Watermelon
             by Roger W Hancock

Round, often oval, a knock produces thud,
Riper ones resound a hollow to the ear.
favorite of the picnic, potluck, summer brunch,
snack to smack most everyone’s palate.
Though this fruit I loved so much,
when young, I swore off that snack for lunch.

Mom would cut in half then half again,
into small wedges distribute to kids.
Every bite, delicious morsel, moistened flavor burst,
upon every taste receptor across the tounge .
Hands sticky, pant-legs; only towel to wipe,
residued face catches every dust particle.

Years had passed refusing fruit, favorite
rather forsake then soiled hands and face.
perhaps time had caused remembrance:
nectar of cereal left behind in the bowl…
wheat germ in milk sweetened by honey,
reminded me, took awhile… tasted like watermelon.

From the ice box, cool hot-day’s treat,
flavor so airy, so full of juice.
Orchestrate now how favorite fruit ‘served,
individually cut into cubes, explode in my mouth.
Occasionally a wedge, but always assured,
always with napkin and water nearby.

Copyright 08-13-07 Roger W Hancock, www.PoetPatriot.com

       Appointment with Ice
                                by Roger W Hancock

I hurry up and wait at the frozen pond,
I wait for the crowd to dwindle,
That I may test my lack of agility.
I hurry to slip off my balance to fall on my derriere,
Slipping on ice like
Rain-matted leaves on a concrete sidewalk.
I wait for a few able skaters to leave the ice,
While my anxiety builds so high,
I might, in heightened adrenaline rush,
Touch the clouds.
Hurrying, I now rush onto the mirrored pond,
Anticipation to end the wait,
The wait of the inevitable pain, expected reality,
I in flagrant lack of skill . . . fall on my derriere.

              (c)  10-04-06 Roger W Hancock, www.PoetPatriot.com

Which, What?
          by Roger W Hancock

Baker maker candlestick wicker,
Which tock did the clock tick?
Smock the doc wore to the dock,
Covered in slime, tied in twine.
Line taught with spiny fish,
the wish was not tail swishing.
Dashing tales of hooking whales.
Harpooning minnow schools?
What of which happened,
to baker maker candlestick wicker?

(c)  9-17-06 Roger W Hancock, www.PoetPatriot.com

Wonders Wander
             by Roger W Hancock
 
Wonder of wonders,
Is it why I wander?
Traveling here,
Wandering there,
Wondering where,
Tomorrow I’ll be.
Wonderful this world,
Travel through books,
Stacked library rows.
Wander through isles,
Isles of wonderment.
Anyone can wander,
Far from home.
No need to wander,
When I wonder.
Wander book storage,
World’s wonderment.
Mind, thing of wonder,
Wonder without wander,
In confines of,
Library wonder.

Copyright 12-23-03 Roger W Hancock www.FoolBay.com

I’m A Whirly Gig
                              by Roger W Hancock

Wind picks up and swirls around and 'round,
Have you heard the story to stand and fly?
Step into the wind that twirls and whirls,
Hands out stretched for the wind to lift.
Ouch, twisting beside me a thorn tree,
In the whirlwind I feel but failed to see.
My, oh my, scratching, grabbing,
Need escape, shelter from this storm.
Twirls and swirls with branch of thorns,
Awkward dance of dunce and branch.

Copyright 12-01-03 Roger W Hancock www.FoolBay.com

Where no man has before gone,

Vast openness of empty space.

‘Voyager’ is ‘Lost In Space’,
Battle Star Galactica’, too,
Robinson’s seek them both.
Robots, Droids, and Data,
Help man’s exploration,
Among star trekked light-years.
Evil ‘Storm Troopers’
Or half-human ‘Borg’,
‘Star War’ battles rage.
Wormholes, freeways,
Through time and space,
Man’s imagination,
The ‘Final Frontier.’

