Poem published in YCN

 View of city geese last summer. We're all still waiting for the trail to re-open.

Flight Path

By Janet Sobczyk, 2019

I’m a lousy bird watcher

can’t claim to know much about them

seldom use binoculars

don’t keep a record of birds seen in my lifetime

can’t tell a bird by its call

but their sounds and movements fascinate me. 

At our old home I placed a feeder in a pine tree

nestled between boughs next to a window

sparrows gathered, flitting branch to branch

waiting turns impatiently

scared off by a loud jay or acrobatic squirrel

delightful entertainment.

New home, same feeders, placed in an ash tree

attract different entertainers

black and white woodpeckers with red caps

pink-breasted tiny blue birds I can’t identify

cardinal couples

and squirrels I’ve named.

Another new delight… geese!

Not attracted to the feeders

but residents of this part of town

their squawks distinctive 

capture my attention through closed windows 

a wonderful sound.

Early in the morning they make a v-line

rising from roosting grounds

to stretch wings, find food, socialize 

as humans head off to work 

geese begin the day 

heading south over my house.

At day’s end they commute home

pass my way again heading north

routine predictable

could set my watch by them

pause to listen, watch

it’s pleasant living under a flight path.

See the February issue of Your Country Neighbor that this poem appears in.

Not a Total Loss

This story about my two daughters' t-boned vehicles, appeared in Your Country Neighbor  this week. 

Not a Total Loss

By Janet Sobczyk, 2017

Time to clean out the car. It should have been no big deal.

The repairman directed us to the back lot and brought out the key. He removed the plates from my daughter’s t-boned, black Prius as she unloaded her possessions from the interior. An ice scraper, blanket, registration papers, sunglasses. Andrea left the empty coffee cup in the holder. Its mocha brown contents stained the passenger floor.

She turned to me and I hugged her, tears welling up. Sadness clouded our faces at the loss of her first, self-paid car. The insurance company deemed it a total loss, but she yearned to have it repaired and returned to our driveway.

My tears were a mixture of sadness and relief. I knew how fortunate she was to walk away with only whiplash. The t-boned car next to hers had suffered much worse, and so had its owner. The door smashed far into the driver’s seat. The fabric streaked with a dried substance, much darker than a latte. I turned away with a shudder, to load her things into my van.

As I walked past the line of crushed cars, a flashback took me to a similar lot, several years ago. The sight of my oldest daughter’s smashed silver Santa Fe. She, too, walked away with whiplash, from a head-on collision. The other driver had led police on a high-speed car chase through Kansas City and ran off after the crash, with the police in hot pursuit. Meanwhile, paramedics checked Carolyn, an innocent bystander on her way to work. The tow truck driver kindly offered her a ride home.

As we traveled from Omaha to KC to be with her, news of the chase permeated the radio broadcasts. My stomach lurched at each replay of the event until we could see she would be okay.

My mind raced back to her other t-boned vehicle, a black Mazda. That time a plumbing truck didn’t stop at the red light. Its driver was heading into the setting sun and talking on his cell phone.

Three vehicles totaled. Three times our girls walked away. Three miracles. I cried with gratitude. Then wiped my tears to drive Andrea to work. She pointed out the row of waiting, crumpled vehicles. “Look! They’re all either black or silver!” Just like the three cars we lost.

Without a doubt, the next one we buy will be… red!

Postscript: Andrea's new car is a bright blue. And Carolyn bought a tan one. Good enough!

Christmas Tree Goes on a Diet

My blog's featured post this month was the first draft of a poem recently revised and published in the December Your Country Neighbor. Both the blog and publication include before and after photos of our Christmas tree. This far into the holiday season, with all of its sweet temptations, I'm already planning my next diet, too.

Christmas Tree Goes on a Diet

by Janet Sobczyk, 2018

Dressed in green

bedecked in red bling

white lights, white angel

carols in the air

eggnog for sweet sipping

multicolored presents

invited children to shake and peek.

Years passed

angel perch broke

children grew

long legs needed space

a tree so full and fat

hardly fit the room

time to buy a new one.

Brought it home

dressed it the same

stood back, admired

new tree was much thinner

seems over the summer

dear old tree

went on a diet!

Missing Him

Missing Him

A memorial poem

by Janet Sobczyk, 2018

She wandered the house, looking

for him, lost, alone.

He’s gone, she didn’t understand

why, why was he taken?

