainless steel
Quite handily.
Now cartilage is nylon wheel
For sliding free.
It's guaranteed to last for years,
With no more pain or anguished tears.
Our prayers became reality,
A brand new knee.

Author Notes My wife, Karen, underwent a full knee replacement on November 11, 2015. Everything went well. This type of operation is amazing. They cut a long incision, retract the muscle,nerves, and ligaments, then cut and shape the bones to take stainless steel caps with nylon replacing cartilage. The image above shows a diagram of it. It is painful, with several weeks of recovery, but hopefully, it will be worth it.

This poem is an Octogram.
The Octogram is a style of poetry invented by Fanstorian Sally Yocom (S.Yocom). It consists of two stanzas of eight lines each, with a very specific syllable count and rhyme scheme.

Syllable count is: 84848884, repeat on second stanza.

Rhyme scheme: aBabccbB ababddbB, where B repeats same text. No more than 16 lines. Strict iambic meter on all lines.

This picture is from Yahoo Images.

Chapter 123
Switch and Stitch

By Treischel

A doctor's skill, a family's prayer,
Together blend in sterile air,
While time is ticking everywhere,
Anticipating top health care
To bring about renewed welfare
And end the patient's pain nightmare.

A scalpel cuts to leg-joint core.
It leaves a scar forevermore.
Although the knee is left so sore,
It's better than it was before,
While bearing weight upon a floor.
Mobility it will restore.

The treatment went without a hitch,
As bone and metal made a switch.
A scar will heal and often itch.
A blessing is the surgeon's stitch
That holds a new-built kneejoint, which
Will "Quality of Life" enrich.

Author Notes This is Karen's knee, one week after surgery. It looks bad, but it will get better as it heals. I will post a poem and picture later, after it heals. Of course, there will still be a long scar.

This poem consists of three Sestets (six line poems), written in iambic tetrameter with each stanza mono-rhymed.

The photograph was taken by the author himself on Novermer 17, 2015.

Chapter 124
To See Her Smile

By Treischel

I've often seen her suffering
from pains in knee and back.
Our hope is to defeat this thing
that's knocked her off the track.
We pray these horrid hurts retire,
and yield to our supreme desire
to see her smile,
to see her smile.
Then higher spirits will acquire.

I've often seen her suffering,
but there's a glint of hope,
that surgeons can remove the sting,
allowing her to cope,
by them removing what is sore,
an operation perfect for
a new life style,
a new life style,
where she won't suffer any more.

I've often seen her suffering,
but now a brand new knee
that could change almost everything,
when she completes PT.
With all discomforts that accrue,
as long as she keeps pushing through,
then it's worthwhile,
then it's worthwhile,
and so completely overdue.

Author Notes This is a picture of my wife, Karen. Now that her surgery is done, the hard work begins, as she must spend 3 months of rehabilitative physical therapy (PT). She has to do exercises twice a day, and goes to out-patient care twice a week. Between pain pills and icing, we try to keep the pain and swelling down. She has good days and bad days, but I do see great progress. We are hoping to go for walks again and maybe even bicycling, in the near future. That will definitely put a smile back on her face.

This poem is a Trijan Refrain.
The Trijan Refrain, created by Jan Turner, consists of three 9-line stanzas, for a total of 27 lines. Line 1 is the same in all three stanzas under it basic format, although a variation of the form does not repeat the same line at the beginning of each stanza. The first four syllables of line 5 in each stanza are repeated as the double-refrain for lines 7 and 8. The Trijan Refrain is a rhyming poem with a set meter and rhyme scheme as follows:
Rhyme scheme: a/b/a/b/c/c/d,d/c
Meter: 8/6/8/6/8/8/4,4/8

I used the standard format for this poem, repeating line 1 in each stanza. However, I modified the form by not using the first four syllables of line 5 as the refrain, but let them stand on their own. The total rhyme scheme carried through the 27 lines is as follows:
A,b,a,b,c,c, D1,D1,c - A,e,a,e,f,f, D2,D2,f - A,g,a,g,h,h, D3,D3h, where the capital letters indicate the repeated lines.

This photograph was taken by the author himself on November 11, 2014.

Chapter 125
A Precious Gift

By Treischel

Our children are a precious gift.
They are so sweet in every way.
Their vigor is our soul's uplift.
Our children are a precious gift.
Could they stay little every day?
We wish their childhood would last.
They learn so quickly, grow so fast.
Our children are a precious gift.
They are so sweet in every way.

They learn so quickly, grow so fast.
It seems to happen in a blink.
These special days spin right on past,
They learn so quickly, grow so fast,
Much faster than you'd ever think.
Enjoyment comes with every toy,
Their innocence can bring such joy.
They learn so quickly, grow so fast.
It seems to happen in a blink.

Their innocence can bring such joy.
It's such a pleasure just to see,
In every little girl and boy,
Their innocence can bring such joy,
But shorter than it's thought to be.
It lasts for such a tiny span,
Be sure, enjoy it while you can.
Their innocence can bring such joy.
It's such a pleasure just to see.

