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Random Acts of Poetry - Act 2:

A Buffet of Poetry Just for You

54 Poems. 13 Categories. 2 Sonnets. 12 Haiku.

Foreword by Norman Wagner

My poems reflect the random nature of thoughts that enter my head. Often times, I can jot them down and they appear in a matter of minutes. Other times, it takes a little longer. So, if you are tired of reading those long novels, take a break and try this book for a nice treat as you enjoy a light snack and a cup of your favorite beverage. It is truly a buffet of poetry that I wrote just for you.

Drums and Brass

by Brett A. Starr on September 20, 2021

It appears to my ears of the sounds down the street.
Of the beating of the drums, and the marching feet.
I hear the flutes, the saxophones and the clarinets.
I hear the bells, I see the flags and the banners, yet --

I see the shiny gold reflections that come quite clear.
The medieval sounding trumpets really pierce my ears.
The sliding and providing of the trombones' pitch.
And the tubas in the background make the sound so rich.

Oh, play on! Play on, you marching bands!
At halftime shows across the land.
The creation of formations on the fields of grass.
Oh, the sounds I hear the most are the drums and brass.

The percussion with their cadence entertains the crowd.
The melody and harmony of the brass are loud.
The woodwinds and the cymbals make the sound complete.
Together all in sequence with the marching feet.

Oh, play on! Play on, you marching bands.
John Philip Sousa's anthems are so grand.
The band I hear into my ears –- a sound surpassed
By the beating and the playing of the drums and brass.

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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.

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...

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.