Tranquility (a spring poem)

Winter’s transition to spring and the ways our habits and rituals change with the seasons inspired this poem. (If you enjoy this poem please share or re-blog it so your friends can read it too. Thanks).


The faint neon glow
of dainty purple pink blinking blooms
suspended just above the dormant brown grass
confirms we have made it through
this southern fringed winter
of light frosts and rare occasional flurries
which shut down schools and hasten
the tossing of sand on streets so drivers can
speed as usual around this polite microcosm
some assume is the center of the world.

I’m just a bystander who will soon engage the seasonal change
pushing a mower without any rage
over clumps of weeds I should kill with poison
to ensure I am looking green without living
that back-to-earth philosophy proclaimed on
monster sized trucks and SUVs racing to
softball games, baseball games, soccer games
where everyone else is the blame
for your kid’s team losing, again.

Winter is never the same
on retreating and the different ways
are as subtle as an insult to a priest or minister
over a sermon they’ve given to drum up guilt
increasing collections and reflections on
the sin of the day.

Oh hell, I guess I’ll quit now
and go outside to play
with the sinners and saints
and observe spring’s superstars
and car drivers who will cut me off
as I drive to a park seeking tranquility
and a fresh breath of spring.

Gregory Zeorlin 3/23/2015 @ 4:31pm

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Thousand Word Pictures

Well hello imaginary readers of my blog (and a few real ones)!  It has been nearly a month since I’ve posted anything. I’ve had my head in the clouds for part of the time…making a great nearly 1500 mile (each way) trip  to the Grand Canyon in Arizona, USA. So here are a few images from the trip for your “viewing pleasure.” I did manage to write a few poems on the road (while sharing the drive) which could eventually appear here. And the wide open views while driving and gazing into the canyon will certainly influence my art.

As for commentary on these two images…There are times when “a picture is worth a thousand words” does apply.

Be well. More later…





The Original Soup

At a hefty 475 words this entry isn’t going to be completely read by most who start it. (But if it was only 474 words long would a few more be able to read it to the end? Hmm.). This soup idea started because I want to make real soup today. So sip on this soup of mixed and chopped words dear imaginary readers and you few real ones too.


Word Soup

Word Soup

The Original Soup

Long ago someone made a pot of soup. The pot of soup was shared. Most liked the soup. Some thought the soup was so-so.

Those who liked the soup came back and watched the soup being made. They went away and made more of the soup. Then those pots of soup were shared. Most liked the soup. Some thought the soup was still so-so.

Many pots of soup were made from memory. Over and over the soup was shared. So much soup was shared some never saw the original soup being made. But those soup lovers still wanted the recipe. So someone wrote it down the best they could recall.

More soup was made and more recipes were written down from memory. Eventually the recipe was everywhere although no one knew who wrote it. So the pots of soup started to change. Some soups were liked more. Some soups were so-so. Some said they had the right soup. Some disagreed.

People started cooking soup with any recipe that tasted right to them. And soup started being made in different shaped soup pots. Some liked the copper pots for soup the best. Some liked cast iron pots for the soup. Some thought the soup from any of the pots was so-so, but they were still hungry.

One day many different pots of soup appeared at the same place to be shared. People who talked about the right recipe for soup had to choose a soup line. People split up into many soup lines and looked at one another. Some encouraged others to join their line for the right soup. Some discouraged others from getting in their soup line. Some said nothing since they thought all the lines were so-so, as was the soup. They were hungry and got in the line that served soup in the biggest bowls.

Now no one knows who wrote the original soup recipe. But some say they know. And others went to cooking schools to learn to cook soup. Few cooked their own soup at home and sipped whatever soup was served in the lines. Eventually a few soup sippers started talking about making soup from scratch without a recipe.

The official recipe keepers and trained soup cooks were upset. They didn’t want others cooking soup on their own and warned of the troubles to follow. Then the recipe writers and soup line organizers got worried. Many people were unsatisfied with the official soups but still wanted soup.

Dissatisfied soup sippers started cooking soup at home from scratch without a recipe. They followed their tastes and their soups seemed right to them. So they shared their pots of soup with others. Some liked all the soups. Some only liked one soup. Some thought all the soups were so-so. And the soup pot maker lived happily ever after.

Gregory Zeorlin 2/24/2015 @ 11am + 2/25/15 @ 7:10am

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Heaven Wrapper

Click on birds to watch video

Click on birds to watch video


While sitting in a parked car I watched two birds dodge traffic in pursuit of a fast food wrapper. I grabbed my camera to record their behavior. While reviewing the video the account of God taking care of all the birds on earth came to mind. Then I imagined a conversation happening between the two birds as they pecked at a junk food wrapper. One of the birds asked, “What kind of God drops junk food wrappers from heaven?”

I turned their observations into an unpolished 45 second video titled “Heaven Wrapper.” I urge you to watch it and reblog this post so others can watch it. When you do it lets those two birds fly around the digital universe. Who know where they might fly?

Use this link to watch video on You Tube:




Seeing You Now (a poem)

Seeing You Now

Picture only the young
embracing two hearts racing
faces free of sunspots
feet un-callused butts baby smooth

But minds can be young
years after a golden ring
slipped upon a slender finger
even without jewels draped over a svelte body
my bride exceeded all adornments
in that graced state anyway

And here we are now
in this pixel perfect world
of software altered blemish free
many eventually becoming
touch free from computer
chat room encounters
and digital dates

Let us hold each other
feel the time that love makes
our hearts beating as they will
year after years of being true
our eyes know each other
in ways the younger cannot see.

Gregory Zeorlin 2/10/2011 12:37pm

Artist’s Comments

I have a file cabinet full of poetry although I rarely memorize what I write. Occasionally a poem chronicles some event but my writing isn’t just for keeping a journal. For several decades I’ve wondered why bother writing these random poems (aka thoughts).  But since I usually include the date I write a poem, I’ll admit I’m starting to enjoy reviewing past pieces that were composed near the same date and month as now.

I wrote “Seeing You Now” on February 10, 2011. It seems to anticipate Valentine’s Day but I doubt I wrote it specifically for that holiday. Reading it four years after the date it was first written, the poem seems uplifting, quiet and even “tender” in a sort of non-commercial way. Or maybe I’m just getting too soft in my middle-aged man way of seeing?… Nah!

Share or re-blog this poem. Someone else might enjoy reading it. Thanks!

Here or There

I don’t sweat poems out sitting at a writing desk. My poems show up, mostly completed before being scribbled on scrap paper. The poems have shown up ready to go for several decades. Here’s the newest one.  If you enjoy this poem please share it on your blog or other social media sites. Be well.

mz magnify DSC00051e

Here Or There

We live here
while looking over there.
And if over there
we wonder what it’s like,
over here.

And while here
we look at lists
from somewhere else
stating the “Best Places to Live”
if you love…the outdoors or
love riding bikes or drinking coffee or
writing poetry no one will memorize.

But who would read the “Best List”
from someone else somewhere else
if it said, “Love living where you are”
and even asked us to
“Send us your list of why you live over there”
(instead of here or somewhere else).

Then your list would go to someone somewhere
who would wonder why
they are not over here,
with you.

Maybe we make “Best Lists”
and keep them to ourselves.
Then we’ll know why we are here
without perplexing those
who think they should be
somewhere else with someone who
doesn’t know you.

Gregory Zeorlin 2/8/2015 @ 10:58pm

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Revising History

Revising History

Should’ve, could’ve, would’ve
why didn’t I be?
There’s no sense in
rewriting history.

Gregory Zeorlin
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