* * *
100218
LEXICONSTRUCTION
Need a word? Just make one
(it’s a democracy).
Then add two or three.
I needed a word,
for example.
I present it as a sample:
Simplicity plus happiness?
That’s “simblissity.”
100217
A HOST OF DAFFY DEALS
I wandered only as The Cloud
that floats on high o’er th' Internet
(that vast e-commerce-dealing crowd).
With virtual virtue I was endowed.
By data streams I roamed, and got not wet.
100216
COACHING SESSION
“Depend upon your higher power,”
my guru/coach suggested.
“Assign one dream-goal upward.
Let your uptight self be rested.”
“Use intuition to set that goal.”
Well, that’s how I got flustered.
My inner whisper told my soul—
“Go, ye. Speak of buzzards.”
100215
RISE ‘N SHINE, YEP!
Hello, Sun, how do?
Liftin’ up them clouds, are ya,
movin’ everthang along?
Guess I best git up, m’self—
ta start my own day strong.
100214
PEAR-TREE
Morning is its blossom.
Noon, its honey-bee.
Evening is its harvest:
the pear called ecstasy.
Night has come,
has come, my love,
drawing you to me.
Come, my love—
come share this night.
Love, come pear with me.
[ASIDE: Shall I come-pear
thee to a summer’s night?]
ANY ART
If you plan to pick it up,
know how to put it down.
Progression can be obsessive.
If you plan to stick with it,
know when to put it down.
Obsession can be progressive.
100213
GUEST, LIST!
This is a private party,
not a banquet or a ball,
and if you want a lecture,
go find a lecture hall.
[ASIDE: Scrapped…
This is a private party,
intimate and small—
open just to kindred souls
(but open to them all).
This is a private party
for the select few
who manage to gain entry.
So, welcome. That is you.]
100212
BEYOND THE PALL
The sheet that skims my skin tonight
requires the moon to make it white—
and more than moon; for, though so bright,
moon but reflects more brilliant light.
100211
CHERUBIM TO CHERUBIMBOS
Wondrous, sonorous signs and symbols!
Words are heaven’s mighty cymbals
sounded by angels at their gambols
to babbling mortals at their rambles.
-------------------------------------------------
[SONG LYRICS FOR LIONS INTERNATIONAL]
LION PRIDE WORLDWIDE
If you know one Lion, you’re bound to know a few.
You find them on savannahs, in the jungle, at the zoo.
You find them in the circus, and other places too.
But can you guess—more or less—what these Lions do?
Lions meet and Lions talk.
Lions work from dawn till dark,
Raising help and hope and funds,
Especially for little ones.
A Lion is a lady. A Lion is a man.
Dogged as a shepherd, gentle as a lamb.
Lion vision helps all see—
The world is one community.
If you know one Lion, you’re bound to know a few.
You find them on savannahs, in the jungle, at the zoo.
You find them in the boardroom and on the factory floor.
They do good in neighborhoods—Hear those Lions roar!
Lions meet and Lions talk.
Lions work from dawn till dark,
Raising help and hope and funds,
Especially for little ones.
A Lion is a tiger, fighting for the right.
A Lion is an eagle, searching with true sight.
Lion vision helps all see—
The world is one community.
[ASIDE: Lyrics for our local club, which LOVES to sing
“Happy Birthday” in as garbled a fashion as possible…
Lions meet and Lions talk.
Lions sing in Rogers , Ark. ,
Raising voices to a screech,
Growling this for all and each—
“Happy Birthday to you…”
or “Hear Those Lions Roar” ]
-------------------------------------------------
100210
HAPPENSTANCE
Whatever happens
happens (in one theory)
to be good, so that
whenever whatever
shouldn’t happen happens,
it just so happens
that it should.
100209
KNOWSEY NEIGHBORS
Love that saying.
Is it your own?
Inquiring minds
want quoted sources known.
100208
SNOW ON SNOW
Overnight snow falls afresh,
slipping from branches
to meld with melting snow below.
* * *
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
Sunday, February 7, 2010
Snowy & Flakey
* * *
100207
CHRONIC PAIN
Chronic pain.
Chronic pain.
Chronic pain
is a chronic pain!
100206
ANOTHER
CANCELLATION
Snow. Sleeting.
