Yes, we should run past the squishberry tree
Though care not to squish any berries as we flee
Red squishberries appear as tasty as can be
Yet inside is yellow gunky muck, oh yucky!
Ever since the first ancient squishberries grew
There's a secret even our ancestors knew
Hey! Try not to get any squishberry on your shoe
Since the squish in squishberries is the stickiest glue
Look there, the lump which you mistook for root
Is really another child's shoe minus a foot
"Where are the kids?" you might ask with a hoot
I'm sorry to say, but they are all caput
So eat blackberries
And bing cherries
And blueberries
And boysenberries
And cranberries
And gooseberries
And huckleberries
And raspberries
And strawberries
But never ever play with the squishyberry goo
For a squishberry tree will certainly eat you.
Thursday, December 1
Tuesday, July 12
Wonder Where I Put My Brain
Wonder where I put my brain
did I leave it on the plane
flying from kalamazoo?
although I've got my canoe
luggage that I always take
did I drop it in the lake
as I fled alligators?
didn't see those in brochure
on a train or in a car
I sure hope my brain's not far
did it roll under the bed
as I sat and scratched my head?
silly me, I'm rather dull
my brain is still inside my skull.
...
Monday, July 11
I Didn't Do It
...
I didn't do it, it must have been
my sister, I know she did it
oh, well, she's taking a nap?
then it fell over by
itself, yes, that's it
what would happen
if maybe
it was
me?
...
I didn't do it, it must have been
my sister, I know she did it
oh, well, she's taking a nap?
then it fell over by
itself, yes, that's it
what would happen
if maybe
it was
me?
...
At First
...
At first, he commanded a tractor
then he squished things with steamrollers
now he controls the force and
wields a blue lightsaber
whatsoever your
occupation
I'll always
love you
son
...
Written for One Stop Poetry's Form Monday.
...
At first, he commanded a tractor
then he squished things with steamrollers
now he controls the force and
wields a blue lightsaber
whatsoever your
occupation
I'll always
love you
son
...
Written for One Stop Poetry's Form Monday.
...
Tuesday, July 5
Claire, It's Unfair
Claire! it's unfair
your foolish dare
my rocking chair
has grizzly bear
with dreadful glare
for he does share
with polar bear
whose awful stare
could light a flare
I do declare
now they're aware
of my spare pear
in earthenware
I doubt they'll share
my rocking chair
or luscious pear
or rare cookware
I'm in despair
shoo bears elsewhere
where is their lair?
should send them there
oh no, I swear!
my sweater spare
will surely tear
beyond repair
a real nightmare!
never mind claire
no longer scared
breath of fresh air
out of my hair
whew! I don't care
claire, that's your chair.
...
Posted to One Shot Wednesday at One Stop Poetry.
...
Sunday, July 3
Friday, July 1
That's a Lot of Haiku!
...
I have now posted 50 pages with 9 haiku each. A year ago I didn't know I had fifty haiku in me, let alone four hundred and fifty. I probably have about twice that that I haven't posted, because quite frankly, they are terrible. I aim to only share what I consider my best work here. Every artist has practice pieces, and poets are no exception.
A couple months back I read an article decrying non-traditional haiku, and it almost burst my bubble. It was a very limited view on the form, since yes, haiku were typically about nature, and weren't just seventeen syllable sentences chopped up into three lines. However, things change. Maybe what I write shouldn't be called haiku. Honestly, I don't care. Call it what you wish. I like it, I think it, I write it.
At some point, I've stopped caring about strict definitions of what is or is not good art, since really, I'm here to channel the stuff out of my brain. That doesn't mean I want to stop growing as a poet (or person for that matter), just that theory only goes so far, and sometimes you just have to spend those ten thousand hours shaping clay the wrong way before you make the perfect vessel.
some critics don't see
splendor of art forest through
trees of tradition
I've also started a Tumblr blog if anyone is also on that. I'll be sharing my haiku there, one at a time.
...
I have now posted 50 pages with 9 haiku each. A year ago I didn't know I had fifty haiku in me, let alone four hundred and fifty. I probably have about twice that that I haven't posted, because quite frankly, they are terrible. I aim to only share what I consider my best work here. Every artist has practice pieces, and poets are no exception.
A couple months back I read an article decrying non-traditional haiku, and it almost burst my bubble. It was a very limited view on the form, since yes, haiku were typically about nature, and weren't just seventeen syllable sentences chopped up into three lines. However, things change. Maybe what I write shouldn't be called haiku. Honestly, I don't care. Call it what you wish. I like it, I think it, I write it.
At some point, I've stopped caring about strict definitions of what is or is not good art, since really, I'm here to channel the stuff out of my brain. That doesn't mean I want to stop growing as a poet (or person for that matter), just that theory only goes so far, and sometimes you just have to spend those ten thousand hours shaping clay the wrong way before you make the perfect vessel.
some critics don't see
splendor of art forest through
trees of tradition
I've also started a Tumblr blog if anyone is also on that. I'll be sharing my haiku there, one at a time.
...
Wednesday, June 29
Prophets, Why Is Wisdom
...
Prophets, why is wisdom in vast spaces:
trackless deserts, measureless horizons
bottomless oceans, countless bookcases
infinite systems with infinite suns?
illumination of youthful wonder
outshines the dimmest experiences
an affection that's transparently pure
fool's paradise in a wasteland's caress
what limits an omnipresent embrace
except a narrow minded reckoning?
no matter the place, a tolerant grace
receives ubiquitous understanding
a seeker need not venture somewhere else,
pursuit of insight inside conscious self.
...
Written for One Stop Poetry. Happy Birthday OSP!
...
Prophets, why is wisdom in vast spaces:
trackless deserts, measureless horizons
bottomless oceans, countless bookcases
infinite systems with infinite suns?
illumination of youthful wonder
outshines the dimmest experiences
an affection that's transparently pure
fool's paradise in a wasteland's caress
what limits an omnipresent embrace
except a narrow minded reckoning?
no matter the place, a tolerant grace
receives ubiquitous understanding
a seeker need not venture somewhere else,
pursuit of insight inside conscious self.
...
Written for One Stop Poetry. Happy Birthday OSP!
...
Tuesday, June 28
All Writers Write
...
All writers write
since graceful words
resolve the plight
of souls unheard.
...
All writers write
since graceful words
resolve the plight
of souls unheard.
...
Monday, June 27
Sunday, June 26
Not Everything I Write
...
Not everything I write
gleams as literary gold
from king midas tongue
most days I trudge
a tenderfoot packmule
with word burdens
up rocky bluffs
of aesthetic merit
once in a shrewd moon
my patient hooves lead
to a sagacity stream
skyline of ancient poets
auric epiphany dawn.
...
Not everything I write
gleams as literary gold
from king midas tongue
most days I trudge
a tenderfoot packmule
with word burdens
up rocky bluffs
of aesthetic merit
once in a shrewd moon
my patient hooves lead
to a sagacity stream
skyline of ancient poets
auric epiphany dawn.
...
Friday, June 24
At the Speed of Me
Run at the speed of me
rocket from big bang birth
dash as atoms toddle
sprint as molecules mingle
flee immature star formations
bound beyond melancholy black holes
waver to gravity’s alluring curves
though no time tick tocks
to pierce your atmosphere
to blast your unbarred eyes
to reflect myself
at the speed of me.
...
Artwork is "A Fundamental Constant" by Alison Jardine.
Written for One Stop Poetry's Friday Poetically, G-Man's Friday Flash 55, and Poet's United Think Tank #55.
...
Thursday, June 23
Silly Amanda
Silly amanda
from far uganda
on the veranda
it's propaganda
by sly miranda
that the cute panda
wants to unhand ya.
...
Tuesday, June 21
Comments Are Hard
...
each comment I write
a tooth pulled by string without
brain anesthesia
...
I want to break character for a bit and let you into my mind without the protection of poetry. The topic I wanted to talk about is the act of writing and receiving comments, because honestly, I find it quite intimidating and mind-wracking. I actually have a more difficult time writing comments on poetry than I do writing poetry itself.
Now right off the bat, I want to say that I love other people's poetry, so it's not that I believe other people's stuff is inferior. I appreciate the time and effort everyone puts into their work, and if poetry were a theatre performance I'd applaud right along with everyone else.
When it comes to commenting, however, my mind paralyzes. Though I will like whatever a person has written, it might take me anywhere from ten minutes to an hour for my brain to ruminate and figure out exactly why. So if fifteen people comment on one of my poems, and my slowpoke mind has to take up to fifteen hours to contemplate everyone's work, you can see where I get bogged down.
What makes it even more infuriating is when I scroll up and someone else has already made the point I was about to share, and I can either weakly agree with them, or go back to the drawing board for another indeterminate length of time.
On the other hand, I could keep a stock amount of phrases like "Good job!" or "Excellent work!" on hand when my keyboard feels like quick drying cement, though I have some hesitance to that as well.
What makes this puzzling to me is that I love it when people comment on my work. It doesn't even have to be Shakespeare or a college dissertation: a simple, "I like it!" thrills me. So I don't understand why I'm reluctant to use this method when I'm strapped for time.
I would dig it if everyone had a little "like" thumb that I could click on to say, "Yes, I read your poem. It was groovy. My words are failing me right now. Keep up the good work!" (This is one of the reasons why I prefer Twitter/Facebook. Retweets and likes are excellent!)
I'm curious to know other people's opinions on this: How do you feel about writing comments? Do you prefer a simple comment over no comment at all? Do you comment on comments? If someone (like me) has trouble reciprocating, do you feel irked?
Anyway, thank you for reading, and I hope you have an excellent day! :D
...
each comment I write
a tooth pulled by string without
brain anesthesia
...
I want to break character for a bit and let you into my mind without the protection of poetry. The topic I wanted to talk about is the act of writing and receiving comments, because honestly, I find it quite intimidating and mind-wracking. I actually have a more difficult time writing comments on poetry than I do writing poetry itself.
Now right off the bat, I want to say that I love other people's poetry, so it's not that I believe other people's stuff is inferior. I appreciate the time and effort everyone puts into their work, and if poetry were a theatre performance I'd applaud right along with everyone else.
When it comes to commenting, however, my mind paralyzes. Though I will like whatever a person has written, it might take me anywhere from ten minutes to an hour for my brain to ruminate and figure out exactly why. So if fifteen people comment on one of my poems, and my slowpoke mind has to take up to fifteen hours to contemplate everyone's work, you can see where I get bogged down.
What makes it even more infuriating is when I scroll up and someone else has already made the point I was about to share, and I can either weakly agree with them, or go back to the drawing board for another indeterminate length of time.
On the other hand, I could keep a stock amount of phrases like "Good job!" or "Excellent work!" on hand when my keyboard feels like quick drying cement, though I have some hesitance to that as well.
What makes this puzzling to me is that I love it when people comment on my work. It doesn't even have to be Shakespeare or a college dissertation: a simple, "I like it!" thrills me. So I don't understand why I'm reluctant to use this method when I'm strapped for time.
I would dig it if everyone had a little "like" thumb that I could click on to say, "Yes, I read your poem. It was groovy. My words are failing me right now. Keep up the good work!" (This is one of the reasons why I prefer Twitter/Facebook. Retweets and likes are excellent!)
I'm curious to know other people's opinions on this: How do you feel about writing comments? Do you prefer a simple comment over no comment at all? Do you comment on comments? If someone (like me) has trouble reciprocating, do you feel irked?
Anyway, thank you for reading, and I hope you have an excellent day! :D
...
Monday, June 20
Fat Buddha
...
Fat buddha
you sit so still
your chubby belly hangs out
like me as a scrubby teen
controller in hands
controlled by blip blop bloop games
gotta get the mushroom
dammit, these chains caress
my fingers raw
if you jump you get points
this is me leaping now
after the /timespent hedonism
and the flip floppy bouncing
for fake gold coins that go ding
you smile
like I smile
at the imaginary world
I've built for myself
while all around me
the real world has grown
this is me rattling my cables
this is me with no controller
this is me with a smile
like you, fat buddha
though I no longer
sit still
...
