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Dan Speers

Citizen Poet
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May's Poem of the Month
 

Begin Again the Same Again


I don’t recall when I began

And I never felt me growing.

I was four before I heard mother cry.

Grandpa showed me a tree one morn,

That Dad planted when I was born,

An apple tree from seed for me, knee high.

A letter came when I was five.

Dad had survived, hurt, but alive.

Watch, mother said, for Daddy home from war.

Though it took some getting use to

I know now I would refuse to

Go back to how it used to be before

I saw a man lift the latchkey

In army green, arm in a sling,

A man who beamed when I screamed, “Hi, Daddy.”



Dad and I went fishing one day,

When Aunt May came, shoed us away.

Came home to find a baby sister there.

Firm my tree, tall as me creeping.

Grandpa went on, one night sleeping.

My hare won a blue ribbon at the fair.

Mother caught a chill in the rain.

Shame came again, the same again.

Dad was mad, but I had to go to war.

Though it took some getting use to

I know now I would refuse to

Go back to how it used to be before

I brought her home, new wife I had.

It took a while but female style

Beguiled his smile when she said, “Hello, Dad.”


Sis had married, moved north to Maine

I had a niece I’d never seen.

Fields had gone to weeds, the garden to seed.

Mom was weak, Dad wasn’t that strong

I had been gone for far too long.

No question but that we answer the need,

Our creed, family. Side by side,

The farm grew, thrived, but mother died.

Daddy cried, and my bride, a baby bore.

Though it took some getting use to

I know now I would refuse to

Go back to how it used to be before

My wife gave my son to me, awed

So slight and thin when life begins

How I grinned at his words then, “Gai, Da-da.”


Who’s the boy? Dad'd ask again.

Same response: My son, your grandson.

The tree grew apples and a rope-swing tire

That hung too long. No soapbox win

But scouts, sports and girls scored amends.

The year Daddy joined Mom, our son on fire

With poetry, wit and piety,

Away to university.

So smart was he, a wife took he, and more.

Though it took some getting use to

I know now I would refuse to

Go back to how it used to be before

I dream again the dreams I had

Of the lad whose face I embrace

Whose face is my face, saying, “Hey, Granddad.”

 June's Poem of the Month

 

The Spiral Staircase


From one and ones, separate, then joined

    each data bit a step

        in a spiral staircase

    selecting, matching,

  transmitting, reproducing

    each in step in kind

        from one to the other.

            From one to another,

      separated from the joining

  and each reproducing

    still another spiral staircase

        multiplying in the nutrient broth

            of maternal blood,

    data centers multiplying data centers.

Multiplying data centers each in kind

    spiral staircase multiplying

        the multiple reproducings

    becoming the billions that become

        each of us becoming

    each of us from the becoming

of the spiral staircase.