Category Archives: Poetry

Nobodaddy [Free Verse]

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The Nobodaddy rolls 
  like a sunglassed Santa Claus.

He watches things crash
  with bemused satisfaction --
   like a buzzed NASCAR fan.

And people cry out to him,
  and he gives a spiritless wave 
   of vague acknowledgement --
    like a celebrity tired of celebrity.

But the victims all die,
   and Nobodaddy calls it a day,
    a day of seeing life & death play out -
     not in any grand design -
      but puttering about as the living 
       bow to life,
        and the dead play out a demise.

Bridge Out [Free Verse]

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When I was a child,
      for a time,
 the bridge was out.

They were replacing the rusty
      iron trestle bridge
 with a thick-slab concrete 
  monstrosity.

I could go down to the river,
      and I could see the 
       scarred and marred
         construction site,
  & the big yellow machines
       that sat dormant on the weekends.

But one couldn't cross the river --
      not unless one was willing to get wet, 
       and was a better swimmer than I 
        (and it was autumn & the water cold.) 

It was a strong current that swept 
       along between two steep banks. 

It was not a great distance,
       nor were they violent waters.

But that brown water moved with 
       such smooth swiftness.

I dream about the time the bridge was out,
       now & again,
        and wonder what it was
         about those weeks
          that still has meaning to my mind.

Autumn Wildflowers [Haiku]

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as leaves fall, &
 weather cools, i'm warmed by
  autumn wildflowers.

Fruit Beauty [Common Meter]

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The flawless deep green melon rind
  houses a pink, bland flesh.
The rind - pitted, yellowed, lumpy -
  hides fruit: red, sweet, & fresh.

Five Wise Lines from Tagore’s Stray Birds

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The stars are not afraid to appear like fireflies.

Stray birds — #48

By plucking her petals, you do not gather the beauty of the flower.

Stray birds — #154

The eyes are not proud of their sight but of their eyeglasses.

stray birds — #256

I carry in my world that flourishes the worlds that have failed.

stray birds — #121

Delusions of knowledge are like the fog of the morning.

stray birds — #14

CITATION: Tagore, Rabindranath (1916), Stray Birds, New York: McMillan, 92pp.

Available on Project Gutenberg at: https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/6524

Under Pressure: Or, A House Divided [Free Verse]

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A construction worker once told me -
    for a building to last -
 depends not so much on
    its materials,
    nor even on its foundations,

but rather on the building being
    in balanced strain throughout.

A building stays up when its 
    parts press into each other firmly,
    or pull at each other strongly,
    but never too out of balance.

This web of unseen forces
    allows the building stand solid
    against any huffing, or puffing,
    the world might throw its way. 

A democratic society works the same.

It must have an establishment.

It must have a counterculture.

And these two elements must 
    constantly pull at each other
    or mash into each other:
    tension & compression,
    compression & tension,
    tug-of-war & sumo.

If one side is unopposed, or too weak,
    the state will crumble into some kind of
    authoritarianism by another name.

Destroy your enemies at your own peril.

Tail Whip Splash [Haiku]

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silence
 in the koi pond; then:
  a tail whip splash

What I Don’t Know… [Lyric Poem]

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I know nothing
         of the sea-bottom,
         or of the darkest void.

I know nothing 
         of the ancients' lives
         or how most are employed.

I know nothing 
         of an atom's look,
         or how works, gravity.

I know nothing
         inside my organs
         or nasal cavity.

I can but know
         these simple truths
         that live within my mind.

That it's better
        being together, and
        to err toward being kind.

Poet’s World [Sonnet]

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I exited through my old, mundane door,
 and heard a melody so blissful / sweet,
  and saw some colors never seen before.
   That song, those sights, danced me down the street.

A neon breeze both warmed and cooled my face.
 The pleasure wave that I'd once known as sin
  was flaring, with no feelings of disgrace,
   but up my spine a trill of violin. 

Euphoric, I ran 'til I felt lungs burn --
 so fired with energy that my bones hummed --
  But as I felt the wheels begin to turn,
   I realized the depths must remain unplumbed.

Before my druthers, I had to go back.
 To sustain this would give me a heart attack.