Written for One Stop Poetry's Form Monday.
...
Fat buddha
you sit so still
your chubby belly hangs out
like me as a scrubby teen
controller in hands
controlled by blip blop bloop games
gotta get the mushroom
dammit, these chains caress
my fingers raw
if you jump you get points
this is me leaping now
after the /timespent hedonism
and the flip floppy bouncing
for fake gold coins that go ding
you smile
like I smile
at the imaginary world
I've built for myself
while all around me
the real world has grown
this is me rattling my cables
this is me with no controller
this is me with a smile
like you, fat buddha
though I no longer
sit still
...
Written for One Stop Poetry's Form Monday.
...
Sunday, June 19
I'm an Ogre, Dear
I'm an ogre, dear
No! (repeat)
gonna gnaw your knees
gonna get your ear
what can I eat please?
gonna fry your eyes
I'll grill your elbows
gonna toast your thighs
I think you're too slow
gonna crunch your nose
gonna chew your feet
gonna munch your toes
I like that sweet treat
gonna take your thumb
I'll bite your belly
gonna bake your bum
it's good with jelly
now I can't chase you
Yay! (repeat)
I'm way too hungry
I know what I'll do
there's an apple tree.
...
This is a poem for my kids. It's a call and response piece, where after every line they get to yell, "No!" until the last stanza where they yell "Yay!" Written for Father's Day.
Saturday, June 18
Moon Woman
...
Moon woman covets
freedom from staunch gravity
into frozen space
the sun warms her soul
confined in earth's cruel orbit
she dreams of comets
liberating leap
careens toward wild darkness
and welcoming blaze
solitary earth
seeks solace with kind humans
and silent ocean
when will earth learn to
not have faith in fickle moon
who craves only stars
...
Moon woman covets
freedom from staunch gravity
into frozen space
the sun warms her soul
confined in earth's cruel orbit
she dreams of comets
liberating leap
careens toward wild darkness
and welcoming blaze
solitary earth
seeks solace with kind humans
and silent ocean
when will earth learn to
not have faith in fickle moon
who craves only stars
...
Thursday, June 16
Tuesday, June 14
Hey Driver!
...
(Written with my 5 year old son's help!)
Hey driver! your indicator duck
quacks peculiar problems with your truck
I heard the hamsters under the hood
though they are often misunderstood
remember the frogs that roll the wheels?
they eat plenty of flies for their meals
check if chipmunks are picking a fight
with the squirrels when we are out of sight
oh no! we forgot about the snake
I'm sure the mice have planned an escape
don't neglect badger in the heater
these scars from when I didn't feed her
beware! there's the flare! I do declare
the prize mare, polar bear, grizzly bear
panda bear, black bear, koala bear
and snowshoe hare wear pairs of footware!
who needs regular old combustion
when we've got animal locomotion?
...
Posted for One Shot Wednesday.
...
(Written with my 5 year old son's help!)
Hey driver! your indicator duck
quacks peculiar problems with your truck
I heard the hamsters under the hood
though they are often misunderstood
remember the frogs that roll the wheels?
they eat plenty of flies for their meals
check if chipmunks are picking a fight
with the squirrels when we are out of sight
oh no! we forgot about the snake
I'm sure the mice have planned an escape
don't neglect badger in the heater
these scars from when I didn't feed her
beware! there's the flare! I do declare
the prize mare, polar bear, grizzly bear
panda bear, black bear, koala bear
and snowshoe hare wear pairs of footware!
who needs regular old combustion
when we've got animal locomotion?
...
Posted for One Shot Wednesday.
...
Monday, June 13
Sunday, June 12
Tuesday, June 7
Sulky Sally
Sulky sally spied slimy snail
boogers excreted out of tail
she schemed, "save for snack, I suppose."
propelled that snail right up her nose
when mollusk crawled it caused her pain
at least until it ate her brain
sunny sally always now kind
since slimy snail became her mind.
...
Posted for One Shot Wednesday over at One Stop Poetry. Huzzah!
...
Monday, June 6
Saturday, June 4
Friday, June 3
Little George Faraday
...
Little george faraday
six feet tall at birth
and grew
no jump basketball dunk
and grew
touched a skyscraper’s roof
and grew
grabbed an airplane midflight
and grew
mommy knitted a space sweater
and grew
dodged a sneaky moon
and grew
shook hands with planets
and grew
until he hugged the sun
and said,
“ouch.”
...
Written for Friday Poetically With Brian Miller and G-Man's Friday Flash 55.
...
Little george faraday
six feet tall at birth
and grew
no jump basketball dunk
and grew
touched a skyscraper’s roof
and grew
grabbed an airplane midflight
and grew
mommy knitted a space sweater
and grew
dodged a sneaky moon
and grew
shook hands with planets
and grew
until he hugged the sun
and said,
“ouch.”
...
Written for Friday Poetically With Brian Miller and G-Man's Friday Flash 55.
...
Thursday, June 2
Tuesday, May 31
Vowel
...
We the a generation
we with tiger parents
underneath hippie paint
b or less only good for a
trip to cubicle coal mines
shoveling other people's load
there's kids in china that would
starve to get this job
some of them already have
we the chairs with rollers
where are these wheels supposed to go
swoop out the door, a flock of
keyboard jockeys, arms spread like
flapping of freedom
to nowhere, like icarus we rise
and plummet to linoleum earth
while our space is filled by
eager replacements with
number tickets
...
We the e generation
we cyborgs, we symbiotes in plastic shells
linked with our hyperness in digital bondage
no base belong to us
we avatars of virtual godhoods
where atheism a nonissue
every server a personal deity
every mod, hax, exploit, lol, omg
an action programmed by someone
other than us
we rattle our chains, these strands of
neural nets, these plans of domination
and dominated, as we struggle to remember
our mortal frames
we unshackled consciousness, embedded
in silicon
we free ourselves from elements and
journey, candy journey, recall to
the only home we know
control alt delete
reset
...
We the i generation
deafen our ears with innocent
buds of blasting volumeness
we the tic tac text
fooled into thinking letters are
people, as we float past skin
and smiles, tears and sins
we blinded by a shiny progress
of supple elegance, when wrinkle
people subject to planned obsolescence
there is no moore's law for humans
we stepping stones of humorous memes
do we step, or are we stepped upon
we microwave our noses with soy
protein isolate, to clean out stench
of warzone smoke, burning flesh like
recycling, foreigners in little green
bins with cycle of life arrows and
it's all groovy because john
sings imagine in our
soap bubble
...
We the o generation
organisms of titillation
celebrity reality with a lusty
hedonism, or places we've never
been, and never will be, tanned
throes of passionate people playing
we voyeurs, like weeds we kill
our televisions to have them spring
forth as culture flowers, hey man
it's the only world we know, since
reality is broken and the flashing
lights I can control, sluice nuggets
of pleasure in my pan because
there isn't enough luxury to go around
we the virtual rich with our digital
mansions, with horny pixels at my
command, because if someone's going
to derive euphoria from this
madness, it might as well
be we
...
We the u generation
we the compassionate mantra
whether dalai lama or jesus
muhammad or abraham
dawkins or huxley
or somewhere in between
we realize our self interest
tied together with usb cords of
group interest, this internet of
patience waits for trolls with
/hugs
we wait for the takers
we makers, we chomskyites in spirit
if not in practice, the true form
of democracy is love, when we decide
to build a vote for everyone, when
we humanity believe this universe
is universal, our fences of prejudice
and language and affluence divide a
shared experience
our inalienable right to
think and feel and lift our voices
to the eternal sky and just
vowel.
...
We the a generation
we with tiger parents
underneath hippie paint
b or less only good for a
trip to cubicle coal mines
shoveling other people's load
there's kids in china that would
starve to get this job
some of them already have
we the chairs with rollers
where are these wheels supposed to go
swoop out the door, a flock of
keyboard jockeys, arms spread like
flapping of freedom
to nowhere, like icarus we rise
and plummet to linoleum earth
while our space is filled by
eager replacements with
number tickets
...
We the e generation
we cyborgs, we symbiotes in plastic shells
linked with our hyperness in digital bondage
no base belong to us
we avatars of virtual godhoods
where atheism a nonissue
every server a personal deity
every mod, hax, exploit, lol, omg
an action programmed by someone
other than us
we rattle our chains, these strands of
neural nets, these plans of domination
and dominated, as we struggle to remember
our mortal frames
we unshackled consciousness, embedded
in silicon
we free ourselves from elements and
journey, candy journey, recall to
the only home we know
control alt delete
reset
...
We the i generation
deafen our ears with innocent
buds of blasting volumeness
we the tic tac text
fooled into thinking letters are
people, as we float past skin
and smiles, tears and sins
we blinded by a shiny progress
of supple elegance, when wrinkle
people subject to planned obsolescence
there is no moore's law for humans
we stepping stones of humorous memes
do we step, or are we stepped upon
we microwave our noses with soy
protein isolate, to clean out stench
of warzone smoke, burning flesh like
recycling, foreigners in little green
bins with cycle of life arrows and
it's all groovy because john
sings imagine in our
soap bubble
...
We the o generation
organisms of titillation
celebrity reality with a lusty
hedonism, or places we've never
been, and never will be, tanned
throes of passionate people playing
we voyeurs, like weeds we kill
our televisions to have them spring
forth as culture flowers, hey man
it's the only world we know, since
reality is broken and the flashing
lights I can control, sluice nuggets
of pleasure in my pan because
there isn't enough luxury to go around
we the virtual rich with our digital
mansions, with horny pixels at my
command, because if someone's going
to derive euphoria from this
madness, it might as well
be we
...
We the u generation
we the compassionate mantra
whether dalai lama or jesus
muhammad or abraham
dawkins or huxley
or somewhere in between
we realize our self interest
tied together with usb cords of
group interest, this internet of
patience waits for trolls with
/hugs
we wait for the takers
we makers, we chomskyites in spirit
if not in practice, the true form
of democracy is love, when we decide
to build a vote for everyone, when
we humanity believe this universe
is universal, our fences of prejudice
and language and affluence divide a
shared experience
our inalienable right to
think and feel and lift our voices
to the eternal sky and just
vowel.
...
Monday, May 30
Saturday, May 28
Friday, May 27
We Are Made Of Dots
We are made of dots
fourteen billion years
old, 'fore then cannot
ken celestial sphere
perhaps four thousand
B.C. we sprang from
dust, who's to question
omnipotent psalm
maybe yesterday
memories intact
aggregate birthday
begat with one fact:
when we disappear
our dots persevere.
...
Written for One Stop Poetry Friday Poetically with Brian Miller.
Painting by Chuck Close.
...
Thursday, May 26
I Live In Stars
I live in stars
with the plasma
people we party party
party party day indeterminate
day radioactive action retains
energy flares fell in love with a
shimmer girl with nuclear eyes
we raced with fireballs we
danced with electrons
smashed from
protons
till
I rocketed into
cold cold space where plasma
people will not
cold cold space where plasma
people will not
go
Empire Avenue!
{EAV_BLOG_VER:bf136e2ceffe2e23}
The above code is for verification of this blog with Empire Avenue. Which is unimportant to all of you, but pretty neat for me.
If you don't know what that site is, EA is a lot like a stock market for social media influence. Like Klout, it measures your weightiness around the internet. It takes numbers from Twitter, Facebook, Youtube, and blogs (like this one) to measure how awesome you are at generating buzz.
Why would a poet care about that? Well, I don't know about you, but I'm thrilled whenever people read what I write. Part of communication is having an engaged audience, regardless of the medium, and sites like EA provide a yardstick for me to gauge how effective I am at broadcasting my message. It's the same reason why Twitter and Facebook are so fascinating, because not only am I (in essence) self-publishing myself on the internet, I'm also able to see exactly how much my value is worth to the people I interact with.
