Category: Ballad

(Poem #296 on new numbering scheme)

Parts of the world declaim to others
by means of movements small
and large, that spiral and conspire
to etch scars on us all.

– a quatrain in ballad meter.

(Poem #295 on new numbering scheme)

Is there a gothic style, in how
we look at abstraction?
Is there some kind of reader's gloom
that gives a soul traction?

– a quatrain in ballad meter.

(Poem #294 on new numbering scheme)

Words, decontextualized, seep
across his consciousness
till they begin to congeal and
their meanings cause duress.

– a quatrain in ballad meter.

(Poem #293 on new numbering scheme)

A certain type of air is more
like motes of truth and doubt:
it swirls in paths around each tree
like hounds sent out to scout.

– a quatrain in ballad meter.

(Poem #292 on new numbering scheme)

I would prefer to craft a text
that comes out quite absurd
but every time I start to write,
there's meaning, word by word.

– a quatrain in ballad meter.

(Poem #291 on new numbering scheme)

One time, we drove to Winnipeg.
We argued about things.
The sun set over frozen fields;
a bird spun on its wings.
Michelle said she preferred Plato
She forcefully declared:
The essence that precedes language...
no category's spared.
I liked more Aristotle's views
a fluid take on stuff:
I felt thus that all meaning shifts,
Essences aren't enough.
We never did agree that day
our anger simmered slow
We stayed together three more years,
Before I had to go.

– four quatrains in ballad meter

(Poem #290 on new numbering scheme)

"Teacher! Why do you know so much?"
"I guess I studied lots."
"But studying is not much fun."
"I've way too many thoughts."

– a quatrain in ballad meter.

(Poem #289 on new numbering scheme)

The rain presents some symbols to
the streets with gentle strokes;
the streets in turn reflect the signs
that wind itself invokes.

– a quatrain in ballad meter.

(Poem #288 on new numbering scheme)

Some Mondays will refuse to be
compliant with my hope
that each new week begin with an
ability to cope.

– a quatrain in ballad meter.

(Poem #287 on new numbering scheme)

In times before our epoch's end
when alligator songs
were chanted in the swamps and groves,
swarms rioted in throngs.

– a quatrain in ballad meter.

(Poem #286 on new numbering scheme)

If anything becomes like graves
it might be buildings. They
can stand for longer times than those
who made them, grim and gray.

– a quatrain in ballad meter.

(Poem #285 on new numbering scheme)

The moon's dull disk, above, now seems
unreasonably gold.
The teeth of time's wheels make me feel
unseasonably old.

– a quatrain in ballad meter.

(Poem #284 on new numbering scheme)

As hopes proclaim their roots and sprouts,
each tendril rashly curled,
the ordinary blooms of need
unfold across the world.

– a quatrain in ballad meter.

(Poem #283 on new numbering scheme)

This speck of dust did not attempt
to cross the gulf that yawned
between my window's dirty sill
and all the world beyond.

– a quatrain in ballad meter.

(Poem #282 on new numbering scheme)

The spirits bodied forth on walls,
incarnate desires swarmed
all into crevices and cracks
with mutant, feral forms.

– a quatrain in ballad meter.

(Poem #281 on new numbering scheme)

Sometimes I try explaining things;
I am misunderstood.
I still digress and divagate
my words a trackless wood.

– a quatrain in ballad meter.

(Poem #280 on new numbering scheme)

An incantory angel's wings,
with luminescent plumes,
descend upon your muse, like snow,
disguise what she assumes.

– a quatrain in ballad meter.

(Poem #279 on new numbering scheme)

The bird shoves time out from its nest;
it, stone-like, falls and sighs.
Tic-toc, tic-toc - it spins and flaps,
until at last it flies.

– a quatrain in ballad meter.

(Poem #278 on new numbering scheme)

The clouds adopted purple robes,
brought early summer's night,
began to shred the stars' bright flesh,
dispersed gems into white.

– a quatrain in ballad meter.

(Poem #277 on new numbering scheme)

The ziggurats began to watch
as humans dueled with saints
and on clay tablets, scribes took notes
about their blows and feints.

– a quatrain in ballad meter.

(Poem #276 on new numbering scheme)

Today is Buddha's birthday, but
I bet he doesn't care;
and if he cared I think that then
there'd be no Buddha there.

– a quatrain in ballad meter.

(Poem #275 on new numbering scheme)

The sun has captured trees and bugs
and set them all abuzz.
The solstice looms and skies get wide,
forget what winter was.

– a quatrain in ballad meter.

(Poem #274 on new numbering scheme)

My head is full of nonsense words.
In fact, I like it so.
They swirl around and cluster up,
and spill out, fast and slow.

– a quatrain in ballad meter.

(Poem #273 on new numbering scheme)

Each passing face displays its own
interiorities.
One can imagine that inside
are sad calamities.

– a quatrain in ballad meter.

(Poem #271 on new numbering scheme)

A jar was falling: with a clank
it plunged and hit the floor.
I dodged it with a quick side step:
unbroken... still I swore.

– a quatrain in ballad meter.

(Poem #270 on new numbering scheme)

You get a little ways through spring,
and then a strange day comes:
the air blows chill, and tastes of fall,
the fragile bloom succumbs.

– a quatrain in ballad meter.

(Poem #269 on new numbering scheme)

She wrote and asked about that stone:
"So it's set in its ways?
Perhaps a stone will dream its past -
its former glory days?"

– a quatrain in ballad meter.

(Poem #268 on new numbering scheme)

A dog will dream about his walks,
and cats will dream in schemes,
the trees will dream of growing tall,
but stones... they have no dreams.

– a quatrain in ballad meter.

(Poem #267 on new numbering scheme)

Our world... she chants a magic-filled
but apophenic song;
in truth... it's arbitrariness
that thrusts this orb along.

– a quatrain in ballad meter.

(Poem #266 on new numbering scheme)

The dragons don't consider facts,
the unicorns demur;
those mythic beasts will never care
because their hearts are pure.

– a quatrain in ballad meter.

(Poem #265 on new numbering scheme)

I start by looking for some words
in space's vast darkness
but finding none, I turn instead
to my own brain's grim mess.

– a quatrain in ballad meter.