***
090531
STOPPING TRAFFIC
I must say,
they do show pluck—
those babies and
their mama duck!
090530
BECOMING A DOG PERSON
At first, I deny them.
“These are not my dogs.”
They barge into campers’ tents,
harass the geese,
make runs at other walkers.
“Not mine. They just adopted me
for the morning.”
They chase bikers, yelp at squirrels,
come and go like a pair of boomerangs.
“They don’t belong to me.”
They disappear into marsh grass
(except for happy tails, held high).
They win me over.
“These are not my dogs.
They don’t belong to me.
It’s the opposite. They adopted me;
I belong to them.”
090528
SIGHTINGS
In a state forest once,
as I was walking,
I came across a kangaroo.
Minutes later, someone else
spotted a wild turkey
in the same vicinity.
Near a state park tonight,
as I was walking,
a pteryodactyl flew overhead.
Maybe I should keep this
to myself?
090527
FRESH FROM THE STORM
Cast up on the lakeshore—
one waterlogged shoe and a bar of soap.
That definitely was a cleansing rain!
ONE JOY
When your life breaks apart,
one pebble of that rubble—
one candlelight,
one bird in flight, one joy—
can break apart your heart.
090526
ORDER UP!
Good morning. I’m your higher power;
I’ll be your server today.
What do you want, and how do want it?
Raw, rare, medium? How about well-done?
Still thinking? How about burnt?
Hurry—any choice you might have had
is about to vaporize!
***
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Monday, May 25, 2009
Flowers & Other Delights
***
090525
HICKORY CREEK PARK
My private winter playground
has just been overrun
with hoards of weekend campers
loudly having fun.
But! It is a state park,
and summer has come;
and doesn’t everyone
deserve a place in the sun?
090525
TRICKSTER TREAT
You’re walking down a country road
through sparse woods, in a mist turned drizzle
about to turn rain.
Up ahead, you notice a dog, or not-dog;
coyote-sized, with grizzle-gray in its coat,
bushy-tailed.
It weaves down the road, as if
crisscrossing paths with an invisible partner.
It looks back at you; takes you in; resumes.
Coyote? Dog?
Casually, with one last glance at you,
it turns from the road, enters the woods,
and is gone.
You know it is gone, feeling strange because
you don’t know how you know it is gone.
You look into the woods anyway, puzzling.
Hours later, you still puzzle—
Can a coyote look like that?
Does any animal actually move like that?
At what point was it aware of me?
What does this crazy encounter mean?
Lucky enough to have a Native American handy
(as your own spouse), you enquire. And you learn.
The proper question is not,
“What do coyotes do?”
It is, “What does Coyote do?”
And the answer is:
“Anything to mess with your mind.”
090524
ANNE-IVERSARY
Enough of winter hideaway!
Maidens, to the meadow, pray.
Daisy, Iris—quit thy rest.
Hie thee to our Mayday fest.
Go ye, gowned in colors bright.
Rose—deep pink will suit thee quite.
Susan—choose some gold delight.
I, thy Queen, shall dress in white.
UNCUT FLOWERS
Daisies are in bloom today,
roses, cosmos, too;
many floral treasures—
I picked this one for you.
090523
GLORIA DAILY
Dawn comes rosey.
Dawn comes gray.
Dawn comes welcome
every day.
HUSBANDED
Life has been
so good to me;
life and he.
He’s making me
a cup of tea.
SLOT MACHINE
Muse, I use you—
over and over, again, again—
putting my little pen-ny in;
expecting, every time, a win.
***
090525
HICKORY CREEK PARK
My private winter playground
has just been overrun
with hoards of weekend campers
loudly having fun.
But! It is a state park,
and summer has come;
and doesn’t everyone
deserve a place in the sun?
090525
TRICKSTER TREAT
You’re walking down a country road
through sparse woods, in a mist turned drizzle
about to turn rain.
Up ahead, you notice a dog, or not-dog;
coyote-sized, with grizzle-gray in its coat,
bushy-tailed.
It weaves down the road, as if
crisscrossing paths with an invisible partner.
It looks back at you; takes you in; resumes.
Coyote? Dog?
Casually, with one last glance at you,
it turns from the road, enters the woods,
and is gone.
You know it is gone, feeling strange because
you don’t know how you know it is gone.
You look into the woods anyway, puzzling.
Hours later, you still puzzle—
Can a coyote look like that?
Does any animal actually move like that?
At what point was it aware of me?
What does this crazy encounter mean?
Lucky enough to have a Native American handy
(as your own spouse), you enquire. And you learn.
The proper question is not,
“What do coyotes do?”
It is, “What does Coyote do?”
And the answer is:
“Anything to mess with your mind.”
090524
ANNE-IVERSARY
Enough of winter hideaway!
