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Coming in December! 

Random Acts of Poetry - Act 2:

A Buffet of Poetry Just for You

52 Poems. 13 Categories. 2 Sonnets. 11 Haikus.


Foreword by Norman Wagner

 

RAP2 Poem Titles

A Boy Named Bryan

A Breakfast Buffet

A Halloween Fable

A Lonely Soul

A Man of Many Hats

A Natural Force

A Poem for the KISS Army

A Secret Buried

A Timely Proverb

A Trip from the Past

Alexander's Abacus

All About that Bacon

An Average Joe

Briefly Dead

Divisions of Time

Drops on my Window

Drums and Brass

DND

Gnosis

If I Could

Left-Handed Metric Crescent Wrench

Let's Play Ball

Love is a Back Rub

Lyin' Eyes

Mr. Not Unright

My Crimson Friend

My Delusion at Lake Elsinore

My Front Porch

My Mother Forever

Mystic Harmony

Our Wonderful Winter-Full Weather

Potluck Dinner

Spirals

The Arms of Starr

The Cemetery on Tyner Hill

The Circle of Fifths Sonnet

The Covid Controversy

The Current News Blues

The Magic Scepter

The Morning Sunrise

The One, The None and The All

The Sharing of Joy

The Sky Inside my Mind

The Village Vernacular

Therefore I Am

To Breathe

To Tweet, or not to Tweet

Tulip Trees

Up in Smoke

Well Grounded

When My Time is Up

Win Win

 
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Spirals

by Brett A. Starr on March 27, 2021

Spirals! Spirals! Everywhere!
Over here and over there
In the garden, in the air
Did you ever stop and stare?

Flowers, pine cones, it all seems
Patterns come through natural means
Numerical puzzles to make us think
Just pull the light chain.  Hear it clink?

Ocean waves and hurricanes
We label them with proper names
Here’s a microcosmic hint
Just look upon your fingerprint.

Spirals! Spirals! Everywhere!
Over here and over there.
Did you know it? Do you care?
This is what I came to share.



Footnote: poetry contest topic ‘patterns.’ Spirals are everywhere in our world. This key to unlocking nature’s sacred geometry is proof that there is a creator. This pattern is repeated all over nature.

 
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My Crimson Friend

By Brett A. Starr on January 18, 2021

A cool and crispy morning snow
Had shut us in nowhere to go.
A foot ‘n a half of fluffy flakes
Disguised the fields from frozen lakes.

Our cabin small and cozy warm
We harbored from the snowy storm.
I wiped the window’s foggy pane
To see the view ‘twas not the same.

A cardinal perched on frosted tree
He scanned for food no eye could see.
And so, I took some seed in hand
Through the pane I slowly scanned

For shallow spot to toss the seed
To aid my feathered friend in need
The wind had blown a drift nearby
Adjacent snow was not so high.

Unlatched the window, I slightly raised
And tossed the seed so he could graze.
It wasn’t long he flew on down
To eat the meal upon the ground.

Admiring him so crimson red
The pointed feathers atop his head.
I said “Hello,” he looked to see
And sang a song right back to me.

Surreal it was that winter’s day
I said goodbye as he flew away.
I lay back down, or so it would seem
I’d been under the covers, lost in a dream.



Footnote: written in iambic tetrameter, this poem was for a poetry contest topic “lost in a dream.” This was my first entry in the online poetry group contests in January of 2021. Once I got started, it all just flowed naturally. I like to paint the picture in my mind as I hear the words. The rhythm and content remind me of Robert Frost's 'Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening.' Instead of talking about a horse, it is about a bird. Also, instead of miles to go before I sleep, perhaps it could be miles to go before I wake...

 
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Up in Smoke

By Brett A. Starr on January 18, 2021

Dilemma here, your help I need.
Will you please supply a lead?
Pipe, cigar or cigarette
A choice to make, what should I get?

A common choice is plain to see
That cigarettes come easily.
Just light one up and puff away
The stress and strain of a busy day.

But what do all the bankers say?
Or share a new father’s happy day;
Or an evening table’s poker play;
A cigar appears the only way.

Distinguished gentlemen prefer a pipe
With fresh tobacco, the smell - so ripe.
The professor and aristocrat
Light a pipe they often chat.

