(Poem #446 on new numbering scheme)
The lines project across the hollow gulfs that underlie imagination's flights.
(Poem #446 on new numbering scheme)
The lines project across the hollow gulfs that underlie imagination's flights.
(Poem #445 on new numbering scheme)
He felt a gladness, digging deeper... his shovel bit the dirt; but then he found a skelegator that bit him, oh it hurt!
Picture above drawn at work on a whiteboard as a prompt for a story-telling exercise in an elementary speaking class.
(Poem #444 on new numbering scheme)
Dawn comes later now But gray gives way to silver blue or pink or gold
(Poem #443 on new numbering scheme)
Lately the poems are not coming so easily. Epics and haikus are difficult; weather and sunsets and student behavior become tired.
– some kind of effort at a heroic couplet (dactylic hexameter)
(Poem #442 on new numbering scheme)
The sun was large, and alligators played beneath a random rainbow made of trash.
You can see the following blogpost for context of this couplet.
(Poem #441 on new numbering scheme)
The universe is not so big these days, the fasteners have taken over all. The problem is the lack of paper, since the cellulose was used for paperclips.
(Poem #440 on new numbering scheme)
It's difficult to go on Saturdays. There's just one class: those girls who hate to work.
(Poem #439 on new numbering scheme)
Ghosts dwell between things and gesture with puffs of air to show their regrets.
(Poem #438 on new numbering scheme)
Microwave something to eat and then sit down to see if the world spins;
write a few sentences hoping the meanings emerge from my pen’s end.
(Poem #437 on new numbering scheme)
I looked up. Birds were flying south. The clouds were heavy, moving north. They passed like trains.
(Poem #436 on new numbering scheme)
There might be rain now. Do you have your umbrella? Then, an autumn rain.
(Poem #435 on new numbering scheme)
Magic machines lurk listless and grim in the clouds as if history writes conversations alone, disregarding the rainbows that follow.
(Poem #434 on new numbering scheme)
And thus it happens now, today, vacation days are past; in fact, it's bland cliché to say, but time went really fast.
[daily log: walking, 1km]
(Poem #433 on new numbering scheme)
Clouds drift, torn, vast, broken and scattering; destitute gods look
downward to see what, where, who, how, why. Answers can’t be found.
(Poem #432 on new numbering scheme)
In Ilsan, Korea, one day, An alligator, tired of play, felt hungry, so he tried to bite some kid, who cried - the other kids all shouted, "Yay!"
(Poem #431 on new numbering scheme)
I had decided to wait. Through my window the rain swept dreams leaflike along damp sidewalks, gravity pulling the water down.
(Poem #430 on new numbering scheme)
Night demons eat words. They gulp them down. Sunset comes. The air becomes chill.
(Poem #429 on new numbering scheme)
Here in the world, all the sky is afraid, and its gaze is compelled – bent
down – so its motionless countenance glowers horizonward, clouds gray.
(Poem #428 on new numbering scheme)
Time takes on odd shapes. A rain clears from cooling air. Summer yields to fall.
[daily log: walking, 8km]
(Poem #427 on new numbering scheme)
Sometimes with dreams, they approach unexpectedly, whiz by like fast cars
passing on roads, then are gone through the night, and unseeable: blurred ghosts.
(Poem #426 on new numbering scheme)
They saw bits of trash as they looked along sidewalks. No words could be found.
(Poem #425 on new numbering scheme)
Holding down ocean’s perimeters, plunging beyond all the clouds’ bounds,
conjuring night’s most unknowable faces and smiles, so the sun sets.
(Poem #424 on new numbering scheme)
Dragonflies practiced their patterns of purposeful aimlessness – their goal:
challenging verdant ecologies through presentations of striking blue.
(Poem #423 on new numbering scheme)
Solitude from crowds is possible in cities. I walk home at night.
(Poem #422 on new numbering scheme)
Es azul el cielo, pues... pero no sin alegría. Árboles prefieren gris, porque promete la lluvia.
(Poem #421 on new numbering scheme)
So let's not speak of cities' meanings till we understand their impositions, vast and artful, such that dreams are burned against the teeming complications landscapes have.
(Poem #420 on new numbering scheme)
I had a dream in which I saw a scary giant snake But then the snake got sleepy and thus failed to stay awake.
(Poem #419 on new numbering scheme)
No tree avoids time; trees MAKE time. They push out leaves, bring the looming Fall.
[daily log: walking, 1km]
(Poem #418 on new numbering scheme)
Some poetry flows; some fails to flow. The night air is cooler these days.
(Poem #417 on new numbering scheme)
An unrequited love is best of all because there are no compromises urged because no complications will befall because right from the start all hopes are purged. Imagined generosities prevent the flowering of jealousies unreal, and finally the heart's desires are spent in crafting verse the voice must not reveal. Yet all along, new meanings can be made: from castles, pure and abstract, words are flung and later when those ramparts start to fade, an apophenic anthem can be sung. It's easy, then, to pine for that that's not; and simple, too, to leave it: just a thought.
– a sonnet in iambic pentameter.
(Poem #416 on new numbering scheme)
I look down the street. I see the leaves of the trees are starting to change.
(Poem #415 on new numbering scheme)
The woman sitting next to me at work is very sad these days. Her sister's life is running out because an alien has moved in. Cancer's staked a vicious claim. I guess she's not so happy seeing me. She'll think, "But why was he preserved while mine will perish? Does my fate abhor what's fair?" I sit with awkward silence. What to say?
(Poem #414 on new numbering scheme)
Well-formed clouds progress across the sky, pushed along by the autumn wind.