Category: A Daily Poem

(Poem #176 on new numbering scheme)

The monkey and the raven
contrived a fine plot, and then,
compelled by jealousy, ran
to steal the other beasts' fun.

– an englyn proest dalgron

(Poem #175 on new numbering scheme)

The sun had forsaken all,
having slipped down a deep well.
There were bad fish in that pool
that had stolen the sun's soul.

– an englyn proest dalgron

[daily log: walking 1km]

(Poem #174 on new numbering scheme)

It's so late... I stay awake.
Now and then, sleep fails to make
anything but a brief, fake appearance -
a short trance - no real break.

– an englyn unodl crwca

(Poem #173 on new numbering scheme)

I like snow in the winter,
but this dawn's fall seemed bitter,
like some song flung forth in fear
by a reluctant choir.

– an englyn proest dalgron

(Poem #172 on new numbering scheme)

The empty shell of the state, sold to fools;
its roads, rules, and dire fate
compiled for transition... wait...
no... as of now, it's too late.

– an englyn unodl union

(Poem #171 on new numbering scheme)

I write this on a small scrap
of paper, with a vague hope
that the words might develop
into a poem, then stop.

– an englyn proest dalgron

(Poem #170 on new numbering scheme)

Just a ways down the shore there,
the fell spirit of the air
descended, and met the fair
spirit of the deep water.

– an englyn proest dalgron

(Poem #169 on new numbering scheme)

I'm just really exhausted
this Monday evening. I had
six classes. For each, I stood
and talked. The kids sat and stared.

– an englyn proest dalgron

(Poem #168 on new numbering scheme)

You cannot escape the dust;
it marches through sunbeams, fast
settling on floors like ballast,
thus to sink life's ship at last.

– an englyn proest dalgron
[daily log: walking, 1.5km]

(Poem #167 on new numbering scheme)

The ghost is in the machine:
it thinks it's in there alone
and so it resolves to run,
looping, as long as it can.

– an englyn proest dalgron

(Poem #165 on new numbering scheme)

I've seen my mortality, face forward
squarely toward death's city,
at least three times; self pity
fell to something more witty.

– an englyn unodl union

(Poem #164 on new numbering scheme)

The sentences formed and flowed,
spilling forth, flowers in flood,
but still no one understood
the words - no real person could.

– an englyn proest dalgron

(Poem #163 on new numbering scheme)

The monkey met the raven
to talk about which option
they might choose to try to win
their war against the demon.

– an englyn proest dalgron

(Poem #162 on new numbering scheme)

I saw, stranded there, a leaf,
caught like a weak man's hand, half
on and half off a bookshelf,
as he fell, slain by her laugh.

– an englyn proest dalgron

(Poem #161 on new numbering scheme)

I saw a bug on the floor.
A cluster of dust or fur,
a small black machine or more,
weird, mysterious cypher.

– an englyn proest dalgron
[daily log: walking, 1km]

(Poem #160 on new numbering scheme)

I saw bits of wood arrayed
along the path's side, like dead
insects, or some bones, which could
come from some strange beast, though flawed.

– an englyn proest dalgron

(Poem #159 on new numbering scheme)

He layered brick upon brick,
creating a kind of fake
mountain up which he might walk,
plotting God's death at its peak.

– an englyn proest dalgron

(Poem #158 on new numbering scheme)

A semi-automatic
weapon, some semiotic
reasons, a panegyric to be said
to the dead. Terrific.

– an englyn unodl crwca

(Poem #157 on new numbering scheme)

Do the things that make you glad
despite the fact that you did
things undeniably bad...
you did them because you could.

– an englyn proest dalgron – apropos my posting earlier today, I guess, and tongue-in-cheek.

(Poem #156 on new numbering scheme)

The magpie cocked its head, then
paused to watch a leaf, began
to step into the strong sun -
a blue, black and white machine.

– an englyn proest dalgron

(Poem #155 on new numbering scheme)

The teacher's droning was not
comprehensible. Some scant
words made sense. She passed a note.
Faithless, time flowed like cement.

– an englyn proest dalgron

(Poem #154 on new numbering scheme)

On the first day of the year,
I feel kinda sad. There are
so many things that I care
to achieve... yet I sit here.

– an englyn proest dalgron
[daily log: walking, 1km]

(Poem #153 on new numbering scheme)

Due to the smog from Beijing,
red stains the light in morning,
as if the gods are burning - at least one -
as if the sun's setting.

– an englyn unodl crwca

(Poem #152 on new numbering scheme)

I walk home. The sun has gone,
such that all that's left is then
a kind of distillation
of dusk, flavored by the moon.

– an englyn proest dalgron

(Poem #151 on new numbering scheme)

He sat down with the grim gods
to play poker. He dealt cards,
spinning them out from his hands,
preparing his daring deeds.

– an englyn proest dalgron

(Poem #150 on new numbering scheme)

The monkey, magnificent
with his rainbow-hued, bent
limbs, all bendy, at last sent, hurled along
headlong, by some student.

– an englyn unodl crwca

(Poem #149 on new numbering scheme)

The cold air hung like a stone,
and its surface, not so thin,
demarcated a vague line
between the earth and the sun.

– an englyn proest dalgron

(Poem #148 on new numbering scheme)

These sacks of bones, meat and blood
have a small fragment of cold,
strange intellect, and thus should
try to discover what's good.

– an englyn proest dalgron

(Poem #147 on new numbering scheme)

Maybe I don't like Christmas;
it often seems to mean less
to those who have known some loss:
all the cheer's extraneous.

– an englyn proest dalgron
[daily log: walking, 1.5km]

(Poem #146 on new numbering scheme)

In cold wind, a few leaves swirled.
Grey, inchoate gods unfurled
their pale fingers, stale spirit,
here at the end of the world.

– an englyn cyrch

(Poem #145 on new numbering scheme)

That was a horrible day:
Students quit and went away.
The boss gave an angry rant,
and I can't think what to say.

– an englyn cyrch

(Poem #144 on new numbering scheme)

The kids travel by rainbow,
hopping from desert to snow
interdimensionally.
Through alleys and clouds they go!

– an englyn cyrch