Poetry One of the more memorable classes I took at CCC was an introduction to literature. To my horror, we were assigned the task of creating a poetry notebook, which would consist of ten poems each student had written over the course of the eighteen weeks of this class. I have never been a big fan of poetry, and didn't think I could write any. However, I not only managed to complete the assignment, I found that I enjoyed the process. I wrote three poems I considered worthy of being published. Without further ado, here they are...

The Water and I

Cool rain paints my cheek,

A leaf falls on my shoulder--

My body ripples.

--Randy Cahoon

The Dandelion


I walk across a rolling meadow and

Stop to pick a dandelion;

I think of you--Not a full

And golden flower, with

Serrated green leaves surrounding you

And tickly feathers inside your fragrant center


But a white and graceful puffball

You are perfectly symmetrical;

I think of you--how like you

The star shaped snowflakes

Stand on thin posts, poised for flight,

Yet clutching the stem with all their might.

I study this white wonder

Picked from the meadow;

I think of you--I bring the ball

To my nose and softly inhale

The faint scent of the flower

Still clings to the center.

I hold it out at arm's length

And drink in the view, again;

I think of you--and how

Like the sunny yellow blossom

You were here among us

Waving and moving with the crowd

Deeply involved in the business

Of day to day, but now you are gone.

I think of you--how you are now

More like this white, perfect

Round shadow of a flower

Petals replaced with stars.

I bring it toward my

Pursed lips and one more time;

I think of you--a tear burns my cheek as

Softly, I blow and

Seeds scatter on the breeze I create

You are everywhere.

--Randy Cahoon

Iris and her Day in the Sun


A lovely purple face perched

On a sturdy green stem, graceful leaves

Form the shawl she clutches

As a cool breeze blows over my backyard.

She glances out among her sisters,

Not all of them in full bloom

Shy Geishas, their petals tightly drawn,

Waiting for a silent signal

The Earth speaks, and they are moved

To take center stage.

Today belongs to Iris,

Her lacy tresses flowing

The Sun and the Wind conspire

To tickle her golden fluff

And entice a passing

Bumble bee or fluttering swallowtail

To sample her nectar--

Drink tea she has made for

The guests of the season,

For no neglectful hostess is she.

The birds sing to her

And she dances in time,

The squirrels race past

Ignoring her invitation

To celebrate the passing of

Cold breezes and icy dustings

From clouds moving southward,

Banished by the warmth

And the noise of the sleeping

Flowers, now coming alive.

All denizens of this man made

Contrivance I call a garden

Are answering the call

Of Mother Nature, Mother Earth

And Father Time.

Iris relishes her moment

Letting go of the shawl and waving her arms

Upward, in a show of appreciation

To the Sun for his part in the celebration

That is her day in His warmth.

--Randy Cahoon

Our Indoor Tigress

Cordelia strokes and rakes her face with vigor

Her long whiskers twitching in rhythmic jigger

With unseen prey, or a jungle drum trigger.

Bolting crazily across the kitchen floor

Hair standing on end, she runs toward the door

Hisses, then retreats--not sure what that was for.

--Randy Cahoon
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