Thursday, May 26, 2011

Saturday, May 14, 2011

Po'm vs. Po-em

James claims
should be pronounced
"because that's how its spelled."
While I like to meld
the two sounds into one:
po'm --
and be done.

P-O-E-M in two beats
takes more time
and less fun
as it depletes
the potential for rhyme
if syllabically one.
And of all words which should find
it easy to rhyme
should L-E-A-D them.

Ponder the poetic possibilities of po'm!
To paint the palaces of Rome;
Create a longing for home;
To sing the ocean's white foam,
Or the bee's honeycomb;
To wonder at the life of a gnome,
Or live to wander and roam!
All are possible if P-O-E-M is po'm.
And if the writer of po'ms
prefers to write in a boat
then, for the sake of the rhyme,
lets call him a po't.

But what
rhymes with po-em?
Except for a handbook for a farmhand:
If you have fields, hoe 'em.
If you have seeds, sew 'em.
If you want crops, grow 'em.
When they've grown up, mow 'em.
Then tow 'em
To a barn for to stow 'em.
That's all you get if P-O-E-M is po-em.

And if after this po'm
James persists
to say po-em,
I must insist
she call me Jo-el.
(That'll show 'em.)

Why, you might ask, when James is a she,
Do I call her James instead of Jamie?
Because of the two names
James claims more word-games.
Jamie only rhymes with Amy,
While James claims me,
Sometimes maims me,
But of all dames,
James tames me.

By Joel Ackerman for Jamie Brinkerhoff

Thursday, May 12, 2011

Singing in the Shower

Joel loves to sing in the shower. He usually sings The Queen of the Night Aria from Mozart's The Magic Flute, or Under Pressure by Queen (which I think I inspired because I sing it so much). But this morning I found him singing this song. Enjoy this intimate moment.

Wednesday, May 4, 2011


Joel wrote this earlier this week. It's mostly true...

My wife and I come from very different backgrounds. We were both American, and Mormon, but she grew up in a female-dominated household, while I grew up in a male-dominated household. She was taught to love BYU and hate Utah. We were taught to hate BYU and we lived in Utah. Her family was realist. Mine was idealist. Her family grew up on beans. Mine grew up on rice.

This last difference has been the biggest source of contention in our home. We grew up on entirely different menus. Besides her being a water drinker, and me strictly juice—dessert has been the major challenge. My wife’s desserts are chocolate, peanut butter, and marshmallow treats: cakes, brownies, bars. My desserts are fruity. Pies, primarily.

Rather than divorce, we decided to form a Treaty of Treats, in which she’d explain her dessert preferences and I’d explain mine. Ironically, she did so with a bar chart, and I did so with a pie chart. We had a good laugh over this, and have enjoyed trying each others desserts ever since.

The two charts have become apart of our family history. They hang on the wall in our kitchen. There is one other chart important to my understanding of my wife. It hangs in our bathroom, and explains how periods work. And, of course, it’s a flow chart.