The trail calls to me,
its grass-fringed part curving gently,
climbing upslope toward the trees,
the forest that hides hints of a future,
denying all hope of knowing what comes next.
POEM: The Trail Beckons
1
Tag Archives: poem
Distant Hills [a Haibun]
Raising my gaze, the world at a distance is softer, its contours green, a luscious green, a green which recalls past Springs. The foreground is rough and rocky, littered with rocks, some dull and others wet and glistening. A creek burbles, I know not from whence it comes. Just as I can’t say who dragged in these smooth rocks and boulders.
i look up
and the world ahead
pulls me forth
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Limerick of Mongolia
There was a boy from Mongolia
who had a taste for Coca-Col-i-a,
but only sporadically
’cause he lived nomadically
and they won’t ship to: “A Yurt in Mongolia.”
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POEM: Advice to Travelers
When traveling adopt a student’s mindset;
when studying adopt a traveler’s mindset.
Eat the exotic.
Drink the exotic.
Dance the exotic.
Think the exotic.
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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…
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POEM: Lesson Learned
If I’ve learned anything,
if the years of schooling and the degrees have done me any good,
if the stacks of books that have passed before my eyes shed any light,
it’s the recognition of the ubiquity of darkness,
&
of the fact
that it’s better to learn to cautiously navigate the cave
than to pretend there’s no darkness.
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Limerick of Mexico
There was a great wrestler from Mexico
who went by the name “el Comando.”
His mask was quite garish.
His tactics nightmarish.
He’s the least stealthy soldier of Mexico.
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Stormy Shore Tanka
I
seas churn
under darkened skies
raindrops arrive
pelting the sandy shore
with wind-blown violence
II
the rocky shore
becomes a fierce fountain
as wave water
hits and shoots skyward
to be blown sideways
III
this storm lingers
as metaphorical storms
are known to do
natural storms are
always in motion
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POEM: Mental Catacombs [a Villanelle]
I found the catacombs, below
my mind’s deepest basement level,
searching for secrets in shadows.
Up top, my tracks were writ in snow,
and wet prints through keeps, medieval,
’til I found the catacombs below.
What would I find down there, who knows?
Let’s hope not some home-grown devil.
Searching for secrets in the shadows
isn’t work for weak and weary souls.
Don’t know how I ‘massed the mettle
to find the catacombs, below.
I felt the torment and the throes
of one who’s become bedeviled,
searching for secrets in shadows.
I saw highs and lows — thorns and rose,
but never had time to revel.
I found the catacombs below,
searching out secrets in shadows.
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Limerick of Malaysia
There was an Orangutan from Malaysia
who dreamed of leaving Southeast Asia.
“Sure, I’d love to linger,
but it’s hard being ginger
when you live deep in the heart of Asia.”
