ㅁ Work at the store gets monotonous. Only one or two customers, so I have to find projects. Yesterday, a display that rotates slowly had a broken small motor: stuck gears, rust.
– a nonnet.
Category: Book 4
Caveat: Poem #2492 “As words will do”
ㅁ short words can seem easy but longer words stretch out unexpectedly extensive precise
– a cinquain.
Caveat: Poem #2491 “Robins”
ㅁ Robins everywhere: hopping across the road, making noises among the trees, being.
– a cinquain.
Caveat: Poem #2490 “Not that different”
ㅁ The rain here will come regardless of the season: winter rain; spring rain.
– a pseudo-haiku.
Caveat: Poem #2489 “Just being in the moment”
ㅁ Slugs slowly make progress in crossing paths; I doubt they're over-thinking anything.
– a tetractys.
Caveat: Poem #2488 “Stepwise improvement”
ㅁ So today is the Buddha's birthday, at least as Koreans count it; not really a holiday, here where I live these days. It's quite late this year... follows the moon: wandering Buddha steps.
– a nonnet.
Caveat: Poem #2487 “The phases of a dirt road”
ㅁ Dust, kicked up into clouds by passing trucks... but then the rain returned and we could breathe.
– a tetractys.
Caveat: Poem #2486 “Cucumbers”
ㅁ My coworker gave a bunch of small cucumbers. Now, what should I make?
– a pseudo-haiku.
Caveat: Poem #2485 “Performativity”
ㅁ No. I can't. So instead, if you'll let me... I'll just pretend to make sense and you'll shrug.
– a tetractys.
Caveat: Poem #2484 “Causality”
ㅁ Wind, water; so whitecaps appear, pushing... the waves meet the rocky beach of our cove.
– a tetractys.
Caveat: Poem #2483 “A short tale”
ㅁ There's no sun and the wind blows. Words form on the page, in rows. Motivation lags. I doze.
– a defective englyn milwr (missing cross consonance).
Caveat: Poem #2482 “Reflections on the present”
ㅁ spring for me is a time of dull gloom an endogenous rising-up of feelings of failings of... all my intentions stop While the world speeds up and i resent the present... prefer past
– a nonnet.
Caveat: Poem #2481 “Nostalgia”
ㅁ After days of sun, yesterday was made of fog, recalling childhood.
– a pseudo-haiku.
Caveat: Poem #2480 “Looking out at the sea”
ㅁ I like watching the wind sculpt the sea. It draws patterns on the blue-green. Patches of movement appear. Ripples swing in great arcs. Then the wind strengthens. Waves start dancing. White-caps jump, contort, crash.
– a nonnet.
Caveat: Poem #2479 “Heatwave”
ㅁ sudden summer-like temps and a bold, glaring sun wilted my young broccoli plants... life's hard
– a cinquain.
Caveat: Poem #2478 “The deal”
ㅁ the trees made a bargain with the chthonic powers: you'll feed us well, and then later, we'll die
– a cinquain.
Caveat: Poem #2477 “Don’t forget me”
ㅁ blooming forget-me-nots Alaska's "state flower" spontaneously appearing right here
– a cinquain.
Caveat: Poem #2476 “An anti-ode to Spring”
ㅁ spring stresses me out the "to do" list looms too huge i can't put things off
– a pseudo-haiku.
Caveat: Poem #2475 “Out in the mist”
ㅁ a salmon troller parked itself out in the sea waiting for some fish
– a pseudo-haiku.
Caveat: Poem #2474 “Rainforest”
ㅁ Two inches of rain irrigated our forest; it was unneeded.
– a pseudo-haiku.
Caveat: Poem #2473 “Did I plant that?”
ㅁ Some plants which put up sprouts in the greenhouse's dirt have remained unidentified. Some weeds?
– a cinquain.
Caveat: Poem #2471 “The drive home from work”
ㅁ the sea is all blue there is snow on the mountains but the road's dusty
– a pseudo-haiku.
Caveat: Poem #2470 “Ancient dreaming”
ㅁ Years ago, when I was much younger, I used to have "animal dreams." Mostly I would run and run, like a joyful, wild dog. Sometimes I would rage, crash among trees. But these days, no such dreams.
– a nonnet.
Caveat: Poem #2469 “A celeric resurrection”
ㅁ I guess I'd put some celery there, up in my low-tech compost pile, to the side of the greenhouse. Yesterday I saw sprouts, green leaves coming out: the celery suddenly put roots, grew.
– a nonnet.
Caveat: Poem #2468 “The rendering real”
ㅁ The keyboard presents its contoured cubes, a topography of new signs, potential semiotics, captures my attention; it has its own feel: still unfulfilled, sensuous, patient words.
– a nonnet.