“No Meeting.”
100205
FLAKEY
Snow is made of water
but it can be dry.
Snow—on your nose
or eyelashes—feels light.
But snow is heavy.
Snow falls
because it’s heavy.
Wet snow is heavier
than dry snow.
A heavy snow
can be quick and thick
or just deep.
It can be wet or dry
No matter
how heavy it is,
snow is light
and usually white.
Against the clouds
from which it falls,
it’s dark—like cinders.
You can build with snow.
You can make a man
or igloo or fort.
Snow can get dirty—
gray or brown or yellow—
but let’s not go into that.
100204
HIBER NATION
For many in this country,
the difference between
joy at snow and joy at snow
is many months between.
100203
SADLY TRUE
It’s bizarre. It’s medieval.
No matter what you say or do—
someone somewhere
thinks you’re evil.
100202
PLAITING FOR PROFIT
The heffalump is plenty plump
from a boondoggle at the zoo;
an inward trade of honey
for an outward of scoubidou.
[ASIDE: Poets Northwest challenge for February:
write a poem using one or more of these words:
boondoggle, heffalump, serendipity (or serendipitous)
This won't make much sense unless you’re familiar
with the key terms used.]
SAIR-N-DIPITY
Now I ain't a'sayin', "Jest ignore it,"
but don’t go a'lookin' all up an down
an’ don’t go a'searchin' all aroun'—
‘cuz you kin look yerself pure blind.
Sair-n-dipity's somethin' good ya find
when ya ain't even lookin' for it.
100201
SHARED WORKSPACE
Clickety, clickety, click-click-clack!
Unless I focus on my own,
his keyboarding makes me groan.
Clickety, clickety, click-click-clack!
[ASIDE: Actually, I rarely notice. I was just
listening for inspiration and that’s what I heard.]
* * *
100207
CHRONIC PAIN
Chronic pain.
Chronic pain.
Chronic pain
is a chronic pain!
100206
ANOTHER
CANCELLATION
Snow. Sleeting.
“No Meeting.”
100205
FLAKEY
Snow is made of water
but it can be dry.
Snow—on your nose
or eyelashes—feels light.
But snow is heavy.
Snow falls
because it’s heavy.
Wet snow is heavier
than dry snow.
A heavy snow
can be quick and thick
or just deep.
It can be wet or dry
No matter
how heavy it is,
snow is light
and usually white.
Against the clouds
from which it falls,
it’s dark—like cinders.
You can build with snow.
You can make a man
or igloo or fort.
Snow can get dirty—
gray or brown or yellow—
but let’s not go into that.
100204
HIBER NATION
For many in this country,
the difference between
joy at snow and joy at snow
is many months between.
100203
SADLY TRUE
It’s bizarre. It’s medieval.
No matter what you say or do—
someone somewhere
thinks you’re evil.
100202
PLAITING FOR PROFIT
The heffalump is plenty plump
from a boondoggle at the zoo;
an inward trade of honey
for an outward of scoubidou.
[ASIDE: Poets Northwest challenge for February:
write a poem using one or more of these words:
boondoggle, heffalump, serendipity (or serendipitous)
This won't make much sense unless you’re familiar
with the key terms used.]
SAIR-N-DIPITY
Now I ain't a'sayin', "Jest ignore it,"
but don’t go a'lookin' all up an down
an’ don’t go a'searchin' all aroun'—
‘cuz you kin look yerself pure blind.
Sair-n-dipity's somethin' good ya find
when ya ain't even lookin' for it.
100201
SHARED WORKSPACE
Clickety, clickety, click-click-clack!
Unless I focus on my own,
his keyboarding makes me groan.
Clickety, clickety, click-click-clack!
[ASIDE: Actually, I rarely notice. I was just
listening for inspiration and that’s what I heard.]
* * *
Monday, February 1, 2010
Animals, Weather, Time
* * *
100131
ATTUNED
I love it when he whistles and laughs
and jokes with the cats;
their ears swivel to tune him in;
they climb onto his lap if it’s available;
they gently paw his face, stroke his cheek,
then settle in to ride the warm rhythms
of his chest. "More," they say. "More!"
100130
SNOW DAY
Deer braved the yard today,
where they cautiously fed.