Maidens, to the meadow, pray.
Daisy, Iris—quit thy rest.
Hie thee to our Mayday fest.
Go ye, gowned in colors bright.
Rose—deep pink will suit thee quite.
Susan—choose some gold delight.
I, thy Queen, shall dress in white.
UNCUT FLOWERS
Daisies are in bloom today,
roses, cosmos, too;
many floral treasures—
I picked this one for you.
090523
GLORIA DAILY
Dawn comes rosey.
Dawn comes gray.
Dawn comes welcome
every day.
HUSBANDED
Life has been
so good to me;
life and he.
He’s making me
a cup of tea.
SLOT MACHINE
Muse, I use you—
over and over, again, again—
putting my little pen-ny in;
expecting, every time, a win.
***
Saturday, May 23, 2009
Xealous
***
090522
XEALOT
On the planet Xebulon, a robot,
come-to-life, looks on with wonder
at the Xebulese magnificence of lands
and seas, and aches to share
the wondrous news of the planet’s
wondrous views; aches to share
(from dawn-till-dusk and dusk-till-dawn)
news of planet Xebulon.
TALENT OR NO
To write a poem about a day
is redundantly redundant.
The day is a poem.
The writing is a poem.
The poet is a poem;
talent or no talent.
090501
NEWBORN
Eighty, sure.
Or ninety, or a hundred.
Any time’s a good time
to start the life you’ve neglected.
No time like the present.
***
090522
XEALOT
On the planet Xebulon, a robot,
come-to-life, looks on with wonder
at the Xebulese magnificence of lands
and seas, and aches to share
the wondrous news of the planet’s
wondrous views; aches to share
(from dawn-till-dusk and dusk-till-dawn)
news of planet Xebulon.
TALENT OR NO
To write a poem about a day
is redundantly redundant.
The day is a poem.
The writing is a poem.
The poet is a poem;
talent or no talent.
090501
NEWBORN
Eighty, sure.
Or ninety, or a hundred.
Any time’s a good time
to start the life you’ve neglected.
No time like the present.
***
Wild and Tame
***
090520
LOVE PANGS
Love ya, Darlin'—
serene or snarlin'!
Love them porky-pines, too.
Would'n pet one, tho'.
Would you?
CHICKEN : EGG
insight : outlook
EAVESDROPPING ON GEESE
Huh! Huh! Huh!
Huh! Huh! Huh!
I TOLD-ja. I TOLD-ja.
Huh? Huh? Huh?
LEVELS OF LIVING (for Rhonda)
Knowledge.
Understanding.
Wisdom.
We build these, one by one.
Survival.
Success.
Significance.
Ultimately, the sum.
090519
SPRUNG
We left doors open overnight,
left outdoor lights full on.
That bird
trapped in our four-cat house
was, by daylight, gone.
090518
DIMINISHED
depriving you
deprives me too
090517
REALMS
Where these meet—tame
and wild—each of us
is still a child.
NOURISHMENT
Sitting on my bed,
looking through my window—
with cereal bowl on lap and
spoon suspended—
I have deer for breakfast.
SELECTIVE
I love to browse through cookbooks.
I love to party-plan.
I love to buy from gourmet shops—
high-standarded I am!
I love to sear those prime filets
that sizzle in my pan,
or stir a roux, or brew a stew,
or extricate a clam.
But certain things, I do not like—
and those I do not do.
I do not peel potatoes,
remove the mold from cheese,
or ever wash the dishes.
I do not shell the peas.
I will not clean a mushroom
or any earthy crop,
or stop to mop a countertop;
and so, I serve up slop.
SOMEHOW, IT MAKES SENSE
Ears go ever deafer;
eyes, ever more dim.
Heart, though!
Heart is magic—
through suffering, it heals.
The more the loss,
the more the art.
Take heart! Take heart!
The more its loss, the more it feels.
COMMENTARY
Oy, oh boy, olé, hurray,
yay and ick and nix!
Words and ways
in such array.
Life is quite a mix!
SUPPLY DEMAND
Muse, don’t be so stingy!
Don’t play games with me.
When you give me nothing,
how poetic can I be?
Is this curse, or help, or dare?
All you give me is plain air!
Are you teaching, craftily,
how creative I can be?
BACKTRACKING
You relied on me.
I relied on you.
So how did we arrive
in this pickle; in this stew?
SORRY, BUD!
Howdy, Duty—
steady friend
whom I neglect
again again.
090516
IT’S THE
STUPID ECONOMY
What works?
What works?
What works?
Tell me—do you know?
You don’t?
You don’t?
You don’t?
Ah, well—so apropos!
***
090520
LOVE PANGS
Love ya, Darlin'—
serene or snarlin'!
Love them porky-pines, too.
Would'n pet one, tho'.
Would you?
