Zumwalt Poems Online

Posts tagged ‘thoughts’

Thoughtful Thursday: Shifting Viewpoints

The interesting thing about our physical universe is that immediate assessment of anything rarely provides a full understanding or even an accurate evaluation.

In order to get a better understanding of anything, we gather more data. When examining a notable or historic building, we move from one vantage point to another — the more angles we view the building, the better conception we have of its form. When we go inside the building, we have access to even more angles and views of that building.

Travel is basically moving from one geographical coordinate to another, and in each new position we have a new viewpoint. Over time, we accumulate a wealth of such experiences, and these experiences deepen our understanding of the world and the people around us.

I think of travel as just a special case of shifting viewpoint and engaging in new experiences. It’s a very direct and reliable way to ensure experiencing, learning, and expanding one’s knowledge. As I have posted before (https://zumpoems.com/2017/07/13/thoughtful-thursday-personal-growth/ and https://zumpoems.com/2017/07/20/thoughtful-thursday-interpretation-and-steps-prior-to-action/), we examine data (first half of the diagram below), gain knowledge, and understand –that happens whether we travel, read a novel, learn a new skill, or carry on a conversation with someone.

Yesterday, I was thinking about a place I worked at in all of 1982 and through the first half of 1983. I had a great time there. I was just starting up my career as an independent consultant, and this was the first major contract I had – – six months of guaranteed work, which ultimately resulted in a total of three six-month contracts.

I had been hoping for some time to get in touch with any of these people I had worked with at this particular company, some of whom had even gone to another company in another industry (banking) that I later worked at. Facebook seemed to be the perfect platform to connect to one or more of these people, but the ones I knew best all had fairly common first and last names. And the one person who had the unique name, a manager over all the developers at that 1982-83 company, had no footprint on either Facebook or LinkedIn.

Well, fortunately, I remembered the city of his residence in Southern California — California being the other side of the country where I live now — and I googled him and found his phone number. He was 80 years old and still living in the exact house he had lived in since the late 1970s.

I called, and after three rings, he answered. Once a large, robust man with a powerful voice, that voice was now, in contrast, frail, and I had to turn up the volume on my phone to clearly hear him. I told him how highly I thought of him, and that he was one of the best managers I ever worked with. He was suspicious of the compliment, and I told him, really, I meant what I said. Though I was a mainstay in the success of that company’s conversion from mainframes to minicomputers, and had interacted with him quite often as an instructor, software architect, developer, and later in the role of supervisor over other consultants — all during a high-pressure, high-stakes period in which all software had to be rewritten and extended for the new architecture, including adding user interfaces to allow the additional functionality to support greater user interaction and management of data — he was not able to place my distinctive voice or my name. He was truly clueless who I was.

He filled me in on what he had been doing, the companies and positions he had been working at, and a little bit about his personal life, his children, and the loss of his wife about a year ago. I offered my condolences.

I then talked about the people we had worked with, in order to help him identify me. There were some he didn’t seem to remember. I could remember last names where he couldn’t, and there was one individual, a very likeable, outwardly calm, personable chap, and a methodical mainframe programmer who learned the new programming languages and new system slightly better than most of the development staff, who, during the most-pressure filled weeks of the end of 1982, had a nervous breakdown, and was never the same. My manager friend could not remember this person at all. I offered up another individual, someone with the same first name as mine, who our manager worked fairly closely with and regularly went out to lunch with, and I mentioned that the pressure was such at the time that this individual had broken out in hives. He did remember both the person and that incident.

This gave me hope that I could still jog his memory, if for no other reason than to assure him that my compliment of him as a person and manager was authentic. I started listing off other people and their roles and some idiosyncrasies of those people, and then even of myself. Some of the names he recognized, but he couldn’t place the face. A few names he couldn’t recognize. He still couldn’t place my name, which was still totally unfamiliar to him.

Then, the obvious occurred to me — I downloaded a photo of myself from 2018 on Facebook and sent it to him, while scouting around for some less recent image of me. Fortunately, he recognized that first photo and we chatted some more — I was no longer a complete stranger to him.

So through the technology of today, I was able to instantly travel across the country and engage with someone, even traveling back into the past, awkwardly perhaps, but ultimately effective to different degrees for both of us. I was so glad I reached out to him. My original purpose was to maybe get some other contacts of those I had been closer to at that company, but it was clear from our conversation that he was no longer in contact with any of them.

Clearly, it’s impractical to keep in contact with all our former associates and friends. Facebook and LinkedIn have facilitated some of this, and what a treat it was when I first started using Facebook and chatted with friends I had not communicated with in over fifty years! But Facebook is a rather flawed platform and quite inadequate as a means of acquiring, improving, or even maintaining relationships.

