Category Archives: poem

POEM: Paradox

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I found myself in a space that felt, at once, claustrophobic and distressingly vast.

But the experience was like viewing a necker cube —
those diagrams drawn in 2D that appear to be three-dimensional —
one can either see the cube pop off the surface or submerge into it,
but never both at the same time.

In the same way, one could feel the space cling to one like a heavy cloak
or feel lost and naked in the vast, uncharted expanse,
but one couldn’t feel both ways at the same time.

However, a mind — panicked or accustomed — could toggle back-and-forth
between the two states with great rapidity.

POEM: Excuse! Who Uses This Loo?

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I hate to be among the few who don’t use the new and improved,
but I’ve been seeing public toilets with three glass walls —
only the wet wall is tiled.

True, it’s not just any glass; it’s “switchable privacy glass.”
[When vacant, it’s transparent; when occupied, it’s opaque.]
Some call it “smart glass.”

Two questions leap to mind:
1.) How smart can glass be?
2.) How bad would I have to poo to use such a loo?

I assume users of this loo have:
1.) an iron-clad faith in technology;
2.) a tendency to thrill at exhibitionism,
3.) recently eaten at Taco Bell, or;
4.) some combination of the above.

What if the power goes out?
What if some oblivious soul shakes the handle?

Has this technology advanced to the point at which there is no conceivable sequence of events that could result in my shooting the moon to a room full of strangers? [Or, worse yet, people I know?]

Until it’s so, I’ll use loo’s with walls, not windows —
thank you very much.

POEM: To Meet or Greet Grendel

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In ancient days, men followed monsters home,
and knocked on doors to netherworld chambers —
went kicking over the beast’s garden gnomes,
went barging around back like close neighbors.

Who chases monsters now-a-days, I ask?
Now, people let their demons come to them.
We’re too much prisoners to time on task,
and trips to the barber or the ATM.

And have our demons gone so far away?
Or have they vanished as we’d always hoped?
Or someone else is closer to the fray?
But have you seen them die on days they moped?

To meet or greet the demon at whose door?
It’s a question unknown in days of yore.

Cambodian Limerick

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There was an old man from Cambodia
who suffered from four types of phobia:
scared of poles and of pots,
open holes, and gun shots.
Who could blame that scared man of Cambodia?

POEM: Clouds & Waves

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Clouds curl over the mountaintop
like waves sloshing over rocks —
a thousand times slower,
but no less persistent
in their repetitive attempts
to swamp the leeward side.

Botswanan Limerick

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There was a safari guide in Botswana
who was quizzed on the species of fauna.
“I don’t mean to be rude,
but there’s Huge, Fast, and Food —
so, just three types of beast in Botswana.”

Belizean Limerick

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In greeting an old woman of Belize
a tourist praised, “You speak English with ease.”
“I know it, you fool;
they teach it in school!”
English is the state language of Belize.

Austrian Limerick

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There once was a man from Austria
prone to coffee house nausea.
“Our cafés are held dear,
but I can’t get near…,”
said that lonely, skinny man of Austria.

Nepali Limerick

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There was a short man from Nepal –
self-conscious of not being tall,
“Our mountains are grand,
but I have to stand
on a crate to see over the wall!”

POEM: Changing Times

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A city lies under the sea,
from unknown tragedy.
Ancient pillars stand still and tall.

Could we lose a city?

If we did, there’d be no sign;
it’d be washed to refuse.
Once towns lasted, but info perished;
now engine ‘s swapped for caboose.

And bad facts are like bad pennies
while streets change year to year,
and nothing outlasts those notions
that form the sum of fear.