ㅁ He may have harbored some hopes in his day, Cruel was the world, and unkind were the fates, Robbed and neglected, the gods had their say... Loathsome and brutish, they lifted life's weights.
– a quatrain in dactylic tetrameter, about a fictional character.
ㅁ The sun's vanity: to give illumination where the air resists...
– a pseudo-haiku.
ㅁ Dawn comes later now. The sky, dull silver at eight, tastes the reaching trees.
– a pseudo-haiku.
ㅁ I love the light's mood When the Fall overcast hangs So low and so gray.
– a pseudo-haiku.
ㅁ Darkness enveloped; the stones clattered underfoot; below, the sea dwelt.
– a pseudo-haiku.
ㅁ We have attachments that others don't understand. Why so many books?
– a pseudo-haiku.
ㅁ Once every day he would ponder the cards, gathering insights that opened his mind, spinning out visions and signs into shards, then he would put them away, and go blind.
– a quatrain in dactylic tetrameter.
ㅁ Gravity, Faust-like, grants us powers, but demands we respect its rules.
– a pseudo-haiku.
ㅁ Thursdays: into town, do some shopping, run errands - the week's adventure.
– a pseudo-haiku.
ㅁ There are books I read, and books I haven't read, too; but some are half done.
– a pseudo-haiku.
ㅁ The reasons we do things remain inscrutable, our thoughts spin, running rings, with motivations dull and grayish clouds that drift within their bony domes; while outside visions lift away the seething foams of seas that beat and thrash against perceptions, so at last a tiny cache of meaning falls like snow which leaves a pallid face which tilts up into space.
– a sonnet in iambic trimeter.
ㅁ The raindrops fall, suggest, and ruminate on wood, on steel, as if possessed, as if their tapping could interpret sweeping time or render grasping trees immobilized; their rhyme, their syncopated tease of meanings never found - unfindable besides - just apophenic sound and rhythm that just slides all down the edges till the world dissolves its will.
– a sonnet in iambic trimeter.
ㅁ The rain will take a pause, a surging tide will rise, and thus the dawn's chill cause unfolds to draw my eyes. Two seagulls squat below upon the dock's damp wood, their wings their feathers throw: a raucous talk is good. Across the water, clouds embrace the looming trees: a hillside's worth, like shrouds of purple filigrees. The sky collects its light then, tossing motes of white.
– a sonnet in iambic trimeter.
ㅁ A single small shrub, leaves burned red by the season, railed against the storm.
– a pseudo-haiku.
ㅁ wind offers no solace but draws you in with only gestures made all indirectly swinging rain and damp branches abnegating the dawn's dull clouds in a perennial cunctation
– a reverse nonnet.
ㅁ A DMV Ode Waiting is a kind of hard training. Yet it requires nothing active. One simply should still the mind. Those spinning thoughts hinder. One can look outside. There's a nice view. One sees trees. Rain falls. Wait.
– a pseudo-haiku.
ㅁ Branches, chaotic awkward tall twining columns, clothed in ragged green
– a pseudo-haiku.
ㅁ The hillside poses for the sun, pointing its trees at the azure sky.
– a pseudo-haiku.
ㅁ The house holds darkness: beyond the windows, nothing; dawn is hours away.
– a pseudo-haiku.
ㅁ Perceptions of the natural world weave patterns through the interstices of our tightly folded brains, gathering the damp duff fallen from time's trees scattered around like a sea: broken leaves.
– a nonnet.
ㅁ Clouds: They drift, Dislike wind, Try to travel, Contemplate treetops, Interpolate movements... Okay, they exploit the wind, And resist enough to survive, Refusing debate, remaining clouds.
– a reverse nonnet.
ㅁ Photons, in the fall, seem fewer in their number and farther apart.
– a pseudo-haiku.
ㅁ I like to sit here with my coffee beside me until it's quite cold.
– a pseudo-haiku.
ㅁ the snail drew forward tasting the road's bare gravel dreaming of raindrops
– a pseudo-haiku.
ㅁ On the edge of cold, the damp moss floats on the stones; a puff of breath fades.
– a pseudo-haiku.
ㅁ So, roads must be crossed? Even when the air is cool? Strike a path, set out.
– a pseudo-haiku.
ㅁ From the sky, the clouds descend, fragmented, sun absented, winds portend rainy end.
– an englyn of some kind.
ㅁ No words anywhere: just trees and shrubs, seeking sky... and a bird, hungry.
– a pseudo-haiku.
ㅁ Let's look down in this river for food. The water is flowing swiftly. There are a lot of dead fish. We can speak to our friends. Tilt heads at the sun. Taste the autumn. Spread our wings. Dive down. Caw.
– a nonnet.
ㅁ The neighbors have chickens and roosters. It lends a domesticity to this Alaskan outpost. My uncle disapproves. They're too civilized. I don't mind them. Morning crows bring up tides.
– a nonnet.
ㅁ This one tree stands there, tall, and older than others; up top, raven talks.
– a pseudo-haiku.
ㅁ I sleep on the floor, as I've always. Maybe it's camping memories? It's a strange pattern, I know. Is it simplicity? Asceticism? Connection to unyielding, spinning, earth?
– a nonnet.
ㅁ Before morning's light chill darkness laps at the walls; you can hear the water.
– a pseudo-haiku.