Life is a matter of constantly changing one’s viewpoint and being enriched by relationships with others. I accept that some people are lost to me forever, some alive, some passed away. The key is to be open to assuming new viewpoints, not to give into stasis or a comfortable routine. In Zumwalt’s “what soul is not besieged” the embattled persona of the poem decries, “there is reason to suspect that one can grow
if only the rainy season didn’t last the entire year,” and sometimes we are so overwhelmed that we are forced into a static shell of defensive fortification, but for those times when we are not, we have the option of moving about, shifting our viewpoint, and learning, knowing, understanding, and furthering our growth.

around and Handcrafted

I am pleased to announce that two of Zumwalt poems, “around” and “Handcrafted” have been published in Bronze Bird Review, Issue III. The book includes twenty-six poets and thirty-seven poems. The theme of one of Zumwalt’s poems is mentioned on the back cover.

It’s available now on Amazon:

and on the publisher’s site at https://bronzebirdbooks.com/books

After some time passes, if I get permission from Zumwalt, I plan to include these two poems on this website.

Tortured

This is a difficult topic and a less-than-pleasant poem, but I am still pleased to announce that Zumwalt’s recent poem, “Tortured,” was published today at New Verse News: https://newversenews.blogspot.com/2026/10/tortured.html

Please visit.

Thoughtful Thursday

Boy, do I enjoy the act of writing! Is it about capturing thoughts in a more impermeable form than memory? Or is it about the psychological and mental benefits provided by diving deeper into one’s feelings and perspectives and articulating, whether well or poorly, those feelings and perspectives?

And I love reading. For one is exposed to another’s thoughts, feelings, and perspectives, whether it is reading an email or letter from a friend or engaging with the writing of a familiar author or a complete stranger.

I love diving into others’ WordPress blogs. All I have to do is click on the WordPress reader, and I have a selection of blogs I subscribe to or can explore blogs I have never seen before.

As a reader of poetry, I particularly enjoy exploring posts that have been tagged with “Free Verse,” “Poetry,” or “Poem.” Some are well crafted, some are wild and sprawling, but most are interesting, and many have a level of vitality that is often missing in much of the poetry in curated journals.

I could easily list a dozen WordPress poetry blogs that I enjoy visiting. Let’s just take a peek at my favorite tag: https://wordpress.com/tag/free-verse. And what do I see at the top, posted 15 minutes ago — one of my favorite blogs, Ink & rain! As I open today’s post, I first see one of those many wonderful images that appear reliably at the top of each of author Meiling Cheung‘s posts, followed by text in Chinese and English. Now I have no clue how to read Chinese, so I focus on the English column. Today’s poem is exceptional: it uses a sustained metaphor with each phase serving a specific purpose to support the author’s message. The line breaks are well handled, and the tone it sets, gentle and meditative, perfectly echoes its message. There is an overall emotional immediacy and authenticity, which further enhances the evocative and reflective nature of the work.

Besides reading WordPress poems, I visit various online poetry journals (a partial list of which is here), and so right now, let me check my email to see the latest updates.

Okay, here I have an email from Stick Figure Poetry. I click on the URL to Issue 22, and I immediately find an engaging, inventive poem: Analysis by Tim Love. And it starts off strong:

“Only opaque backings stop mirrors being windows,
and windows can be mirrors if on one side it’s bright 
as an interrogation room while the other’s in darkness.
So think of glass as your poems, and light as reason.”

Such a simple observation, but here is the vehicle for the journey this poem takes us on. No need to be bored with my commentary — just check out the poem here: https://stickfigurepoetry.com/issue-22/#analysis-love

Next, I stop at Shō Poetry Journal and discover a talented poet who has landed poems in prestigious journals like The Kenyon Review and is a winner of several prestigious prizes. Both the text of her poem and the audio are here: https://shopoetryjournal.com/xinyue-huang-occasion-1/

Here is the beginning:

“there is a hole in my chest
through which we drive our car

to the other side of the world
to see the mountains”

With the first glance of this poem, I notice a more or less generic title, no punctuation, no capitalization, regular use of stanzas, reference to a line in Chinese, “万山载雪,明月薄之,月不能光,雪皆呆白,” which I use Google Translate to give me an approximation in English, “Snow blankets the myriad peaks, and the bright moon casts its light upon them; yet the moon cannot make them shine, and the snow remains a dull, lifeless white, ” and, with the exception of the Chinese insert, the use of an accessible, straightforward vocabulary. The work effectively mixes abstractions and images, the modern and the timeless, into a beautifully evocative poem!