Be sure, enjoy it while you can.
Before you know they're grown and gone,
The girls to women, boys to man,
Be sure, enjoy it while you can.
These mem'ries keep our heartstrings drawn.
Don't let the moments go adrift.
Our children are a precious gift.
Be sure, enjoy it while you can.
Before you know they're grown and gone.

Author Notes These two are my grandchildren Isaac and Skylah playing on the floor, absorbed in investigating their toys. I love to watch children play and to see how they think and learn. It is a precious gift. Of course they do have their moments that they aren't so sweet. But don't we all?

This poem is a set of Interlinked Novetrains (Novem is Latin for nine, so these are 9 line stanzas). I put this together using some of the atributes of a Triolet with its ABaAabAB rhyme scheme. You'll see that echoed in lines 1-4, and then again in 8 and 9. The interlink occurs on line 7, which repeats in the next stanza and brings along its rhyme. Then in the Last stanza, I brought back the A line and rhyme from the first stanza. The rhyme scheme is:
The capital letters indicate the repeated lines.

This photograph was taken by my daughter Aisha with her cell phone.

Chapter 126
Prelude to Electro Shock

By Treischel

I remember
a time with my wife,
... a terrible time.

A time
when her illness
impacted our life.

Unusual behavior
was so manifest,
sound sleep,
found her not at her best.

Not at all at her best.

in her nighty,
she danced in the street,
whirling and twirling
in her stocking feet.

In the street,
the middle of the street.

Hissing out the window,
as people pass,
the open window sash.

lying in the front yard,
munching on grass.

Another example of behavior,
so far,
in the morning
found a very large boulder
on the roof of my car.

Manic depression
was out of control.

Constant nausea
was taking its toll.

Gnawing and clawing
clawing and gnawing,
day after day,
nothing would put it at bay.

Psychiatry promised to take it away.
At least, that's what the doctors would say.

So she and her doctor
decided to act,
based upon a procedural fact,
that electrical current,
sent through the brain,
pledged her doctor,
would remove her nausea and pain.

Desperate for anything
to make the feeling
she hopefully,
resolved to go along.

Beyond all other cares,

overcoming long-term medical dread,
my wife took stock.

A broken-down woman determined to go ahead
to try Electro Shock.

Author Notes I guess I'm in an introspective mood. This is a true story that happened in 1994, while living in Long Island, New York. The picture is my wife in a Manic Phase during 2011. I love her, but we've been through a lot. This describes one of those times. Not necessarily the worst.

This poem was written in Free Style format.

The photographs were taken by the author himself on May 6, 2011.

Chapter 127
Electro Shock Therapy

By Treischel

I didn't know that she checked herself in.
Informed by a phone call while I was workin',
Drove to the hospital, parked in the ramp,
Five dollars a visit with ticket stamp.

I asked her, "What happened? Why are you here?"
She said that "Nausea overcame fear".
Electro Shock Treatments are very tuff,
But she convinced me, she's had enough.

I didn't know,
How it would go.

They pushed her away on gurney that day.
I wished her the best, as I had no say.
As she disappeared through room's double door,
I wasn't sure what was true anymore.

Ten treatments required to take effect,
A mood shifting goal she chose to elect.
So every day I would visit the site,
One time at noon, and the other at night.

I didn't know,
How it would go.

Every time was the same horrible game,
As she searched hard to find someone to blame.
She would cry, and then say "What have you done?"
And I would explain, "It wasn't ME, hun."

Then she'd cry, and we'd hug until I leave.
Her memory gone. So hard to believe.
This all repeated again and again,
A constant review of how, what, and when.

I didn't know,
How it would go.

On fourth treatment session, first time I saw
A chunk of her tongue was bitten and raw.
I asked her, "What happened?" She didn't know.
Was deep on left side, where it didn't show.

We showed the nurses, who hadn't a clue.
They said, "The doctors will know what to do."
I'm not sure anything ever was said.
Everyone seemed to ignore it instead.

I didn't know,
How it would go.

Eventually it came to an end.
No longer visits did I have to spend.
I got back my wife and her tongue had healed.
Results of the effort were soon revealed.

Well, after ten treatments nausea was gone,
But manic depression kept going on.
Resulting from all of that stress and strain-
Her short-term memory left her brain.

And now I know,
How it did go.

Author Notes This is the event from my perspective. Of course, my wife's would be entirely different, if she could remember. It happened in 1994. As I said, it didn't cure the Bipolar, but did eliminate the chronic nausea. I must note, about her reaction, that in 1993 she was hospitalized 4 times, twice I had her involuntarily committed, once she committed herself, and once the county committed her. She became deathly afraid of going into another hospital. That's why I was very surprised when she elected to undergo this treatment. She told me that the nausea was so bad, she was ready to do anything to get rid of it. 1993 was probably the worse time of our lives, but that's another story.

This poem is written in simple abab rhymed quatrains with a variable 10 syllable meter and a repeated refrain.

The photograph was taken and modified by the author himself.