I'm not the type of poet to sit on a lake and ponder. (Not knocking those that do.) At some point I want what I think about to be consumed by the populace, and a site like EA facilitates that interaction.
...
The above code is for verification of this blog with Empire Avenue. Which is unimportant to all of you, but pretty neat for me.
If you don't know what that site is, EA is a lot like a stock market for social media influence. Like Klout, it measures your weightiness around the internet. It takes numbers from Twitter, Facebook, Youtube, and blogs (like this one) to measure how awesome you are at generating buzz.
Why would a poet care about that? Well, I don't know about you, but I'm thrilled whenever people read what I write. Part of communication is having an engaged audience, regardless of the medium, and sites like EA provide a yardstick for me to gauge how effective I am at broadcasting my message. It's the same reason why Twitter and Facebook are so fascinating, because not only am I (in essence) self-publishing myself on the internet, I'm also able to see exactly how much my value is worth to the people I interact with.
I'm not the type of poet to sit on a lake and ponder. (Not knocking those that do.) At some point I want what I think about to be consumed by the populace, and a site like EA facilitates that interaction.
...
Tuesday, May 24
Monday, May 23
All Hail Finbar McGinn
...
All hail peasant finbar mcginn
let me sit ye upon my knee
tell tale of fisher skirr at sea
by yon fire I shall begin
a ship broke, a drake choked
great dragon filleted end to end
dismal demise for uhl feshtee
all hail hero finbar mcginn
all hail high king finbar mcginn
no longer irrelevant flea
this master of royal decree
be wary a splendid shoo-in
daggers and cloaks, some ne'er awoke
power yields sin, 'spite origin
till rebels drowned bastard at sea
all hail tyrant finbar mcginn
...
Written in Double Octain form for One Stop Poetry.
Lazy this week, so linking this for One Shot Wednesday too. :D
...
All hail peasant finbar mcginn
let me sit ye upon my knee
tell tale of fisher skirr at sea
by yon fire I shall begin
a ship broke, a drake choked
great dragon filleted end to end
dismal demise for uhl feshtee
all hail hero finbar mcginn
all hail high king finbar mcginn
no longer irrelevant flea
this master of royal decree
be wary a splendid shoo-in
daggers and cloaks, some ne'er awoke
power yields sin, 'spite origin
till rebels drowned bastard at sea
all hail tyrant finbar mcginn
...
Written in Double Octain form for One Stop Poetry.
Lazy this week, so linking this for One Shot Wednesday too. :D
...
Saturday, May 21
Friday, May 20
Poetry Is For Everyone
...
"Poetry is for everyone:
dusty academian nutcases
gritty street suitcases
cave painter's trance
two lover's glance
hip swaying dance
monk's whispering chants
every prayer, every song
in time follow along
a VIP's speech
all stories we teach
all waves at the beach
one fish, two fish for each,"
she thinks.
body fades.
mind a poem.
...
Friday Flash 55 written for G-Man's Mr. Knowitall blog.
...
"Poetry is for everyone:
dusty academian nutcases
gritty street suitcases
cave painter's trance
two lover's glance
hip swaying dance
monk's whispering chants
every prayer, every song
in time follow along
a VIP's speech
all stories we teach
all waves at the beach
one fish, two fish for each,"
she thinks.
body fades.
mind a poem.
...
Friday Flash 55 written for G-Man's Mr. Knowitall blog.
...
Thursday, May 19
Tuesday, May 17
Dearest Darling
...
Dearest darling, I agree you should leave:
it makes perfect sense to consider my
unconditional love unattractive.
only another perhaps satisfies
desires I know every aspect of
since I've listened to echoes of your soul.
illusions of perfect consorts above
trump my common tranquility below.
an unassuming penniless poet
absolutely devoted to your whims?
a safety net contains no allurement,
don't regret if trapeze falls to ruin.
my confidence returns, my love hidden,
with resolve I'll complete myself again.
...
Dearest darling, I agree you should leave:
it makes perfect sense to consider my
unconditional love unattractive.
only another perhaps satisfies
desires I know every aspect of
since I've listened to echoes of your soul.
illusions of perfect consorts above
trump my common tranquility below.
an unassuming penniless poet
absolutely devoted to your whims?
a safety net contains no allurement,
don't regret if trapeze falls to ruin.
my confidence returns, my love hidden,
with resolve I'll complete myself again.
...
Monday, May 16
Search For Meaning
...
Search for meaning a shaky slope
foothills of apathetic thoughts
panoramic brash youth to naught
bridges to nowhere a'frayed rope
an aftermath of passion's path
meager firepits with charred hope
whichever trail to tread we ought?
search for meaning a shaky slope.
...
Written for One Stop Monday Form – Octains.
...
Search for meaning a shaky slope
foothills of apathetic thoughts
panoramic brash youth to naught
bridges to nowhere a'frayed rope
an aftermath of passion's path
meager firepits with charred hope
whichever trail to tread we ought?
search for meaning a shaky slope.
...
Written for One Stop Monday Form – Octains.
...
Sunday, May 15
In A Previous Life
In a previous life
I was an owl.
I can see you
from a mile away.
if I perch on your shoulder
your eyes seem like jewels.
please don't look at me
or else I’ll remember these
wicked claws and
the thrill of the hunt
when what I want
to be is wise
and soar.
...
Flash 55 written for One Stop Poetry Challenge – the Photography of Fee Easton. Photo by Fee Easton.
Saturday, May 14
Friday, May 13
Buttercup, I've Repeated
...
Buttercup, I've repeated, "as you wish,"
over and over and over again
anything you prefer assistance with
I'll get right on it, just let me begin
by saying "it's plain I'm common wesley
right now, and you crave dread pirate roberts,"
of course, interpret that from simple plea
blasted "as you wish" everything I blurt
feel like a moron, try not to trip when
you say, "farm boy, fill these with water, please"
can't you see this peasant is who I've been,
in my future I brave barbarous seas
"true love: you think this happens every day?"
in my mind when "as you wish" all I say.
...
Written for Friday Poetically with Brian Miller.
Buttercup, I've repeated, "as you wish,"
over and over and over again
anything you prefer assistance with
I'll get right on it, just let me begin
by saying "it's plain I'm common wesley
right now, and you crave dread pirate roberts,"
of course, interpret that from simple plea
blasted "as you wish" everything I blurt
feel like a moron, try not to trip when
you say, "farm boy, fill these with water, please"
can't you see this peasant is who I've been,
in my future I brave barbarous seas
"true love: you think this happens every day?"
in my mind when "as you wish" all I say.
...
Written for Friday Poetically with Brian Miller.
Thursday, May 12
From Left to Right
...
George in a white shirt with '99 County Fair print thinks,
"I wonder who's winning?"
Mable in a puppy print blouse thinks,
"I should sew a balloon quilt."
Hank in blue jeans with a cell phone on his belt thinks,
"What a waste of good money."
Cheryl in all black thinks,
"Hank is such a spoilsport. Shoo, it's getting warm."
The people in chairs in the shade think,
"Man, we lucked out on this one!"
Abigail, the new mom thinks,
"When will I ever get a break?"
Cherise, the friend of the new mom thinks,
"When will she ever stop complaining about her husband?"
George (no relation to other George), the baby thinks,
"When will I learn to speak?"
Richard, the dad lounged out on the grass thinks,
"I should've gone to work today."
The herd of people under the balloons think,
"This is so exciting! Please don't fall on me!"
The people in the balloons think,
"When are we going?"
Jim, the man with iron grey hair thinks,
"This can't end well."
Beth in the straw hat claps and thinks,
"I'm having a great time!"
The people holding the ropes think,
"When are they going to say go?"
Theresa in the red shirt thinks,
"Hey, somebody's taking our picture."
Bill in the navy blue shirt thinks,
"Hey, I wonder what's over there?"
...
Written for Bluebell Books short story slam. Photo by: Melissa R. Bickel.
Tuesday, May 10
Upon The Wreckage
...
Upon the wreckage of heart's foundation
mortar a steadiness in goodness
consecrated diagrams envision
a personal kingdom, moral and blessed
a central tower erected where mind
subsists over matter, calm libraries
for my restless intellect to unwind
with windows so consciousness oversees
my bountiful courtyard of sentiment
beneath which subterranean tunnels
emprison the twin dragons of torment:
recollection and regret herein dwell
castle complete I shall live as a king
wait! do I behold princess approaching?
...
Upon the wreckage of heart's foundation
mortar a steadiness in goodness
consecrated diagrams envision
a personal kingdom, moral and blessed
a central tower erected where mind
subsists over matter, calm libraries
for my restless intellect to unwind
with windows so consciousness oversees
my bountiful courtyard of sentiment
beneath which subterranean tunnels
emprison the twin dragons of torment:
recollection and regret herein dwell
castle complete I shall live as a king
wait! do I behold princess approaching?
...
Monday, May 9
Success A Dreary Flower
...
Success a dreary flower, seasonal
flippancy dances like fancy puppets
pranced front of audience at carnival--
flutter petals! be as marionettes!
neither should one dessicate in failure:
wither and fall to despair of purpose,
lie not like common leaves, sly and unsure
of footing like despondent excuses
dirt prevails! be as life sustaining mud,
only the shallow soil seeks out fame,
florid circus! into our ground stakes plunged
humble pasture holds when storm clips acclaim
every day share in our modest rebirth
for we all abide till returned to earth.
...
Success a dreary flower, seasonal
flippancy dances like fancy puppets
pranced front of audience at carnival--
flutter petals! be as marionettes!
neither should one dessicate in failure:
wither and fall to despair of purpose,
lie not like common leaves, sly and unsure
of footing like despondent excuses
dirt prevails! be as life sustaining mud,
only the shallow soil seeks out fame,
florid circus! into our ground stakes plunged
humble pasture holds when storm clips acclaim
every day share in our modest rebirth
for we all abide till returned to earth.
...
Sunday, May 8
There Was Once a Duck
...
There was once a duck in a bucket
took offense the farmer would pluck it
pail full to the brim
of hundred proof gin
fowl wished his slayer upchuck it.
...
There was once a duck in a bucket
took offense the farmer would pluck it
pail full to the brim
of hundred proof gin
fowl wished his slayer upchuck it.
...
Saturday, May 7
Friday, May 6
A Tree Said
...
A tree said
“I want to be
human”
took a name
rob
like the guy with
chainsaw
rob's soul departed by truck
shaved into lumber
shaved as a chair
sat in a store until
sat on by a human posterior
over and over and over again
then rob thought
“I want to be a
tree”
...
Posted for G-Man's Flash Friday 55.
A tree said
“I want to be
human”
took a name
rob
like the guy with
chainsaw
rob's soul departed by truck
shaved into lumber
shaved as a chair
sat in a store until
sat on by a human posterior
over and over and over again
then rob thought
“I want to be a
tree”
...
Posted for G-Man's Flash Friday 55.
Knights Of The Night
...
Knights of the night
we march in marsh
blight without sight
party most harsh
foul foe on prowl
we meager few
a jowled hound howls
at flanks we hew
thou understand?
we thwart notice
a canny plan
as scythes slice mice
pestilence sowed
we sneaky toads
...
Written for One Stop Poetry's Friday Poetically with Brian Miller.
Collected Haiku #24
...
help others freely
with compassion emerge as
indispensable
...
compassionate path
dear prophets at the summit
we struggle below
...
every raindrop thinks
as it falls, "if I go up
I'd be a comet"
...
vengeance ferris wheel
we are no longer amused
when will this ride end?
...
creativity
turtle flees to shell with threats
arises when calm
...
gratitude to dreams
allowed me to sleep last night
or did I forget?
