Category: A Daily Poem

(Poem #108 on new numbering scheme)

Skulls
and bones
populate
the imagery
that drifts out, unsought,
from those contemplations
which accompany the fact
that the dead cat I saw just now
seemed to be merely in calm repose.

– a reverse nonnet

(Poem #107 on new numbering scheme)

Let's imagine a dystopia:
a strange future where things are weird.
Unconsciousness is a crime
punishable by death.
The authorities
dislike darkness.
Don't get caught
sleeping
now.

– a nonnet

(Poem #106 on new numbering scheme)

Students congregate along damp streets
like water droplets in a mist,
a brownian shivering
on Fall's first chill evening,
their various worries
floating on words
across gaps
between
them

– a nonnet

(Poem #105 on new numbering scheme)

Hi,
sad cat.
What is it?
Did you get lost?
... looks like you're hungry.
I'm afraid to touch you.
You might carry some disease.
I saw you begging from those kids,
earlier. You seemed to be happy.

– a reverse nonnet

(Poem #104 on new numbering scheme)

Nothing comes easily, you know.
Well, I admit, I can forget
this terrible frustration
sometimes. Nevertheless,
simple stuff feels like
trying to make
a new poem
out of
dirt.

– a nonnet
[daily log: walking, 1km]

(Poem #103 on new numbering scheme)

A strange madness took hold of his mind.
He believed he was made of glass.
"Please, do not touch me," he begged.
He made the best of it,
though, declaring that
transparency
was more pure;
the soul,
clear.

– a nonnet

(Poem #102 on new numbering scheme)

I saw a scary caterpillar
throbbing across the dull asphalt:
a green fragment of muscle,
alive like a zombie's,
step, step, step, step, step.
The little feet
writhe toward
waving
grass.

– a nonnet

(Poem #101 on new numbering scheme)

One day, an imaginary man
went to Duluth, seeking stories.
He stood on the mythic shore.
Gray-green waves gnawed the sand.
Some black flies spun doubts.
He built machines
with his words.
The lake
watched.

– a nonnet

(Poem #100 on new numbering scheme)

A failure of communication
with a few of my coworkers
caused me to tell a student
with a confident voice
the exact wrong thing.
She cried, asking,
"Teacher, why
did you
lie?"

– a nonnet

(Poem #99 on new numbering scheme)

As a first step, they cut out my tongue.
They removed the tumor, of course.
Then they put my tongue back in.
Nerves and vessels were fixed:
pieces of my arm
were repurposed.
So that was
a hard
year.

– a nonnet

(Poem #98 on new numbering scheme)

Trees
announce
silhouettes
and glibly grope
the impatient sky,
meanwhile insisting that
the greedy earth release them
so that they can then levitate,
but gravity's passion is too strong.

– a reverse nonnet

(Poem #97 on new numbering scheme)

As I do with regularity,
I rearranged my furniture
after getting home from work
yesterday afternoon.
I made piles of books.
The couch got turned.
Hordes of dust
bunnies
died.

– a nonnet

(Poem #96 on new numbering scheme)

These recent days of hazy weather
give midday sun a sunset feel,
so fall in Daehan Minguk
becomes, through memory,
pale Tenochtitlan
in mid Winter,
and the air
tastes like
gold.

– a nonnet

(Poem #95 on new numbering scheme)

Rock!
It hurts.
It's moving.
Is it gone now?
No. Now it hurts more.
It jumped into my shoe.
I'll have to stop at that bench;
sit down and try to fish it out.
I've changed geologic history.

– a reverse nonnet

(Poem #94 on new numbering scheme)

Id,
ego -
both divine -
vagrant thoughts seek
apotheosis,
but meaning's in decline;
instead we make apopheny.
Behold the landscape: green blurs, black lines.

– a reverse nonnet

(Poem #93 on new numbering scheme)

START: I was walking and smelled woodsmoke.
That, and damp streets, brought memories:
high school and the Pacific
fog and walks and nights
at a computer
crafting programs
like mazes.
GOTO
START

– a nonnet

(Poem #92 on new numbering scheme)

Babbling silently at the heavens,
an orange half moon gave solace
to no one, not even me.
The evening was chilly.
I was not saddened.
Souls did not dance.
Liminal
lurkings
flowed.