Chapter 128

By Treischel

I went snow tubing on a hill,
with such a bang.
The slipping swoosh, a winter thrill!
I ran and sprang
to win a speed race with the kids,
as tubes are lacking any skids
one needs some force, to impress gang
with such a bang.

I summoned up my massive will,
without a pang.
I ran full speed with all my skill,
and as I hang,
that tube took off, while stranding me.
My belly flopped indignantly,
I heard ribs crack above harangue,
with such a bang.


Author Notes Winter sports have their hazards. Sometimes your ride can get away from you, as this photo shows. It happened to me. I cracked my ribs one year snow tubing. I wanted to get a running jump start while racing my daughter down the hill. I set the tube down and backed up a few paces. Then ran as fast as I could and leaped into the air. But as I launched into the air, the tube went down the hill without me. I did a massive belly-flop on the hardpack snow at the top of the hill. It must have been quite a sight, as I laid there groaning while everybody else laughed their heads off. I tried to convey that event here. It hurt to laugh about it for several weeks.

This poem is an Octogram.
The Octogram is a style of poetry invented by Fanstorian Sally Yocom (S.Yocom). It consists of two stanzas of eight lines each, with a very specific syllable count and rhyme scheme.
Syllable count is 84848884, repeat on second stanza.
Rhyme scheme:ABabccbB ababddbB, where B repeats same text.
For this poem I changed it to ABabccbB ababddAB.
No more than 16 lines.
The tempo is tetrameter on the 8 count line, and dimeter on the 4 count line, but not necessarily iambic.

I took this photograph in December of 2012.

Chapter 129
Farewell 2015

By Treischel

Let's wish this Twenty Fifteen fair goodbye!
Wife's mother's death, and several health concerns
Created many months of twists and turns.
I'll shed no tender tear when it adjurns.

Such circumstance to ponder -- laugh or cry,
As things broke down, investments did decline.
So many prayers sought miracles divine --
The best resort, when it won't help to whine.

Don't get me wrong, not all has gone awry.
There's published works, some parties, and awards,
Successful surgery, and move towards
New home with all its unforeseen rewards.

So toast the new and wish the old farewell,
A Happy New Year, all the Best as well.

Author Notes Looking back on 2015, it had its ups and downs. I won't be sad to see it go.
It started out with my wife's mother dying. I was diagnosed with Sleep Apia, and started using a CPAP machine. It turned out that my wife needed a lot of dental work, so she underwent periodontal work and had a new crown put on. Later, her left knee got too painful to walk, due to bone-on-bone compression, so she underwent a full knee replacement, and is working through recovery with physical therapy. Her brother's heart went bad, and he was placed on a heart replacement list. However, he has recovered amazingly and no longer needs a new heart. Karen's sister's husband underwent a hip replacement too. Our air conditioning unit went out this summer and had to be replaced. Our living room's love seat broke down and wore out, so we needed to replace it too.The Stock Market had a very bad year, and many of our investments declined. Our daughter had difficulty selling her house and getting into her new one. The deal almost fell through. In the meantime, her family had to move in with us for several weeks and we had to help bridge her loan. She did pay us back though.

It wasn't all bad. I published my second book of poetry in April. We celebrated my brother's Anniversary in July, and our 40th in November. Even with the physical issues we had, we managed to get out camping and on a riverboat ride. So, I am glad it's over. I'd like to thank my FanStory friends for your concern and prayers. Here's to a better new year in 2016.

This poem is a Triptic Sonnet.
This poem is a Triptic Sonnet. Never heard of that? Well, that's because I just created it. At least, to the best of my knowledge and research. You see, I like poems that have triple consecutive rhymes. I feel that really brings the rhyme to life. So, I incorporated that here in this Sonnet. The name Triptic derives from the triple scheme.

A Triptic Sonnet has the usual 14 lines, consisting of three quatrains with a rhyming couplet, and a volta at line 9. What distinguishes it is the rhyme scheme and meter. The fist line of each quatrain rhyme with each other, interlinking the stanzas. The next 3 lines of the stanza all ryhme, creating a elegant echo effect. The rhyme scheme is:
abbb accc addd ee
It is written in any iambic meter. I chose iambic pentameter here (10 syllables, or 5 poetic feet).

This photograph was taken by the author himself on July 10, 2015.

Chapter 130

By Treischel


Do not my frustrations

They take me

dark and brooding.
And though
I diligently try
keep them
pent and penned,
in the end
my resolutions bend
to release
what I was foreboding.
my thoughts roam,
until I finally bring them home.

Like raptors on the loose,
I'll recapture them,
once again,
like caged or shackled creatures,
in prisoned pain,

fitted fetters

B - U - R - S - T.


Author Notes Thanks for reading

Author's photograph

Chapter 131

By Treischel

I ponder on the rankings.
I don't know what to do!
Should I give harder spankings,
Or just skip one or two?

Maybe been too generous,
While giving out my stars.
It seems my hold is tenuous.
I'm slipping down so far!

My goodness! I have found,
A price for generosity.
The stars I've spread around,
Puts them all ahead of me.

Author Notes Just sayin'.

Yup, that's me.

Chapter 132

By Treischel


I learned about
hypocrisy from
my dad.

