Category: A Daily Poem

(Poem #242 on new numbering scheme)

In melancholy, time goes slow.
It's like a rocket ship:
in freefall, after stage three drops...
a parabolic trip.

– a quatrain in ballad meter.

(Poem #240 on new numbering scheme)

The teachers bring doughnuts to work
which makes me feel real sad.
You see, I used to like such things...
now, eating them is bad.

– a quatrain in ballad meter.

(Poem #239 on new numbering scheme)

A typical Korean rain
will smell just like sea's needs;
but spring we sometimes taste a storm
that reeks of desert's weeds.

– a quatrain in ballad meter.

(Poem #238 on new numbering scheme)

I waited for a poem to come,
but nothing ever came.
I wracked my brain and tapped my hands,
but what I wrote was lame.

– a quatrain in ballad meter.

(Poem #237 on new numbering scheme)

I wonder why the monkeys fly
But fly they do each day.
My students throw them through the air
they like to laugh and play.

– a quatrain in ballad meter.
[daily log: walking, 5.5km]

(Poem #236 on new numbering scheme)

"My ego trumps my neighbor's needs,"
the patriot believes,
sincere, perhaps (in fact, malign)
but to those ends, deceives.

– a quatrain in ballad meter.

(Poem #235 on new numbering scheme)

Korea has these feral chairs:
they rest beside the roads;
they wait, unloved, unsat upon;
they bear no human loads.

– a quatrain in ballad meter.

(Poem #234 on new numbering scheme)

The ocean's arms can grasp the mind;
recursively ingrain
small chunks of memory and dreams
into the seething brain.

– a quatrain in ballad meter.

(Poem #232 on new numbering scheme)

You know that spring has now arrived:
the air, it makes you cry;
Korean spring's a lousy time;
the grayish, yellow sky.

– a quatrain in ballad meter.

(Poem #231 on new numbering scheme)

The clouds patrol the sky, adrift
Then aliens arrive
who scoop the clouds up like some bugs,
because they want them live.

– a quatrain in ballad meter.
[daily log: walking, 1km]

(Poem #230 on new numbering scheme)

He lies awake, and counting sheep...
those sheep are saying stuff:
They're telling him about the fact
that anger's not enough.

– a quatrain in ballad meter.

(Poem #229 on new numbering scheme)

Ponder the foolishness of faith
in light of so much pain,
and yet decide to still believe...
inspired by the rain.

– a quatrain in ballad meter.

(Poem #227 on new numbering scheme)

Each Wednesday is speaking class
but how is this a thing?
The students sit and sometimes smile.
They don't say anything.

– a quatrain in ballad meter.

(Poem #225 on new numbering scheme)

In time, some questions coalesce,
with answers no one knows.
The pallid moon is marching high.
The night's cold darkness glows.

– a quatrain in ballad meter.

(Poem #224 on new numbering scheme)

The thing about most Sundays is
that nothing gets begun.
I barely ever finish things,
cause 'nothing' can be fun.

– a quatrain in ballad meter.

(Poem #223 on new numbering scheme)

The open sky consumed the air,
and ancient leaves spun round.
The ghosts attempted passing through,
their feet became the ground.

– a quatrain in ballad meter.

(Poem #221 on new numbering scheme)

The alligator on the hill
was shot by arrows cruel.
The man was happy then to see
that hungry, bleeding fool.
The moon it glowed up in the sky
the ant he crawled below
the man's friends came to take the beast:
they took it to a show.

– two quatrains in ballad meter. The picture came first – a doodle drawn during a slow moment at work, to entertain a child sitting next to me. Then I made the poem to go with the picture.

(Poem #219 on new numbering scheme)

The cat was lurking in the path.
A blueness dreamed the sky.
Some leaves arranged the wind and sun.
The moon can't tell me why.

– a quatrain in ballad meter.

(Poem #217 on new numbering scheme)

"If you don't want to know the truth,"
he said, his grin unkind,
"You must imagine everything
is only in your mind."

– a quatrain in ballad meter.

(Poem #216 on new numbering scheme)

A place where you can see the sea
among the grassy dunes:
the wind is strong and claws the sand,
the waves just hum their tunes.

– a quatrain in ballad meter.

(Poem #215 on new numbering scheme)

One foggy night I walked and met
The Land Surveyor, K.
He shared with me his boring hopes,
his bureaucratic day.

– a quatrain in ballad meter. A nod to Kafka, presumably, although the Ardisphere had a land surveyor, K, too.

(Poem #214 on new numbering scheme)

I walk the streets to work each day
and there's a restaurant.
It uses wood to cook its food:
the smell - it tends to haunt.
Aromas paint the air with thoughts
and memories of youth;
the burning wood recalls to me
those camping trips: Duluth.
October in the northern woods
along Superior;
We drove and sang Bob Dylan songs
Or stopped there on the shore.
Eventually we'd find a camp,
where we could raise a tent.
We'd light a fire, or take a hike,
I guess it's time well spent.
So nowadays I miss my friends,
our lives each have their track,
but when I pass that eating place
the smells, they draw me back.

– five quatrains in ballad meter.

(Poem #212 on new numbering scheme)

We know that tigers have their stripes,
which gives them perfect souls,
and that their fur is beautiful,
a glow like burning coals.

– a quatrain in ballad meter.