Cats braved the snow for birds.
Birds braved the cats for bread.
100129
WEATHER
WISHERS
What?
You didn’t expect
more snow to fall?
Please.
It’s January,
after all!
100128
BLAST!
"Brace yourselves,"
weathercasters scold,
rhapsodizing over sleet and ice.
Hmmph. That isn't nice; it's cold!
100127
TIME PIECE
"Time flies," Eagle cries.
"Time flies," Frog sighs,
"snatchin’ you up like some bug
that its flickin’ tongue has tazed.
Oh. Time flays," croaks Frog, amazed.
"Time flays," Horse neighs.
"Time flows," Raven crows.
"Time flows," Bear knows,
"driftin’ us along with gentle dreams
of polar ice an’ siftin’ snow.
Ah. Time floes," sighs Bear, mid-doze.
"Time floes," Whale blows.
"Time flees," buzz Bees.
"Time flees," Dog breathes,
"bitin’ our hides to set us movin’,
then lightin’ out; that irritatin’ tease!
Ooh. Time fleas," Dog moans, aggrieved.
"Time fleas," Cat agrees.
[ASIDE: I wanted to leave out quotation marks because they
were so cumbersome and distracting, but that didn't work.]
100126
RELAXED FIT
“When you retire,” his buddies asked,
looking at him a bit askance,
“who, at your house, will wear the pants?”
“Myself,” he winked, with a cheerful glance.
“Of course, I’ll be wearing putter pants.”
100125
TWENTY-TWENTY
Best gift so far,
this twenty-ten—
contact lenses.
I see again!
100124
TOO LATE
I missed a meeting
I meant to attend;
there’s no way to regroup,
recoup, or amend.
100123
BUZZARDS
“Unclean!” they’re seen—
“Untouchable!
Gnarly-headed grotesques. Fearsome
Underlings. Awful offal-eaters.
Horrid things on wings!”
Of this, buzzards are oblivious—
as they are of praise from students
of their ways, who say, “It’s official.
Buzzards are good to us. Beneficial.”
They recycle and renew.
Like morticians, beauticians, mothers,
menials, and multitudes of others
(maintenance workers, trash collectors,
hazardous waste operators, plumbers,
and sanitation crews, to name a few)—
discretely and with daily diligence,
they efface life’s ugliness.
They lift in air like dreams.
For those with eyes to see—
such elegance, such grace!
100122
LOOKOUT
At my north-sky facing view,
two trapezoidal windows
show through to a vast expanse
of icy blue; slightly smudged
with gray and white. But—
not a single buzzard in sight.
100121
MEAT OR POISON
One man’s crumpet
is another man’s strumpet.
One woman’s jackpot
is another one’s crackpot.
[ASIDE: Just playing with words, which,
like old stereotypes and clichés, are also
one person’s meat and another’s poison.]
100120
WINTER THUNDER
Startling!
Like a midnight pounding at your door
in the secret-code cadence of a comrade.
SELF-EMANCIPATION
First you have to make it okay
with yourself to think about
what you might possibly want.
Then you have to decide that,
yes, it’s okay to actually want.
Next you allow yourself to
full-heartedly accept
wanted and waited-for things.
After that, permission to pursue
is a natural progression.
In fact, you stand self-revealed
as a natural progression.
100119
CHARM SCHOOLED
It’s hard enough to
charm life into beneficence
when you’re an ingénue;
much less, a nongénue.
ASPIRANT
As if either is a place,
somewhere between seven and seventy,
I got used to living. I expected to expect
every day another day, and every day
three square meals, slow or quick,
and all my blessings double-dipped.
Little plain-old mortal me
aspired to immortality: unending life,
and not just that—ease, abundance, health,
pleasing occupation, and an inside track
to bliss. It hasn’t happened—yet
I’m caught by the idea. First, I’ve heard,
you go through death and back
near-endless times. Or not.
* * *
100131
ATTUNED
I love it when he whistles and laughs
and jokes with the cats;
their ears swivel to tune him in;
they climb onto his lap if it’s available;
they gently paw his face, stroke his cheek,
then settle in to ride the warm rhythms
of his chest. "More," they say. "More!"
100130
SNOW DAY
Deer braved the yard today,
where they cautiously fed.