From all of those a choice to make.
But here’s another thought to take.
Don’t let the pressure of the stoke
Persuade you choosing not to smoke.






Footnote: this smoker’s epiphany came to me back in 1991, but not in poetic form. An internal conversation with myself called a jouska discussed the smoker’s philosophy. I explained it to my brother and his wife.  His wife suggested I forgot the most important choice – not to smoke. It wasn’t until recently that it came to me in a poem.

 
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All About that Bacon

By Brett A. Starr on May 30, 2021

You know I’m all about that bacon, ‘bout that bacon, no tofu
I’m all about that bacon, ‘bout that bacon, no tofu
I’m all about that bacon, ‘bout that bacon, no tofu
I’m all about that bacon, ‘bout that bake, bake, bake, bacon

Yeah, I know I’ve heard it said that I could lose some weight
But the rumble in my tummy means it’s quarter of eight.
Not a continental breakfast or a donut will do.
I want that salty substance that my mouth can chew.

You know I’m all about that bacon, ‘bout that bacon, no tofu
I’m all about that bacon, ‘bout that bacon, no tofu
I’m all about that bacon, ‘bout that bacon, no tofu
I’m all about that bacon, ‘bout that bake, bake, bake, bacon

At noon it’s time to eat again, let’s take some time,
To make a healthy salad with a squeeze of lime.
But I don’t want no shredded cheese or toasted Ritz.
I want that salty salad topping torn in bits.

You know I’m all about that bacon, ‘bout that bacon, no tofu
I’m all about that bacon, ‘bout that bacon, no tofu
I’m all about that bacon, ‘bout that bacon, no tofu
I’m all about that bacon, ‘bout that bake, bake, bake, bacon

At night you know it’s time again to feed my face.
Veggies steamed and ‘taters baked and all’s in place.
The grill is hot the steak is seared tuh medium well.
There’s only one thing left that really makes me yell.

You know I’m all about that bacon, ‘bout that bacon, no tofu
I’m all about that bacon, ‘bout that bacon, no tofu
I’m all about that bacon, ‘bout that bacon, no tofu
I’m all about that bacon, ‘bout that bake, bake, bake, bacon

Sometimes a piece of cake or just a slice of pie
Can tingle tiny taste buds and it makes you smile.
A single scoop of ice cream on a sugar cone,
Topped with something salty and my mind is blown.

You know I’m all about that bacon, ‘bout that bacon, no tofu
I’m all about that bacon, ‘bout that bacon, no tofu
I’m all about that bacon, ‘bout that bacon, no tofu
I’m all about that bacon, ‘bout that bake, bake, bake, bacon




Footnote: There are a lot of bacon lovers in my family. I wrote this humorous poem/song lyrics to cater to them. I am a fan of bacon as well. It is possible to eat it in all meals of the day, although, one may pay for it later.  By the way, 4 out of 5 nutritionists say tofu is good for you.

 
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An Average Joe

By Brett A. Starr on June 3, 2021

His name was Josephus Daniels, as the story goes
The significance of his name, you might not know.
You see, he was secretary of the Navy during World War I
He was unpopular for the last thing he had done.

He thought it would be best, and maybe it was true,
To eliminate alcohol from bases and vessels, too.
So, the strongest naval drink that you could order up,
Was a hot black coffee, served to you in a cup.

As an insult, the sailors had coined a phrase,
A "Cup of Joseph Daniels," to boost you on your way.
Ever since, this name has stood the test of time.
In 1920, a 'cup of Joe,' cost just one thin dime.

A hundred years forward, we can get cappuccino,
Mocha, expresso, latte, and macchiato.
But I don't need no fancy stuff, you know,
No cream, no sugar, just an average 'cup of Joe.'





Footnote: A point of curiosity one day, I just wondered about the phase ‘Cup of Joe,’ and where it came from.  After some brief research, I decided to write a poem about it as I didn’t think many people really knew. I found it to be interesting. Like the poem ‘A Boy Named Bryan,’ it is a mystery or trivia story told with the answer at the end. It was fun to write and I received a lot of feedback from it. Poetry is a fun way to teach History.