He went to church
every Sunday
with my mom
                                         an usher,
                                         a Knight of Columbus

His temper was mean.
His soul,
A soul full of criticism.
                                          My name was -- stupid.
                                          I could never do

When he beat me.
        I bled.

He loved my mom.
They had 7 kids.

He loved Jesus,
Prayed the rosary often.
We marched in the rosary procession
each year
                                        Always had a girlfriend
                                        on the side.

                                       Many girlfriends.

                                            Many times,
                                      broke my mother's

He sometimes spoke
of love,
                                        but I never felt any.


Author Notes There he is, hanging on the wall of my brother Joe's den, with a picture of my mother.
He died in 1986.
Rest in peace dad.

This photograph was taken by the author himself on May 29, 2011.

Chapter 133

By Treischel

I was really
at my profile's likeness
to that bust
I here model
of the Greek philosopher
the great

We share
the ink bottle,
as we both are writers
whose poignant thoughts
many written pages,
oft' considered novel.

of these two
if truth is not unkind,
I shall not mollycoddle,
As I
the most pronounced
and scruffy

Author Notes Just a silly piece of poetic drivel. Just playing around with some rhyme. Free style.

A 2012 photo of me.

Chapter 134
Daddy Said

By Treischel

Daddy said, "Only bad boys wet the bed,"
at least that's what my dreaded daddy said.

Daddy said, "Why aren't you like your brother?"
I felt the dread in the words my daddy said.

Daddy said, "I shall not spare the rod!"
He proved the dread of those words he said.

Daddy said, "Quit squirming while I beat you!"
With welts I dread, it's hard to do as said.

Daddy said, "Buckle down, you play too much."
So work, dread play, I heard just what he said.

Daddy said, "You're weak, and a big sissy."
Almost believed those dreaded words he said.

Daddy said that, "You'll amount to nothing."
Those words I dread cut deep when daddy said.

Daddy said, "You're too dumb to go to college."
What dread defied those mean words my daddy said?

Daddy said that, "I sure love my Savior Jesus."
With dread, I saw his actions missed the words he said.

Daddy said that, "I will always love your mother,"
but his affairs, I dread, belied those words he said.

On his death bed, my daddy said, "Shut up, you give me headaches!"
Such harsh words said, on his death bed, I dread that they're ever said.

Treischel hopes and prays that he's nothing like his daddy.
I don't believe, and now don't dread, a word my daddy said.

Author Notes I was a bed wetter until about age 9.
My dad used a belt on us when he felt we needed it. Apparently I needed it quite a bit. More than my other brothers and sisters.

In a good Catholic family, the second son(me), should become a priest. My mom really tried hard to push me in that direction. I even went to the seminary and took the entrance exam. But that never happened. Instead, I disappointed her greatly.

This is a picture of my dad, my mom, my first wife Roberta, and me (the family black sheep), at our wedding reception. I was 19, she was 18, and 3 months pregnant. I guess I proved him right. That marriage lasted 6 years, but that's another story.

This poem is a Ghazal.
The Ghazal is composed of a minimum of five couplets, and typically no more than fifteen, that are structural, thematically, and emotionally autonomous. Each line of the poem must be of the same length though the meter is not imposed in English. The first couplet introduces a scheme, made up of a rhyme followed by a refrain. Subsequent couplets pick up the same scheme in the second line only, repeating the refrain and rhyming the second line with both lines of the first stanza. The Ghazal has a refrain of one to three words that repeat, and an inline rhyme that precedes the refrain. Lines 1 and 2, then every second line, has this refrain and inline rhyme. The rhyming scheme is:
aa bR cR dR eR etc...
The final couplet usually includes the poet's signature, referring to the author in the first or third person, and frequently including the poet's own name, pen name or a derivation of it.

I took a photograph of a family photograph from my personal collection.

Chapter 135
Top Down, Springtime Day

By Treischel

When spring arrives
I want to drive.

With top put down
I feel alive!

There's nothing like
a wisp
of air
flowing freely through my hair.

With fresh warm breeze,
the sunny skies,
sunglasses to protect my eyes,
I'll hit the road,
my senses put in overload.

It's Spring!

warm enough to go
out where I'll show
this dynamo.

A car that's got
a lot
of sex appeal.

With me behind
its steering wheel.

On any
springtime day,
my Pontiac is set to play.

To this I'll say,


Author Notes Finally!

My Pontiac G6.

Thanks for reading.

Chapter 136
Visit to Mom

By Treischel

Who doesn't miss their mother, on a day the likes of this?
For after all, today is Mother's Day.
I felt the call to visit her. To miss her'd be remiss.
There seemed to be so very much to say.

We had a quiet visit, as she listened to my thoughts,
and it was wonderful to say "Hello."
I told her that I loved her, as my heart was tied in knots,
regretting that it didn't often show.

It seemed like only yesterday, but it's been six long years.
This place released some memories I save.
Emotions welled up reservoirs that spilled the drops of tears
upon the marble footstone of her grave.

Author Notes My wife and I visited our mother's graves on Mother's Day.

