Category Archives: poem

POEM: An Angelic Take on Time

Posted on by
1

“We, who move through this world, have varied gifts,” said the angelic figure who saw the world without time.

She could hold infinite temporal cross-sections in her mind at once. Though she usually focused on one time at a time as you and i might focus our vision on a bird sitting on a lamp post — knowing that one can shift one’s visual attention at will.

Her mind snaps from mundane moments to the nearest frenetic second —  be it tragic or festive. Just as your eye would snap from the bird on the lamp post to a furry canine shape, trotting into one’s periphery; her mind snapped to the “good part” of the story.

While you may think yourself either alive or dead, to her you are a Schrödinger’s cat of both alive and dead, but her mind always wants to snap to the second of transformation.

A Limerick of Kenya

Posted on by
1

There was a Professor from Kenya
who was hoping to soon make ten-ya.
He studied the past,
but, there, things move fast —
always outrunning that scholar from Kenya.

POEM: The Cut Worm

Posted on by
6

Blake said, “The cut worm forgives the plow.”

This might make me wonder whether the plowman gains the same grace,
but I don’t think one can comprehend forgiveness
if one isn’t already prone to grudge-holding.

The cut worm doesn’t forgive, because no alternative exists.

Before we reach the point at which worms need to learn forgiveness
they will have gone on strike from their soil-churning duties —

crops will wither and fail
&
we’ll already be wondering whether we can ever forgive
the worms for their impudence.

POEM: EXPLORE! [a Rubāʿī]

Posted on by
2

Go seek the ill-trodden pathway,
the well-sheltered cove, strait, or bay —
the inn where few have known to stay,
&
isles known only to castaways.

POEM: Travel by Undertow

Posted on by
1

Welcome to the undertow!
There’re eight ways to freedom,
but only one that you can go.

It’s down, down — while spinning ’round,
feeling the stretch in the struggle,
though hearing not the slightest sound.

No gasping. No gushing. Just blood rushing
to the fear center of the brain
as water’s weight feels more crushing.

Surely, you’ll surface in due time
though, maybe, miles-and-miles away.
They’ll tag you: “Victim, sans a crime,”
and go on about the live-long day.

Kazakhstani Limerick

Posted on by
Reply

There was an old man from Kazakhstan
happy to hear of the testing ban.
His house didn’t explode,
but sometimes it glowed.
&
Despite a lead vest he still had a tan.

POEM: Silent Forest

Posted on by
2

What’s leached the life from these lands?

Winter snuck in. True enough.

But that doesn’t mean a bird can’t hoot, caw, screech, or titter.

We may be too deep in the season for lizards to dart, or even schlep in tailless bluntness.

But surely squirrels, fluffy-tailed rodents, should be out, shoving aside leaf litter in search of sacred acorns?

I don’t trust my mind in a soundless forest —

it leads me to believe that I tumbled back into the recesses of my mind, and only noticed [too late] that I forgot to load the soundtrack.

Japanese Limerick

Posted on by
5

There was a beautiful woman of Japan
who was never without her folding fan.
She seemed to play coy,
but it was a ploy.
Her saké breath could kill a caveman.

Windy Day Haiku

Posted on by
3

I
two tall pines —
one bends more in the wind,
lean-in for kiss


II
the tall grass
lunges and retreats
with wind gusts


III
in springtime,
breezes, gusts, and gales
affirm flower’s view

Indian Limerick

Posted on by
3

There was a gregarious girl from India
who was bonkers for Bollywood cinema.
With great happenstance,
she’d break out in dance
in classrooms and clinics across India.