(haiku)
not all poetry
draws pretty little pictures
of love and rainbows
lovers' picnic checklist
our favorite poem (in our heads)
(a paper bag) cheap fruity wine
a French bread
pocket knife
the sun
a grassy lawn (our blanket)
clear blue sky
a wedge of brie
a giggle (each)
a jiggle
thighs (and sighs!)
a tree
a (you! oh! wondrous you! oh!) you
a (happy, happy one! ah!) me
poem-eater
I must have written
thousands of poems
each one exquisite
and brimful of
meaning
telling the stories
of human existence
the why how and
wherefore
explaining it all
as each one was finished
honed to perfection
brilliantly shining
primed with
excitement
each anxious word sat
quietly waiting
expecting its
entrance
balanced and poised
its fellow words
shimmering
sitting beside
them
all costumed,
fragrant,
sure in their
meaning...
alone, they were nothing
yet, tied all together
suddenly, potions of
magic became!
waiting to come out
enlighten the
audience
the reader, in ignorance
cherishing bliss
my words were not frightened
my poems, an army,
well-trained,
determined,
their mission: world
peace
then!
mass devastation
it sharped out
like lightning
enveloped in engines
of oily morass
creeping, snaked,
rat-like
devoured every
syllable
not, one-at-a-time,
but "Select
all" "Delete"
thus came The
Destroyer
my nemesis
doubt-plague
no friend of the
future
it took every word
engulfed and consumed them
without even chewing
assumed they were
fruitless and
meaningless tripe
if, somehow, this
poem
escaped The Destroyer
and made it to your
ears
don't think it's okay
for countless great treasures
more beauteous than
sunlight
inspiring and wise
lo!
trod out before
this one escaped noticed
because it was
weaker
no glimmer of
genius
no power to behold
do not be content
with this witless
pretender
those other dead poems
were worth
so
much
more
poems. because
crickets chirp at dusk
echo
mourning
dove at dawn
bristly whiskers brush thighs
tongue
coldest of
burnt hearts
mother's unhappy child
listening
tears
lost trust
deaf
lights shine thoughts
trampoline
page after
page
stilling darkness
swallowed
suddenly
flowing
the eyes of my newborn
infectious
brilliance
of suns
you sit here beside me
stroking
my fingers
alone in
your silence
nailed it
As a writer, I am happy
When a reader who is savvy
Gives me feedback, "You described this
Really well!"
"'Sweat was flowing from his brow...'
I can see him, even now,
He is certain he is going
Straight to hell!
"'Water poured right off his chin...'
You can feel the state he's in.
It's as if you somehow got
Inside his mind!
"'Bushy eyebrows...' I can see
He is right in front of me!
He's insane. You are a genius!
What a find!"
But, I didn't make him up.
I'm reporting, off the cuff.
My character is from my
Yesteryear.
All I did was write him down.
"Crazy smile. Horrid frown."
Now I hope the nightmare leaves,
And with it, fear.
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(image poetry)
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In my next life
I will stop and smell the roses
without being prompted by a poster
I shall love my neighbor as myself
It should be easy
I'll practice!
I'll look before I leap
Who wouldn't?
Really!
I'll mind my p's and q's
pray the rosary daily (after mass)
respect my elders
sing sweetly
think sober thoughts
floss
let well enough alone
grow old
In my next life
I'll get a tattoo
go for broke
catch the rainbow
flirt more than a little
maybe a lot
I'll dance on tables
throw my cares to the wwwwwind...
so ound off by t w o s
I'll drive a F E R R A R I
I've borrowed
withOUT permission
I'll do ALL THINGs
(in moderation, of course)
and wear nine - inch heels
but laugh when they tell me
it's time for
bed
In my next life
I will stop and smell the roses
without being prompted by a poster
I shall love my neighbor as myself
It should be easy
I'll practice!
I'll look before I leap
Who wouldn't?
Really!
I'll mind my p's and q's
pray the rosary daily (after mass)
respect my elders
sing sweetly
think sober thoughts
floss
let well enough alone
grow old
In my next life
I'll get a tattoo
go for broke
catch the rainbow
flirt more than a little
maybe a lot
I'll dance on tables
throw my cares to the wwwwwind...
so ound off by t w o s
I'll drive a F E R R A R I
I've borrowed
withOUT permission
I'll do ALL THINGs
(in moderation, of course)
and wear nine - inch heels
but laugh when they tell me
it's time for
bed
bathroom horror story
(haiku)
my smashing broom sliced
a thousand-legged critter,
each slice kept running
Moon Over Basho's Garden
Distant Friends
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heart-quakes
in far-off Japan
an explosion near your home
sends quakes through my heart
news overload
the twinkle in my sky
Get thee to Goshen!
news overload
after-shakes constant
news of radiation leaks
tsunami of stress
tsunami of stress
afterglow
all shaken awake
all shaken awake
how beautiful our earth looks
the poet yet lives, breathes
The Gold Coin
Lael
the twinkle in my sky
my dear, dear, sweet friend
our hearts entwined forever
how much I love you
Ramses
Will
Get thee to Goshen!
rent from your bosom
my heart, searching for its home
forever wanders
chess mates
who cares how you start
it's how far ahead you see
the end game is all
chess mates
who cares how you start
it's how far ahead you see
the end game is all
local headlines
(haiku)
happy morning news
"Horse Missing in Woods Found Safe"
my son came home, too
amidst desolate cries choose joy abundant
(haibun)
If I am awakened before dawn, I love to go downstairs, open the windows, sit on the couch in the living room, sip my coffee, drink in the morning sky over the forest beyond the pond, and listen to the song of the mourning dove. Intermittent, cadenced. The poignant, low-keyed notes match my mood in the darkness as I face the world. I try to remember what transpired earlier in my life, from its beginning, up to the moment I fell asleep the night before. I recall my motivation for continuing, where I left off, in the creation of the story of my existence. I watch through the picture window and contemplate. I recall past mistakes. Then gratitude. Then courage, to start anew.
Dawn breaks over the unfolding scene revealed by the rising
sun, and dawn breaks into and pours over my soul.
a mourning dove dawn
measure out unfolding
joy
with sunbeam
yardstick
I feel I can measure the depths of my growing joy with the increasing sunlight; and by keeping time, in the steady music of the bird's coos, my possibilities blossom. I get up and start my day, refreshed and ready.
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