Tag Archives: poetry

Self Portrait [Common Meter]

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So many historic figures 
 whose look we think we know.
  Did Jesus of Nazareth sport
   hippie hair & a halo?

Perhaps, he did have quite long hair
 but not the tawny blonde
  of which so many "portraitists"
   seemed to be quite fond.

The Shakespeare that we recognize 
 is drawn from memory.
  Kings oft declared true depiction
   a form of treachery. 

Past commoners' appearances 
 are lost in bygone days.
  We know Van Gogh from a mad mind,
    and know him thirty ways. 

Do you know whose look we do know?
 Every teen now alive.
  There're pics from every angle
   stored on redundant drives.

So Many Eyes [Haiku]

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one butterfly:
 with so many eyes 
  that cannot see.

Bowed Flower [Haiku]

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weary sunflowers
 turn their backs on the sun:
  heads bowed.

Summer Reeds [Haiku]

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late Summer: 
 the last days before 
  reed heads fluff.

Orange Earth [Haiku]

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fallen blossoms
 carpet the ground,
  mottled by sunlight.

You, Too [Lyric Poem]

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I cannot be one.
 I cannot be lost.
  I cannot buy my entry
      at a payable cost.

I cannot be three.
 I cannot be boss.
  I cannot isolate: diamonds
      from the dross.

I think I can be two,
 just the me & you.
  our two could be one,
      like two planks form a cross.

Buds & Blossoms [Haiku]

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buds & blossoms,
 in vibrant red, gussy up
  a dreary cityscape.

Limerick of the Racist TV Exec

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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.

Chokehold [Lyric Poem]

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Source: Wikipedia; cropped & modified; Khmeri chokehold
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.

River’s Rise [Lyric Poem]

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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?