A Poet Tree Sapling
I am new
to poet true,
writing 'til my self is blue.
don't be shy.
Promise I will poet try.
Serve it on a poet tray.
Forgive my wordy
sapling of a poet, me.
August 31, 2008
- October, 2010
No Clear Majority
Ten experts declare:
My daughter laughed
My stomach churned
No clear majority.
It is not a poem.
September 1, 2008
A SNAKE SAGA IN FOUR POEMS
The Snake Wrangler
Rushing for the car
Rushing for the keys
Rushing from the breakfast dishes
Late for something
A small snake with black spiral stripes stares at the silent TV
I’ll find a summer snow shovel
Give you a ride to the patio.
before I can move,
you slither into the cold-air intake
under the built-in bookcases
that would be demolished this fall.
Now home to a book snake
Rushing to the car
Rushing for the door
Short-cutting through the family room
Book snake stretches beside the coffee table.
A coffee table book snake.
This time, one yellow rubber glove.
You curl in my hand on your
trip to the patio.
No larger than a knitting needle,
you knit yourself between patio table legs toward
Life In The Grass
That Afternoon, Twice
Sunning near the grill.
Feeling your way along the foundation
under the kitchen windows
Deciding on Life In The Garden.
The lawnmower man showed up
a day late
A Small Snake With Black Spiral Stripes
Coiled and Flattened in the Driveway
UPS did it.
A Big Bad Modern Day
Fairy Tale Rhyme
Willie Winkie sits in jail with lots of time to think
He tried to warn us all our stake in privacy would shrink
Someone’s making threats unveiled
Status quo or you’ll get nailed
You’d be best with itch curtailed
Be careful where you wink
Scrub your food or you’ll regret the day that you were born
Food with dyes and drugs will try to exit you with scorn
Radiate that mozzarella
Teaming cells with long flagella
Check your source for salmon, Ella
No one wants to mourn
Sleeping Beauty, seven dwarves, the first cops did the math
They figured out those guys were tripping down the primrose path
She was sleeping, that’s not good
Plundering her neighborhood
They are not misunderstood
Their type deserves our wrath
Jack and Jill were going, not uphill but to his camper
Lacking good protection for their tumble? Not a damper
STDs now STIs
She believed a thousand lies
What’s that red rash on her thighs?
Look at Jackie scamper
Think I’ll stay in bed today, the world’s a nasty place
Are we just too dull to handle simple acts of grace?
All behave like thugs, appalling
Lying, looting, bombing, brawling
Chicken Little’s sky is falling
Picking up its pace
-- Published April of 2009 on the
now-defunct British website Nasty Safari
Slim pointy tails slip through my teeth
Slimy slick skin separates from sweet flesh
Aged rotted curds ooze green and blue.