sun-fired cloud fringe —
a jagged crack
across the sky
an old cracked dome —
light streaming in,
burning brightly
rays angle up,
radiating
grace and glory
POEM: Fire-Fringed Cloud
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Category Archives: poem
POEM: Like a Hawk
I watch the hawks —
watching me watching them —
and wonder how many of them I don’t see.
They’re better watchers:
-stiller
-more patient
-less swayed by boredom.
They stand, cloaked, as if in judgement —
Chief Justice of this street,
roving eyes in search of
one false move.
They are literal swoopers.
I’ve been accused of “swooping in,”
but I’m — at best — a figurative swooper.
Watch, swoop, catch, repeat…
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POEM: Fallow Field Heroics [Ottava Rima]
I wander though the fallow field.
The weeds and unintended plants
are stealing food of increased yield,
but soil is churned by worms and ants
whose labors stay subtly concealed.
It looks like nothing at a glance,
but bold heroics are afoot
to till the soil for fine output.
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Limerick of Myanmar
There was a young woman from Myanmar
who had the longest neck around, by far,
but when she shed the rings
her neck drooped like a string-
she was the flex-necked gal of Myanmar.
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POEM: The Trail Beckons
The trail calls to me,
its grass-fringed part curving gently,
climbing upslope toward the trees,
the forest that hides hints of a future,
denying all hope of knowing what comes next.
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Distant Hills [a Haibun]
Raising my gaze, the world at a distance is softer, its contours green, a luscious green, a green which recalls past Springs. The foreground is rough and rocky, littered with rocks, some dull and others wet and glistening. A creek burbles, I know not from whence it comes. Just as I can’t say who dragged in these smooth rocks and boulders.
i look up
and the world ahead
pulls me forth
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Limerick of Mongolia
There was a boy from Mongolia
who had a taste for Coca-Col-i-a,
but only sporadically
’cause he lived nomadically
and they won’t ship to: “A Yurt in Mongolia.”
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POEM: Advice to Travelers
When traveling adopt a student’s mindset;
when studying adopt a traveler’s mindset.
Eat the exotic.
Drink the exotic.
Dance the exotic.
Think the exotic.
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POEM: Literary Journeys
I’ve taken journeys by the page,
sitting before the Globe’s great stage,
trolling a knight’s tilt at windmills,
and seen where Grendel made his kills
to kick off a much greater rage.
I learned why birds sing in their cage,
and why the caged go on rampage,
while knights and knaves go quest for thrills.
I’ve read of roads…
I’ve spanned the Stone through the Space Age
while living too briefly to be sage,
I’ve moved by dogsled through the chill,
and opulently, with all the frills.
I’ve read of roads…
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POEM: Lesson Learned
If I’ve learned anything,
if the years of schooling and the degrees have done me any good,
if the stacks of books that have passed before my eyes shed any light,
it’s the recognition of the ubiquity of darkness,
&
of the fact
that it’s better to learn to cautiously navigate the cave
than to pretend there’s no darkness.
