buds & blossoms,
in vibrant red, gussy up
a dreary cityscape.
Buds & Blossoms [Haiku]
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Category Archives: Poetry
Limerick of the Racist TV Exec
A TV executive for the show, Kung Fu, was unsure of just what he should do. Carradine or Lee? Which one should it be? One knows Kung Fu, but Asian, he is too.
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Chokehold [Lyric Poem]
dying by the second
from a starving brain;
each new panicked moment
narrows down the frame.
now, my world is dwindling,
shrinking to a dot:
like TV's used to do
when you shut them off.
Now, this poem is done.
there's nothing past one pel --
except for oblivion:
no sight, no sound, no smell.
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River’s Rise [Lyric Poem]
Stumps are underwater. The pebble beach is gone. Floating docks slant downstream as fast waters roll on. Detritus on pylons: a beaver dam of wood. Coffee brown waters flow where yesterday I stood. Will the levees stand strong until the surge recedes? Will the flood wash away the willows and the reeds?
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Five Wise Lines from Fireflies by Rabindranath Tagore
In the drowsy dark caves of the mind / dreams build their nest with fragments / dropped from day’s caravan.
From the solemn gloom of the temple / children run out to sit in the dust, / God watches them play / and forgets the priest.
The wind tries to take the flame by storm / only to blow it out.
The same sun is newly born in new lands / in a ring of endless dawns.
When death comes and whispers to me, / “Thy days are ended.” / let me say to him, “I have lived in love / and not in mere time.” / He will ask, “Will thy songs remain?” / I shall say, “I know not, but this I know / that often when I sang I found my eternity.
Fireflies by Rabindranath Tagore is in the public domain and can be read at sites such as:
Fireflies is available at PoetryVerseShare on Facebook, Twitter, Email, etc.
Willow, Won’t You? [Blank Verse]
When I see some willows - down by water's edge, drooping in the moonlight, or swaying in the breeze - I think of Blackwood's tale of Danube canoers who land upon an isle to camp among the willows. And will the willows that I see, mark wicked ground, and what will they become when darkness makes its stand? It's such a pretty tree... now all but ruined for me, and that is story's power to sweeten or to sour.
For those interested in reading the referenced story:
The Willows by Algernon Blackwood — free at Project GutenbergShare on Facebook, Twitter, Email, etc.
The Desert Calls [Lyric Poem]
The desert called; its tone silent. It asked me out, and so I went. One patch of dune looked like the rest; so, I couldn't tell which place was best to burn just like a slice of bread stuck in the slot, 'mid burning threads: those glowing wires, exuding heat that burn the head and burn the feet. And so, I marched across the sands in search of more temperate lands, but I never reached such a place and vanished there, without a trace.
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Reclamation [Haiku]
a mined gouge in the hilly, green landscape: reclaimed by trees.
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Wildflower City [Haiku]
gusty city breeze tousles the flowers; the city backdrop blurs.
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Proof of Life [Lyric Poem]
Something shakes the high grass,
what it is I can't say.
I see flowers tremble,
near a part-line splay.
I hear dry stems rattle
to some darting moves.
But a creature's existence
still remains unproved.
Maybe it's delirium,
or a trick of the wind.
I catch no flash of fur
on which my claim to pin.
Even from the watchtower,
my grounds are circumstantial.
I can't give proof of life --
at least not that's substantial.
Tiger Riding for Beginners 