ㅁ The dog found a discarded deer's foot lying in a ditch by the road. Bits of flesh clung to the joints. She was quite pleased with this. The bone was held high, triumphantly. She gnawed it, and pranced. Yum.
– a nonnet.
Category: Nonnet
Caveat: Poem #2250 “In darkness”
ㅁ Blink. Open. Look around. I see nothing. It's completely dark. Oh, the faintest light, there. That's waking up before dawn. So I turn on my little light, Put on some clothes, exit the treehouse.
– a reverse nonnet.
Caveat: Poem #2249 “Return”
ㅁ Mostly in town, I don't see eagles. But high over the parking lot, a single-minded eagle swooped down from a treetop, sighting a nice snack, or just for show, in morning's drizzly mist.
– a nonnet.
Caveat: Poem #2248 “Tourist town, off-season”
ㅁ Dull. Quiet. Standing there. No one came in. I vacuumed the floor. Outside the town was dead. I had no framing to do. The store was quite unpopular. The whole day, we had five customers.
– a reverse nonnet.
Caveat: Poem #2175 “What a pane”
ㅁ Yesterday, I made my first window for my many-angled treehouse. Of course it is imperfect. But I put in some glass, applied some putty quite messily, and looked out at blue sea.
– a nonnet.
Caveat: Poem #2174 “Recipe”
ㅁ Yesterday, I made some fish curry. I started making curry paste, with the mortar and pestle I'd bought in Korea; then I fry onion with zucchini, tomato, last, add fish.
– a nonnet.
Caveat: Poem #2173 “Snufflebeast”
ㅁ dog snuffles down the road smelling flowers... gotta smell that tree! oh, here's a piece of trash! nice, a mud puddle to drink! oh, look, a bee to try to eat! yikes! ouch. that bee is not so tasty.
– a reverse nonnet.
Caveat: Poem #2172 “Unprecedented”
ㅁ rain comes down continues and then pauses you get used to it then when a patch of blue appears between parting clouds strange clarity amid gray whisps you feel somewhat disoriented
– a reverse nonnet.
Caveat: Poem #2171 “R. Jeffers”
ㅁ I feel happiest just watching things, external to interactions: the struggle of living things trees, bees, birds, fish, eagles... a theodicy of small creatures, if you will, fighting death.
– a nonnet.
Caveat: Poem #2095 “A parable about lost astronauts”
ㅁ "Look!" they said. "This journey," they continued, "is impossible. The geometry's wrong, and the shape of space and time will soon lead all of us astray." They sat, shaking their heads, crestfallen.
– a reverse nonnet.
Caveat: Poem #2094 “A parable about found stones”
ㅁ Of course the stones were arreptitious, just existing in the present: a passing truck might raise up their weighty singing souls only a moment then flung sideways they'd lie down with weeds, lost.
– a nonnet.
Caveat: Poem #2070 “This one time”
ㅁ This one time I woke up so hungry. I went downstairs to get oatmeal. Eating at strange times is bad: discombobulated, I will forget when things should happen. Anyway, I ate. Done.
– a nonnet.
Caveat: Poem #2053 “Things to do when you’re an eagle”
ㅁ I rose up through the air on my wings and made sweeping circles, slowly surveying the trees and rocks tasting the salty wind until in the end I chose a spot and swooped down and perched there.
– a nonnet.
Caveat: Poem #2048 “Flood”
ㅁ Numbers emerged like leaking water, filling up the machine's hard drive. Gradually, the space filled. Baroque bits of data spread themselves over virtual planes, surfaces until full.
– a nonnet.
Caveat: Poem #2047 “A poem about its own origin”
ㅁ See, sometimes I wake up in the morning so very early and take the decision to just remain awake, then, and perhaps to try to write down a bunch of syllables: a nonnet.
– a reverse nonnet.
Caveat: Poem #2025 “Hypothetically untreed”
ㅁ Before leaving for work I walked there - down by the treehouse, by the sea. I check on it every day. So far it hasn't moved. Sometimes I worry. I imagine going there, finding doom.
– a nonnet.
Caveat: Poem #2012 “Title”
ㅁ the poem starts out with energy full of ambition and big plans but then as the lines proceed concepts are forgotten syllables cut off words are unused things get terse shorter stop
– a nonnet.