...
me I want to be
glimmers in obscurity
collected starlight
...
please do not stick your
banana in the sand, it
will not taste better
...
wew wew wew wew wew
it's plagarism police
put your keyboards up
...
help others freely
with compassion emerge as
indispensable
...
compassionate path
dear prophets at the summit
we struggle below
...
every raindrop thinks
as it falls, "if I go up
I'd be a comet"
...
vengeance ferris wheel
we are no longer amused
when will this ride end?
...
creativity
turtle flees to shell with threats
arises when calm
...
gratitude to dreams
allowed me to sleep last night
or did I forget?
...
me I want to be
glimmers in obscurity
collected starlight
...
please do not stick your
banana in the sand, it
will not taste better
...
wew wew wew wew wew
it's plagarism police
put your keyboards up
...
Thursday, May 5
If Sad Someone
...
If sad someone asks why life's worth living
when untold atrocities outnumber
altruism, rulers to power cling
with machine gun fists, and entrepreneurs
eviscerate entire neighborhoods
--a simple question with no solution:
with endless evil, how can there be good?
human race over before it's begun?
have I no answers, though have a question
spun upside down: why is death worth dying?
seems a wasted chain of our creation
a flower, sunlight in field, our shared spring
sad someone absent eons fore and next
a grave in trade for grains of happiness?
...
If sad someone asks why life's worth living
when untold atrocities outnumber
altruism, rulers to power cling
with machine gun fists, and entrepreneurs
eviscerate entire neighborhoods
--a simple question with no solution:
with endless evil, how can there be good?
human race over before it's begun?
have I no answers, though have a question
spun upside down: why is death worth dying?
seems a wasted chain of our creation
a flower, sunlight in field, our shared spring
sad someone absent eons fore and next
a grave in trade for grains of happiness?
...
Collected Haiku #23
...
jealousy is the
slow heat of a summer sun
bare feet on sidewalk
...
beware pirate love
they'll bury treasure in chest
sail to island lush
...
wearing my bathrobe
in universal beyond
wonder who abides?
...
a concrete buddha
meditates, gathers no moss
until rolled downhill
...
slumber tramples me
with elephantine vigor
subconscious grazes
...
embarrassment blush
is like sticking wet hands in
tuft of laundry lint
...
beloved, if we
leap from lofty ledge, will we
climb cliff together?
...
heisenberg, direct
uncertain observers need
certain relations
...
unconditional
love begins when we forgive
dire enemies
...
jealousy is the
slow heat of a summer sun
bare feet on sidewalk
...
beware pirate love
they'll bury treasure in chest
sail to island lush
...
wearing my bathrobe
in universal beyond
wonder who abides?
...
a concrete buddha
meditates, gathers no moss
until rolled downhill
...
slumber tramples me
with elephantine vigor
subconscious grazes
...
embarrassment blush
is like sticking wet hands in
tuft of laundry lint
...
beloved, if we
leap from lofty ledge, will we
climb cliff together?
...
heisenberg, direct
uncertain observers need
certain relations
...
unconditional
love begins when we forgive
dire enemies
...
Wednesday, May 4
Collected Haiku #22
...
suffering smolders
a slightest memory breeze
forest reignites
...
pilgrim asks prophet
"where is heaven? where is hell?"
seer raises mirror
...
what rhymes with orange?
as I sip chamomile tea
at least hat matches
...
these digital words
travel amongst gracious souls
shall they fall astray?
...
shanghai in our dreams
an exotic reverie
chinese restaurant
...
invisibility
my super power, watch this
you can't see me now
...
if I am speechless
it's not reserved apathy
my words deficient
...
autonomy sings
a robin outside our cage
harmonious mind
...
a flood dissipates
river returns to normal
wreckage of poems
...
suffering smolders
a slightest memory breeze
forest reignites
...
pilgrim asks prophet
"where is heaven? where is hell?"
seer raises mirror
...
what rhymes with orange?
as I sip chamomile tea
at least hat matches
...
these digital words
travel amongst gracious souls
shall they fall astray?
...
shanghai in our dreams
an exotic reverie
chinese restaurant
...
invisibility
my super power, watch this
you can't see me now
...
if I am speechless
it's not reserved apathy
my words deficient
...
autonomy sings
a robin outside our cage
harmonious mind
...
a flood dissipates
river returns to normal
wreckage of poems
...
Tuesday, May 3
Findlestump Knows
...
Findlestump knows neath the roundabout tree
while whether they cackle or nibble not
wickle neeches gather for moonbeam tea
avoid shankily roots or you'll be caught
a morsel you'd be for their appetite
poor findlestump's uncle, he lost his way
a fumble dool they gobbled in three bites
couldn't even screel, or so auntie says
shinilly hero you are? oh I see
that vorpal sword tied to your bearing back
slaughtered some foe called a jabba wockee?
thickity thack you're a snickity snack!
findlestump knows neath the roundabout tree
wickle neeches gather by hex of me
...
Findlestump knows neath the roundabout tree
while whether they cackle or nibble not
wickle neeches gather for moonbeam tea
avoid shankily roots or you'll be caught
a morsel you'd be for their appetite
poor findlestump's uncle, he lost his way
a fumble dool they gobbled in three bites
couldn't even screel, or so auntie says
shinilly hero you are? oh I see
that vorpal sword tied to your bearing back
slaughtered some foe called a jabba wockee?
thickity thack you're a snickity snack!
findlestump knows neath the roundabout tree
wickle neeches gather by hex of me
...
Monday, May 2
Limericks Are Fun!
...
Thanks to Mad Kane for the limerick contest. Here's my entry for the week:
A gal had to cancel her plan
to boink the gardening man
she nibbled her tongue
from afar he looked hung
alas just the watering can.
...
Thanks to Mad Kane for the limerick contest. Here's my entry for the week:
A gal had to cancel her plan
to boink the gardening man
she nibbled her tongue
from afar he looked hung
alas just the watering can.
...
You Will Know Me
...
You will know me when my face is as night:
determined depths of patient space combined
with endless eyes of radiant starfall
atmospheres pierced with my passion's fury
you will know me by my fervent body:
limbs propelled by virtue of creative
fission; no nuclear reactor here--
a zeal extractor generates my suns
you will know me as my mind conflagrates
escapes its metaphysical prison
crosses the ageless void, light years journeyed
so you might see my luminosity
...
You will know me when my face is as night:
determined depths of patient space combined
with endless eyes of radiant starfall
atmospheres pierced with my passion's fury
you will know me by my fervent body:
limbs propelled by virtue of creative
fission; no nuclear reactor here--
a zeal extractor generates my suns
you will know me as my mind conflagrates
escapes its metaphysical prison
crosses the ageless void, light years journeyed
so you might see my luminosity
...
Sunday, May 1
When I See You I See Sand
...
When I see you I see sand
surge in narrow rivulets
fractal across wasted land
an amiable onset
a gust rises in the east
waves of stones that remember
their dormant glory released
I see you now: a boulder
...
Inspired by Rosa Frei at One Stop Poetry. Photograph by Rosa Frei. Used with permission.
...
Collected Haiku #21
...
a kid cries, phone rings
other child turbulent
my mind's on the moon
...
listen to the creaks
dishwasher, lights, floor, music
of your absent voice
...
art center empty
across street parking lot full
poker room figments
...
every poem is
a lie we accept as truth
authentic fiction
...
one said, "dialogue
is inferior to thoughts,"
and our brains melted
...
"blunderclumped" a word
at urban dictionary
english grows, huzzah!
...
an afternoon nap
world drifts by like red canoe
hurry up! paddle!
...
if these words are lost
in static of the future
will our minds mingle?
...
watermelon rind
dropped in back of pickup truck
someone honks a horn
...
a kid cries, phone rings
other child turbulent
my mind's on the moon
...
listen to the creaks
dishwasher, lights, floor, music
of your absent voice
...
art center empty
across street parking lot full
poker room figments
...
every poem is
a lie we accept as truth
authentic fiction
...
one said, "dialogue
is inferior to thoughts,"
and our brains melted
...
"blunderclumped" a word
at urban dictionary
english grows, huzzah!
...
an afternoon nap
world drifts by like red canoe
hurry up! paddle!
...
if these words are lost
in static of the future
will our minds mingle?
...
watermelon rind
dropped in back of pickup truck
someone honks a horn
...
Saturday, April 30
Collected Haiku #20
...
search the laundry void
you never know what's in a
little boy's pockets
...
anxious universe
these eons in the making
crumbs of compassion
...
dream zebras are neat
a shame that you hate haiku
you'd despise my blog
...
silent shuriken
depression is a ninja
keep vigilant light
...
a vinegar truth:
poetry is more lovely
than many poets
...
logic and feeling
perpendicular senses
one is time, one space
...
happiness surprise
thank you for retweeting blog
from wild roses
...
when dreamer's dreams lost
devote soul to compassion
help others, help self
...
generosity
a trail of fallen branches
sunbeam from shadow
...
search the laundry void
you never know what's in a
little boy's pockets
...
anxious universe
these eons in the making
crumbs of compassion
...
dream zebras are neat
a shame that you hate haiku
you'd despise my blog
...
silent shuriken
depression is a ninja
keep vigilant light
...
a vinegar truth:
poetry is more lovely
than many poets
...
logic and feeling
perpendicular senses
one is time, one space
...
happiness surprise
thank you for retweeting blog
from wild roses
...
when dreamer's dreams lost
devote soul to compassion
help others, help self
...
generosity
a trail of fallen branches
sunbeam from shadow
...
Friday, April 29
Mister MacAllister
...
mister macallister
born a bomb
hot stuff teenager
married a waitress from utah
three kids with too many teeth
garage of broken pieces
job job job day in day out
punch a timesheet
punch at the bar and run
a man dies
electric chair
cowled death comes
“last words?”
mister macallister
says
“watch me explode”
...
Inspired by Flash Friday 55 at G-man.
...
mister macallister
born a bomb
hot stuff teenager
married a waitress from utah
three kids with too many teeth
garage of broken pieces
job job job day in day out
punch a timesheet
punch at the bar and run
a man dies
electric chair
cowled death comes
“last words?”
mister macallister
says
“watch me explode”
...
Inspired by Flash Friday 55 at G-man.
...
Collected Haiku #19
...
contact established
generous aliens gift
help to destroy us
...
anonymous brutes
crouch in computer caverns
these modern grendels
...
nothing is silent
except space, a glorious
potential of sound
...
dark chocolate bunny
as life devoured, dreams of
white chocolate human
...
grain of desert sand
resplendent affinities
when I respire
...
this lightning will not
strike my sensitivity
grounded with patience
...
no one knows what the
elephant knows, for fogy
he did retire
...
message compelling
cup a worthy metaphor
excellent poem
...
a balance between
our attachments loosened and
everything let go
...
contact established
generous aliens gift
help to destroy us
...
anonymous brutes
crouch in computer caverns
these modern grendels
...
nothing is silent
except space, a glorious
potential of sound
...
dark chocolate bunny
as life devoured, dreams of
white chocolate human
...
grain of desert sand
resplendent affinities
when I respire
...
this lightning will not
strike my sensitivity
grounded with patience
...
no one knows what the
elephant knows, for fogy
he did retire
...
message compelling
cup a worthy metaphor
excellent poem
...
a balance between
our attachments loosened and
everything let go
...
Thursday, April 28
I Made A New Word
...
After Anne Billson tweeted there should be a word for "the anxiety you feel about not having the time to see all the films, read all the books or hear all the music," and Neil Gaiman retweeted her request, I took it upon myself to make a word for just such an occasion:
"Blunderclumped"
Then I submitted both word and definition to Urban Dictionary, and bam, word made. It's that simple.
Here's a haiku honoring the birth of a new word:
"blunderclumped" a word
at urban dictionary
english grows, huzzah!
...