Cats braved the snow for birds.
Birds braved the cats for bread.
100129
WEATHER
WISHERS
What?
You didn’t expect
more snow to fall?
Please.
It’s January,
after all!
100128
BLAST!
"Brace yourselves,"
weathercasters scold,
rhapsodizing over sleet and ice.
Hmmph. That isn't nice; it's cold!
100127
TIME PIECE
"Time flies," Eagle cries.
"Time flies," Frog sighs,
"snatchin’ you up like some bug
that its flickin’ tongue has tazed.
Oh. Time flays," croaks Frog, amazed.
"Time flays," Horse neighs.
"Time flows," Raven crows.
"Time flows," Bear knows,
"driftin’ us along with gentle dreams
of polar ice an’ siftin’ snow.
Ah. Time floes," sighs Bear, mid-doze.
"Time floes," Whale blows.
"Time flees," buzz Bees.
"Time flees," Dog breathes,
"bitin’ our hides to set us movin’,
then lightin’ out; that irritatin’ tease!
Ooh. Time fleas," Dog moans, aggrieved.
"Time fleas," Cat agrees.
[ASIDE: I wanted to leave out quotation marks because they
were so cumbersome and distracting, but that didn't work.]
100126
RELAXED FIT
“When you retire,” his buddies asked,
looking at him a bit askance,
“who, at your house, will wear the pants?”
“Myself,” he winked, with a cheerful glance.
“Of course, I’ll be wearing putter pants.”
100125
TWENTY-TWENTY
Best gift so far,
this twenty-ten—
contact lenses.
I see again!
100124
TOO LATE
I missed a meeting
I meant to attend;
there’s no way to regroup,
recoup, or amend.
100123
BUZZARDS
“Unclean!” they’re seen—
“Untouchable!
Gnarly-headed grotesques. Fearsome
Underlings. Awful offal-eaters.
Horrid things on wings!”
Of this, buzzards are oblivious—
as they are of praise from students
of their ways, who say, “It’s official.
Buzzards are good to us. Beneficial.”
They recycle and renew.
Like morticians, beauticians, mothers,
menials, and multitudes of others
(maintenance workers, trash collectors,
hazardous waste operators, plumbers,
and sanitation crews, to name a few)—
discretely and with daily diligence,
they efface life’s ugliness.
They lift in air like dreams.
For those with eyes to see—
such elegance, such grace!
100122
LOOKOUT
At my north-sky facing view,
two trapezoidal windows
show through to a vast expanse
of icy blue; slightly smudged
with gray and white. But—
not a single buzzard in sight.
100121
MEAT OR POISON
One man’s crumpet
is another man’s strumpet.
One woman’s jackpot
is another one’s crackpot.
[ASIDE: Just playing with words, which,
like old stereotypes and clichés, are also
one person’s meat and another’s poison.]
100120
WINTER THUNDER
Startling!
Like a midnight pounding at your door
in the secret-code cadence of a comrade.
SELF-EMANCIPATION
First you have to make it okay
with yourself to think about
what you might possibly want.
Then you have to decide that,
yes, it’s okay to actually want.
Next you allow yourself to
full-heartedly accept
wanted and waited-for things.
After that, permission to pursue
is a natural progression.
In fact, you stand self-revealed
as a natural progression.
100119
CHARM SCHOOLED
It’s hard enough to
charm life into beneficence
when you’re an ingénue;
much less, a nongénue.
ASPIRANT
As if either is a place,
somewhere between seven and seventy,
I got used to living. I expected to expect
every day another day, and every day
three square meals, slow or quick,
and all my blessings double-dipped.
Little plain-old mortal me
aspired to immortality: unending life,
and not just that—ease, abundance, health,
pleasing occupation, and an inside track
to bliss. It hasn’t happened—yet
I’m caught by the idea. First, I’ve heard,
you go through death and back
near-endless times. Or not.
* * *
Sunday, January 17, 2010
Writer's Work
* * *
100117
WELCOME ASSIST
Tell me something, Muse.
Make my fingers move,
make this paper speak—
“I am valley depth.
I am mountain peak.
Before the any were,
before the all shall end,
I am what I seek.”
100116
WRITE ON
I write on the insides
of envelopes, on the backsides
of sales slips, on the margins
of magazine pages. . .
