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

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)





Thomas
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.
Reischel

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: 9/9/6/6/9 And the typical Limerick rhyme scheme of: aabba 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



Dang...

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

Dang...

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

Dang...

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

Dang...

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

Dang...

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)





Sometimes
I touch the inner pain within
And then
it comes again
Deep
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

Oh,
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?
Or
Maybe just feel?

These words
"I'm proud of you son"

Alas

Never

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)





Here's
a recent picture.

Hope you don't think
that I am
vain
or
rude.

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

I was
showing off my look,
after growing
muttonchops.

Hope you're not offended
by my mug.

It's good to
give a tug,

but

I'd
prefer a
Hug.

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
away.

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

Sometimes
there are crickets,
sometimes
a roar.

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

But there it is
again,
lurking
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
(Quintain)


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
Raindrops

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

Raindrops

Raindrops

Rain

Drops

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

PAIN

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
Enjoyment
Away

A Scorpion's sting
An insidious thing

PAIN

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

PAIN

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

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

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.
Certainly,
you'll have some fun,
long before the day is done.

Ride the sky,
or eat fair food.
Butterflies
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.
Everywhere
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
Pendulums
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
Finally!

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

Author Notes

HAPPY THANKSGIVING! 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,
While
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
Sorrow

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
Betty

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
For
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
Python

By Treischel

Snake
C H A R M E D
Boy

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. snail l e a k s slime 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. or 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
Obsessions

By Treischel

Interaction
satisfaction
brings
things
about
throughout
sessions.
Obsessions
create
innate
mate
reactions.
Relations
complications.

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: aabbccd.deeefff 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. http://poemsand poetics.com/2014/02/seymour-mayne-hail-15-word-sonnets.html http;//stephenfrug.blogspot.com/frank-sidwicks-fourteen-word-sonnet.html This picture was taken by the author in April, 2013.

Chapter 105
Sore Loser

By Treischel

I
Do
not
play
games
with
you
Do
I

So
you
wont
anger
easily

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. http://poemsand poetics.com/2014/02/seymour-mayne-hail-15-word-sonnets.html http;//stephenfrug.blogspot.com/frank-sidwicks-fourteen-word-sonnet.html 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

Mom

Mother
is gone

But her memory lives on

In the impressions
she left in me
and
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
more

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
Hey!

By Treischel

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

"Hey!"
"I'll get through another day."

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

DON'T STAY

Nay, nay!

Allay
Dismay
Today.

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
Scooter

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
out.

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
contained
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: ABaAbcCAB - CDcCdeECD - EFeEfGEF - GHgGhaAGH. 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,
lacking
sound sleep,
found her not at her best.

Not at all at her best.

3AM
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.

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

Until
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
---gone---,
she hopefully,
hopelessly,
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
deciding,
reluctantly,
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
Oof!

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.

Oof!

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
Frustrations

By Treischel

 

Do not my frustrations

fly?

They take me
places

dark and brooding.

And though
I diligently try
to
keep them
pent and penned,

in the end
my resolutions bend
to release
feeling
what I was foreboding.

Then
helter-skelter
my thoughts roam,
until I finally bring them home.

Like raptors on the loose,
I'll recapture them,

until,
once again,

like caged or shackled creatures,
in prisoned pain,

their
fitted fetters

B - U - R - S - T.

 

Author Notes

Thanks for reading Author's photograph

Chapter 131
Rankings

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
Hypocrisy

By Treischel

Hypocrisy

I learned about
hypocrisy from
my dad.

He went to church
every Sunday
with my mom
                                         an usher,
                                         a Knight of Columbus
                                         too.

His temper was mean.
His soul,
A soul full of criticism.
                                          My name was -- stupid.
                                          I could never do
                                                          anything
                                                                        right.

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
too.
                                        Always had a girlfriend
                                        on the side.

                                       Many girlfriends.

                                            Many times,
                                      broke my mother's
                                                  heart.

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
Modeling

By Treischel

I was really
startled
at my profile's likeness
to that bust
I here model
of the Greek philosopher
the great
Aristotle.

We share
the ink bottle,
as we both are writers
whose poignant thoughts
throttle
many written pages,
oft' considered novel.

Yet
of these two
contours,
if truth is not unkind,
I shall not mollycoddle,
As I
have
the most pronounced
and scruffy
wattle.

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,
refreshed,
renewed,
I'll hit the road,
my senses put in overload.

It's Spring!