She laid down, weary

with grief, sleeping the day away.

His scent lingered, drawn to it

at night, waiting for him to return.

She knew he was ill, fading

into a skeleton, barely able to eat.

Everyone thought, she’d go

first from the stroke, but she rebounded.

 He succumbed, nothing

could be done, it was over.

Lacey mourned her constant

companion, her litter mate, Tanner.

Lacey and Tanner holding paws.

Lacey alone.

Postscript... Lacey mourned Tanner less than 2 months before joining him. 
It's hard to lose two beloved dogs in such a short time.

In July YCN published "Trespassing" and "De-feathering My Nest." Thanks for allowing me so much space, Editor Stephen Hassler! 

"Trespassing" is my blog's featured post this month, but "De-feathering My Nest" is too long to reprint here.
Please check out the complete issue online at: 
http://www.yourcountryneighbor.com/YCN/July2018.pdf.

Poems published in YCN in June

The June issue of Your Country Neighbor contains 2 of my poems:

This is a syllabic poem (3 per line.) When I tapped it out upon completion, it reminded me of the hoof beats of a galloping horse. I'd like to say that was intentional, but it wasn't. I just like to write that way sometimes. But for this poem it's appropriate!

They Feel Like Summer

by Janet Sobczyk, ©2017

Buff leather

two-inch heels

finger loops

pointy toes

bring to mind

days of youth.

Sweet sixteen

cut-off jeans

halter tops

no sunscreen

wind in hair

horse-back rides.

Middle age

walking tall

with tan dog

slower now

wearing new

cowboy boots.

The next poem, in couplets, was written after a drive to the store recently. It was a windy day and when I stopped for a red light I noticed this scene. It stuck with me, so I had to write it down. 

Wind on the Wire

by Janet Sobczyk, ©2018

Three brown birds

perch on an electric wire

two snuggle close

one stays inches away

all cling fast, feet clasp

holding on

facing the wind

wings firmly folded

gray tail feathers dip

enduring the gusts

weathering the storm

riding like bronco busters.

I wonder, Why stay?

Why don’t they find shelter?

Maybe they enjoy the thrill-ride

of wind on the wire.

Poems published in YCN in May

These 2 poems appear in the May issue of Your Country Neighbor. I love the spider and flag photos that accompany them, as well as all the other poetry.  Check it out!

The Irony of Spider Webs
by Janet Sobczyk, ©2011

Sometimes I stand in wonder
at the spider web
woven overnight
between car and bush. 
I stop to examine it, 
sturdy and sticky enough
to catch the largest insects,
but dainty and sparkly, 
beautiful, symmetrical.
Could easily be ruined
by the swipe of a mean broom.

Sometimes I simply marvel
at the swift acrobatics
and skill of the small spider
who crafted this masterpiece,
and rests at the far edge
waiting for food to be snared,
then springs into action
like a small cowboy roping,
wrapping the victim in silk.
I ponder the poor fly’s plight…
it is the circle of life.


Sometimes I don’t see the web,
and walk right through it! 
It stretches beyond limits,
instantly adheres to skin.
I cringe from the shock of it,
dance around peeling strands
in sheer disgust.
The invisible silk sticks
in hair, on fingers.
Recoil in fear, just think… 
the spider might be on me!


At a Veteran’s Graveside Service 
By Janet Sobczyk ©2017 
In memory of Tom Otto of Norfolk, NE.

We step amid headstones, through parallel rows
a motorcycle honor guard in Harley vests
holds stars and stripes on long poles.

Mourners gather under a green canvas tent
with bowed heads we listen to a final blessing
carried away by the wind.

With focus downward, I notice shoes:
brown penny loafers
white shiny flats

black stilettos digging divots
blue sandals with matching toenails
tan boots with camo pants tucked in.

A yellow butterfly weaves on the breeze
amidst legs, alights on flowers
cascading over the casket.

“Taps” begins to play
but the bugle sounds tinny
I turn to see a seasoned vet in dress blues.

Holding horn to lips with white-gloved hand
he isn’t playing
it’s a recording.

When done he lowers the bugle
discreetly turns off device in its bell
and salutes.

A son of the vet takes roses off the casket
hands them to women with hugs and tears
the crowd disperses.

Car doors slam
tires crunch on gravel
as the line snakes through the gate.


At home, my red rose
stands silently in a simple vase
and wilts.