Poems and trying to develop a writing schedule

So much to write, and so little time.

There are times, many of them, when I wish I lived on Pluto. Each Plutonian day is six earth days. Just think of all the things one could accomplish! If you could condition yourself to somehow subsist on eight hours of sleep, you’d have 136 hours left in the day.

Alas, you’d never know since you’d instantly freeze to death. We’ll find out for sure when New Horizons has its rendezvous with Pluto in July 2015, but I’m guessing it’s around -384 degrees there. Cold, cold, cold.

So, we are left to ponder how to make the most of our time on earth.

Yes, a person could try to get by on five hours of sleep a day and have 19 hours to do the rest of their stuff. My problem is that after three days of five hours of sleep daily, I’m ready to crash for about 12 hours.

So, the best thing to do is to make a daily schedule and, if necessary, deny yourself the fun of Facebook, Twitter, Justin Bieber videos or reading about the latest Lady Gaga controversy until you get your writing done. Ideally, each day I’d love to write 2,000 words on my novel(s), a few thousand on short stories, update my blogs, write poems and journal.

Busy work? Yes, but it isn’t as difficult when you consider how much time wasted in an average day.

As far as poems, I have more written and may post by Monday.

Post comments here or e-mail them to richardzowie@gmail.com.

Poems about icicles, German and pens

Note: Any poem with just a date listed is “untitled”.

2-11-2011 — Ode to the Icicle Liberator

Why do I love

To break off icicles?

When I see them

Dangling from buildings

Clear to milky white



Sometimes sharp,

Sometimes blunt

They beckon me

To rescue them

To break them off

To free them

To become water again.

I break them off,

Slippery and cold,

The snap a brittle twig.

I wonder if people watch,


Rolling their eyes,

Shaking their heads,

Wondering why

That big-nosed guy

Acts so weird.

They assume I have a choice

And they assume wrong.

To walk past a distressed icicle

To ignore its pleas

Is to tolerate

An unreachable, insatiable itch.

As the great philosophers Hall and Oates said:

“I can’t go for that. No can do.”

A simple pleasure

Is how I see it.

 2-13-2011 — Sprechen Sie Deutsch?

“Sprechen Sie Deutsch?”

“Nein,” I’d say.

Hesitating, my choppy, slow reply:

“Ich keine spreche Deutsch.”

If not the grammar,

My American accent

Butchers the language

Of mein Urgroßvater.

I say my r’s in the soft way Americans do,

Ruff! Rrrrrr!

Instead of saying them like w’s.

The umlats ä , ö , ü

Are, well, foreign.

Why do some Germans

Say “kh” for “ch”

Others “sh” for “ch”?

Funny how a language

So closely related to English

Can sound so different.

2-13-2011 — Pens

I know many look at me



Rolling their eyes



Wondering why

Richard is

So obsessed

With pens.

I like being creative.

Creativity demands



Specific pens

With a specific color.

Black ink might work

For most people

But I am not most people.

I’m different.

Papermates and Zebras for me.

Black, blue, red, purple

(Not wild about green)

Make me squeal.

My fingers dance

Great writing gets done.

Richard Zowie writes poems first using pen and paper and then transfers them onto a computer for posting on his blogs. Post comments here or e-mail richardzowie@gmail.com.

Poems: After the Blizzard, Ode to the Papermate Design

Here are two poems I recently wrote. Normally I prefer prose but have been in the mood recently to write poems. Enjoy… 

2-3-2011 — After the Blizzard

 The snow is piled

High, bright and white.

The bright sunshine

Becomes far brighter.

The bright blue sky

Has only

Distant tufts of clouds.

A calm, quiet aftermath

Of an ugly blizzard–

–no school for three days.

The harmless skies are a

Gatling Gun

Fired red hot countless times at

Bull Run, Gettysburg, Chancellorsville.


Now silent, mute for decades,

Cold as an Arctic crypt.

The young generation looks, innocent, amused

Not knowing it was ever used.

2-6-2011 — Ode to the Papermate Design

For my birthday

Para mi cumpleaños

Для моего Днем Рождения

Zu meinem Geburtstag

I splurged

What the heck

Modest Christmas

$4.99 for two

Papermate Designs

Medium Point.

Fine point? Ugh!

One-point-six millimeter? Again, ugh!

This medium,

Not too bad.

It’s a little pricy but


Almost enough

To cease my memories

Of the

Discontinued Silkwriter BP’s

That Papermate in its finite wisdom

Decided to quit making.

I originally wrote this poem

In a blue notebook with a plastic cover

Using a Papermate Design.

I like it a lot.

Even the one with Pink designs.

Richard Zowie may continue writing poems. Feel free to critique–even if you’re the Simon Cowell type and think reading the above poems are comparable to dragging a fork across a plate. Post comments here or e-mail them to richardzowie@gmail.com.