(scroll down for all poems)
Haiku Format
Five syllables start,
Then seven syllables next,
Close with thoughtful twist.
Lofty
Haiku for high thoughts,
Low-ku for the mundane ones.
Problem: which is which?
Losing Count
I can't write haiku.
I don't think in counted thoughts.
My ideas wander all over the place and I can't keep track of them or count them or anything!
This Thyme of Life
I'm under the same old sun,
The same old moon and stars,
Where's variety, where's the fun?
Same old air, same old soil.
Same old shade at night.
Same joys, same toil.
Please, new heart, new hands,
Rewrite my history,
New life in some new lands.
Protecting My Pretty Little Heads
Shouldn't worry my pretty little head,
Shouldn't bother my big gray one,
Shouldn't involve my left head
Shouldn't fret my right one.
Don't know which mind to call,
Can’t concern them all.
Young mind is all play,
My old mind forgets the way.
When Wishing, Mind the Details
"I wish I had a million."
I meant in a bag.
I forgot good health and friends,
I assumed US funds.
The Key
There is a little old lady in a village in the North.
She is the key.
If you advertise an SUV and she likes its looks, even a little, it will sell well.
If you run for office, and she likes your platform, you will win.
She is the consummate bellwether, the perfect vane, the right sample.
Keep looking. Maybe you will find her. Maybe she will talk to you.
All Broken Up (inspired by the liberating work of Dr. Alys Culhane)
When the market fell, I was just shattered.
I couldn't get the pieces back together.
I am still missing my left eye and one of my thumbs.
(Our poetry teacher told us an Ollie and Lena joke. Ollie died and Lena went to phone in his obituary. She learned that the paper published obits for free if they were 5 words or less. She said, "Ollie died, boat for sale." This poem is about her next reaction.)
Five
“Ollie died, boat for sale.”
No, wait, I’ll use it.
Death starts a new tale.
I’ll fish and shoot deer.
I’ll drink and be male.
No dusting or wash.
No afternoon soaps.
His shirts, belts, short haircuts.
Football, brags and bets.
I’ll live him five weeks.
Do We Have Anything in Common?
You are the center.
My life is measured off in degrees of you.
You are its range and domain.
Its hither and yon.
You are the far and the near,
The standard and the exceptions, too.
My life is
Views of you,
Hues of you,
Clues of you,
News of you.
Do we have everything in common?
=========================================
We were to write about a color. I chose transparent.
A Nice Shade of Nought
Good water, good glass, good zen
Things that matter without color,
This moment, just herenow.
Your breath radiantly clear.
Scents of cloves and dill,
Click of your keyboard,
Good vodka and gin,
Your engine in the garage.
Colors matter,
Bright or mild
But some valuables
Are hue-less.
Poetry for Weight Loss (recovered by Lynn)
A poem stems your craving,
Apples for the mind.
A serving of cherry pie with no fat.
Stunning the faculties,
Fascinating the attention.
Don't reach for the chips,
Chocolate syllables will satisfy,
Shrinking your waist, too.
Prose Poems (recovered by Lynn)
No, I came all the way across 49th and turned left on Walnut.
All their bananas were totally green.
If I have told him once, I have told him a million times.
But does he listen?
What are those guys in government thinking?
I'm telling you: things are bad and they'll get worse.