Ó Roger W Hancock September 27, 2003 www.FoolBay.com





 

Seattle’s Past Below
                                        by Roger W Hancock

Secrets hid beneath the streets,
 Seattle’s Pioneer Square.
Deep foundations history’s past,
Exist below the Square.
Bill Speidel teaches us,
Though he’s six feet down,
Seattle’s past, beginning saga,
In the eighteen hundreds.
Bad planning, greed, corruption;
Founding fathers guilt.
Northwest conforms,
 White men and seamstress row.
You won’t believe the stories told,
Upon the boardwalk deep.
Commercial tour, interests raise…
To preserve Pioneer Square.
Sidewalks concrete aged,
glass design, purpose designed;
Allowing light on sub terrain,
Underground shopping once.
Walk upon lost time’s,
Concrete covered boardwalks.
Below the tourist crowds,
Historical Pioneer Square.
Nostrils fill, dirt, musty, methane;
Scents of history’s past.
Time’s debris on trail’s side,
Illustrates tour guide’s tales.
History taught of Seattle’s truth,
nasty as it was,
Tide plain, Crapper Device,
City’s early lawsuits.
Private rights may erode
existence of this past…
Visit now!
Experience now!
You’ll not forget,
 below the Square,
Seattle’s ‘Underground Tours’.

Roger W Hancock Ó September 1, 2003 www.FoolBay.com

Profanity
    by Roger W Hancock

Cursing swearing,
Bearing our being.
Lack the discipline,
On a lower plane.
Self inside displayed,
Mouth splays words.
Picture inward self,
public venue speaks.
Look self-wardly,
Listen… worldly words.
Pleasure to your ears?

Roger W Hancock Ó August 18, 2003 www.FoolBay.com

Past Dance
    by Roger W Hancock

Singing along to the old time rock and roll,
Nostalgia fills the nostrils with times gone by.
Swaying, rocking, twisting, dances past,
Moves now stiffer than danced back then.
Playing along missing past practice,
Remembering jam sessions, mind’s reunion.
Reliving the good times, mind’s youth retreat,
Singin’, swayin’, music playin’. . . Rememberin’.

Roger W Hancock Ó August 10, 2003 www.FoolBay.com

Gypsy Magic
    by Roger W Hancock

Hippie attire not quite,
Cultured ages of nomadic tribe.
Sweet wayfaring girl, so young,
Bohemian tongue her secret;
Youth’s sly Gypsy intent.
Pocketknife, prized possession,
Cannot be found, in air disappears.
Not to accuse, a sad story I told;
Through family heirs has passed.
The knife appears from nowhere;
No malice intent, Gypsy honor,
Sympathetic magic of the Gypsy girl.

Roger W Hancock Ó August 2, 2003 www.FoolBay.com

Written for a contest, I did not win...

The Bus Ride
                   by Roger W Hancock

Slouched back, relaxing, perhaps just a few winks; beats the highway’s rage.
One driver, frustrated, cuts off another to catch an exit three lanes over.
My comfortable window view; auto drivers, stewing, cursing each the other.
Dreams of drivers wish elsewhere be; on this bus, I smile, closing eyes, relax.

Ó August 5, 2003 Roger W Hancock www.FoolBay.com

Word Wind
                   by Roger W Hancock

Which is what you must work,
And what which of when.

Where’s in the world on which to stand,
Here and now; which, where, when.

Way is the how which to work
or the path which way to why.

When’s the time to wait a while,
In God’s hand to help withstand.

Why the reason which to work,
Where, when but understand why.

How, to which place where,
When now, the why shows how.

Wind blows that way which,
How ever, where and when.

Roger W Hancock Ó July 6, 2003 www.FoolBay.com

W I T H
     by Roger W Hancock

With in sincerity meaning meant,
within sincerity I present,
 with insincerity truth invent.

With in tended discipline write,
within tended sources right,
with intended meanings sight.

With out boards no claim to stake,
without boards no boat to make,
with outboards to wake the lake.

How ever clear it may be,
however clear I must see,
now Everclear in court to plea.

With in sanity, profoundness came,
within sanity, I kept the same,
with insanity, all is lame.

Roger W Hancock Ó July 5, 2003 www.FoolBay.com

I Think I know?
            by Roger W Hancock

What I know... I may not,
I will try that which I cannot do.
To try and fail I then learn,
True limitations, then I'll know.
What I know I may only think,
Until I try, success or failure.
Failure teaches my true limits,
Then to reach beyond perceptions.
Success awaits for those who dare,
Failure for those who will not try.
What I think I may not know,
Try I must... might learn success.

