Contributor: John Kropf

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In the morning
even the sun seems lethargic
a runny red yoke, reluctant to rise above the horizon
its tired rays bathe the street in sepia and melancholy
your lush green lawn of May
is now a patchwork of dead spots and desiccated wisps
like the whiskers on an ancient holy man
A scattering of scorched brown leaves
-- the ones that weren’t strong enough to make it until October --
lie in the backyard like a school of beached Starfish
In town, the streets are empty
public places without any public
as if its part of some government experiment
vaporizing all signs of life
except the white noise of the cicadas
or maybe everyone has gone to the beach to swim and sleep
trying to forget the end of summer.


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I'm an attorney and writer living in Arlington, Virginia. I have two books to my name: Unknown Sands: Journeys Around the World's Most Isolated Country, a first hand account of traveling the central Asian country of Turkmenistan and a legal reference book that has nothing to do with poetry. I keep a blog on books and poems on an unscheduled basis, http://compulsivelyaimless.blogspot.com/

Contributor: John Kropf

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Time won’t come out to play
It won’t bargain
for a return trip
or make an exchange of
…a year, a week, a day
For any reason
No matter how devout

Wrongly condemned prisoners
Released after decades
Must hate time
For not opening up
And giving back
what everyone agrees
should not have been taken

Or a persistent old scientist rediscovering
a long lost critical element
He once encountered as a young lab assistant
The one that could have made all the difference to his life experiment

Killjoy time
Has firm rules against a do-over.
And I suppose it likes having sayings written about itself…
If I knew now what I knew then…
Making up for lost time…

Since time won’t play along
I compensate (in my own case)
Transmitting and receiving
in concentrated but dangerous doses
Pressed into as short a span
As the moments allow.

Take that time.


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I'm attorney and writer living in Arlington, Virginia. I have two books to my name: Unknown Sands: Journeys Around the World's Most Isolated Country, a first hand account of traveling the central Asian country of Turkmenistan and a legal reference book that has nothing to do with poetry. I keep a blog on books and poems on an unscheduled basis, http://compulsivelyaimless.blogspot.com/

Contributor: John Kropf

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There was a final time when you said, “I’m going out to play.” But you never realized it was final...

1. Parachute Man

My Grandfather fell to earth in a WWI parachute
fifty years later
he taught me how to make a parachute man
with a handkerchief, string and a lead sinker
You folded the handkerchief in squares
and tossed your parachute man into the air
Nowadays most men don't carry handkerchiefs.

2. Talking to Kites

My father showed me how to send messages
up to kites
He used old memo pads with his company logo on them
and we'd write notes
How are things up there?
tear and tape the sheets around the kite string
He'd give it a slide up the line
and off it would go spinning around till the message was delivered.
Today stunt kite flyers would not sit still to send a message.

3. Burning Buildings

In the fall
we would burn piles of leaves.
Sometimes my father would clean old boxes from the garage
and use his pocket knife to cut out doors and windows
to make it look like a building.
He'd also cut a hole up top and insert
a cardboard paper towel tube.
The box would be set on top of the burning leaves
till the fire reached underneath
flames would flicker inside the windows
smoke would billow from the tube
and then the box would flame into a dark brittle crust.
Too bad you can’t burn leaves anymore.

4. Backyard Cannon

I can't remember who passed on the secret instructions
but it was known among boys my age and time.
Four Seven-Up cans, top and bottom cut-outs
connect to a long stick
load with a tennis ball
fuel with lighter fluid
and with the right technique
you could fire tennis balls into the air and over your house.
Today the neighbors would call the cops
and put you on a list.

I wonder about the lost knowledge from all
other grown up boys
of all the other ages.


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Contributor: John Kropf

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Mineral striations
of green, red and brown
compressed into a sleek shape
minding its own business
since the Precambrian Era
present for the movement of glaciers
across the landscape
unknown to me
until twenty summers ago
when I pocketed
that formation
of history and art
and took it home
to hold
as a paperweight.


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Contributor: John Kropf

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No one is left in my home town
My people are gone.

But my memories are there
right where I left them
residing in streets, schools, and fields.

I could revive the spirit of the place
but what would that matter now?

My route is now reversed
what was once a destination
became the home town
and the old home town
is just another destination among many.

I still drive the Ohio Turnpike
and near Exit Seven
there’s an urgent sensation of memory
tugging from across the dark fields to the north.

But I keep going
and hoping for new roots
in my new home town.


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Minor misguided visionary playing with words.

Contributor: John Kropf

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Dark redeemer
carrying legends of Sumatra, Arabia, Columbia

Creator of cultures
fuel for a Sufi’s whirling dance
drink of protests by patriots
in the days of revolution
drunk in heroic proportions
by Balzac and Beats
made mad by your power

Drunk black
by my father
on the troop ship
far side of the Pacific
World War Two
because green skin of slime congealed
on tins of curdled cream

The history
of why I drink you as a I do.


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Maybe the best way to describe myself is to look at my books and other writing.
http://compulsivelyaimless.blogspot.com/
http://www.amazon.com/Unknown-Sands-John-Kropf/dp/0976356511
https://www.goodreads.com/user/show/5982010
http://www.librarything.com/catalog/kropferama

Contributor: John Kropf

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You keep a memory in three competing worlds.

Digital:
Scientists in white lab coats
engineered a world
that flawlessly remembers all your inputs,
your memory outsourced to a secure location,
like what a child thinks heaven is like,
where you ask God every question you ever wanted.
Until one day,
the server crashes,
or power is lost,
and the screen goes dark.

Paper:
Since the time of the Han
the sheets have been there
reliable, tangible, unfiltered,
open to the page,
and the words are the same
as yesterday,
the same as today,
and will be the same tomorrow.
A dense treatise, today's newspaper, a 3x5 card;
you carry paper memory like a security blanket.
until one day
you misplace it
and it gathers dust on a shelf.

Biological:
You and your synapses are
the ever present device.
You could be naked on a desert island
and it would be there with you
all you need to do
is exercise its muscles--
no external source
no object to hold
nothing to lose
till one day
you forget.


- - -
Maybe the best way to describe myself is to look at my books and other writing.
http://compulsivelyaimless.blogspot.com/
http://www.amazon.com/Unknown-Sands-John-Kropf/dp/0976356511
https://www.goodreads.com/user/show/5982010
http://www.librarything.com/catalog/kropferama

Contributor: John Kropf

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Your morning visit
with news and coffee
Past and Present
Three of you
here and now
but always
distractions
shadows at the door
It's Future--eternal party crasher
“Wait, I’ll be with you in a second.”
“Not a chance,” snickers Future
running down the street
like a Halloween prankster
laughing like mad.


- - -
Maybe the best way to describe myself is to look at my books and other writing.
http://compulsivelyaimless.blogspot.com/
http://www.amazon.com/Unknown-Sands-John-Kropf/dp/0976356511
https://www.goodreads.com/user/show/5982010
http://www.librarything.com/catalog/kropferama