Toilet paper tree

In the 80's everyone was wearing a Swatch watch
and rockin' a Sony Sports Walkman.
I didn't obey schedules then.
I carried a poetry journal instead.
Nobody could hear my music either,
but it wasn't shock proof like the Sony.

In high school my English teacher
was also the football coach.
Mr. Morris would recite poetry
like he was doing drills, his veins
protruding on his tomato Red-neck-
"I am the Captain of my Soul!"

My first boyfriend was gay,
peers used to say I turned him that way.
We made a deal in the forest.
His parents wanted us to get married someday.
He lived in San Francisco,
before he died that May.

One afternoon cutting school I was
hitch-hiking to the beach, I got a ride
from a perverted old man who was also
drunk, but the roads wind-
so you couldn't tell he was swerving...
He took my journal and wallet.

I was broke without a journal.

Those poems were so young
they didn't have time to matter.
I found paper scraps with my words-
swimming, rivers, tears, bleeding
hanging on branches like toilet paper-
where the bus stops.

The leaves whispered, reciting them,
nobody heard but me.




Image of painting by Zygmunt Waliszewski (1897-1936), "The Toilet of Venus"[Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

An Orchard of Golden Apples for Eris

Haiku IX
Independence is
a fruitless tree of no-ledge
fallen far from roots














Image of painting by Dante Gabriel Rossetti (1828-1882), "My Lady Greensleeves" c. 1864 (w/apple blossoms)[Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

A bee told me, that a bird heard...

Of the thousands of amorous sounds of Spring
the birds seem happiest in the songs they sing
vacationing  and splashing in bird baths
maneuvering along their migratory paths
Free as a bird
I'm sure you've heard

Yet anticipating change is quite strange
a cyclical flow that may go
from sun to snow
even so, flowers gaily grow
eager to show and make a bright display
to bloom  and perfume in the warm suns ray
the boisterous bud wont slow down
while all the bees are buzzin aroun'

Pollinated air rife from seasonal flings
it's not the bees fault love stings
all bugs and colors are abuzz
drunk with Natures nectar on Peach fuzz
intoxicating & liberating, under the influence
Over Winter

You've heard about the birds and the bees
and smelt pregnant blooms in the breezes
but feel for those with virgin allergies
whom Spring sneezes never pleases



Image by By Thomas Wolf (Der Wolf im Wald) (Own work) [CC BY-SA 3.0], via Wikimedia Commons (3/2008).

Infectious invidia

You would suspect she was blind

if you didn't smell the rat

Her tactile groping, 

compliment invoking

ego stroking

was really an attempt to steal

rob you blind

This thief with sight

She wants your life

since Hers is so laden in strife

Going by the monogram of N.V.

She ogles your trifles

She begs for your leftovers

She pines for your lover

She loves your waste

Like a thief in the night

She'll ruin your life

since Hers is so laden in strife

Her name was N.V.

She takes your stories

She moves her head like you

She boasts of your assets

She asserts your stories are moving

Posing as a friendly Knight

She begs alms for her plight

while wielding a knife

Her name was N.V.

Seemingly in-kind

yet the rabbits out of the hat-

Her fruitless hoping

Her gun still smoking

Her empty air choking

looking for a free meal

while stabbing you from behind

Do not breathe the air of N.V. -

whose full name was Noxious Venom-

and watch your back!

"En garde", alert to Her sneak attack.

Image of painting by François-Guillaume Ménageot, "Invidia" 1906 [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

At Hawthorne's Hearth: A Bonfire of Vanity

Nate the great told many a horrific short story,
this particular one though, not as gory.

'Twas about a great bonfire of his own vanity,
in a tale he ignited with damned Infernal humanity.

The time and place, were are told, both shrouded in haze,
and specifically irrelevant for recounting this great blaze.

So, a weary traveler espies, this intense glowing light,
and is drawn to it, like a moth, blind to personable fright.

Haze of dust and soot circle the pit of this mad pyro place.
Heaps piling up all that remains is a cremated odorous trace.

The materials we collect, amass and one stashes
for later, for greed not need, is reduced to mere ashes.

Both receipts of binding debts and bombast assets-
Both conceits of boastful pride and bashful regrets-

An inquisitive observer, a ticking watch-man,
A weaver of words, the nightmares of Nathan,

Who dreamt of books burning,
seeking his own with yearning.

Everything and All goes on to the raging pyre!
Cauterizing people from their acquired mire!

Stoking and invoking 'The Fire Sermon',
Recalling amnesia through an act of arson,

Smelting the ore of material need,
Any need reduced to basic greed.

This episodic dream penned as Hawthorne's parable,
A rhapsodic rant, worthy of Kant, was truly not so terrible.

With a glimmer of phosphoric radiance,
Reason, Philanthropy, Philosophic brilliance.

And any little idiosyncratic whim Nathaniel should desire,
Nonchalantly gets thrown into the 'Earths Holocaustic' bonfire.



Image of painting by Peder Severin Krøyer [Public domain or Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons. "Midsummer Eve, Bonfire on Skagen's Beach" (1906).

Are we speaking the same language?

Haiku VII

What's a meta for?

To build a bridge with nouns like

imagine this thing...

Image of painting by László Mednyánszky (1852-1919), "Forest Creek with a Bridge" [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

I say, Play the Day Away

A kite in free flight, making that happy-flappy sound;

a whirling troop of hula hoops that circle all around,

It's always great to skate, throwing tangerine peels on the ground,

fun races to run around and secret places that will never be found,

all safely hidden in plain sight, just right in the bright outside.

Your nifty Nintendo’s and Hot Cheetos and Spicy Nacho Doritos-

Why the Fi? There’s Stations to Play, I know

X marks the box and aliens to blow-

up a tree? But, you remind me, you have the Wii

to play all sorts of sports and even ski,

right at your fingertips just look at those effortless flips.

Outside where rainbows and sneezes,

show-up, grow-up and blow-up when each randomly pleases.

There's no lags or glitches nor zombies or witches,

no reset, high-score, joysticks, toggles nor switches.

The outdoors is always booted up with no boring buffering,

freezing or crashing, while you sit inside impatiently suffering.

Kids these days.  You should know that just outside that door,

there’s bonus maps, booby traps and endless upgrades galore.

Free tokens and , you can break and re-make all the rules.

Not those old silly dumb games found in schools, how lame!

Make-believe turning fairies into toads, or some girly game

wait-was that inside out, outside in-, err, I will re-begin.

This place you will see, is rated "E", that means Everyone.

Crack open the window, amazed you will be at the fun!

No two times played, no two quests are ever the same.

Every single day you can play, its level you'll never be able to beat,

especially digitally planted behind electronics on your seat.

There’s no need to pout when the electricity’s out,

if you venture outside you’ll find out,

no worries about rolling black-outs of doubt,

the greatest games you’ve never even heard about.


Image By Tangthm (Own work) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons, Oct. 2010.