It's
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
sunny
springtime day,
my Pontiac is set to play.

To this I'll say,

Hip
Hip
Hurray!

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
unparallel
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

Once
the air was filled
with love.

A couple
working as a loving team,
horizons of
unlimited potential.

Until

Life

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.

OH,
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
with
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.

Now,
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, Richardâ??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.

BLACK

SUCKING

BARREN

Oh MOM!
You held us together.
An electrostatic family
Now split
like an atom.

Yet,
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
catatonic,
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.

Alleluia
Alleluia
Allelu-u-u-u-u-lia

We slept where we could,
someone, or several, always keeping vigil.
Talking gently or singing.

Alleluia
Alleluia
Allelu-u-u-u-u-lia

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.

Alleluia
Alleluia
Allelu-u-u-u-u-lia

I miss you mom,
especially on mother's day!

Author Notes

I said it all. Free Verse.

Chapter 147
Osteomyelitis

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.

Chapter 148
The Will to Live

By Treischel

The Will to Live

(Free Verse)

 

What do you do

when a loved one

has lost her

will to live?

 

Be it from the pain of life,

or from the pain of bone,

or both,

 

It leaves a visceral fear,

a void,

in the coming of the end,

unwanted,

 

but there it is.

 

 

Staring you in the face

is

a helpless realization

that a painfully long journey

is about to end.

 

Should I be happy that

the suffering

is soon

over?

 

Should I be angry that

there is

no more

fight?

 

Should I be sad that

she’ll be

gone?

 

I have no answers

but hope

 

and

answers to my prayers.

Author Notes

This is a true story that happened when my wife fell and broke her pelvis in two places, then fell and cracked he head open in the TCU. Imagine wearing diapers and when they change them, they turn you to one side, then the other side while you scream in pain. Then you have to lift your hip to allow the diaper between your legs. She refused to eat or drink and was in a catatonic trance for 3 days, slapping food and drink away, when finally, she came out of it OK. I had started seeking hospice. But she deciced she wanted to live.

Chapter 149
Recollections at 75

By Treischel

This last September, I turned seventy five,

a ripe old age I never dreamed I’d make.

In fact, surprised that I am still alive.

Unknown, the twists and turns my life would take.

Its share had love and also true heartache.

Though who among us couldn’t say the same?

The sip of sorrow, one we all partake,

uniquely portioned out to one and all,

is borne upon the backs both large and small.

So, who am I to be one to complain?

I should be pleased that I’m still on the ball,

or can recall it with my aging brain.

 

But still, allow me thoughts that I recall.

This boomer born beyond the World War’s wake,

where nuns attempt to change my left-hand scrawl,

and Rock and Roll set culture’s new earthquake,

was Hippy as the sixties overtake.

A shot-gun wedding when nineteen years old,

avoided draft with college undertake.

Took any job with bennies I could hold,

which stretched to over forty years, I’m told.

Along the way there loomed a bad divorce.

Then blended a new family to behold

when second wife’s two children joined my course.

 

Then fifty years of marriage had ensued,

that nearly got divorced, but reconciled.

Four times our marriage nearly came unglued.

It may have been on how to raise a child,

and finances weren’t always reconciled.

Her mental health and chronic pain combined,

when added to the mix were seldom mild.

My constant travel played upon her mind,

while raising teens left no time to unwind.

I know for sure ‘twas not for love we lack,

but sometimes to our faults we may be blind.

I dare to say we’ve been through Hell and back.

 

Now looking back, I took the good and bad.

In my career, I had success it seems.

I should recall the other roles I had.

Like captain bowling, golf, and football teams

Canoe Club President and Golf Regimes.

Stained glass, piano, poetry did gain

which added to completion of my dreams.

So jettison depression, anger, pain

like mists that dissipate past heavy rain,

but leave my legacy still standing tall.

In retrospect, I’d do it all again

I’m pleased that I, at least, survived it all.

Author Notes

Amazingly I've made it to 75 years old. Who would have thought. This poem is written in stanzas that are Duodecatains, which means that each stanza contains 12 lines. I used Spenserian rhyming, meaning the rhyme scheme that Spenser famouslyt used in most of his sonnets (but less the closing couples since this is not a sonnet). That rhyme scheme is: ababbcbccdcd.