This poem is written in abab rhymed Quatrains, with a 14-10 meter.

This photograph was taken by the author himself in May 2011.

Chapter 137
Belle Rose

By Treischel

She wished on rainbows for a girl,
and there was Belle,
more precious than a cultured pearl
the jewelers sell.
Niccole had waited, oh so long,
for lullabies and infant song,
to grace the hallways where they dwell,
and there was Belle.

Her mom will worship every curl.
Her heart will swell,
as skeins of mother love unfurl
to anything she's ever known,
a bond with mom and child alone.
This Rose has the most charming spell,
and there was Belle.

Author Notes Our Granddaughter, Niciole, delivered a lovely baby girl at 6:15 PM on Monday, May 16, 2016. She named her "Belle Rose."
Presenting our newborn great-granddaughter - Belle Rose Pippin.

Photo taken by her husband, Drew, on his cell phone.

Chapter 138
Not Again!

By Treischel

the air was filled
with love.

A couple
working as a loving team,
horizons of
unlimited potential.



brings along its stress,
creating such a mess,'
but nonetheless,
you carry on.

Work brings pressures of career.
Money stretches thin.
Children are added then,
to the mix,
adding to the din,
there is no fix.
Depression settles in.

but then,
there are those things within.

Genetic seeds

that sprout the doubt
and feed
some sour notes into one's Symphony of Life
for those unlucky ones
mental illness legacies,
that pass through chemistry,
creating parody
in mimicry
of reality.

Once released,
thoughts are scattered,
Love's fabric tattered,
dreams are splattered on the walls of reality,
and painted
with the pathos of a fool.

For them,
relationships bend,
and often end.

I observe this legacy again
within my progeny.

I pray it won't end in tragedy,
but time will tell.

Author Notes My daughter has most likely undergone a nervous breakdown. I see in her the symptoms of her mother's bipolar disease. It is difficult dealing with her mood swings and irrational thoughts, especially when she is in denial. Her husband is certainly feeling it. I'm not sure that marriage is going to outlast the strain. Things look really bad right now. My wife and I are helping as much as possible. This is a picture of my daughter Aisha, and her husband, Jeremy. All I can say is, they need our thoughts and prayers.

Chapter 139
The Boat Rental

By Treischel

I was enjoying a vacation, when I rented that fishing boat.
Thought the lake looked lovely, but camping grounds were not --
shabby office, tight sites, dirty restrooms, I note;
Sign read "Daily Rentals, forty dollars", unquote.
Happy that the money sought didn't seem a lot.
"So, what kind of boat?" I asked, as an afterthought.
"Sixteen foot Lund, with motor, will keep you afloat"

Only 40 bucks a day! Hurray!

Sounded great to me, to go fishing in a Lund.
With a vision of a bass-boat, I took the keys,
orange life-jackets, oars, and grandson to the second
dock along the sandy beach. I was really stunned
to find beat-up boat tethered, blowing in the breeze,
on narrow plywood dock, which gave me great unease.
Had to draw it closer, to load it. I was bummed!

Only 40 bucks a day! Hurray!

Grandson held it stable, as I entered the craft.
Landed on my rump, squatting for a missing bench,
while that leaky Lund wildly wobbled fore and aft.
The boy held tightly, but hysterically he laughed.
I grabbed the gunnels with a death-defying clench,
stabbed the oars into oarlocks, muttered something French.
So my hopes were found untrue. We received the shaft.

Only 40 bucks a day! Hurray!

Launched that leaky vessel from shaky plywood pier.
Pulled roped handle, as the motor began to purr.
Headed past the landing, holding tight the gear.
Going slow with the shoreline, keeping shallows near.
Breeze was blowing all morning, which often occur.
I had only gone one hundred yards past the spur,
when the motor died, for some reason still unclear.

My grandson had been trolling, he became upset,
as I pulled the starter cord, again and again.
The wind kept blowing us across the lake, as yet
every effort that I made, only made more sweat,
and I knew for sure, all the trouble we were in --
being pushed into tall reeds, much to my chagrin,
at the end of the lake by a tiny tough inlet.

Now we were trapped by lilypads and cattail reeds.
Stronger winds were blowing now, pushing us in deep.
Grabbed the oars then, rowing in efforts to be freed.
Boat was going nowhere, despite my desperate deeds.
With many max maneuvers, didn't even creep.
Those oars seemed so ineffective with every sweep.
We were hopelessly entangled within the weeds.

Grandson became worried, yelling "HELP US," quite loud,
as I continued struggling for some open space.
His anguished pleas finally drew a concerned crowd
from a house nearby, where the children were allowed
to play on the beach (for them quite commonplace).
So they heard his calls, and then they began a race
for their parents help. Making me so very proud.

"We're coming!" called the father, launching his pontoon,
loaded with his excited kids, and pretty wife.
I was grateful, as that help couldn't come too soon.
All my strength was sapped, while trapped, in that dang lagoon,j
While my grandson was sure that they had saved our life,
when that mom tossed across a rope to end our strife,
towing us all the way to camp that afternoon.

