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All - Writing [RSS]

Throughout my education I always got good grades on essays and other writing, but I always hated doing it. In the years since I graduated from college, I've been working on reclaiming that for myself. I took a weekly writing class during 1999 and 2000, and wrote a lot of poetry during that time, as well as a few short stories and chapters toward a novel which may someday see the light of day.

A Three Ring Circus

Posted May 22, 2005 11:06 | Category: Poetry | #

The washing machine
Spinning smugly
With a very professinal air
Like a clown yawning, nonchalant
As plates spin balanced on sticks on his nose.
They never fall.

The dryer tumbles
Its load, endlessly rotating:
A circus animal who knows his tricks
So well he could do it in his sleep.
With a sigh, another tumble.

Clamoring for attention
The dishwasher sloshes and grunts and whines
The eager monkey
That all the other animals despise
For his cheerfulness.

I glance over at the clock, and sigh.

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My Online History

Posted July 21, 2003 20:54 | Category: Autobiographical | #

When I was in high school, in the late 1980's, a friend introduced me to the world of computer bulletin board systems (BBS's). These were computer discussion and file-transfer systems which you would connect to using a modem over a telephone line (typically 1200 or 2400 bps in those days). For the most part, these were single-user and non-multitasking, so only one person could be online at a time, but a few were multi-user. I mainly participated in the discussion areas, and did not upload or download files very often. These BBS's were not networked together the way the Internet is today, so their users were usually limited to people for whom the BBS was a local phone call away. I was living in the area of Santa Cruz, California at the time, so I used Santa Cruz BBS's exclusively.

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Sailing

Posted July 30, 2001 06:15 | Category: Autobiographical | #

I've sailed all my life. My parents owned a sailboat since before I was born. When I was a kid we would take cruises to Monterey or Moss Landing (really the only one-day destinations from Santa Cruz) for a weekend, and occasional day-sails. I've always dreamed of sailing off into the sunset, but I don't think I have the guts to do it...

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My Commodore History

Posted July 30, 2001 06:15 | Category: Autobiographical | #

When I was in 4th grade (1980-81; age 9), our elementary school got its very first computer - a Commodore PET with 32K of RAM, named Rudy (for the salesperson who sold it to our school). It was a PET 2001 computer, but it had a "real" keyboard, rather than the so-called "chicklet" keyboard. It ran BASIC 2.0 and used an external cassette drive to load software. But I wasn't in that class.

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Unmarked Bills, take Five

Posted October 7, 2000 15:49 | Category: Poetry | #

I got a letter from the bank today.
It was a ransom note.
They have kidnapped my livelihood.

They could have snipped out words
From newspapers and magazines
Pasting them on pages
With their corporate letterhead.

Or, demanded unmarked bills
In a brown leather briefcase
Left in a phone booth
On Main Street.

But the bank doesn't have to do that.
Their computer just spits out
One threatening note after another,
Demanding tribute

On behalf of my most dreaded,
Mortal enemy --
Myself.

© 2000 William R. Ward
All Rights Reserved
October 7, 2000, 3:45 PM

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Grandpa's Basement, take Two

Posted October 7, 2000 15:18 | Category: Poetry | #

In my grandpa's basement,
An unfinished canoe
Hangs from the rafters.
A skeleton, lacking flesh or skin;
Dust clings to every horizontal surface.
Its tired old wooden ribs
Call to mind a quiet mountain lake
Where the fish are really biting today.

Upstairs, he is tired.
He sits in his easy chair,
Flipping channels
on the TV.

© 2000 William R. Ward
All Rights Reserved.
Monday, June 5 2000, 7:15 PM
Revised Sat, October 7, 2000, 3:20 PM

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At Sea, take Two

Posted October 7, 2000 14:47 | Category: Poetry | #

Whiteness surrounds me in every direction.
Craning my neck, I stand,
Hand on the railing,
Feet spread apart on the deck.
Rising up and sliding down
Atop the heaving grey-blue

I peer into the silent dampness, seeing nothing.
Firmly held by the fog's wispy talons,
I wait.

A gull alights on the gunwale near me
Two beady eyes amid fog-colored feathers
Stare back at me dumbly
Composing itself, it joins my vigil
Its surprisingly yellow beak
Pointing toward nowhere

I feel heat from above.
Looking up, I see the sky opening
Rent asunder by the hot glare,
The clouds part.
The sun soars high above.
Exposed by his searchlight,
The bird, the boat, and I
Are revealed to his countenance.

The wall of grey flies away;
My little universe is shattered.
I can see the land now:
Business as usual on the docks and roads,
Life goes on in the wood-frame houses.

The fog is gone,
The bird lifts off,
It is time to head back to the harbor.

© 2000 William R. Ward
All rights reserved.
Thu, 28 Sep 2000 2:15 PM
Revised Sat, 7 Oct 2000 2:45 PM

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At Sea

Posted September 28, 2000 14:15 | Category: Poetry Drafts | #

I stand, craning my neck
Hand on the railing
My feet spread apart
On the deck of the ship
Moving up and down
Slowly
Among the heaving grey-blue

Surrounded by silent dampness
I peer into the depths of grey
Hoping to see something, anything

A gull alights on the railing near me
White and grey, with yellow beak
It stares at me dumbly
Then composes itself to join my vigil

Above, the sky suddenly opens up
Brilliantly the sun shines his spotlight
The bird, the boat, and me
Are revealed to his countenance

The bird flies away
The fog lifts
The harbor beckons.

Copyright (C) 2000 William R. Ward
All rights reserved.
Thu, 28 Sep 2000 2:15 PM

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Perfect

Posted September 27, 2000 21:46 | Category: Poetry | #

I brush my teeth twice a day
(thrice on weekends)
And I never forget to floss
I'm always at the gym
Building up my perfect pecs
And biceps
And triceps
Or whatever they are called
Whenever I speak in public
I never say "um".

Wed, 27 Sep 2000 21:46:54 -0700

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Fickle

Posted September 27, 2000 21:46 | Category: Poetry | #

poetry is a fickle beast
at times it hits you like a flash of hot white light
against a darkened sky
other times an impenetrable opaque mist
obscures the muse.

Wed, 27 Sep 2000 21:46:51 -0700 (PDT)

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Last updated: 09/19/2007 William R. Ward, bill@wards.net