After Anne Billson tweeted there should be a word for "the anxiety you feel about not having the time to see all the films, read all the books or hear all the music," and Neil Gaiman retweeted her request, I took it upon myself to make a word for just such an occasion:
"Blunderclumped"
Then I submitted both word and definition to Urban Dictionary, and bam, word made. It's that simple.
Here's a haiku honoring the birth of a new word:
"blunderclumped" a word
at urban dictionary
english grows, huzzah!
...
They Say The Measure
...
They say the measure of our happiness
is the love we spread around, fertilizer
in the garden of soul seeds, I confess
nevertheless, thus far my rake did err
with a baleful slash of pessimism
followed by a mixture of glee killer
miasmatic spray of criticism:
"quick! aim! there falls another amateur!"
what a blighted landscape I would become
if I followed the path of toxic words
to witch's oven with creative crumbs
devoured by flock of pretentious birds
instead I'll devote my cultivation
to grow our grass greener with gentle sun
...
They say the measure of our happiness
is the love we spread around, fertilizer
in the garden of soul seeds, I confess
nevertheless, thus far my rake did err
with a baleful slash of pessimism
followed by a mixture of glee killer
miasmatic spray of criticism:
"quick! aim! there falls another amateur!"
what a blighted landscape I would become
if I followed the path of toxic words
to witch's oven with creative crumbs
devoured by flock of pretentious birds
instead I'll devote my cultivation
to grow our grass greener with gentle sun
...
Wednesday, April 27
Collected Haiku #18
...
smile electric?
poems that brainwash to stick
finger in socket
...
if I scratch my head
with everything you do, I'd
dig hole to china
...
jedi care not for
glory; interconnections
extant rather know
...
you love every ship
on the ocean, I love you
as the deepest trench
...
e e cummings speaks
to your heart when he is dead
and I'm wordless here
...
purple tenderness
from a diminutive frame
a smirk, wind scampers
...
your face painted is
sensual as a sunset
wonderful fiction
...
easter teaches us
every day we are reborn
to a precious world
...
when the world freezes
as I reach my winter years
your snowflake hand melts
...
smile electric?
poems that brainwash to stick
finger in socket
...
if I scratch my head
with everything you do, I'd
dig hole to china
...
jedi care not for
glory; interconnections
extant rather know
...
you love every ship
on the ocean, I love you
as the deepest trench
...
e e cummings speaks
to your heart when he is dead
and I'm wordless here
...
purple tenderness
from a diminutive frame
a smirk, wind scampers
...
your face painted is
sensual as a sunset
wonderful fiction
...
easter teaches us
every day we are reborn
to a precious world
...
when the world freezes
as I reach my winter years
your snowflake hand melts
...
Tuesday, April 26
You Know Me Not
...
You know me not for I am a poet
how would you? I've not accepted myself
others threw different roles at life's roulette
dependence on creation did I quell
my brain teems as did keats, though I defer
judgment of my genius until I pass
to nothingness and my verses transfer
to conceits of society en masse
I surrender to inspiration's call
zealous eyes aflame confirm evidence
of a transcendentally possessed thrall
please! don't mistake ardor for arrogance
ahead overgrown path of artistry
with bladed wit, strike in service to dreams
...
You know me not for I am a poet
how would you? I've not accepted myself
others threw different roles at life's roulette
dependence on creation did I quell
my brain teems as did keats, though I defer
judgment of my genius until I pass
to nothingness and my verses transfer
to conceits of society en masse
I surrender to inspiration's call
zealous eyes aflame confirm evidence
of a transcendentally possessed thrall
please! don't mistake ardor for arrogance
ahead overgrown path of artistry
with bladed wit, strike in service to dreams
...
Monday, April 25
As I Should Have
...
As I should have in ages past, I give
up, I surrender to your desires
though no longer in me do you believe
I believe in you, ever your squire
cast aside my sword, to your wants I yield
lo, though you said you'd love me forever
back then; my broken banner quits the field
right now when you say your love will never
return; I'd defeat any foe for you
yet with only a word you lay me low
bury hope in catacomb, I set to
an oubliette from which you'll never know
my suffering; from dungeon I'll emerge
armor battered: still, mettle will resurge
...
As I should have in ages past, I give
up, I surrender to your desires
though no longer in me do you believe
I believe in you, ever your squire
cast aside my sword, to your wants I yield
lo, though you said you'd love me forever
back then; my broken banner quits the field
right now when you say your love will never
return; I'd defeat any foe for you
yet with only a word you lay me low
bury hope in catacomb, I set to
an oubliette from which you'll never know
my suffering; from dungeon I'll emerge
armor battered: still, mettle will resurge
...
Collected Haiku #17
...
I'd grumble about
murphy's law, then twitter would
probably explode
...
great, now you've done it
murphy's law twitter crash on
this #followfriday
...
dig sense of humor
now need a profile pic
anything 'cept egg
...
wish has been granted
welcome to the twitterverse
doubt pic is you though
...
would one rather be
doppelganger dynamic
or a lone figment?
...
if you have a dream
rather, if a dream has you
do not be consumed
...
your love a sparkle
of sunlight on rolling sea
unattainable
...
sweep crumbs on the floor
converge a quiet place when
all else diverges
...
luke writhes in lightning
darth vader chucks emperor
feat of atonement
...
I'd grumble about
murphy's law, then twitter would
probably explode
...
great, now you've done it
murphy's law twitter crash on
this #followfriday
...
dig sense of humor
now need a profile pic
anything 'cept egg
...
wish has been granted
welcome to the twitterverse
doubt pic is you though
...
would one rather be
doppelganger dynamic
or a lone figment?
...
if you have a dream
rather, if a dream has you
do not be consumed
...
your love a sparkle
of sunlight on rolling sea
unattainable
...
sweep crumbs on the floor
converge a quiet place when
all else diverges
...
luke writhes in lightning
darth vader chucks emperor
feat of atonement
...
Sunday, April 24
I Have Never
...
I have never seen a sunrise as bright
as your smile when the next whimsical
idea, book, place, or person excites
your electric mind intellectual
I have never heard a stream as soothing
as your voice when you sing our kids to sleep
with a "hush little baby" as they cling
like rockabye babies in cradle tree
I have never felt a satin as soft
as your tummy when you were with child
during a nap the blankets you'd kick off
I'd hold you, my face with your hair wild
please do forgive me if I reminisce
I can't help but feel about what I miss
...
I have never seen a sunrise as bright
as your smile when the next whimsical
idea, book, place, or person excites
your electric mind intellectual
I have never heard a stream as soothing
as your voice when you sing our kids to sleep
with a "hush little baby" as they cling
like rockabye babies in cradle tree
I have never felt a satin as soft
as your tummy when you were with child
during a nap the blankets you'd kick off
I'd hold you, my face with your hair wild
please do forgive me if I reminisce
I can't help but feel about what I miss
...
Saturday, April 23
Collected Haiku #16
...
the ceiling shimmers
from the glare as my eyes stare
at the sky beyond
...
mcfly, I advise
before you die to revise
prize of large size fries
...
instead of drowning
we shall drift in dreams, rescue
our aspirations
...
when I weep, these tears
not for me, they are blessings
I return to earth
...
summary of life
accept your hunger nature
create solutions
...
if your pain is full
pour sorrow into your heart
and you shall be healed
...
dear goldfish, now we
need a new stunt double for
finding nemo two
...
this #followfriday
wish I could green check the world
to honor #earthday
...
sire, perhaps we
shouldn't behead ted, chop hand
instead? it's just bread
...
the ceiling shimmers
from the glare as my eyes stare
at the sky beyond
...
mcfly, I advise
before you die to revise
prize of large size fries
...
instead of drowning
we shall drift in dreams, rescue
our aspirations
...
when I weep, these tears
not for me, they are blessings
I return to earth
...
summary of life
accept your hunger nature
create solutions
...
if your pain is full
pour sorrow into your heart
and you shall be healed
...
dear goldfish, now we
need a new stunt double for
finding nemo two
...
this #followfriday
wish I could green check the world
to honor #earthday
...
sire, perhaps we
shouldn't behead ted, chop hand
instead? it's just bread
...
Friday, April 22
Shall We Not Sink
...
Shall we not sink to the bottom, settle
as debris in suburban backyard pool
this microcosm of ocean, farewell
to our shipwreck with treasure chest of jewels
plastic, of course, sunk next to lost goggles
overwhelmed by our heavy anchor hearts
a wasp drowns, death knell on a mini swell
a sailor and ambitions torn apart
by boogie boards moonlighting as shark fins
a struggle as I grab the net, fling wasp
to grass, chill wind on skin as the kids grin
"Dad, hot pool! Let's go!" and drag me to spa
a life lost, a dream aimlessly ravaged
through joy of my children I am salvaged
...
Shall we not sink to the bottom, settle
as debris in suburban backyard pool
this microcosm of ocean, farewell
to our shipwreck with treasure chest of jewels
plastic, of course, sunk next to lost goggles
overwhelmed by our heavy anchor hearts
a wasp drowns, death knell on a mini swell
a sailor and ambitions torn apart
by boogie boards moonlighting as shark fins
a struggle as I grab the net, fling wasp
to grass, chill wind on skin as the kids grin
"Dad, hot pool! Let's go!" and drag me to spa
a life lost, a dream aimlessly ravaged
through joy of my children I am salvaged
...
Thursday, April 21
Collected Haiku #15
...
a samurai duel
focus ki into language
strike with a poem
...
under couch we find
a spoiled cranberry and
a stormtrooper's head
...
butterfly, why dart
from your home? she sighs, replies,
a world of color
...
a feigned wilderness
flowers in contrived garden
phantasms of love
...
a poem should flow
between poet and reader
as a gentle wave
...
serene flow drives me
to find intrinsic rewards
within these haiku
...
if you live as a
socket instead of light bulb
then never burn out
...
mountain of high road
is surrounded by canyons
treacherous and steep
...
this flooded river
we stand on opposite banks
gaze downstream with me
...
a samurai duel
focus ki into language
strike with a poem
...
under couch we find
a spoiled cranberry and
a stormtrooper's head
...
butterfly, why dart
from your home? she sighs, replies,
a world of color
...
a feigned wilderness
flowers in contrived garden
phantasms of love
...
a poem should flow
between poet and reader
as a gentle wave
...
serene flow drives me
to find intrinsic rewards
within these haiku
...
if you live as a
socket instead of light bulb
then never burn out
...
mountain of high road
is surrounded by canyons
treacherous and steep
...
this flooded river
we stand on opposite banks
gaze downstream with me
...
Wednesday, April 20
Peace Of Mind
...
Peace of mind is a place only breathing
carries us to, when the weight of worry
drags in the dust, a caravan for kings
yoked to baubles, though we yearn to be free
this air, this sweet, sweet breeze unshackles us
knocked to blistered knees, we inhale, exhale
as we emigrate from history, thus
it's always been, our search for sacred vale
you arrive at peace when we all enter
your bondage is mine to bear, as mine yours
we shall share this space, this holy shelter
young and old, feeble and strong, rich and poor
for we share this atmosphere, and so should
this earth be as our breath, for it is good
...
Peace of mind is a place only breathing
carries us to, when the weight of worry
drags in the dust, a caravan for kings
yoked to baubles, though we yearn to be free
this air, this sweet, sweet breeze unshackles us
knocked to blistered knees, we inhale, exhale
as we emigrate from history, thus
it's always been, our search for sacred vale
you arrive at peace when we all enter
your bondage is mine to bear, as mine yours
we shall share this space, this holy shelter
young and old, feeble and strong, rich and poor
for we share this atmosphere, and so should
this earth be as our breath, for it is good
...
Collected Haiku #14
...
there's a difference
between changes for others
and changes for self
...
twitter silences
the spaces between the tweets
that everyone shares
...
a psychic named me
a shapeshifter once, am I
a stream or a stone?