Then, I jump into a Wallace Stevens poem, a set of which, from his 1923 Harmonium, is conveniently provided here by The Wallace Stevens Society: https://wallacestevens.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/01/HARMONIUM-1923-WALLACE-STEVENS.pdf

I am not particularly fond of that overly common activity of ranking authors, composers, painters, etc. — each has their distinct voice (or voices) and strengths. Still, it is easy enough to make the case that America should consider itself proud to have been the birthplace and home of such a great poet as Wallace Stevens!

So I have a lot to keep me happy and engaged with a breadth of diversity and styles never available before the launch and development of the internet. Please join me in exploring blogs, poetry journals, and the works of revered poets at your own pace, taking your own individual, self-customized journeys.

SHOW OF FORCE

SHOW OF FORCE

Black Rain

Night is Morning.
Morning is Night.

Oil showering down.
Smoke invading lungs.

Back Home

Truths are lies.
Lies are truths.

Kurds should attack.
Kurds should step aside.

We must pick the leader
to lead Iran into the future.
Who the hell is he?
I couldn’t care less.

We had to attack before Israel attacked:
this forced Israel’s hand.
We have to dismantle Iran’s nuclear capabilities
that we have already totally obliterated.

A sitcom streams
at uncertain times:
plot twists reveal
a psychopathic killer.

The war is short:
ending in a few days;
this war can last forever:
we have the will and the resources.

We are liberating the people
until there is no one left.

— zumwalt (03/2026)

No More Cornborers

No More Cornborers

My steel-wool scrubbed & Comet-clean spuds
grate with injurious gusto
Protect the enamel at all costs!
And a sheen is added to our distended
esophagus.
Wintry blasts of fluoride and chlorophyll
attack the waste
But only further pollute the abused
frame.
Death enters the corridors, stalking stealthily
in the Ajax-whiteness.
All is blinding! There is no more gray!
Josephine is become a slaughter-baron.
Ammonia chokes us all


—Zumwalt
[1981?]

Von Bock Was A Pansy

Von Bock Was A Pansy

Those iron plates that churned the mud and gravel
Impress me not.
The rifled bore was, and is a crashing bore,
I shut my eyes to the breechblock and
Do not care for thermite.
I recoil from venturi.
I have only cutting remarks for the bayonet;
C.B.W. stinks.
Give me Gandhi & Walden, with a little pickle
On the side, and I am content.
Blood-red waiters make me yawn.

—Zumwalt
[Early 1980s?]

Slice-of-life, Microwaved

Slice-o-life, Microwaved

Askew in a vinyl cosmos
life’s beading up on
a cold tumbler
And Juan Valdez
has repossessed my mind
for the glory of Brazil
or Colombia
Some squalid country at any rate
Leaving my 33
grooves
scarred by needles at 78
several rich hits
off of
Mrs. Olsen
And Muzak sounds
like steam jets
and
dark mutterings over eggs
become berserk natterings
of rabid chipmunks
Gee Zus !
Only 12:00?
Existence is
deformed
in a
time-warp
—Zumwalt
[Night of 30 Sep-1 Oct 1981, Washington, DC]

The human touch

Based on this recent news event: https://www.npr.org/2025/12/25/g-s1-103683/powerball-player-arkansas-won-jackpot

The human touch

On Christmas Eve, many just like me
stopped at the station where I get my gas
and bought slips of paper
as thin as my patience
waiting its reward.

A mile or so away in Cabot
I closed my own store,
shut down the register,
reminded by the radio of
the size of the jackpot
while I drove home
in my rusty 2003 Tacoma.

Maddie set out some sandwiches—
our light Christmas Eve meal;
two months of watching costs
earned tomorrow’s fortune of presents
paired with roasted prime rib.

That morning came, and our two children
visited us in bed to tug at us—
too small to pull us out
and not old enough to realize they hadn’t.

A delight of flung wrapping paper and
unchecked squeals energized our living room
as, with some guilt, I looked at my phone
to glimpse the weekly Powerball snub.

No ordinary loss:
promised paradise, this time,
came from the station where I staked my three bucks.

But this small defeat brought reassurance:
in a world of algorithms,
predictive apps, and AI advisers
that steal away jobs and raise energy prices
there was still one thing technology couldn’t do:
choose the right numbers.

JOUSTING WINDMILLS

Just published in New Verse News — Zumwalt’s new news poem, Jousting Windmills.

Click on the following URL to read poem: https://newversenews.blogspot.com/2025/12/jousting-windmills.html

I will post the text here later on, but for now, let’s drive some traffic to New Verse News!