CHICKEN : EGG
insight : outlook
EAVESDROPPING ON GEESE
Huh! Huh! Huh!
Huh! Huh! Huh!
I TOLD-ja. I TOLD-ja.
Huh? Huh? Huh?
LEVELS OF LIVING (for Rhonda)
Knowledge.
Understanding.
Wisdom.
We build these, one by one.
Survival.
Success.
Significance.
Ultimately, the sum.
090519
SPRUNG
We left doors open overnight,
left outdoor lights full on.
That bird
trapped in our four-cat house
was, by daylight, gone.
090518
DIMINISHED
depriving you
deprives me too
090517
REALMS
Where these meet—tame
and wild—each of us
is still a child.
NOURISHMENT
Sitting on my bed,
looking through my window—
with cereal bowl on lap and
spoon suspended—
I have deer for breakfast.
SELECTIVE
I love to browse through cookbooks.
I love to party-plan.
I love to buy from gourmet shops—
high-standarded I am!
I love to sear those prime filets
that sizzle in my pan,
or stir a roux, or brew a stew,
or extricate a clam.
But certain things, I do not like—
and those I do not do.
I do not peel potatoes,
remove the mold from cheese,
or ever wash the dishes.
I do not shell the peas.
I will not clean a mushroom
or any earthy crop,
or stop to mop a countertop;
and so, I serve up slop.
SOMEHOW, IT MAKES SENSE
Ears go ever deafer;
eyes, ever more dim.
Heart, though!
Heart is magic—
through suffering, it heals.
The more the loss,
the more the art.
Take heart! Take heart!
The more its loss, the more it feels.
COMMENTARY
Oy, oh boy, olé, hurray,
yay and ick and nix!
Words and ways
in such array.
Life is quite a mix!
SUPPLY DEMAND
Muse, don’t be so stingy!
Don’t play games with me.
When you give me nothing,
how poetic can I be?
Is this curse, or help, or dare?
All you give me is plain air!
Are you teaching, craftily,
how creative I can be?
BACKTRACKING
You relied on me.
I relied on you.
So how did we arrive
in this pickle; in this stew?
SORRY, BUD!
Howdy, Duty—
steady friend
whom I neglect
again again.
090516
IT’S THE
STUPID ECONOMY
What works?
What works?
What works?
Tell me—do you know?
You don’t?
You don’t?
You don’t?
Ah, well—so apropos!
***
Words and Moods
***
090515
LET ME TELL YOU A STORY
Words are warmest
and most sharable
when in form of a parable.
090514
MUMBLED
The more my life gets tumbled,
the more my home gets jumbled.
Ditto for my mind.
Ooh, my jumbled, tumbled, crumbled mind.
090513
NEXT AISLE OVER, OVERHEARD
I just don't understand him:
he has no idea, no awareness,
no clue whatsoever
of how oblivious he is to my needs.
TODAY’S TRAFFIC
Take eggs with you
when you drive?
They'll be scrambled
when you arrive.
090512
NEGATIVE BALANCE
How long will it take
to techwrite this proposal?
Much, much more
than there is at my disposal.
STOLEN VIRTUE
We can be so cheerful
when we get our way.
When another does our work,
we can laugh and play.
We can be so giving—
when some others pay.
090511
ALCHEMIZING
Milking my mortality;
mourning morosely
(mostly to myself); moping;
manufacturing melodrama—
Making myself laugh!
***
090515
LET ME TELL YOU A STORY
Words are warmest
and most sharable
when in form of a parable.
090514
MUMBLED
The more my life gets tumbled,
the more my home gets jumbled.
Ditto for my mind.
Ooh, my jumbled, tumbled, crumbled mind.
090513
NEXT AISLE OVER, OVERHEARD
I just don't understand him:
he has no idea, no awareness,
no clue whatsoever
of how oblivious he is to my needs.
TODAY’S TRAFFIC
Take eggs with you
when you drive?
They'll be scrambled
when you arrive.
090512
NEGATIVE BALANCE
How long will it take
to techwrite this proposal?
Much, much more
than there is at my disposal.
STOLEN VIRTUE
We can be so cheerful
when we get our way.
When another does our work,
we can laugh and play.
We can be so giving—
when some others pay.
090511
ALCHEMIZING
Milking my mortality;
mourning morosely
(mostly to myself); moping;
manufacturing melodrama—
Making myself laugh!
***
Blooms and Bugs
***
090510
MOTHER-NATURE'S DAY
In bloom today,
where my path goes;
honeysuckle and
cherokee rose.
090509
ON SECOND THOUGHT
Careful what you ask for!
Snareful's what you get!
To undo a wish fulfilled,
no genie's been born yet.
090509
CARPE POEM
Fingers on keys,
mind on the day—
may there be, please,
a "pome" on the way.
