Poem Home

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Welcome to our landing spot highlighting the many poems from Flominic, who also is known as Dominic Farrenkopf. His poems will appear here regularly through the year. Weekly you can also find a printed copy at Chapter One Book Store in Hamilton. For many, many other poems check his website.

The Snowline
As fall’s days shorten
and the leaves turn golden brown,
the snowline on the mountains
gradually creeps down.
***
On Monday morning
I stepped out on my back deck.
The tops of the mountains
had a frosty white fleck.
***
The snowline had started,
now I’d watch it each day.
It shined like white diamonds
in the morning’s sun ray.
***
On Tuesday morning
it was further from the top.
It sure looked like Jack Frost
would have a bumper crop.
***
On Wednesday morning
I went outside for a look.
It appeared that a sugar shaker
had been shook.
***
The white powder
was half way down the mountainside.
It was a majestic sight
like a veiled bride.
***
Thursday morning
the snowline neared the valley floor.
The brisk air took my breath
when I opened the door.
***
It wouldn’t be long now
and the snow would be here.
This morning I stepped out,
the sky was bright and clear.
***
The snowline brushed the tall grass
and the drooping trees.
Hot tea in the chilly air
set my mind at ease.
***
I sighed in awe
at the sight of my back field
then flinched in pain…
I’d have to scrape my windshield!

Dominic “Flominic” Farrenkopf
thesepoemsneedhomes@live.com
flominic.com

Spirit
Monday was easy
to get ready for school.
I wore my PJ’s
and didn’t break a rule.
***
All of my classmates
wore their pajamas that day
and believe it or not
some teachers dressed that way.
***
Tuesday morning found me
getting dressed up again.
This time I matched my best friend
she looked like my twin.
***
Mary and I wore curls
and pink poodle skirts.
We wore puffy blouses
and went as Fifties flirts.
***
Wednesday was another,
a day for crazy hair.
Mom shaped mine like a green frog
with a white-eyed stare.
***
Principal Williams is bald
but he wore a wig.
It was rainbow-clown
I’d never seen one so big.
***
Thursday, we wore our clothes
backwards and inside out.
We looked funny
and bathroom trips were hard no doubt.
***
Some argued that all this fun
was a distraction.
For my grade
it had a positive reaction.
***
Friday was school colors
we wore ours with pride.
It’s Homecoming
and we’ll tan our opponents hide.
***
It’s the one time of year
you can dress like a freak
and get away with it…
because it’s Spirit Week!

Dominic “Flominic” Farrenkopf
thesepoemsneedhomes@live.com
flominic.com

Seven
It was now September
so began my treks to the woods.
I was equipped with bowhunting gear,
clothing and dry goods.
***
I started up Dry Creek
and hiked about four miles in.
I hunkered on a ridge
and let the bugling begin.
***
In about thirty minutes
I called a five-point bull in.
He was almost in my shooting lane
when in walked his twin!
***
Before I could adjust
the second chased the first one out.
I hiked further in,
the elk were active, there was no doubt.
***
I resumed calling.
An answer came from a stand of trees.
I couldn’t lure the bull out,
my scent was on the breeze.
***
I headed out the next weekend,
this time up Painted Horse.
The first bull I saw was sly
and stayed out of range of course.
***
I skirted a mountain meadow
that had a heard of cows.
The herd-bull was bedded down
with tines well beyond his brows.
***
I began stalking him
moving close enough for a shot.
I spooked a satellite bull-
the herd was off at a trot.
***
As I was hiking out,
a bull bugled from the hillside.
Over one-hundred yards out
his call sounded smug and snide.
***
Of these seven bulls I encountered,
none were a trifle
and though I missed with my bow…
I’ll be back with my rifle!

Dominic “Flominic” Farrenkopf
thesepoemsneedhomes@live.com
flominic.com

The Bout
It’s ten-thirty at night,
my wife and I just climbed in bed,
there’s scratching at the window
just as I lay down my head.
***
I pretend not to hear
but it doesn’t escape my wife.
“The cat wants in,” she says.
I leave grumbling about my life.
***
I stumble to the back door
and I let Toby inside.
He scampers in with a meow
that to me sounds very snide.
***
He dashes to the bedroom,
and sure enough, takes my spot.
I try scooting him,
he turns to Jell-O, the little snot.
***
I squeeze in while he starts purring
and kneading with his claws.
I somehow fall asleep
but my respite is put on pause.
***
Now he’s scratching the corner.
My wife says, “Put the cat out.”
He runs to the dark kitchen,
a sneaky move there's no doubt.
***
I finally convinced him
to exit out the kitchen door.
I mumble back to bed,
where I’m again woken mid-snore.
***
My wife nudges me,
“The cat is scratching. Go let him in.”
I trudge to the door-
another match the cat marks a win.
***
This exchange continues
in our middle-of-the night bout.
As he slithers through the back door,
in frustration, I shout:
***
“Are you kidding me, Toby!?
Upon you I wish the mange
for all your ins and outs…
since the weather’s starting to change!

Dominic “Flominic” Farrenkopf
thesepoemsneedhomes@live.com
flominic.com