...
contemplate breakfast
cheez its and chocolate cake are
possibly okay
...
trees uproot, tangled
branches demolish buildings
forest finds freedom
...
dances with three year
old, this wolf just three feet tall
yet she hamstrings me
...
happiness breathes in
the flow of people being
happiness breathes out
...
raindrops on rooftop
pitter patter little feet
child in darkness
...
cynical people
are useful, someone must trim
an optimist's dreams
...
there's a difference
between changes for others
and changes for self
...
twitter silences
the spaces between the tweets
that everyone shares
...
a psychic named me
a shapeshifter once, am I
a stream or a stone?
...
contemplate breakfast
cheez its and chocolate cake are
possibly okay
...
trees uproot, tangled
branches demolish buildings
forest finds freedom
...
dances with three year
old, this wolf just three feet tall
yet she hamstrings me
...
happiness breathes in
the flow of people being
happiness breathes out
...
raindrops on rooftop
pitter patter little feet
child in darkness
...
cynical people
are useful, someone must trim
an optimist's dreams
...
Tuesday, April 19
Collected Haiku #13
...
ask yourself daily
"what would me I want to be
want to do today?"
...
the past is a cave
where memories hibernate
best not wake the bears
...
first asexual
reproduction: a poem
bacteria wrote
...
old sumeria
where poetry was the same
trade as pottery
...
psychic jealousy
future reverts to savage
mental fisticuffs
...
tired eyes stare on
tiny voice squeaks, "let's put seeds
in here," so it goes
...
poems are distilled
chaos, translated into
words of potency
...
though moon be sober
celestial consorts all
as phantoms spiral
...
let's up the ante
low stakes are monotonous
all in with my heart
...
ask yourself daily
"what would me I want to be
want to do today?"
...
the past is a cave
where memories hibernate
best not wake the bears
...
first asexual
reproduction: a poem
bacteria wrote
...
old sumeria
where poetry was the same
trade as pottery
...
psychic jealousy
future reverts to savage
mental fisticuffs
...
tired eyes stare on
tiny voice squeaks, "let's put seeds
in here," so it goes
...
poems are distilled
chaos, translated into
words of potency
...
though moon be sober
celestial consorts all
as phantoms spiral
...
let's up the ante
low stakes are monotonous
all in with my heart
...
Monday, April 18
A Love Song
...
Years past, you asked me to write a love song
foolishly never got around to it
one of multitude verses I've sung wrong
listen: music surrounds, now that we've split
perhaps I lacked proper motivation
maybe we've been stuck in a rut, boredom
induced misery, poor explanation
I know, how else do we interpret our problems
no matter, you cannot attend, the part
played, the dance ended, symphony silent
the past's frozen museum framed the art
time sweeps, ever the janitor tyrant
though I know performance over, I fear
you will not chance this love poem to hear
...
Years past, you asked me to write a love song
foolishly never got around to it
one of multitude verses I've sung wrong
listen: music surrounds, now that we've split
perhaps I lacked proper motivation
maybe we've been stuck in a rut, boredom
induced misery, poor explanation
I know, how else do we interpret our problems
no matter, you cannot attend, the part
played, the dance ended, symphony silent
the past's frozen museum framed the art
time sweeps, ever the janitor tyrant
though I know performance over, I fear
you will not chance this love poem to hear
...
Sunday, April 17
Collected Haiku #12
...
black cat crosses path
what type of luck is it if
I scratch behind ears
...
passion, release me
your collar around my neck
so weary of this walk
...
interstellar gas
such an unfortunate phrase
for magnificence
...
hermit on mountain
"perfection: skin must exude
a robe please, I'm nude"
...
as I scrub the sink
look myself in the mirror
clean water humbles
...
every haiku feels
like an ending, oh, what's this
here's another one
...
if you had a sign
on your forehead, what would it
read? who would read it?
...
dreams, please accept my
token of thanks for guiding
me on path of sleep
...
deja vu happens
is a prophecy that says
deja vu happens
...
black cat crosses path
what type of luck is it if
I scratch behind ears
...
passion, release me
your collar around my neck
so weary of this walk
...
interstellar gas
such an unfortunate phrase
for magnificence
...
hermit on mountain
"perfection: skin must exude
a robe please, I'm nude"
...
as I scrub the sink
look myself in the mirror
clean water humbles
...
every haiku feels
like an ending, oh, what's this
here's another one
...
if you had a sign
on your forehead, what would it
read? who would read it?
...
dreams, please accept my
token of thanks for guiding
me on path of sleep
...
deja vu happens
is a prophecy that says
deja vu happens
...
Saturday, April 16
An Ordinary Love
...
Though world be wide and love ordinary
with exhausting abandon sweethearts fling
themselves from highest branches of the tree
cascade down leaves of lust and wedding rings
past limbs that claw at exposed tender flesh
taxes, children, mortgages and feral
bills, these mutant horrors devour fresh
dreams, and though they tumble as one peril
collapse proves the calamitous ordeal
separate in pile of withered hopes
eyes too stunned to see, hearts too numb to feel
a frozen flurry on the blasted slope
some gather kindling to build patient light
a compassionate warmth in this bleak night
...
Though world be wide and love ordinary
with exhausting abandon sweethearts fling
themselves from highest branches of the tree
cascade down leaves of lust and wedding rings
past limbs that claw at exposed tender flesh
taxes, children, mortgages and feral
bills, these mutant horrors devour fresh
dreams, and though they tumble as one peril
collapse proves the calamitous ordeal
separate in pile of withered hopes
eyes too stunned to see, hearts too numb to feel
a frozen flurry on the blasted slope
some gather kindling to build patient light
a compassionate warmth in this bleak night
...
Friday, April 15
Writing Is Like
...
Writing is like
skiing a slope
of white powder.
snot freezes on
lip, gnawed like
bark of trees you
evade, the mixed
metaphor timber,
the boulders of poor
word choice, other
skiers in your mind,
who shout, "get out
of my way, chump!
you're an amateur!"
your fingers and toes
and brain are numb, as
each word is like a new
swish swish swish swish
neverending swish until you
finally find a resting place at the bottom and blubber, "was that the kiddie slope?"
...
Writing is like
skiing a slope
of white powder.
snot freezes on
lip, gnawed like
bark of trees you
evade, the mixed
metaphor timber,
the boulders of poor
word choice, other
skiers in your mind,
who shout, "get out
of my way, chump!
you're an amateur!"
your fingers and toes
and brain are numb, as
each word is like a new
swish swish swish swish
neverending swish until you
finally find a resting place at the bottom and blubber, "was that the kiddie slope?"
...
Collected Haiku #11
seer with walking stick
"there are no happy endings
just happy journeys"
...
paradox: this art
will change world for the better
where's my paycheck, bro
...
I don't wear heart on
sleeve, though you can still launder
love in spin cycle
...
miniature voices
scuffling in the darkened room
singularity
...
hey, the problem with
#poeminyourpocketday
skittles are sticky
...
metasyntactic
variable bemoans lack
of identity
...
man version: worries
are codes hidden by posh spy
stuffed into codpiece
...
equilibrium
a complicated word for
something so subtle
...
an artist without
an audience is like an
angel without wings
...
"there are no happy endings
just happy journeys"
...
paradox: this art
will change world for the better
where's my paycheck, bro
...
I don't wear heart on
sleeve, though you can still launder
love in spin cycle
...
miniature voices
scuffling in the darkened room
singularity
...
hey, the problem with
#poeminyourpocketday
skittles are sticky
...
metasyntactic
variable bemoans lack
of identity
...
man version: worries
are codes hidden by posh spy
stuffed into codpiece
...
equilibrium
a complicated word for
something so subtle
...
an artist without
an audience is like an
angel without wings
...
Thursday, April 14
Why Haiku?
As you may have noticed, I've been recently writing poetry on this blog. Specifically, a boatload of haiku. Here is the best explanation I can come up with for why the sudden shift in focus:
Ever since I quit playing video games and roleplaying games, my brain has been working in overdrive to find a replacement to mull over. Something to keep my mind busy during the course of the day when I'm changing diapers or watching Dora for the gazillionth time, and thus far, words have been it.
Not just any words, however, but a quick and concise form that comes to a point and ends, without waste, without leftovers, as minimal as possible without losing an aspect of creativity.
Thus, the haiku:
haiku are puzzles
organize the syllables
objective is love
Each haiku takes me at least ten minutes (most of the time a lot longer) to write. That's because each word is absolutely paramount to the structure of the whole. I only get 17 syllables to fit a precise idea or phrase: no more, no less. A thesaurus and dictionary are critical, and I found myself at Barnes and Noble the other day purchasing a hardback version of each, plus a rhyming dictionary for those times when I don't have convenient internet access.
Haiku also have a syncopated rhythm that I have come to love, since 5-7-5 is a groovy...
duh-DUH-duh-DUH-duh,
duh-DUH-duh-DUH-duh-DUH-duh,
duh-DUH-duh-DUH-duh,
...not a stilted marching band sound like 4 or 6 or 8 or 10 would be.
Not that I won't write other poems as the mood takes me, and perhaps I will become bored with this form, as I eek out every drop of creativity from its simple arrangement. I doubt that highly, however. It has lasted throughout the ages, and it would be arrogant of me to think that I could write every possible decent haiku.
What I also enjoy about haiku is that they easily fit into the 140 characters of Twitter, which means I gain immediate publishing and feedback to my work, and if something sticks to people they are more likely to pass it on than if they had to fork over cash for a book, then lend it to a friend, then lose the friend and by association, lose the book.
Granted, I'll never get rich doing this, however, that's not really the point. I already have a day job, so this is meant as a constructive hobby that will keep my mind occupied, unlike video games, which can only ever be a deconstructive distraction. That's not to say that I decry anyone who plays a game, just for me, at this point in my life, I'd prefer to use the talents I've cultivated over the years in school, and glue together the words that appear in my brain in the dark of night.
...
Ever since I quit playing video games and roleplaying games, my brain has been working in overdrive to find a replacement to mull over. Something to keep my mind busy during the course of the day when I'm changing diapers or watching Dora for the gazillionth time, and thus far, words have been it.
Not just any words, however, but a quick and concise form that comes to a point and ends, without waste, without leftovers, as minimal as possible without losing an aspect of creativity.
Thus, the haiku:
haiku are puzzles
organize the syllables
objective is love
Each haiku takes me at least ten minutes (most of the time a lot longer) to write. That's because each word is absolutely paramount to the structure of the whole. I only get 17 syllables to fit a precise idea or phrase: no more, no less. A thesaurus and dictionary are critical, and I found myself at Barnes and Noble the other day purchasing a hardback version of each, plus a rhyming dictionary for those times when I don't have convenient internet access.
Haiku also have a syncopated rhythm that I have come to love, since 5-7-5 is a groovy...
duh-DUH-duh-DUH-duh,
duh-DUH-duh-DUH-duh-DUH-duh,
duh-DUH-duh-DUH-duh,
...not a stilted marching band sound like 4 or 6 or 8 or 10 would be.
Not that I won't write other poems as the mood takes me, and perhaps I will become bored with this form, as I eek out every drop of creativity from its simple arrangement. I doubt that highly, however. It has lasted throughout the ages, and it would be arrogant of me to think that I could write every possible decent haiku.
What I also enjoy about haiku is that they easily fit into the 140 characters of Twitter, which means I gain immediate publishing and feedback to my work, and if something sticks to people they are more likely to pass it on than if they had to fork over cash for a book, then lend it to a friend, then lose the friend and by association, lose the book.
Granted, I'll never get rich doing this, however, that's not really the point. I already have a day job, so this is meant as a constructive hobby that will keep my mind occupied, unlike video games, which can only ever be a deconstructive distraction. That's not to say that I decry anyone who plays a game, just for me, at this point in my life, I'd prefer to use the talents I've cultivated over the years in school, and glue together the words that appear in my brain in the dark of night.
...