We were so relieved, as we reached the local beach,
our pure elation you can surely understand.
As we believed that our salvation was out of reach.
Least until somebody heard that heroic screech,
when my grandson took the situation in his hand.
Then propeller got buried as we hit the sand.
Perfect ending, with lasting memories for each.

Only 40 Bucks a day! Hurray!

Author Notes This is a true story. I went camping at the end of August in North Western Minnesota with my wife and Grandson, Jeremy. One morning, I decided to rent a boat and take him fishing. This picture is not that boat, but it was similar. That dock shown is much nicer and wider than the one I'm describing. I did get my money back.

This poem is a set of septets with an abaabba rhyme scheme on mixed pentameter.

This picture is from Yahoo images.

Chapter 140
I'm Worried Now!

By Treischel

I'm worried now, at things that I forget.
I didn't think I'd have this problem yet,
but lately, it's become a proven fact --
my once unfailing memory has lacked
the former nimbleness of swift corvette.

With worrisome amnesia, I fret
enough to bring about an anxious sweat.
Is it Alzheimer's that I will contract?
I'm worried now!

The passing years have changed my silhouette,
and now my mind is getting me upset.
Must aging always lessen and extract
the best of people's precious artifacts?
Too often lately things aren't getting met.
I'm worried now!

Author Notes Yup, that's me in the photo.

I have been slipping up more and more lately. So yes, I truly am beginning to wonder if my 67 year old brain is starting to slip. Just this weekend we went camping, and forgot a number of things, even though we had a checklist. I forgot to put water in the water tanks before we left. I forgot to bring the jackets for possible cold nights. I drove to the wrong campground than the one I had registered for, but they had an opening and switched my reservation. I forgot to bring the dinner steaks that we planned to cook (Thank goodness we had enough hotdogs to keep us fed). Then we drove home to pickup some swimming gear and those jackets, since my wife was freezing after dark. We forgot those jackets again and had to go back a second time. On Saturday night, I forgot to douse the campfire, got undressed and went to bed. When I turned over and looked out my window, there was the fire burning brightly. I had to get up, put on some clothes and shoes, and then douse it. Seriously, am I losing it?

Chapter 141
Movie Quiz

By Treischel

I thought I’d add some fun, starting with a list of my 10 favorite movies, but list them so that you have to guess what they are. So, here are 10 of them in 5-7-5 formatted poems that give you clues. Given hints, can you guess the name of the movie? I’ll tell you in my notes below. Don’t cheat now!

1. Sing out the Gospel
of no ordinary man
rock the message
2. Asylum Inmates
taste some defiant freedoms
nurse shuts progress down
3. Test of iron wills
deadly Bataan prison camp
beloved bridge downed
4. Luxury afloat
forbidden love blooms at sea
unsinkable sinks
5. An abused childhood
brings unexpected success
deaf, dumb and blind kid
6. Aging superstar
brings upcoming protégé
begrudging success
7. Primitive planet
defends precious resources
dragon’s wing rescue
8. Forces in conflict
long ago and far away
defeat empire’s plan
9. Two hippy’s hijinx
burned herbal van and a band
smoke the rock concert
10. A strange space creature
brings death and eggs to starship
meets Earth’s female match

Author Notes I love movies, and this is a small list of my favorites, but nevertheless 10 that are my favorites. I could go on and on. These are the ones I watch over and over again.

Here's the list.
1. Jesus Christ Superstar. Not only are the music and lyrics incredible, but it follows the Gospels fairly well. I loved the original. Wasn't as enamored with John Legend's version.
2. One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest. Jack Nicholson's performance of an endearing rebel psych patient, is only overshadowed by the evil Nurse Ratched's unwavering, unsympathetic adherence to rules that stifles budding progress, and leads to tragic endings.
3. Bridge Over the River Kwai. Stirring marching music begin a tale of a British Officer's resistance to brutal Japanese imprisonment after the Bataan Death March. His indomitable spirit impresses the Japanese, who harness him to build a proper bridge, which he comes to love. Only to be blown up.
4. Titanic. A forbidden love story between two different classes of passengers blooms aboard the doomed Titanic oceanliner. Romance, drama, and tragedy all blend with outstanding music to create a masterpiece.
5. Tommy. Incredible music blends with incredulous story of a deaf, dumb and blind kid with miraculous powers that enable him to become a pinball superstar. The symbolism in the story underline a tale of how someone like Jesus might have been treated in this day and age. A miraculous curiosity, gaining fame, then quickly turned upon when he doesn't meet a mob's expectations.
6. A Star is Born. A fabulous blend of music and drama. This timeless story has been remade 4 times. Seen them all. The original had no music. I like the Barbara Streisand's version the best. Interesting how the names chance, the occupations changes, the death scene changes, and even the music changes with each iteration.
7. Avatar. An amazing story of a beautifully primitive planet, invaded by our greedy technological space travelers who only want to strip the resources. A side love cross-species love story, and battle of natural forces and dragons, against the invaders.
8. Star Wars. Such a blockbuster series that portrays the classic battle between good and evil, in a science fiction extravaganza.
9. Up in Smoke. Having been a hippy myself, one of the funniest movies I ever watched. Cheech and Chong deliver a intoxicating story of two losers who drive a van, literally made of marijuana, catch it on fire, and get an entire arena high during their rock band's performance. Hilarious, especially if watched while smoking a dooby.
10. Alien. An outstanding series of indomitable creature motherhood against a human female's survival instinct. Incredible imagery and battles.

