Jog Lam

‘Tis not that I have

only little to say

(today)

my use of words

is the wrong way

my peeps aren’t worth a pop

my pennies are in pesos

Tho’ the flow

never ceases

the spring cannot unsprung

I dam it up

the words get too eager beaver

and my teeth stick out

(so I shut my mouth)

‘Tis loud in my head

the din always wins

despite nothing said

relentless ringing, chiming,

rambling and gambling

that silence will only

be truly mine

upon death-

I’m not in line for that

(yet)...

At times like these

‘tis my regret

to be resigned

to quietly waiting

with unwanted words,

the line I’m in

is not moving…

Image By Luther C. Goldman, U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Worlds apart

You-There

may think

I-Here

pin words in place

For: me

(from: You)

i do

try to feel you

through these lines

a trap, a web, ripples, 

and the butterfly 

admittedly

my soul smiles

when the moon sees us both

on the same side

maybe I'll make a map

wrapped in a legend

a poem dangling on the net

groping for paper

I made a place to meet

Anticipating Always,

You-Here

I-There. 

Image By Kraigsta (Own work) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

The voice of Carmen Saliare

Plant the words as seeds in me
or show where they go,
plot me, my empty well,
pour into me
I know how to grow.
I am listening with my body,
stretching my energy out
heat seeking rain driving clouds
another way, the unexpected conditions
are idyllic...
The thousands of times I've dug deep
soiled and toe knuckles white
barely holding on to your vortex-
pinned, I lay limp, naked and fruitful
before you
go, awaiting your thunderous appeal
to higher senses, save the lightening
for those needing epiphanies.

Plant me the identity 

too vacuous and strange
to encourage, to make, to plan
words with acumen and divergence-
Yours, Condemned.


Image By Dlls publicdomaindedication.com (Own work) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Chorus(only)

From birth to death; Life

the volume fades, the record

reaches its' last groove. 

Image of Voyager Golden Record, The Sounds of the Earth, launched with the Voyager Probe on September 5,1977, by By NASA/JPL [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Copyright infringement (Tanka for everything)

-rain pulsing ripples

on puddles, the spider web

demonstrating the

answers to the Theory of

Everything patent.

3 Wise Monkeys Sitting in a Tree

See No Evil:

It is because the

owl bears witness

to the night

we know

who to blame.

Hear No Evil:

The butterfly is human life

quietly condensed into flutters

idly watched

sniffing roses.

Speak No Evil:

On a cloudless turquoise day

the sky has nothing

(better)

to say.

Image by Popular Science Monthly Vol. 14, 1892, via Wikimedia Commons, Public Domain.

Symphonies of straw

A pin
A needle
      in a haystack
A drop
       in a bucket
A leaf
       on a tree
falls
         falling
                      fell
leaves
           leaving
                        left
with a thunder-
ing roar
A tree
            bends and peels
shaking and quaking
             in its earthy bed
shedding leafy sheets
              turning the page
the orchestra tunes
              its instruments for Autumn.


Image by By Rosendahl [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.