Category: poetry

the dying art of listening

Ian Hunter1 Comment

everybody seems hell bent on saying something

social media expects you to express yourself constantly

restaurant and bar patrons talk non stop

texts and emails must never go unanswered

there is something wrong here

because expressing oneself 

is basically repeating something you already know

you never learn anything new by talking or writing

the only way to learn is to listen or read

listening seems to be a dying art

we should teach our kids to listen

we should all try and listen more ourselves

listening is more than just hearing the sounds

listening styles must be adaptive to the circumstances

playing yourfavorite song on the radio evokes appreciative listening

listening to a political speech requires evaluative listening

when somebody is upset they need an empathetic listener

a biased listener only hears what he wants

lovers can talk for hours because they practice relationship listening

to form an opinion of what is being said requires critical listening

next time you get the urge to express yourself

try listening first

Poached eggs, Flu , Angels and Divorce

Ian HunterLeave a comment

when I was young we had set meals at home

fish on Fridays

Sunday lunch roasts

sausage and mash Mondays

Tuesday soups

I cannot remember the other bland meal days

there was only one way to break the monotony 

…………………..get sick

not life threatening sick, just a cold or flu would suffice

for anybody sick was allowed to pick their own comfort food

I chose poached eggs on toast

my mother prepared them exactly as I liked

white bread toasted medium and warm

butter spread to the edges

eggs gently poached with a runny yolk

lightly seasoned with salt and pepper

I would cut open the poached egg

watching the glorious yellow liquid yoke 

running all over the toast

like lava flowing from an erupting volcano

then I would slice the white into chunks

each bite was so memorable

firm crunchy toast softened by creamy melted butter

liquid yolk and melting butter making out like teenagers

while dancing together wildly to rock music 

chunks of egg white flopped motionless on top

like lily white virgin sunbathers on a packed beach

all the flavors popped with each bite

a veritable party in your mouth

it made me want to linger in my sickbed

just to get another comfort meal

after growing up and getting married

I still expected comfort food when sick

my wife did her best to oblige

but the toast was overdone and cold

the butter never made it to the edge

the seasoning was oh so wrong

and the egg yolk was harder than concrete

it just sat in the middle of the toast in a protest demonstration 

refusing to be spread to the edges 

I prayed for a police intervention to remove it

but the poached egg yolk quality control cops never showed

I said thank you to my wife while forcing it down with a fake smile 

I got better very quickly indeed

we eventually got divorced

the lawyers cited her lack of poached egg skills

the judge nodded with disdain

my mother is in heaven now serving perfect poached eggs on toast every day

thats why we hardly ever see angels down here

Best Day Unplanned by our guest author JH Huzzah

Ian Hunter1 Comment

In the morning light, I awake with glee, 

A day off ahead, just John and me! 

With slippers on, to the kitchen I tread, 

My dog Stella in tow, eager to be fed.

Coffee cups filled, excitement in the air, 

Dreaming of adventures, beyond compare. 

“What shall we do?” I ask with cheer, 

As John sips his coffee, his answer unclear.

Distracted by Facebook, the time slips away, 

With grandkids’ photos and videos of cats at play. 

The dogs bark for a walk as the day unfolds,
Laundry beckons, a story it holds.

Strolling the block, some plans arise, 
A beach lunch, could be a pleasant surprise. 
But lint in the dryer vent, obviously a fire’s threat, 
Two more hours pass, but at least the laundry’s set.

Now the house needs a vacuum’s touch, 
Dust clouds rise, it’s a bit too much. 
Lunchtime arrives, hunger takes hold, 
A tune-up for the car, plans unfold.

Dishes are washed, the day wears on, 
“What’s next?” I ask as the rain comes along. 
Indoor activities sought, the clock ticking fast, 
A movie perhaps? A plan surpassed.

In the attic, John’s on an organizing spree, 
No ‘Mission Impossible,’ it’s just not to be. 
Time slips away, dinner on our minds, 
A cocktail, Netflix, the evening binds.

Binge-watching takes its hold, 
Five episodes in, a story unfolds. 
Clock striking ten, bedtime calls, 
Plans unmet, yet joy enthralls.

“I had one of the best days,” John declares, 
As we drift to sleep, forgetting life’s cares. 
The plans we made may have slipped through the day, 
But the moments we shared will forever stay.

Just another day in the Grove

Ian Hunter1 Comment

Most mornings I write at my desk

Converting my thoughts into a poem or short story

I tried writing today and strangely had no inspiring thoughts

My desk was just not doing it for me

So I have moved outside onto the balcony

Its a very pleasant 73F here in Coconut Grove

Although most Miamians would consider it chilly

They will be wearing long pants and hoodies for sure

I am giving my brain a rest today

My eyes will direct my fingers to describe what I see

I woke to a spectacular sunrise on this winter day

The bright orange sun peeping over the buildings on Key Biscayne

The sky is now gray and the clouds are the same color as the water in the bay

Joggers are running in the park next to the sailing club

Not the super fast runners who go out super early before work

We are now at the shift change where retirees pound the pavement

Mothers with babies and small children meander slowly through the park

No doubt escaping the confines of four walls for as long as possible

Dog owners are out dragging their reluctant aging pets through the park

The energetic young dogs are pulling their reluctant senior owners over the grass

Inactive elderly dogs are pushed around in little carts

Smart phone owners seem to be taking their pet phones for a walk

A flock of noisy parakeets just flew by looking for a tree to invade

Traffic is light along S bayshore drive today

Solo cyclists speed by towards Key Biscayne on the start of a 20 mile loop

Fearless electric scooter riders stand proud as they speed along

With no helmet and just a T shirt between them and a painful road rash tumble

The garbage trucks are doing their morning rounds

Picking up yesterdays discarded remnants of condo dwellers culinary efforts

Its just another day in the Grove

Time for me to head out for my walk now

I wonder if somebody will look from a high rise condo and write about me in the park

Speed poetry test

Ian HunterLeave a comment

Fast and furious franticly flowing words

My inner voice demands to be heard

Words escape my fingers by jumping onto the keys

This poem grows on a computer screen with incredible ease

By now you should be totally hooked and smitten

As long as you read this at the same speed it was written

So sad for those who read this poem too slow

The true feeling of speed poetry they will never know

Those who failed will only pass the speed poetry critical test

When they can read aloud all ten lines in a single breath