Monthly Archives: April 2014

a smile at the corner of your mouse

on your face a mouth that smiles
in your head a mouse
wiggles waves and scampers miles
thinks your skull’s a house

string cheese is his guilty pleasure
stolen from your bites
puts it with his other treasure
secrets and delights

that is why at times a tickle
in your throat or nose
tells you that his path is fickle
as he comes and goes

you may say he isn’t really
anything at all
but his tale’s a peach a dilly
he will answer–call!



goldibear & the three glocks

one was a flaxenpelt child of the woods
one was a fabled land far & away
one was a weapon well favored by hoods
one was a thin-metal tonic array.

she played the third glock* sadly–golden yet blue
and daydreamed she lived on the shore of the first**
the second*** she shot in an old switcheroo
on film and in cinemascope: “i could burst.”

in the tradition that scholars call oral
stories are told to your children for teaching
this tale’s for grownups & here is the moral:
“old switcheroos are ofttimes overreaching.”


* glockenspiel
** glocca morra
*** glock 9mm

This is a happy day, Friends. It’s the LAST DAY of National Poetry Writing Month, and with this poem I fulfill the requirement I set for myself of writing at least one poem each day of the Month.  I feel like I am crossing the Finish Line; even so, I might try to squeeze off seven more poems/posts for a nice round 50. (Or might not. [smiles])


the aegis of ms dee eyewhy

miss jean brodie was embodied
on the screen by maggie smith
now a dame and oft hot toddied
kith & kin ken firth forth fith

wish her well she soon turns 80
sheening with a star’s effulgence
wizard strong though lil ol lady
not for her that shelf indulgence

shakespearean sonnet: shoddily shod soles at stake

erosion of the soles accelerates
through stepping through the asphalt and the gravel
and soul-erosion also lurks and waits
when apathy makes empathy unravel

the thinness of the foot-to-harshness barrier
exacerbates the feel-the-sharp acuteness
like little fangs of lilliput-ish terrier
it worries tender flesh kaputs astuteness

some stubborn souls indulge in masochistic
beyond-the-expiration-date foot-manglement
and put their soles at stake with unholistic
unholy and yet holey wound-entanglement

physician heal thyself and strider likewise
or lose thy chance at heaven heart- and hike-wise

drifters in the soup

global squirming
has progressed from the one-continent days to here and now
and will do so until our fair planet is engulfed by the swollen and reddening sun

thus eegee the subcontinent india is on continues to crash into asia
heaving up the himalayas ever higher
and icemelt is submerging some shoreline

geopolitics changes artificial borders and names oftener than yearly
meanwhile gravitational lensing is giving us a glimpse of dark matter
which is a well-described substance if ever there was one

our lifebubble still whirls and tangoes with the moon though
and it’s fun to think of the n-dimensional roller coaster we’re on
and it’s to be hoped that the fun will last but alas that is up to us

[note: “eegee” is long for e.g. which is latin for exempli gratia which means “for the sake of example”]

A Bubble Chrysalis

A handled circle is dipped in gelatinized fluid
And the fluid stretches like a tympanum across the circle
And breath bulges the surface and spherizes it out and away

Buffeted by the slightest wind the new beings wobble and dance
Beribboned with crawling subtle iridescence they hold blown breath
Balloons without navels they develop tidal bulges close to earth

Colliding with grass or ground they give up a ghost as burst
Creating a spray of microdrop dew as they disappear
Circles of former skin their only trace


novelty item

i am now dreaming though awake
(wouldbe poets woulddo well to perfect this skill)
and in this dream there is sudden nearinstant cold
owing to a disastrous attempt to reverse global warming

much of the earth’s population including me is popsicled

and now there’s a dream-typical jumpcut
and i’m thawed a few hundred years hence
sitting at a table where they’ve set antique food & drink to comfort me
(they got the idea from the movie 2001: a space odyssey by stanley kubrick & arthur c. clarke)

skipping the technical details of cell rupture repair and such
(read the book 3001: final odyssey by arthur c. clarke about the resurrection of frank poole if interested)
i’m now watching in my dream the conversation between my future self and a disembodied voice
which having brought me up to speed now invites me to go out and about

but warns me about future shock
(read future shock by alvin toffler if interested and reflect on its prescience given the last 44 years)
but i damn the torpedoes and step outside
and it’s all eschery and zoomy and gravweird

and they put me in the equivalent of a walker
and it has the equivalent of headphones
and i listen to the history i missed while iced
and learn that i was one of the first to be thawed and will likely be one of the last

and now in that dream-typical protracted lapdissolve
my surroundings start to fade a little and an image builds up of a latterday “school”
with as yet unborn kids already being uploaded with knowledge and power
and i learn that i and my contemporaries are irretrievably stupid and will never fit in

we are novelty items
wastes of protoplasm valuable only for quaintness and hilarity
for though the people who thawed us can no longer be called human
they still laugh still compete still condescend