Wednesday, April 13
Collected Haiku #10
juggling octopus
with twelve chainsaws in the air
um, do they grow back?
...
hello miss bennet
despise me now, for my name
is mr. darcy
...
#uknowlifehardwhen
u apply at wal-mart and
need a ph.d.
...
poets by nature
are egocentric braggarts
this one included
...
this beat momentous
harmonies significant
strumming of the now
...
sunrise on skyline
should I rush to you, or should
I sit motionless
...
on BART: advice from
business people is, "invest
lunch money now, kid"
...
don't eat the air force
chili, man, I had some and
gotta drop a load
...
an institution
is a herd of gazelle that
grazes the lush grass
...
with twelve chainsaws in the air
um, do they grow back?
...
hello miss bennet
despise me now, for my name
is mr. darcy
...
#uknowlifehardwhen
u apply at wal-mart and
need a ph.d.
...
poets by nature
are egocentric braggarts
this one included
...
this beat momentous
harmonies significant
strumming of the now
...
sunrise on skyline
should I rush to you, or should
I sit motionless
...
on BART: advice from
business people is, "invest
lunch money now, kid"
...
don't eat the air force
chili, man, I had some and
gotta drop a load
...
an institution
is a herd of gazelle that
grazes the lush grass
...
Tuesday, April 12
Collected Haiku #9
war will never win
as long as humans affirm
communication
...
one plus one is free
these limited resources
divide you and me
...
"hey, what's the rule kid?"
"no punching at school, also
no headbutting, boom!"
...
wish steam escapes ears
with every thought thunk, so no
one thinks me lazy
...
the whispers do not
approach when called, yet ever
their presence is here
...
I speak not from a
podium, rather from the
murmurs of my soul
...
two vibrant saplings
bow to their mature burdens
with age, grow apart
...
distorted humor post
stop sign means wait for traffic
a branch picks horse's nose
...
I know you darling
your toes wrinkle when you laugh
like tide ebbs to sea
...
as long as humans affirm
communication
...
one plus one is free
these limited resources
divide you and me
...
"hey, what's the rule kid?"
"no punching at school, also
no headbutting, boom!"
...
wish steam escapes ears
with every thought thunk, so no
one thinks me lazy
...
the whispers do not
approach when called, yet ever
their presence is here
...
I speak not from a
podium, rather from the
murmurs of my soul
...
two vibrant saplings
bow to their mature burdens
with age, grow apart
...
distorted humor post
stop sign means wait for traffic
a branch picks horse's nose
...
I know you darling
your toes wrinkle when you laugh
like tide ebbs to sea
...
Monday, April 11
Collected Haiku #8
every daybreak is
another chance to be the
people in our hearts
...
lady on bus roars,
"like ghenghis khan, I shall rule
this transportation!"
...
bus man jots haiku
old woman with umbrella
assaults ghenghis mom
...
ghengis mom conscripts
fear yellow bus warriors
children on horseback
...
"that gnome's a ninja."
"know-it-all, how do you know?"
"numskull, his hat's black."
...
mr. edward burns
estimated tax return
point of some concern
...
scientists in lab
discover an excellent
veggie hamburger
...
dreaming of future
"I'll have a #1 with
algae on McGreen"
...
a happy bucket
are contents joyous, or the
bucket, or both? hrm...
...
another chance to be the
people in our hearts
...
lady on bus roars,
"like ghenghis khan, I shall rule
this transportation!"
...
bus man jots haiku
old woman with umbrella
assaults ghenghis mom
...
ghengis mom conscripts
fear yellow bus warriors
children on horseback
...
"that gnome's a ninja."
"know-it-all, how do you know?"
"numskull, his hat's black."
...
mr. edward burns
estimated tax return
point of some concern
...
scientists in lab
discover an excellent
veggie hamburger
...
dreaming of future
"I'll have a #1 with
algae on McGreen"
...
a happy bucket
are contents joyous, or the
bucket, or both? hrm...
...
Sunday, April 10
Collected Haiku #7
lone person persuades
one sided story has a
simple conclusion
...
tango, music stops
sweetie where are you going
band is on smoke break
...
oh no brain runs dry!
for the untapped potential
dig a well to dreams
...
fly buzzes around
sorry bud, got no advice
keep flying, I guess
...
no wonder I can't
sleep, if art is from dreams, then
I should be writing
...
closed is a woeful
word, with wisps of bogs and marshes
and wailing banshees
...
if you are blinded
then I am blinded too, and
so too are we all
...
through buttoned eyelids
we peek at truth eternal
may our minds be nude
...
if the clock is tock
ticks like a knock with a brick
likely be sick, grok?
one sided story has a
simple conclusion
...
tango, music stops
sweetie where are you going
band is on smoke break
...
oh no brain runs dry!
for the untapped potential
dig a well to dreams
...
fly buzzes around
sorry bud, got no advice
keep flying, I guess
...
no wonder I can't
sleep, if art is from dreams, then
I should be writing
...
closed is a woeful
word, with wisps of bogs and marshes
and wailing banshees
...
if you are blinded
then I am blinded too, and
so too are we all
...
through buttoned eyelids
we peek at truth eternal
may our minds be nude
...
if the clock is tock
ticks like a knock with a brick
likely be sick, grok?
Saturday, April 9
If The People
If the people
in the steeple
love the laypeople
and the laypeople
love the townspeople
and the townspeople
love the congresspeople
and the congresspeople
love the businesspeople
and the businesspeople
love the salespeople
and the salespeople
love the tradespeople
and the tradespeople
love the craftspeople
and the craftspeople
love the little people
and the little people
love the no people
then we sheep
might reap
what we sow.
in the steeple
love the laypeople
and the laypeople
love the townspeople
and the townspeople
love the congresspeople
and the congresspeople
love the businesspeople
and the businesspeople
love the salespeople
and the salespeople
love the tradespeople
and the tradespeople
love the craftspeople
and the craftspeople
love the little people
and the little people
love the no people
then we sheep
might reap
what we sow.
Friday, April 8
Collected Haiku #6
grey mist at morning
I fry country potatoes
by light of your eyes
...
in dreams I soar like
superman, an alien
a space traveler
...
optimism is
hope that who we are matters,
that life has meaning
...
horizon expands
new people to understand
this follow friday
...
they might be giants
so you think about music
instead of eat it
...
haiku: less is more
economy of action
diamond to poor man
...
moon says to stars, pick
up line, neptune to venus
baby, you melt me
...
#haiku #poetry
#yes #ifgovernmentshutsdown
#twitter #hashtag #all
...
so, at show with bro
in row, jane doe was aglow
alas, just for show
...
I fry country potatoes
by light of your eyes
...
in dreams I soar like
superman, an alien
a space traveler
...
optimism is
hope that who we are matters,
that life has meaning
...
horizon expands
new people to understand
this follow friday
...
they might be giants
so you think about music
instead of eat it
...
haiku: less is more
economy of action
diamond to poor man
...
moon says to stars, pick
up line, neptune to venus
baby, you melt me
...
#haiku #poetry
#yes #ifgovernmentshutsdown
#twitter #hashtag #all
...
so, at show with bro
in row, jane doe was aglow
alas, just for show
...
Thursday, April 7
Collected Haiku #5
brain boiling in skull
grasping ears with potholders
colander strains stress
...
one kid in bathtub
other glued to iron man
bedtime approaches
...
there, down on the ground
a human tramples my roots
yup, that's me, a tree
...
yellow green leaves sway
brilliant in a spring zephyr
your smile for me
...
ain't got no limbs to
weigh him down, better watch out
for snake with a plan
...
dalai lama knows
with patience and compassion
the center can hold
...
TPS reports?
you know where you can stick those?
the inbox right there
...
guaranteed that we
will sympathize with fish when
polar ice caps melt
...
I chucked the monkey
don't need the hoots in my head
damn unreal jungle
...
grasping ears with potholders
colander strains stress
...
one kid in bathtub
other glued to iron man
bedtime approaches
...
there, down on the ground
a human tramples my roots
yup, that's me, a tree
...
yellow green leaves sway
brilliant in a spring zephyr
your smile for me
...
ain't got no limbs to
weigh him down, better watch out
for snake with a plan
...
dalai lama knows
with patience and compassion
the center can hold
...
TPS reports?
you know where you can stick those?
the inbox right there
...
guaranteed that we
will sympathize with fish when
polar ice caps melt
...
I chucked the monkey
don't need the hoots in my head
damn unreal jungle
...
Wednesday, April 6
Universal Zombies Themes, Part 2
You wouldn't know it from outside my blog, but for some reason, this post has the most page hits of anything I've written so far. Apparently some college professor somewhere has a class with an emphasis on the walking dead, so lots of sweaty students are typing "zombie themes" into Google and ending up here. Don't worry about it, I've been there. Your secret is safe with me.
I'm also fully aware (as it has been thus since Shakespeare's day) that the players should conform to the wishes of their audience, so here is another thought on zombies as a trope. Steal it...ahem, quote me and provide a proper MLA style citation. Or whatever. Just be aware that the dusty dude with glasses and a red pen can use the internet, too.
So here goes:
For the majority of movie history, zombies have been predominately one type: Sad. They wail, they shuffle around, they don't particularly look like a fun lot. I'd even go so far as to say they were depressed. I mean, maybe that's why they eat brains, just to make themselves feel a tad better before they burst apart at the seams. They aren't even really that scary, since they are so freaking slow. I mean, one dude with a baseball bat can take out at least twenty without any effort. Come on Hollywood, hear that? It's called suspension of disbelief shattering.
Then around 2002 we had a new type of zombie, the angry type. You can thank 28 Days Later for that one. Finally, a film with zombies in it that is actually scary. Rage zombies are pissed off, and oh yeah, they can run really fast. They are also pumped with adrenaline, so that means they are like undead PCP junkies with super strength. Think Incredible Hulk.
Still, rage zombies, while fun to watch, aren't necessarily built for one of the major tools in filmmaking: Suspense. It's tough to build up to a scare in an audience when the zombies are so stinking fast, and your entire movie changes to a shlocky surprise flick at every turn if the zombies aren't laying in wait for an ambush somewhere.
Okay, so we have sad and angry zombies, what are we missing? What major emotional state has been yet to be explored fully by zombie filmmakers as a whole? I'll tell you what:
Happiness.
That's right. There should be happy zombies. Think Wall-E. Think of zombies that actually wanted to become zombies in the first place. Imagine the themes possible in an exploration of that. You'd have protagonists that would have to wrestle with the fundamental questions of an eternal reward, right here on Earth, that would be better than living as a "normal" human. Let me list a few places where a movie like this could be applicable to our modern world:
That's just a drop in the bucket of what I'm talking about. Sure, there have been movies that tangentially explore these themes, but minus the zombies. Get some gory zombies running around with giant smiles on their faces, have Woody Harrelson say, "Man, I'd sure like to be happy again and see my little pup," and get some drama going with this stuff. Add in some clowns for giggles, just to be sure.
So get to it Hollywood. Make some freaking Happiness Zombies.
I'm also fully aware (as it has been thus since Shakespeare's day) that the players should conform to the wishes of their audience, so here is another thought on zombies as a trope. Steal it...ahem, quote me and provide a proper MLA style citation. Or whatever. Just be aware that the dusty dude with glasses and a red pen can use the internet, too.
So here goes:
For the majority of movie history, zombies have been predominately one type: Sad. They wail, they shuffle around, they don't particularly look like a fun lot. I'd even go so far as to say they were depressed. I mean, maybe that's why they eat brains, just to make themselves feel a tad better before they burst apart at the seams. They aren't even really that scary, since they are so freaking slow. I mean, one dude with a baseball bat can take out at least twenty without any effort. Come on Hollywood, hear that? It's called suspension of disbelief shattering.
