Rob Simon

Rob Simon
4 Poems

 

Rockabye Treetops

Trees sleep, you know.
Well, actually, they hibernate —
Like bears.
They tuck their little bottles
Of Chlorophyll Essence
Into their sock drawers
(Or somewhere)
And shed their ensembles
Of Summer foliage
Letting them Fall
In Autumn —
But not before they dress the Earth
In splendid October
Fashions.

They drift into slumber for a season.

Then
At the first sign of Spring,
They do Tree Yoga —
Stretching their arms to the sun
To get their juices going
Just before they slip
Into
Their new, Spring Green outfits
And do Tree Aerobics
In the breezes of April and May.

But they sleep, you know,
And dream dreams
Of sunshine and rain,
Birdnests and tire swings,
Picnics and squirrels,
Fruitpickers and little climbers.

And sometimes
There are nightmares
Of lumberyards and lightning bolts,
Termites and dry spells,
Superhighways and airports.

What’s that???
Evergreens you say?

Oh….
Some trees sleep, you know…

 

 
Cue

I saw a chartreuse Rabbit,
Which reminded me of Penny,
Which then made me think of Jim
Who was her husband for a while.

And then I thought of marriage…
And then how their marriage ended
After much too short a time.
There was so little time to smile.

And then came thoughts of love and
How sometimes with our best efforts,
We still screw up royally
With the commitments that we make.

I heard a snatch of music
And remembered quite exactly
All the feelings I had felt
When I had heard that strain before.

It was when I was younger
And I sat on board a school bus
Feeling lonely while I pined
For a real love to call my own.

The school bus made me think of
A good book that I had read once.
It had featured a brave man
Who had become a hero when

A bus was wrecked and burning,
And some kids were sure to perish
If he had not intervened
And risked his life to save all theirs.

And then I thought of heroes
And how few there seem to be now
For the children of today
Who have such trouble finding them.

Then children made me think too
Of the faces of the many
Who appear on my T.V.
To help the charities raise cash.

It’s awful that we waste more
Of the world’s sustaining substance
Than those children ever see.
It’s quite enough to bother me.

It bothers me that people
Get so hung up in their bodies,
They forget they’re part divine
And let their “humanness” outshine

The great, unfathomed corners
Of the Spirit that’s within them.
So, then, they are often less
Than what they humanly profess!

“Profess” led to professor —
Not the word, but one who taught me.
And remembering that he
Did not do much for G P A’s.

My shifting mind then led from
G P A’s to “G M C’s” and
I recalled I had been told
A meaning far beyond the cars.

From someone at a conference
I was happily enlightened
That God Made Coincidence
Is quite a special GMC!

In spite of that, I noticed
That my brain had come full circle.
A bright, green Volkswagen was
The car that acted as the cue

For chain-reaction thinking
And a lightning fast thought journey
Through a myriad of things.
All my mind needed was the cue.

 

 

Moonlight Is The Sun’s Reward

Moonlight is the sun’s reward
For vigilance worlds away.
Though we see it not,
Sun sends
Its faintly mirrored image
To the night –
A pale, pearl orb of light
That glows
Sometimes with orange or purple hues
‘Midst clouds that shroud its face
With wispy veils.

The moon itself –
A willing wife
To that which gives it life –
Eases across the sky
In warm pursuit
Of the ever-fleeing sun,
Which sneaks up
From behind
(Much to the moon’s surprise)
And swallows it
In morning brilliance –
Only to begin
The merry chase again.

 

 

Tandem

Two cycle cops,
Sitting ramrod straight,
Cruising abreast,
(Heads turning together
The same
Like the two front wheels
Of a car)
Snap their turn signals
On
To veer right,
Change lanes,
And accelerate
From my view
To their duty.

A movie scene…
A pair of big and
Finely muscled men
Trade
Huffing, puffing,
Mighty strokes
Of
Heavy hammers
Dripping sweat
From
Naked chests and
Naked backs
While driving home
A railroad spike…
Clank, clank,
Clank, clank,
Clank.

Bobbing, weaving,
Feinting, faking,
Swinging…missing…
Boxers seeking
Some advantage,
Strike each other
Trading punches —
Each one flinching
In response to
Blows delivered
And the ones that
Aren’t.

Two kids swinging
Side by side
In opposite directions
Squeal each time they pass each other.

While playing a final encore,
A band moves into
The last passage —
Arms and fingers
Heads and feet
Stroking, wiggling, nodding and
Stomping
Chords, choruses, rhythms and beats —
Moving inexorably
To a crisp finale
When nothing else will move
Except hands
In the audience
Applauding.

Dancers are waltzing and
Onetwothree
Swinging and
Onetwothree
Swaying and smiling
And climbing
To dizzying heights of
Tuxedo tails flapping and
Rustling bustles and
Onetwothree
Dancing
The night
Away.

Synchronized swimmers
So graceful and lovely
Are floating and dancing
And smiling and gliding
And arching their backs and
Then drifting with purpose
To music that’s soothing
And splashing and dashing
Our hearts in the cool spray
And waves in the pool brought
Alive by the swimmers
Who dance.

Explosive sound
Heralds instantly
The arrival of
Five jets
That fly directly
Over a huge stadium
Then disappear in a few moments
Suddenly becoming fireflies
In the night sky…
Another tandem.

 

 

Rob Casual 2020

 

 

Rob Simon is a singer/songwriter and educator who has worked as a speaker/performer and trainer/consultant for school systems and other agencies from coast to coast – including 21 years as a former teacher and teaching specialist for USD 259. Currently, he directs music for contemporary worship at College Hill United Methodist Church, provides lead and background vocals and percussion for local band, Blue Eyed Soul, and works as a teaching artist with Arts Partners. He is also a professional storyteller with the Wichita Griots, for whom he has written, co-produced and directed fourteen (14) original stage productions, and he does part-time creative work as a Restorative Practices (RP) consultant for USD 259, and as RP Advocate at Wichita West High School, where he also finds ways to use the arts – including painting with words.
A website at www.positiverhythm.org provides a way to contact and keep up with Rob, his wife, Denise, and their son, Arri.