Roger W Hancock copyright October 12, 2004 www.PoetPatriot.com

Echoed Past
            by Roger W Hancock

Once when oh so young,
Overnight visit across town.
Street graveled shoulders,
Phone lines on poles in air.
Other side of street a crew,
Buried cable newly spliced.
Old in air soon history,
Echoes from the past.
Young boy questions;
Scrap wire to leather lace.
Patronized by each;
Attention of a boy.
Long forgotten memory,
Future echo of the past.
Boy grown-up begins career,
Working same city streets.
One day finds himself,
Where those men had been.
Surroundings jog the memories,
Echoes from the past.
Images long lost return,
Men who trained my craft.
Ol’-timers’ image past return.
As silky feather’s touch.
Déjà vu reality,
Fabric of minds time.

Copyright 10-01-2004 Roger W Hancock www.PoetPatriot.com

   easy
      by roger w hancock 


i love easy 
easy is good 
easy accomplishes
easy motivates
easy moves
past laziness
easy does
when difficult denies
easy comes
from ingenious minds
laziness
mother of invention
hard, discourages
encourage improvisation
to creation
of a new invention
easy the dream
of the couch potato
easy comes
easy goes
no excuse
on easy street

Copyright May 2, 2004 Roger W Hancock  www.FoolBay.com

 God Forgotten
                   by Roger W Hancock

The land was never ours, never ours to possess,
Nor was it belonging of any other peoples.
To take, to use, to refuse the refuse,
Using the land to subsist, survive.
Survival needs so beginning basic,
More complex as our land consumed.
Desert parchment to fertile sod,
Consumed diversion of life-blood’s river.
Domination, commandment, entitlement,
Man’s dominion over animal nation.
Breed, care, then to butcher,
Man ever richer but oh so poorer.
Land created as seas displaced,
Propagation’s overflow.
Wants become man’s need,
As perspective of basics lost.
Possessions, obsession temptress,
Blindly our living souls perish.
Land’s words are many . . . listen,
Lonely as man’s loneliness increase.
Appreciation for exploitation,
Lost . . . man forgets land’s God.

Copyright March 10, 2004 Roger W Hancock
www.PoetPatriot.com 

Truth’s Fiction
                     by Roger W Hancock

All have wondered but never worded,
To wonder this dichotomy.
The irony of opposites,
When young, opposed my intellect.
“Non” was not when I first learned,
with out the “non” was truth.
Then to learn the novel’s lie,
Fiction without the “non,” what! why?
Learning ‘tween “non” or not “non,”
Which gives truth or just fond lies.
Years knowing opposite truth,
Still bewildered how could be.
Wondered of others wonder,
I asked my son about those words,
“That one should be the other?”
Paralleled my own when young.
Truth remains the same,
Even when the words say, not!

 Copyright January 5, 2004 Roger W Hancock www.PoetPatriot.com 

Artificial Display
    by Roger W Hancock

 Winter's night so crisp,

Darkest when no moon.

Even with reflector snow,

Still, so very dark.

Power out who knows why?

Darkens each corner standard.

Boy pulls out new generator;

Inside TV, decked lights outside.

Eves, elves, bushes and trees,

Island of light in sea of dark.

In the sky, what do I see?

A firefly, spaceship, Santa?

No. . . not at all…

Just an airplane backed by black.

   (c) Roger W Hancock 12-10-04, www.PoetPatriot.com

 Outside Perch
    by Roger W Hancock

 Hammock hangs between metal frame,
support depends not upon two trees,
in just the right spot, right distance apart.
I envy the trees placed just right,
for purpose of a hammock tied.
Even my camp membership away from home,
cottonwood, evergreens do not lend themselves,
the hanging of that restful recreation tool.
There too a metal frame for hammock stretch,
between which and far from couch I lay.
Home hammock I should have, but not, put away,
for winter, keep fresh for next spring’s snooze. 
Back yard east of ornamental garden it sits,
back dropped by cedar, treated wood fence,
built with artistic flavor by my own two hands.
Fence posts placed to highlight fan of ferns,
that splays beyond suspended hammock.
Spring’s flowering tree looms out beside,
ferns and fence to canopy my outside perch.
  Behind fenced art in next neighbor's yard,
towers a redwood out-of-place in Washington,
I thought, “Redwoods south in California grew?” 
Hammock alone awaits my presence,
to which I have of late neglected.
Back yard’s serene silence waits…
until great-nephews, -nieces come to visit.
Next spring will bring my step-grandson,
of two years age to swing upon the sling.
I can hardly wait first new years until first born,
Grandson, now six months, to attempt first mount,
of the swaying twisting hammock perch.