– a nonnet

(Poem #91 on new numbering scheme)

cars
buildings
traffic lights
i see these things
government and hope
corruption and despair
these things are invisible
all of these are immanences
they emerge wholly formed from our minds

– a reverse nonnet

I wrote eight nonnets as a connected narrative. I post them here, all at once. I think you might already know the story.
(Poem #90 on new numbering scheme)

The open fields.
"Hey.
I'm through."
His hands shook.
"I don't get it."
Cain was so angry.
The Boss didn't listen.
Instead, the Boss turned away.
This just made Cain feel angrier.
"Why am I submitting these reports?"
"Nice."
He grinned.
He looked up.
The Boss was pleased.
Abel thanked his Boss.
"I worked so hard on that."
"It shows. You did very well."
Cain watched, beyond the cubicle.
"This really isn't fair," he muttered.
"What?"
"Please wait."
The Boss paused.
"OK. What now?"
Cain said, "Can we talk?"
The Boss shrugged. "Don't bother."
"You know the problem," he said.
"Your anger crouches, there. Own it."
Cain was stricken, and he skulked away.
"Look.
Let's meet."
Cain gestured.
"Maybe later."
His brother nodded.
"I'll call you, when I'm done."
Later, he called his brother.
"How about we go for a walk?"
"Sounds good," the other said. "I'll be there."
The two took the El down to the end.
There were some open fields around.
They walked amid the rubble.
The older brother swung.
He hadn't planned to.
His anger won.
Cain saw blood.
He cried.
"Hell."
The next day, the Boss called Cain, at nine.
He answered his phone, feeling dread.
"Where's your brother?" the Man asked.
"How would I know?" Cain said.
The Boss was silent.
"It's not my job."
Cain went on.
"I mean."
"Right?"
Another call came, some hours later.
The police had found the body.
They added up two and two.
Cain was soon arrested.
The Boss was there too.
"Well that was dumb."
He shook his head.
"You blew it."
Cain stared.
Sighed.
A few years later, Cain was homeless.
His lawyer had gotten him off.
The trial was a circus.
It consumed his money.
But his guilt plagued him.
Cain crouched, sobbing.
"I'm stupid."
He spat.
"Why?"

– 4 reverse nonnets and 4 regular nonnets

(Poem #89 on new numbering scheme)

Some
nonnet:
I wrote it
in an effort
to improve my skills,
capture the world I see,
increase my self discipline,
and express my shifting feelings
regarding the meaning of my life.

– a reverse nonnet

(Poem #88 on new numbering scheme)

Dream:
I lay
fearfully
- my mind empty -
under a table.
I was only a child.
Other children yelled at me.
I felt compelled to speak to them,
but no words came out - I'd become mute.

– a reverse nonnet

(Poem #87 on new numbering scheme)

The big typhoon failed to reach Seoul.
We just had some overcast days.
Down south, the storm struck Busan.
The sea stole a few souls.
Up here, the sky cleared
to perfect blue.
A cool breeze
pulled down
leaves.

– a nonnet

(Poem #86 on new numbering scheme)

My tendency to procrastinate
can serve me well in Korea,
although sometimes it doesn't,
and then I will end up
feeling some regret,
when suddenly
I find out
something's
wrong.

– a nonnet

(Poem #85 on new numbering scheme)

I was walking home from work just now,
and someone's extremely small dog
ran at me, barking loudly.
I was startled and yelled,
which scared the people
whose dog it was.
My mood slipped,
wobbled,
crashed.

– a nonnet

(Poem #84 on new numbering scheme)

They say Dangun's mother was a bear.
I guess she spent time in a cave.
There was a tiger there, too.
But he wasn't patient.
So he ran away.
The bear waited.
A long time.
At last.
Light.

– a nonnet

(Poem #83 on new numbering scheme)

How many scared feral cats there are
around the city of Goyang,
leaping among the shrubs?
Maybe not that many,
but it seems to me
they should be kings
here because
they are
cats.

– a nonnet

(Poem #82 on new numbering scheme)

I was reviewing with a student
the list of vocabulary.
We saw the next word was "skill"
- "gisul" in Korean.
"Do you have a skill?"
I asked. He said,
"Just one skill:
I can
sleep."

– a nonnet

(Poem #81 on new numbering scheme)

Some landscapes of the Quattrocento
- those by Giorgione or Titian -
are conjured by autumn's light,
in the midafternoon,
when gazing at trees
incidental
to a vague
background
haze.

– a nonnet

(Poem #80 on new numbering scheme)

This one tree that I frequently see
is always my first sign of fall.
Just a few leaves near the top
surrender to an urge
to paint themselves pink,
yellow, red and
some peach-tinged
thrusts of
gold.

– a nonnet

(Poem #79 on new numbering scheme)

Blink.
Sit up.
It's morning.
Now I'm awake.
The pain of sleep fades.
My body needs to move.
One shoulder resists movement.
I finally begin to rise.
The first thing is to make some coffee.

– a reverse nonnet

(Poem #78 on new numbering scheme)

I walked home amid a steady rain.
A strong scent littered the sidewalks:
dawn redwoods - in Linnaean,
called Metasequoia
glyptostroboides.
like Humboldt trees,
the smell takes
my mind
home.

– a nonnet

(Poem #77 on new numbering scheme)

The challenge in writing is to find,
like a big clump of pocket lint,
those specificities which
capture a reader's mind
so it's glad to fall,
a child laughing
and leaping
into
leaves.

– a nonnet

(Poem #76 on new numbering scheme)

It might be impossible to see
the world as if it were a song.
Nevertheless, strings of words
mark out our daily world,
like viny hedges.
Ubiquitous,
poetry
can't be
seen.

– a nonnet