090508
NO LONGER THE "BEES' KNEES"
Latest symptom
of beekeeper woes;
having to count all those
little bees' toes.
090507
FLY BY
Fly-buzzed
or -bugged?
Well, why not try
writing a poem on the fly?
090506
SPRINGY
Trees have frothed out
green and growy.
Cloud-puffs in blue skies are doughy;
flowers showy; breezes blowy.
Grass is green
and almost mowy.
WELL REWARDED
We ate lunch late to celebrate
the triumphs of our day;
helping other workers
(the help, itself, our pay).
***
090510
MOTHER-NATURE'S DAY
In bloom today,
where my path goes;
honeysuckle and
cherokee rose.
090509
ON SECOND THOUGHT
Careful what you ask for!
Snareful's what you get!
To undo a wish fulfilled,
no genie's been born yet.
090509
CARPE POEM
Fingers on keys,
mind on the day—
may there be, please,
a "pome" on the way.
090508
NO LONGER THE "BEES' KNEES"
Latest symptom
of beekeeper woes;
having to count all those
little bees' toes.
090507
FLY BY
Fly-buzzed
or -bugged?
Well, why not try
writing a poem on the fly?
090506
SPRINGY
Trees have frothed out
green and growy.
Cloud-puffs in blue skies are doughy;
flowers showy; breezes blowy.
Grass is green
and almost mowy.
WELL REWARDED
We ate lunch late to celebrate
the triumphs of our day;
helping other workers
(the help, itself, our pay).
***
Accomplishing
***
090505
IN SUM
maybe when you’re dead maybe then
they will take a look at the words you
wrote at the sum total isn’t that redundant
of all the hours of effort and creation
of whatever caliber maybe when you’re
dead they will even study it as an arc of
output that provides insight into a
corresponding trajectory of human
wonder-ecstatsy-dejection-demise-etc
maybe when you’re dead your work
will become a cautionary or laudatory tale
and will thereby serve a purpose and you
will have accomplished the good in the
world that you intended though perhaps
not in the way you intended and maybe
when you’re dead it will be a good thing
altogether
LIFE CYCLE OF A BUSINESS
1. Not busy, no money.
2. Busy, no money.
3. Busy, money.
4. Not busy, money.
5. Never been there.
090504
MELODRAMA QUEEN
Givest thou me
some work to do;
else I bid thee, World,
adieu.
PARTY OF THREE
A fried-peach dessert,
SO worth the money!
Then we added ice cream.
Then we added honey.
090503
RETICENT
As I take
some other person’s
hand to shake—
over there
stands the friend
I want to make.
PRE-LAUNCH
Four eager birdlets
with eyes black-bright
peer from their nest,
stretching toward flight.
090502
IN PRAISE OF PEN
In every writer’s life, no doubt,
there comes a time of writing drought.
But—there’s nothing like a good fine pen
to make one want to write again.
REPORT
The poet wrote,
and she won prizes.
Her work—one loves,
another despises.
Her poems—one or two
make the rest worth sifting through.
090501
INCONGRUOUS
A tech-school marquee
near the four-lane is wooing:
Come get your degree!
We train in horseshoeing!
***
090505
IN SUM
maybe when you’re dead maybe then
they will take a look at the words you
wrote at the sum total isn’t that redundant
of all the hours of effort and creation
of whatever caliber maybe when you’re
dead they will even study it as an arc of
output that provides insight into a
corresponding trajectory of human
wonder-ecstatsy-dejection-demise-etc
maybe when you’re dead your work
will become a cautionary or laudatory tale
and will thereby serve a purpose and you
will have accomplished the good in the
world that you intended though perhaps
not in the way you intended and maybe
when you’re dead it will be a good thing
altogether
LIFE CYCLE OF A BUSINESS
1. Not busy, no money.
2. Busy, no money.
3. Busy, money.
4. Not busy, money.
5. Never been there.
090504
MELODRAMA QUEEN
Givest thou me
some work to do;
else I bid thee, World,
adieu.
PARTY OF THREE
A fried-peach dessert,
SO worth the money!
Then we added ice cream.
Then we added honey.
090503
RETICENT
As I take
some other person’s
hand to shake—
over there
stands the friend
I want to make.
PRE-LAUNCH
Four eager birdlets
with eyes black-bright
peer from their nest,
stretching toward flight.
090502
IN PRAISE OF PEN
In every writer’s life, no doubt,
there comes a time of writing drought.
But—there’s nothing like a good fine pen
to make one want to write again.
REPORT
The poet wrote,
and she won prizes.
Her work—one loves,
another despises.
Her poems—one or two
make the rest worth sifting through.
090501
INCONGRUOUS
A tech-school marquee
near the four-lane is wooing:
Come get your degree!
We train in horseshoeing!
***
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