Caveat: Poem #2011 “Detail”
ㅁ space and time unfolding operating not quite like clockwork more like a blind person reading out each moment's steps in a tactile way across knots tied in tiny strings made of ether
– a reverse nonnet.
Caveat: Poem #2010 “Swonk”
ㅁ Swonk! Some snow tumbled down out of a tree as the falling flakes shifted back to cold rain transforming all the landscape into a tableau of churned slush mostly quiet except for the dripping.
– a reverse nonnet.
Caveat: Poem #2009 “Into that good night”
ㅁ I spend my time around old people people who nurture their anger and their fears and resentments they craft conspiracies to frighten themselves insult objects dread yet crave gentle death
– a nonnet.
Caveat: Poem #1979 “Cartographer’s pause”
ㅁ The map is sometimes quite neglected. I abandon ideas, plans, and I can't decide what's next. But the past is still there, Rendered in bold lines, true diagrams of unreal places dreamed.
– a reverse nonnet.
Caveat: Poem #1978 “Nature’s handiwork”
ㅁ Rain. It came: to coat snow with some slick slush; to make walking hard so you have to shuffle; to sculpt incongruous clouds that lurk around at ground level, laced with dirt and stones and dog's urine.
– a reverse nonnet.
Caveat: Poem #1977 “The climate is different, a few miles inland”
ㅁ The town is out on a point of land. It's always a bit windy there. Going home, I drive inland, following the sea's arm, the snow gets deeper, the wind dies down, the trees calm, a mist hangs.
– a nonnet.
Caveat: Poem #1976 “Driven”
ㅁ A few fresh inches of snow appeared for yesterday morning's commute. But I'm getting used to it. I zig-zag down the road like a blue bobsled armed with four wheels crunching snow tasting ice.
– a nonnet.
Caveat: Poem #1975 “Snuffled”
ㅁ There was a mouse, down under the snow. It hid in its small burrow, there. A dog came along the road. The dog's nose sought this mouse. She pawed at the snow. She snuffled close. Still no mouse. Paws clawed. Snort!
– a nonnet.
Caveat: Poem #1974 “Self-actualization”
ㅁ The city contemplated its form: There were passages of water; people came and made houses; roads were cut in the land; factories appeared; highways evolved; trains laid tracks; parks grew. Done.
– a nonnet.
Caveat: Poem #1973 “Borne home, unmoved”
ㅁ Recent years, I haven't traveled much. So Minnesota came to me. First, a hefty dose of snow, then clear skies and chill air and a dry coldness that makes the snow underfoot loudly crunch.
– a nonnet.
Caveat: Poem #1912 “And that made me think of the poet Labordeta”
ㅁ I dreamed yet another vivid dream: a kafkaesque replay of when I had gone off to grad school. In this version, I stalled, avoided meeting the professors till at last they found me. The woman was quite pleasant to me. She showed me these small clay figures, instructed me to describe each one in fine detail. One was a strange thing: a fire-breathing trolleybus with green eyes.
– a pair of nonnets.
Caveat: Poem #1910 “Could have happened somewhere in Mexico but it didn’t”
ㅁ I awoke from an unpleasant dream. There was a very long bus trip. I was sleeping on the bus. But then I was startled. A woman stood there, told me, "Get off." I asked why. She said, "No."
– a nonnet.
Caveat: Poem #1908 “Steps forward, steps back”
ㅁ work can seem a road to futility or just passing through some tedious labor that's already frustrating only to realize it's wasted as you must now reverse what you'd done.
– a reverse nonnet.
Caveat: Poem #1907 “The fourth dimension strikes again”
ㅁ time wobbles spins along marches forward takes a little break counts down various things crashes into folds of space makes small matters salient renders important things meaningless
– a reverse nonnet.
Caveat: Poem #1904 “On looking down”
ㅁ I'm up high, perched there in my treehouse. See, a mistake needs reversing. I've got to get one screw loose. Being so high is hard. I don't enjoy it. Still, I'm trying. "Don't look down." I say. Oops.
– a nonnet.
Caveat: Poem #1903 “Inverted triangle”
ㅁ Nonnets can start with syllable-hills, sequipedalianally, with well-entrained thoughts and words, but then metamorphize, into something tight and narrower difficult, gnomic, closed.
– a nonnet.