POEM: The Mazy Days of Plague-time [PoMo Day 27 – Rondeau Quatrain]

With mazy movement, I stagger through my days,
my stops and starts are dull and purposeless.
My stops and starts are glum and purposeless.
With mazy motion, I stagger through my days.

Earth 's circled sun since last I was unfazed,
but I can't say what has encircled us.
With mazy movement, I stagger through my days,
my stops and starts are sour and purposeless.

My life before seems like a febrile craze.
How goes the flow of time? It's merciless,
but leaves slim chunks of time for nervousness -- 
too staccato a rhythm for a true malaise. 

With mazy movement, I stagger through my days,
my stops and starts are grim and purposeless.
My stops and starts are dim and purposeless.
With mazy motion, I stagger through my days.

POEM: Immune Intelligence [PoMo Day 20 – Rondeau Triolet]

Antibodies tell other from I.
A thing my brain can't always do.
To unbid guests they're never shy --
antibodies fight other not I.
If It seems odd, they'll freely pry,
to ID that old sneaky Flu.
Antibodies tell other from I -
a thing my brain can't always do. 

POEM: Sleep [PoMo Day 8 – Rondeau Tercet]

In haunted hours, I wilt to sleep,
and know that I'll be cursed in dreams.
I'll drift upon Stygian streams
at speeds between trickle and creep,
listening for some distant screams.

In haunted hours, I wilt to sleep,
and know that I'll be cursed in dreams
trapped down below the castle keep,
until the King should come to deem
me worthy of some healing dreams.

In haunted hours, I wilt to sleep,
and know that I'll be cursed with dreams,
drifting upon Stygian streams.

POEM: Visiting Dystopia [Triolet]

I opened up a book to a strange land.
A storied portal let me travel through,
and I looked down an unknown city’s strand.
I’d opened up a book to a strange land.
Here, ironically, all great books were banned
to keep the locals home and quite subdued.
I opened up a book to a strange land;
a storied portal let me travel through.

POEM: Black Skies [Rondeau Quatrain]

I saw the black skies up ahead,
but hoped they’d clear as I approached.
I hoped they’d clear as I approached.
I saw those black skies up ahead.

And from the distance I felt dread.
The dark wouldn’t yield to my reproach.
I saw those black skies up ahead,
but hoped they’d clear as I approached.

The ebon clouds began to spread.
Into my mind they did encroach,
and on my bliss began to poach
until something monstrous was bred.

I saw the black skies up ahead,
but hoped they’d clear as I approached.
I hoped they’d clear as I approached.
I saw those black skies up ahead.

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…