The Original Soup

zstick:

Thought I’d serve up this “word soup” again. Sometimes soup develops more flavor when it sits in the pot. Read “The Original Soup” if you wish and share it with your friends. Thanks.

Originally posted on stickyphilosopher:

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…

View original 409 more words

Faster Map Application

Since I write poetry frequently and have done so for decades I can now flip back through the years and find old poems written on this date. So if I keep writing poetry, eventually there will be a poem for every day of the year. And once that happens, I will not need to write a poem again for the rest of my life. So would I really do this? Hmmm. What do you think?

Faster Map Application

I want to be
your packaged deal
your take-out meal
I want to be
remotely controlled
a driver-less wheel

I need to follow
some map of life
beamed straight down
from Google or God
depending on which One
is faster.

4/24/2014 11:05 am

Click here to read other poems I’ve written. Oh, and share this poem if you wish.

April Twenty-Second Twenty-Fifteen

April Twenty-second Twenty-fifteen

On this “earth day”
the cosmos opens in my yard
a single golden glow reminding me
how large the world is
beyond my plot of weeds
and fading prayers of St. Augustine.

Gregory Zeorlin 4/22/2015 @ 7:12am

Click here, there or anywhere to read more poetry.  And share this post, too? Yes, please do.

April Word Races

April is National Poetry Month. I have written poetry for several decades and usually date each one. So I am going back two years to share this poem about…yes, National Poetry Month. Now I have contributed to this annual attempt to keep poetry relevant in a distracted world. Of course, the timing of the poem “April Word Races” is a few days off, but you’ll get the point anyway.

 

April Word Races

On this last day of April
so decreed the month of poetry
I now join and have duly participated.

I’ve emancipated a few words
free now to go as they will
in a world where there’s time
for writing words but none
for reading them.

So long words
soon lost with the rest
lined up for a race to bound
deeply into outer space.

Gregory Zeorlin 4/30/2013 11:45am

You can read more poetry at ZeorlinArt.com and download a free poetry book from the site.

Why Run

I’ve run for over 10 years. It started due to driving my kids to early morning practices before they were old enough to drive. Initially I got them there and napped in the car. But one morning I joined the runners and my sleepy first run changed my weekly routines and improved my life. Now I’m mainly a trail runner as street running is not as satisfying. My reasons for running continually change. This poem summarizes my thoughts about running. You can share this poem with other “runners” or those who are thinking about running.

 

Why Run

When I run
I sometimes trail the body
watching it move
and leave me behind.

When I run
I am sometimes riding inside
as a conductor of a machine
attempting to exert control.

When I run
I am sometimes a sensor
a check engine light
a low pressure gauge.

When I run
I am sometimes a leaf
a twig a stone
clinging to the bottoms of my shoes.

When I run
sometimes I am an unidentified animal
in pursuit of or fleeing another
or moving just to move.

When I run
sometimes I am writing a song
or finishing a work of art
running just beyond my reach.

When I run
I am free for a moment
grateful for mobility
I am a breeze.

When I run
a familiar path
is always changing
depending on my mind, body and soul.

When I run
I never know
what to expect
so I run to find out.

Gregory Zeorlin 4/11/2015 @ 10:15pm

Real and Imaginary Friends

"Gone" detail view

“Gone” detail.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

There is a short article about my studio practice in EGuide Magazine. This is an East Texas regional entertainment magazine. Read the article to get another perspective on what I do as an artist.  Here’s the link: EGuide Magazine. (The article is on page 18).

Your comments and questions about my work are always welcomed.

Be well!

 

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).

Tranquility

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

Read more of my poetry at http://www.ZeorlinArt.com