A Tribute To Tony Thomas

Poetry

Some people might say that I am a rhymer rather than a poet. I have had the ability to make rhyming lines fairly easily, but I like to think that my poetry has more in it than just rhyme. I love imagery–the sights, sounds, smells, feels and movements of natural things, and I try to make my poetry very concrete and real. For some reason, funerals have been a very large part of my poetic efforts, I suppose because poems celebrate a life better than mere speech. At any rate, I have included some poetry here, and I hope you like it. As always, the subject matter is very diverse.

Here is a poem I wrote while Molly, my wife, was teaching calculus. Her students had told her that they did not understand poetry: that the subject matter was so obscure, meaningless, and irrelevant. She replied that poetry could be about anything. They rebutted by saying, “Right! I suppose you could write a poem about mathematics!” Taking the challenge, she said, “Yes, you could write a poem about math.” “Let us see one then,” they countered. Molly came home and told me the story. “Is there some way we can make a poem about math?” she queried. I said, “Well, if you will help me with the terminology, I will try.” Here is what we came up with.

TRIGONOMETRY
By Dan Spier

There is nothing in life so darn hectic
As a brain in a course trigonometric.
I had much rather study invasions
Of Vandals and Huns than equations.
And especially ones like quadratics!
They’re fit only for fools and fanatics!
While my social life sits and relaxes,
My dumb brain is a blur of Y-axes.
Even tangents and points of inflection,
Make me suffer a loss of direction.
While derivatives—both first and second,
Are a little bit more than I reckoned.
When old fractions turn inverse proportions,
My sinuses go through contortions.
My domain is as strange as an ocean,
And my slope and my range? I’ve no notion!
I think radians are tires for one’s auto,
And determinants words for one’s motto.
Logarithms sound right for percussion,
And matrices good for discussion.
But my function’s velocity’s dropping,
And I sense by acceleration stopping.
My vertex’s endpoint—it dangles,
As I’m swallowed in huge right triangles.
All my maximums minimum weakly,
As my anti-log poem ends bleakly,
I guess if one thinks perpendiculous,
Trigonometry’s not so ridiculous.

Tony Thomas, wake up, man,
You’re sleeping much too late.
No time to snooze:
Too much to lose.
You cannot hesitate.

Tony Thomas, we know you:
Athlete, farmer, livestock man
You make us laugh
You rope that calf
You’re a rodeoing man

Ride him,Tony, ride that bull
His hump can make a mess
It’s gonna hurt
And that’s for cert
Your nose now makes an “S”!

Tony Thomas, rise up, son,
There’s still so much to do.
There’s pigs to feed
And folks that need
To get a call from you.

Tony Thomas, you know that pig?
The one you sold Tom Greer?
That very one
For Jenny won
Grand Champion this year

Stock show, Tony, coming soon
The kids need tutoring:
Look at the judge
And gently nudge
The pig around the ring

Tony Thomas, sing for us,
Your whistle’s wet and wild
Mr. Seagram’s here
No need for beer
Sing Clovis loud, my child.

Hank Jr., son, would weep with pride
To hear you belt it out
So take a sip
And let er rip
For that green-eyed gal it’s about

Wake up, Tony, over there,
A ten-point shooter buck
He’s the one
Don’t pass him, son
You’ve never had such luck

Wake up, Tony, let’s get dressed
To town we go tonight
The girls are hot
With you to trot
So dance them up real tight

The Lord is calling, Tony pal,
Not Calvert, though, this round
No plastic cup,
No 7 up,
Just a slowly whispered sound:

“Little Big Man, come upstairs,”
The auction’s almost through
The bid is closed
And as I supposed
The price was high for you.

Tony Thomas, wait for us
We’ve been asleep like you
But we will wake
Your trip we’ll take
And sing Clovis ‘long with you.