Chapter 150
senryus (pain trifecta)

By Treischel

 

pregnant wife gives birth

joyful daughter comes with twist

then chronic backpain

 

ancient knees give out

searing pain from bone on bone

replaced with metal

 

blood becomes poisoned

growing cyst compressed on spine

bed, IVs for months

 

everything they’ve tried

she still lives with chronic pain

written as he sees

 

Author Notes

My poor wife has had chronic backpain since 1977 when the widwife's turning our daughted in the womb broke her tailbone. Then she had knee surgery, and a coupkle years ago a cyst on her backbone. Now she is 80 years old and has arthritis. I've watched her suffering. Helped as much as I can. We've tried everything. Only prayers help.

Chapter 151
Childhood Memories

By Treischel

Well, I remember times so long ago
that seem like only yesterday.
A youthful time that calls me so.
A time and a place that I used to know,
Back there, where my memories stay,
a song verse seems to echo it all
when I recall the song with this refrain:
“And the visions that were planted in my brain
still remain…”


Well, possibilities were endless then,
those peaceful times beyond the war
where neighborhoods were places when
the happy children wandered free again.
Where their imaginations soar,
to dream, to play, enjoy each day.
Yes, I recall the song with this refrain:
“And the visions that were planted in my brain
still remain…”


Well, times back then were unlike any others.
My family was like a gang,
when all my sisters and my brothers
had occupied a house with one another,
with mischief, laughter, rare harangue.
A crowded home, but boundless space
outside, where all our childhood friendships reign.
“And the visions that were planted in my brain
still remain…”


Well, I remember all our neighbors too:
the Slotsves, Michealeks, and Alms
the Fremonts, Senarts, Syfco crew,
the Trapps, and Applebees - to name a few;
the local kids, their dads and moms,
that made a whole community.
‘Twould be a shame to let those mem’ries wane.
“And the visions that were planted in my brain
still remain…”


Well, I remember music played back then,
with Elvis, Beatles, Rolling Stones,
the Beach Boys, hits within Top 10
on juke boxes, heard again and again.
The rhythms sunk into our bones.
Still, I remember most of all 
that Simon and Garfunkle song was sayin’
“And the visions that were planted in my brain
still remain…”


Well, bicycles were major transportation,
or we could walk. or thumb a ride,
without a bit of apprehension.
It was a peaceful time of less contention
as we all spent our days outside,
and parents didn’t need to worry,
a time when criminals were less insane.
“And the visions that were planted in my brain
still remain…”


Well, the playgrounds, where we would often go
for baseball, hockey, football too;
the ice rink shoveling after snow; 
had warming house when mercury below
the zero range made noses glow. 
It seems whole neighborhoods were there!
So seldom did our many friends complain.
“And the visions that were planted in my brain
still remain…”


Well, there weren’t any Ninja Warriors when
they hadn’t been invented yet.
The truth is that – We could have been!
We climbed, like monkeys, everything back then,
like anything that we could get:
trees, cliffs, new building sites, and walls.
Yes, any obstacles in our domain.
“And the visions that were planted in my brain
still remain…”


Well, backyards were the safest place to play.
We’d often stay ‘til after dark
while playing tag,  or slam croquet, 
some badminton, catch, or ball keep-away.
Dad brought some sand from Local Park
and made a sandbox that we used.
Mom’s wading pool could barely us contain.
“And the visions that were planted in my brain
still remain…”


Well, Sunday was required holy day.
We’d dress up and go to the church
reflecting on our sins, and pray.
At times my friends and I would stray away
into the woods, upon a perch
until the mass time was complete.
A trick from mom a secret shall constrain.
“And the visions that were planted in my brain
still remain…”


Well, those were memories of Eastside kids,
we baby-boomers of St. Paul,
recollections for my grandkids
that quickly flash behind these old eyelids.
They bring a smile, as I recall,
because so much has really changed.
I’m glad I had this chance to yet explain.
“And the visions that were planted in my brain
still remain…”

Author Notes

Growing up on the Eastside of St. Paul in the late 50's and early 60's was a different time. We kids spent the days roaming freely and unafraid about our neighborhood, mingling with friends for miles around. Our mom didn't worry about us, as long as we were back for an afternoon nap, or in time for dinner. This poem is modeled after a poem written by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, My Lost Youth. It is constructed in iambic pentameter and tetrameter with a syllable count of: 10,8,8,10,8,8,10,11,3, and a rhyme scheme of: a,b,a,a,b,c,d,d,d. I did use some feminine meter on some verses. This image was taken of me and my brothers and sisters in 1959. It shows 5 of the 7 of us. I am the one standing with a bow and arrow.

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