Chapter 142
Where's your Shirt?

By Treischel

Our Aidan is a real red-blooded boy.
It's rare to spot him in any type shirt.
No matter the scolding, he's sure to deploy
without one, or attention, he'll revert.

Hey! Where's your shirt?

He's really a very active young man.
You'll find him wherever the action is.
He's off and running before others can
match the energy that's uniquely his.

Hey! Where's your shirt?

It's really great to ever be with him.
He can get along with all his brothers,
whether it's to run, or play, or swim.
Oh what a Guy! When he obeys his mothers.

Hey! Where's your shirt?

Author Notes This curly-headed guy is Aidan, a grandnephew. He is my brother, Richard's grandson. I show him here in both conditions - with shirt and shirtless. He does have two mothers - his biological mother (in image on left), and his grandma, Corinne, who is his legal guardian.

This poem is a Cat-a-strophe.
I called this format a Cat-a-strophe.
A Cat-a- strophe, as first reviewed in I Am Cat's lovely poem titled, "In Martha's Vineyard", (July 4th, 2016). It is a play on the word "catastrophe". Of course "Cat" because the form was created by our own Catherine Ginn. A "Strophe" is actually a poetic term that is also known as a "Volta" or turn. The format consists of any number of Quatrains, followed by a single line, which is written in iambic pentameter. It is written with a rhyme scheme of:
abab, c, dede, c, fgfg, c, hihi, c (and so on).
After each quatrain is a four syllable line which rhymes with all the other single lines (c rhyme).
I dubbed the style of this poem, a 'Cat-a-strophe', however the creator herself has not acknowledged nor endorsed the name. Any negative feedback concerning the name should be directed at me, not her. Dean Kuch dubbed this form a "Cat-o-tonic. I guess Cat will decide.

These photographs were taken by the author himself on July 10, 2015.

Chapter 143
Bring Them Outside

By Treischel

Bring grandchildren outside with you,
and show them how to hug a tree
to demonstrate just what to do.

For kids today spend too much time inside
with Xbox, Playstation, or Nintendo,
while nature seems to make them terrified,
and laziness becomes the status-quo.

Exterior exposure too,
may bond a broken family.
Bring grandchildren outside with you!

Author Notes These are 3 of mine. Here are: Isaac, Jeremy, and Skylah, from my daughter Aisha. We took these shots at Mounds Park, in St. Paul.

This poem is a Quatrain Sandwich.
A Quatrain Sandwich consists merely of a Quatrain sandwiched between two Tercets. Of course, a good sandwich has the center spilling out over the bread, so in a Quatrain Sandwich the Tercets are in Tetrameter, while the Quatrain is in a larger Pentameter. Of course, if you prefer a bun versus a slice of bread, then it would be a quatrain between two quintrains.

Photographs were taken by the Author himself on October 18, 2018.

Chapter 144
Holding Up a Tree

By Treischel

Landon’s holding up this tree.
Doing it marvelously!
He is such a super boy,
watch his antics to enjoy
best, his personality,
with originality,
a bit of rascality,
in the ruse  that he’ll employ.
Strength displayed at trunk as he’s
doing it with impish glee.
’Cause it’s very plain to see
Landon’s holding up this tree.
Doing it marvelously!


Author Notes Landon is a grandnephew. This smart and playful guy is one of my brother, Richard√¢??s grandsons. Richard is one of my younger brothers who died last year on July 13, 2018. We didn't hold a funeral for him, but instead, had a "Celebration of Life" for him at a park where he loved to go. This picture was taken at that event. I asked Landon to pose for a picture by me, and this is what he came up with. That tree stood tall the whole time he was there, and likely for many years to come.

This poem is a Boutonniere.
The Boutonniere seems to be an exercise in writing in catalectic trochaic meter. In other words, the stress comes first in each metric foot (trochee), but the last foot of the line, drops the last unstressed syllable (catalectic), so the poem starts and completes on a stressed syllable. Trochaic tetrameter would be described as a a series of stressed (S) and unstressed (u) syllables as follows: Su / Su/ Su/ Su (tetrameter, 8 syllables). Catalectic trochaic tetrameter would be Su/Su/Su/S (7 syllables). This format was created by Ann Byrnes Smith.
The Boutonniere is:
1. Written in 13 lines.
2. It is metered in catalectic trochaic tetrameter. Su/Su/Su/S.
3. Rhymed. The rhyme scheme is: A1,A2,bbcccbddd,A1,A2
4. Refrained, L1 is repeated as L12 and L2 is repeated as L13.
If you know me, you know I especially like the two sets of triple rhymes.

This Photograph was taken by the author himself on August 18, 2018.

