with field cleared, the farmer leans on his scythe, and eyes cloud figures
A Farmer’s Reverie [Haiku]
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Category Archives: poem
Squirrel Grind [Common Meter]
The squirrel's life 's an acorn hunt: forage and hide the nut. But a feeble mind requires that it hide them by the glut. Squirrel happiness is fragile no cache is big enough to be certain it'll make it through should the winter get rough. Oh, give me the tardigrade life, not a doubt it'll survive. No food, no water, vacuum of space and the thing 's still [bleeping] alive. Rather than gathering plenty, I'd rather need much less, or, at least, not be so mindless to hoard in great excess.
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Impending Cataclysm [Free Verse]
Everything is dull before the world changes. People live their rituals, complying with habits. But the world will change, change from one day to the next, and not the subtle, unceasing change -- perpetual and ubiquitous -- that has always been. No. This will be an eight megaton shift into the new, and nothing will ever be as it's always been. Never again. It will happen without warning or precursor -- without a hint that the world is about to be revealed, to be discovered to be something wholly different than anyone ever imagined. Welcome to the new now [prematurely speaking.]
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Kilimanjaro Hides [Kyōka]
"Amboseli offers great views of Kilimanjaro!" they said. but, for me, obstinate clouds object
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Limerick of the Kenyan Burglar
There was a chill burglar from Kenya who, as he worked, listened to Enya. It lulled him to sleep, a sleep far too deep. He woke up where burglars, they send ya.
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Flameless Flame [Free Verse]
walking through a darkened temple, a jagged hole perfectly aligns; the kinked white-light washing inward becomes a shimmering flame, topping a stone pillar, becoming a faux candle in my shimmering mind
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Bamboo & the Buddha [Haiku]
nestled amid bamboo, a stone Buddha sits: stone-mind / bamboo-mind
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Smoke & Fire [Common Meter]
The spastic flame that dances fast: too weird to match to drum. The teary eye strays into trance as if deadened by rum. Where will the flame transport us now that smoke has made us cry? Where will the cracking sounds take us as we turn to the sky? The moon is out and casts a glow, a glow of milky white. And each dim point of starlight burns trillions of times as bright as that feeble, little campfire that rules what I now feel: the heat, the smoke, the popping sounds that now make my head reel.
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Web of Roots [Haiku]
a web of fig roots drapes in wild tangles, & a sapling - straight & green
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Tree Nature [Haiku]
under the tree sits a potential Buddha; human mimics tree
