Guy Conner's Blog, page 10

Polling for Local Elections

When I was a political consultant, I spent a lot of time trying to provide the benefits of solid polling data to underfunded local campaigns like school board and city council elections. I had studied statistics in Graduate School, and I was sure I had the necessary mathematical background to conduct a poll. Unfortunately, I didn’t at first appreciate the importance of the way questions were formulated to the process. When I began to write my first poll, I had to turn to my new friends in...

Poems and Songs

In the Sixties and Seventies, I wrote a number of verses that I called “songs”, that were inspired by the popular music of the day. It was the fashion to refer to artists like Bob Dylan as poets, so it seemed logical to refer to song-like verses as songs. At some point, I may post some examples on this site.

I’m aware, of course, that popular songs have a structure that is dictated by the needs of the music. Since I am devoid of musical talent, I’ve never seriously envisioned writing actual so...

My Eyebrow Curls Like the Devil’s 1955

This is the second in an occasional series of autobiographical poems….

The Gaylynn was only a quarter;

The serial started at ten.

Saturday, every weekend,

I walked to the movies with Ben.

The game, as we walked along North Street,

To walk swiftly, missing each crack.

And Ben, whose stride was much longer,

Left me hurriedly far in the back.

Head down, and stepping with caution,

I ran into a classmate named Sue.

I stumbled, and stammered profusely,

For beside her was CynthiaDrew.

Cynthia was covered with fr...

Two More Uncoupled Couplets

You can find my explanation of uncoupled couplets here.

Pope:

On her white breast a sparkling cross she wore

…Removable, the Tattoo Artist swore.

Herrick:

A sweet disorder in the dress

…From sleeping in it, I confess.

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Another Double Dactyl

Higgledy-Piggledy!

Christopher Robin said:

“I’m feeling peckish;

I hope you won’t fret.

It’s merely a touch of my

Hypoglycemia,

A few bites of candy

Will fix it, I’ll bet.”

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The Populist Imperative

My grandfather, John Conner, Professor of Government at Texas A&i University (now part of Texas A&M) was proud to call himself a populist. For him, it meant standing up for the little guy, for supporting workers and farmers, rather than the big business elite. Above all, populism was about equality for ordinary citizens under the law. He considered the Warren Court’s one man – one vote decision in the early sixties to be the most important of his lifetime.

Interestingly, he had little to say a...

Grues (Also Knowm as Little Willies)

In the late 50’s , my father was fond of sitting by the fireplace in his underwear, sometimes with a beer in hand, and reciting verses. Father William, Jabberwocky, and the like from Lewis Carroll were particular favorites, but the verse he recited most often, was this (it exists in many variants):

Little Willie, in the best of sashes,

Fell inn the fire and was burned to ashes.

Soon the room grew cold and chilly,

But no one came to poke up Willy

Little Willies, also known as Grues (which is what m...

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A special book offer here

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Meeting Lyndon Johnson

In the summer of 1960, I was a high school Junior in Sacramento with an almost brand new driver’s license and two burning ambitions: to get the use of one of the family cars, and to get myself a date. I was ecstatic when my father finally gave in on the use of the car. Now all I needed was an attractive girl to drive around.

I wanted to date Jill, who was the daughter of a postman and a Mother who had flattered me deeply the previous summer by telling me I had nice legs, but I had no idea of h...

Kingsville, 1951

This is the first in a series of explicitly autobiographical poems I intend to post:

“Do you have a knife, boy?

I watched his fingers as they

Tapped the arm of his chair.

“Every boy needs a knife.”

I wanted one, all right,

One like his,

Small and sharp and bright with the sun

I wanted the power.

“A knife like this.”

He reached behind my ear like a conjurer,

And two inches of tempered steel

Became mine.

I could whittle.

“Soft wood’s best.”

I could carve the end of my pencil,

And call it sharpening.

I could cut...