Chapter 145
Missing Mom

By Treischel

When mothers are gone
it's like a blackhole
in a personal universe.




You held us together.
An electrostatic family
Now split
like an atom.

I hear you in the wind.
I feel you in my bones.
Your voice is in my mind

Author Notes Especially on Mother's Day is feel the devastation, yet the closeness. I promise to put flowers on your grave that day,

Chapter 146
Remembering Mom

By Treischel

I remember that sad day,
that seemed like only yesterday,
but was nine years ago now
- October 24, 2010 -
the day my mother died.

We'd brought her home from the hospice
to the place she declared
where she wanted to die --
at home
her home
with her family around.

A place she'd lived in, independently
for 55 years
of her 93 year life.

A hospital bed in the middle
of her living room,
which became her dying room
as she laid there
and we all gathered around.

It took two days for her to die!

She woke once to say,
"I'm afraid."

There were a dozen of us sitting around her,
holding her hand
stroking her head,
or just watching and praying.

One said,
"It's OK, we are all here.
We love you.
You can go now."

I think it was one of her granddaughters.

But it took another 24 hours.

I remember wanting her to feel love,
and to hear beautiful music.
I brought a DVD to play on her TV
there in the living room.
The Canadian Tenors.

We sat around her,
held her hands,
and sang
The Halleluiah Chorus,
along with the Tenors.


We slept where we could,
someone, or several, always keeping vigil.
Talking gently or singing.


We were all there when she breathed her last breath.
It released a river of tears,
but relief too,
that her suffering was over.

We kissed her, and hugged her,
said our last goodbyes.

When the morticians came to take her away,
they wrapped the blankets around her
like a hammock.

I remember thinking,
how small she looked now --
a shriveled shell of her former self.
It didn't look like her anymore.

They took her away that day,
while the family wept,
and comforted each other.

We stayed a while
and prayed
and sang.


I miss you mom,
especially on mother's day!

Author Notes I said it all. Free Verse.

Chapter 147

By Treischel

We've weathered, yet, another storm
whose frequency's become the norm,
resulting from her pain syndrome
that's causing crisis chaps to roam
from hospital to Nursing Home.
It's osteomyelitis now
infected in her bones somehow.

It got into her lower spine
and kept bedridden all the time.
They put a pick-line to her heart,
allowing IV meds to start
to make severe disease depart.
It's osteomyelitis now
infected in her bones somehow.

Twice daily nurses must apply
antibiotic flow supply,
inserted right into her arm,
applied for lengthy six week term,
before it can reduce the harm.
It's osteomyelitis now
infected in her bones somehow.

She made it through this tough ordeal,
that helped her back to mostly heal.
Without another dime to spare,
thank God for limits laws put there,
of co-pays on her Medicare.
It's osteomyelitis now
infected in her bones somehow.

Author Notes My poor wife has had a terrible time with her health, all related to her chronic back pain. She has been hospitalized 3 consecutive times within 6 months. The first time was for heart problems caused by severe, level 10 pain, impacting her heart rate and blood pressure. That caused her to get a heart oblation surgery. It was followed by a blood infection and pneumonia that kept her in hospital for a week and then a Transitional Care Unit (TCU Nursing Home) for 2 weeks. Finally the underlying cause was diagnosed as Osteomyelitis, which landed her in the hospital another week, and then a TCU for 6 weeks.

Osteomyelitis is an infection within the bone. In her case it was in her lower spine. It's like a large puss filled pimple, but in the bone. The pain in unbelievable. She couldn't even move without screaming. I had to nearly carry her to the bathroom, and often the pain was so bad she couldn't even go, once there. She even begged me to kill her, and later the same to a shocked doctor. The condition is very serious. It can cause the bone to die, and the infection itself can cause fever and death. An MRI disclosed the condition. Imagine the pain she endured while stuck in that metal tube for 45 minutes. Doctors said the cyst must have been there a while, as it was so large.

She is home now. The infection is gone, and her chronic back pain has returned to its level 5-6 baseline.

A pick-line is an IV stent that feeds through an artery directly into her heart. The picture shows the entry point of her line. The associated dressing had to be changed once a week by a qualified RN, as did the twice daily feed-in of the IV antibiotics.

This poem is a Sevenelle.
I was introduced to it by fellow Fanstorian, damommy, through her poem, A Bit of Fun, as part of the Potlatch club.
The Sevenelle is a stanzaic poem, an invented form created by Virginia Noble which cannot only be found in 'Pathways' but is also in the Study and Writing of Poetry book by Amy Jo Zook and Wauneta Hackleman, 1996.

The Sevenelle is:
- stanzaic, written in no less than 2 septets, each made up of a rhymed couplet, tercet and couplet in that order, combined into th overall 7 line Septet.
- metric, iambic tetrameter.
- rhymed, aabbbCC ddeeeCC etc.
- composed with L6 & L7 of the first stanza repeated as refrain in the last 2 lines of all subsequent stanzas.

For this poem, I used 4 stanzas.

This photograph was taken by the author himself on February 28, 2019.

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