Copyright January 1, 2004 Roger W Hancock www.PoetPatriot.com 

TOOL  RULE

           by Roger W Hancock

Improvisation;

Sticks and stuck,

Should be loose,

Tool to use…

Is WD-40.

Improvisation;

Slips and slides,

Should not move,

Tool to use…

Is Duck Tape.

WD-40,

Those joints

That creak;

The rule you seek.

To keep you slick.

Duck Tape,

Straight joint,

Not slip apart,

The rule you seek.

You’re cool to stick.

Oil or tape

Tape or oil,

One or other,

Should do the job

Duct Tape or WD-40.

“The right tool

For the right job”

Improvisation,

Has just two,

WD-40 or Duct Tape.

Roger W Hancock Ó June 2, 2003 www.PoetPatriot.com

Back to Index

 Some call it Duct Tape and some Duck Tape,
but if it does not quack and it sticks, it is either one.

Back to Index

Journalist’s Creed

                     by Roger W Hancock

To be trustworthy, faithful,

to truth, justice, and the American way.

Accuracy, my motto.

I shall not be moved by pride of my opinion.

Objectivity is my aim in my reporting pride.

Opinions be kept on the opinion page.

Indignant of injustice of others and myself,

Facts be checked, checked again.

Original works not plagiarism.

I shall resist greed of power.

Fairness to each story’s sides, basis of objectivity.

I shall be tolerant of all never careless.

Source identity be protected unless against the law.

Privilege or mob mentality I will not succumb.

My strength resides in my integrity.

To maintain the public trust, my goal,

Strengthens my value to the public, my employer.

In my religion, fear God; respectfully honor all men.

Realizing religion is the heart of civilization.

Any lesser work betrays public trust.

Neither right, left, between nor off-the-wall agendas,

shall divert me from my duty of accurately reporting the news.

Roger W Hancock Ó May 13, 2003 www.PoetPatriot.com

Back to Index

Monkey’s Tree
                        by Roger W Hancock

 Three Monkeys sat in a coconut tree
You know the story about the three.
One monkey refused to see,
He missed the view of the sea,
Sits up high is he in the tree.
Another monkey wished not to hear,
Missed songbirds morning share,
Sits up high in the tree is he.
Third monkey refused to speak,
Did not tell, his becoming weak,
Now broken, he fell from the tree.
The moral of these monkeys three,
Use the sense of the coconut tree,
See, hear, speak; common sense three.

 Roger W Hancock Ó April 26, 2003 www.PoetPatriot.com



Back to Index

Home Sweet
                  by Roger W Hancock

Warmth and familiarity of home,

Calms the soul, sooths the nerves.

Seagulls soaring, gliding peacefully,

Lift by updraft of ocean wind.

Whale pod playing rolling;

Family familiar play.

Sandy beach stretching far,

beyond lone lighthouse sentry.

Gulls scavenger hunt together;

Feasting family familiarity.

Lone beach, breaking ocean surf.

Calm sea by flowing wind,

Familiarity of home fire’s warmth.

 Roger W Hancock Ó April 23, 2003 www.PoetPatriot.com

Back to Index

Stuttered Endurance
                 by Roger W Hancock

St,  st,  st stut  stuttering

‘got much to say

but cah, cah, can’t get it out

Ta, Ta, Talking not easy

Some take for granted.

Nuh, Nuh, Nuh, No patience

For me when I wish to respond.

So I, I stuh, stuh, stuh, stew

In quiet, frustrated reflection.

When on my buh, buh, best duh, days,

Sometimes I pause, silence,

Then proceed with rewrote words,

To avoid the muscle sp, spasm.

That Bl, bl, blasted stuh, stuttering,

Self-consciousness over whelms,

When expression locked inside.

Loo, loo, look beyond the self yu, yu…

you see, release the inner you.

Gee, Gee, Geeenius lies in everyone,

Reh, ready to express, when…

Self-conscious thoughts i