There was an old man from Cambodia
who suffered from four types of phobia:
scared of poles and of pots,
open holes, and gun shots.
Who could blame that scared man of Cambodia?
Cambodian Limerick
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Tag Archives: poetry
POEM: Clouds & Waves
Clouds curl over the mountaintop
like waves sloshing over rocks —
a thousand times slower,
but no less persistent
in their repetitive attempts
to swamp the leeward side.
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Botswanan Limerick
There was a safari guide in Botswana
who was quizzed on the species of fauna.
“I don’t mean to be rude,
but there’s Huge, Fast, and Food —
so, just three types of beast in Botswana.”
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Belizean Limerick
In greeting an old woman of Belize
a tourist praised, “You speak English with ease.”
“I know it, you fool;
they teach it in school!”
English is the state language of Belize.
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Austrian Limerick
There once was a man from Austria
prone to coffee house nausea.
“Our cafés are held dear,
but I can’t get near…,”
said that lonely, skinny man of Austria.
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Nepali Limerick
There was a short man from Nepal –
self-conscious of not being tall,
“Our mountains are grand,
but I have to stand
on a crate to see over the wall!”
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POEM: Changing Times
A city lies under the sea,
from unknown tragedy.
Ancient pillars stand still and tall.
Could we lose a city?
If we did, there’d be no sign;
it’d be washed to refuse.
Once towns lasted, but info perished;
now engine ‘s swapped for caboose.
And bad facts are like bad pennies
while streets change year to year,
and nothing outlasts those notions
that form the sum of fear.
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POEM: Rocketed by Book
I donned this book like sunglasses
to tweak my old worldview,
but that intent was overshot
and I saw all anew.
I peered at the page and there saw
another universe.
Through eyes not mine, but no better —
nor in any way worse.
Eyes that’d seen things unknown to me,
but not this world of mine.
We’ll have to work together to
unravel space and time.
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POEM: Scrapping Labels
The brain wants to slap a label on everything it comes in contact with —
good… bad
pleasurable… painful
smart… dumb
naughty… nice
Having reached the time and disposition to tear away these labels, I find that some are stuck fast —
though they went on with the ease of a sticky note.
And so I unpack concepts and scrap labels —
sometimes with ease
&
sometimes tediously.
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Three Kyōka
I
the post-perched bird
remains still, but for its eyes,
which dart about —
below, fish shoot and jink,
thinking the post oddly shaped
II
the mountains reflect
off of that glassy lake
with such clarity;
all know which mountains are true
except for the fishes
III
behind the barracks,
some local women gather
to bath at the well.
he pretends not to look
they pretend not to be seen