Then around 2002 we had a new type of zombie, the angry type. You can thank 28 Days Later for that one. Finally, a film with zombies in it that is actually scary. Rage zombies are pissed off, and oh yeah, they can run really fast. They are also pumped with adrenaline, so that means they are like undead PCP junkies with super strength. Think Incredible Hulk.
Still, rage zombies, while fun to watch, aren't necessarily built for one of the major tools in filmmaking: Suspense. It's tough to build up to a scare in an audience when the zombies are so stinking fast, and your entire movie changes to a shlocky surprise flick at every turn if the zombies aren't laying in wait for an ambush somewhere.
Okay, so we have sad and angry zombies, what are we missing? What major emotional state has been yet to be explored fully by zombie filmmakers as a whole? I'll tell you what:
Happiness.
That's right. There should be happy zombies. Think Wall-E. Think of zombies that actually wanted to become zombies in the first place. Imagine the themes possible in an exploration of that. You'd have protagonists that would have to wrestle with the fundamental questions of an eternal reward, right here on Earth, that would be better than living as a "normal" human. Let me list a few places where a movie like this could be applicable to our modern world:
- video games (particularly MMOs)
- religion (specifically heaven)
- pharmaceuticals (a pill that makes you a happy zombie)
- humans as secondary lifeforms (alien or machine or whatever zookeepers, think Matrix)
- advertising
- government
- movies (talk about self-referential)
- relationships (eHarmony type sites)
That's just a drop in the bucket of what I'm talking about. Sure, there have been movies that tangentially explore these themes, but minus the zombies. Get some gory zombies running around with giant smiles on their faces, have Woody Harrelson say, "Man, I'd sure like to be happy again and see my little pup," and get some drama going with this stuff. Add in some clowns for giggles, just to be sure.
So get to it Hollywood. Make some freaking Happiness Zombies.
Tuesday, April 5
Collected Haiku #4
truck in parking lot
little girl and boy running
oh, cellphone mother
...
river of torment
waterwheel of history
grinds flour of life
...
sleep swims in chaos
art dredges the waterway
order's frozen frame
...
yea, when stone crumbles
stories endure evermore
as our dreams live on
...
glittering comet
a planetary impact
her sequined blue jeans
...
smooth meditation
polished by rugged ocean
pebble on seashore
...
preschooler wisdom
dora the splora is my
favorite color
...
awkward son skitters
tiny spider on the wall
a beautiful web
...
roly poly bug
nonresistant temperment
teach me humble guide
...
little girl and boy running
oh, cellphone mother
...
river of torment
waterwheel of history
grinds flour of life
...
sleep swims in chaos
art dredges the waterway
order's frozen frame
...
yea, when stone crumbles
stories endure evermore
as our dreams live on
...
glittering comet
a planetary impact
her sequined blue jeans
...
smooth meditation
polished by rugged ocean
pebble on seashore
...
preschooler wisdom
dora the splora is my
favorite color
...
awkward son skitters
tiny spider on the wall
a beautiful web
...
roly poly bug
nonresistant temperment
teach me humble guide
...
Monday, April 4
Collected Haiku #3
shooting star contrails
are meteoric debris
of burnt VIPs
...
lost pages soar free
ideas float above world
granted, class is failed
...
righteous rocket launched
trajectory undefined
sir, how can we miss
...
excuse me waiter
I'll have the macaroni
and cheese for breakfast
...
funny potato
how to write haiku for you
oh well, I'm hungry
...
darling, make a wish
mama, where my penny go
there, I can get it
...
mountaintop hermit
perspective confines wisdom
ski around a bit
...
who will remember
your concerns for you when the
eternal night comes
...
the moon embraces me
the sun incinerates me
the earth nurtures me
...
are meteoric debris
of burnt VIPs
...
lost pages soar free
ideas float above world
granted, class is failed
...
righteous rocket launched
trajectory undefined
sir, how can we miss
...
excuse me waiter
I'll have the macaroni
and cheese for breakfast
...
funny potato
how to write haiku for you
oh well, I'm hungry
...
darling, make a wish
mama, where my penny go
there, I can get it
...
mountaintop hermit
perspective confines wisdom
ski around a bit
...
who will remember
your concerns for you when the
eternal night comes
...
the moon embraces me
the sun incinerates me
the earth nurtures me
...
Friday, April 1
Collected Haiku #2
acts of charity
seeds scattered from an airplane
indirect rewards
...
we are the homeless
vagabonds of dawn's decay
dew in our closed eyes
...
my world would be lost
if you blink you might miss it
so small this poem
...
ice cream entices
if money was a flavor
who would eat chocolate
...
young boy with carrot
imagines he's jedi with
orange lightsaber
...
white flowers on green
my little daughter dashing
destined wedding gown
...
happiness spins free
happiness is momentum
happiness is earth
...
grasping in the murk
mucilaginous word choice
adhered to my tongue
...
radioactive
houseplant bites me, will fight crime
asleep in sunlight
...
seeds scattered from an airplane
indirect rewards
...
we are the homeless
vagabonds of dawn's decay
dew in our closed eyes
...
my world would be lost
if you blink you might miss it
so small this poem
...
ice cream entices
if money was a flavor
who would eat chocolate
...
young boy with carrot
imagines he's jedi with
orange lightsaber
...
white flowers on green
my little daughter dashing
destined wedding gown
...
happiness spins free
happiness is momentum
happiness is earth
...
grasping in the murk
mucilaginous word choice
adhered to my tongue
...
radioactive
houseplant bites me, will fight crime
asleep in sunlight
...
Tuesday, March 29
Interesting Study
This makes sense, considering our evolutionary heritage.
Our brains are crazy interconnected masses of gelatinous goop. I'd highly suspect that there is more overlap between different mental functions than we realize. I doubt there is a strict divide between physical and emotional pain, just as I distrust the separation of logic from emotion, or any other interrelated abstract system.
Our brains are delicate places, and the troubadours have known all along that heartache feels like being punched in the gut.
Our brains are crazy interconnected masses of gelatinous goop. I'd highly suspect that there is more overlap between different mental functions than we realize. I doubt there is a strict divide between physical and emotional pain, just as I distrust the separation of logic from emotion, or any other interrelated abstract system.
Our brains are delicate places, and the troubadours have known all along that heartache feels like being punched in the gut.
Sunday, March 27
Collected Haiku #1
suffering unleashed
impetuous frothing maw
shield of compassion
...
penitentiary
maturity masonry
illumination
...
enthralled audience
roaring musical tempest
reeds on the lakeside
...
children, coats unzipped
small circles dance from the trees
petals in the wind
...
a still pond frozen
tranquil as a sheet of glass
thaws in radiance
...
shuffle lurch shuffle
night is an icy embrace
when the zombies grieve
...
pastoral poem
deer frolic by rivulet
zombie in meadow
...
if you pick boogers
be sure to miss your brain, or
if you hit, don't eat
...
two chairs together
m&m projectiles
two chairs separate
...
impetuous frothing maw
shield of compassion
...
penitentiary
maturity masonry
illumination
...
enthralled audience
roaring musical tempest
reeds on the lakeside
...
children, coats unzipped
small circles dance from the trees
petals in the wind
...
a still pond frozen
tranquil as a sheet of glass
thaws in radiance
...
shuffle lurch shuffle
night is an icy embrace
when the zombies grieve
...
pastoral poem
deer frolic by rivulet
zombie in meadow
...
if you pick boogers
be sure to miss your brain, or
if you hit, don't eat
...
two chairs together
m&m projectiles
two chairs separate
...
Wednesday, March 23
I Am The Blue Jeans
I am the blue jeans with no umbrella
facing a sea of suits with spikey bits
like sea urchins in slippery tide pools
I flow around them and under them
a pink flower child in yellow raincoat
in one arm, the other is wild brown,
kid arms flailing in the downpour
a personal hurricane of turbulence
my head is high, for I have not grown up
and the rain does not bother me
unlike the ladies with pokey hair
their perms drifting in the deluge
like sea anemones dancing in delight
I love the rain, for I am a water sign
yes, but I am also a seed, and I see
the green goodness yet to be.
facing a sea of suits with spikey bits
like sea urchins in slippery tide pools
I flow around them and under them
a pink flower child in yellow raincoat
in one arm, the other is wild brown,
kid arms flailing in the downpour
a personal hurricane of turbulence
my head is high, for I have not grown up
and the rain does not bother me
unlike the ladies with pokey hair
their perms drifting in the deluge
like sea anemones dancing in delight
I love the rain, for I am a water sign
yes, but I am also a seed, and I see
the green goodness yet to be.
Sunday, March 20
This Art is Healing
This art is healing:
through my suffering
I know your suffering
and the suffering of us all
from the beginnings of time
to the futures of eternity
until the curse of scarcity
is overcome by the
dreams of heaven
manifested in reality as art
this art is healing:
there are no limits to dreams
there are no limits to the goodness
of heaven materialized as art
this art is healing:
this art is testimony to
the suffering of us all
and through dreams
and through goodness
and through heaven
and through art
we shall be healed.
through my suffering
I know your suffering
and the suffering of us all
from the beginnings of time
to the futures of eternity
until the curse of scarcity
is overcome by the
dreams of heaven
manifested in reality as art
this art is healing:
there are no limits to dreams
there are no limits to the goodness
of heaven materialized as art
this art is healing:
this art is testimony to
the suffering of us all
and through dreams
and through goodness
and through heaven
and through art
we shall be healed.
Thursday, March 17
RE: 3pm Happiness Updates
I'm happy that I prayed to God today for the second time since I was in my early teens.
The first time was a week ago, and it surprised me: that deep down, underneath all the intellectual garbage, I really am a theist.
Before that, I think I hadn't really prayed to God since my pipe-smoking grandpa had died, one uncle died to a brain tumor, and the other uncle was struck by lightning. I've been gripped in the "why pray to a God that doesn't care about you?" type mentality for about twenty years now, and the dam just broke last week.
Now I'm not really talking about a corporeal deity that floats around on clouds, or any other version that mankind has cooked up over our convoluted history. The God I am talking to is a personal, yet universal Good. Maybe universal is the wrong word, since I mean ever-present, but not necessarily absolute in the rigid sense of the word.
What I prayed about is private, as is any conversation I have with myself, but one thing that specifically stands out in my mind is that I no longer care whether I logically believe in a God, or if there is or is not proof of his existence. What I do care about is that I need to believe in an influence for Good in the world. I need to believe in Love, and Patience, and Compassion, and Tolerance, and Honesty, and Hope. At the core of my being, I absolutely want these things to exist, and I would like the resolution to help make these abstract concepts a reality. I feel that the universe is a place where these things can and should exist, and if that means I need to talk the crazy person talk by talking to myself, then so be it.
So I prayed, and I'm happy about that.
The first time was a week ago, and it surprised me: that deep down, underneath all the intellectual garbage, I really am a theist.
Before that, I think I hadn't really prayed to God since my pipe-smoking grandpa had died, one uncle died to a brain tumor, and the other uncle was struck by lightning. I've been gripped in the "why pray to a God that doesn't care about you?" type mentality for about twenty years now, and the dam just broke last week.
Now I'm not really talking about a corporeal deity that floats around on clouds, or any other version that mankind has cooked up over our convoluted history. The God I am talking to is a personal, yet universal Good. Maybe universal is the wrong word, since I mean ever-present, but not necessarily absolute in the rigid sense of the word.
What I prayed about is private, as is any conversation I have with myself, but one thing that specifically stands out in my mind is that I no longer care whether I logically believe in a God, or if there is or is not proof of his existence. What I do care about is that I need to believe in an influence for Good in the world. I need to believe in Love, and Patience, and Compassion, and Tolerance, and Honesty, and Hope. At the core of my being, I absolutely want these things to exist, and I would like the resolution to help make these abstract concepts a reality. I feel that the universe is a place where these things can and should exist, and if that means I need to talk the crazy person talk by talking to myself, then so be it.
So I prayed, and I'm happy about that.
Wednesday, March 9
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