I write on life, death,
cosmos, humanity, nature,
emotion, language, imagination,
revelation, paradox,
cabbages, kings, the insides
of envelopes, the backsides
of sales slips, the margins
of magazine pages.
I write on and on and on. . .
100115
BEFRIENDING
THE ENEMY
Alright, pain.
Enter in.
Do your worst.
I will do better.
100114
HERE. WITH.
H ere, it clear.
O ther place, I no belong.
M y people with.
E very other place be wrong.
100113
BARE SCAT
exposed
upon the white expanse,
yet scarcely trackable—
a scribbled trail
of thought-droppings
100112
ESSENCE
Life is given,
not a given.
100111
AWAITED ONE
Wonder
of my wondering—
who are you?
Face to face,
some time, some place,
will it be meet
we meet?
You,
who will discover me—
what discovery
will you be?
* * *
100117
WELCOME ASSIST
Tell me something, Muse.
Make my fingers move,
make this paper speak—
“I am valley depth.
I am mountain peak.
Before the any were,
before the all shall end,
I am what I seek.”
100116
WRITE ON
I write on the insides
of envelopes, on the backsides
of sales slips, on the margins
of magazine pages. . .
I write on life, death,
cosmos, humanity, nature,
emotion, language, imagination,
revelation, paradox,
cabbages, kings, the insides
of envelopes, the backsides
of sales slips, the margins
of magazine pages.
I write on and on and on. . .
100115
BEFRIENDING
THE ENEMY
Alright, pain.
Enter in.
Do your worst.
I will do better.
100114
HERE. WITH.
H ere, it clear.
O ther place, I no belong.
M y people with.
E very other place be wrong.
100113
BARE SCAT
exposed
upon the white expanse,
yet scarcely trackable—
a scribbled trail
of thought-droppings
100112
ESSENCE
Life is given,
not a given.
100111
AWAITED ONE
Wonder
of my wondering—
who are you?
Face to face,
some time, some place,
will it be meet
we meet?
You,
who will discover me—
what discovery
will you be?
* * *
Sunday, January 10, 2010
Moods & Foods
* * *
100110
HAPPY MEAL
- Milk
- Bread
- P.B.
- Jelly
Such a friendly way
to fill a belly!
100109
CLICKETY CLACK
I got off track.
Somewhere back, I got off track.
Now I roam alone—alak!—
except for dog and stick and sack.
I make my home in any shack
and then move on, but never back.
Somewhere back, I got off track
100108
ICY HOT
It’s cold enough
without those icy blasts
whistled in
by various western winds
through various western windows.
Our log-home interior
stratifies by degrees;
to descend the stairs
is to descend the thermometer.
The cats beg for outdoor excursions,
but when offered an open door
they freeze mid-departure
and scramble back inside.
Human interactions
take an occasional chilly plunge,
paradoxically threatening conflagration.
This is the only sense in which
our cabin has a fever.
100107
MIXED BREW
Here’s the news,
fresh and hot—
tea plus coffee
does not equal toffee.
100106
EMPTY MIND
fingers and thoughts
suspended
over keyboard
* * *
100110
HAPPY MEAL
- Milk
- Bread
- P.B.
- Jelly
Such a friendly way
to fill a belly!
100109
CLICKETY CLACK
I got off track.
Somewhere back, I got off track.
Now I roam alone—alak!—
except for dog and stick and sack.
I make my home in any shack
and then move on, but never back.
Somewhere back, I got off track
100108
ICY HOT
It’s cold enough
without those icy blasts
whistled in
by various western winds
through various western windows.
Our log-home interior
stratifies by degrees;
to descend the stairs
is to descend the thermometer.
The cats beg for outdoor excursions,
but when offered an open door
they freeze mid-departure
and scramble back inside.
Human interactions
take an occasional chilly plunge,
paradoxically threatening conflagration.
This is the only sense in which
our cabin has a fever.
100107
MIXED BREW
Here’s the news,
fresh and hot—
tea plus coffee
does not equal toffee.
100106
EMPTY MIND
fingers and thoughts
suspended
over keyboard
* * *
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
Winter Mix
* * *
100105
DEAR GOD!
I have this—but I want more;
I want that, with every pore.
I have things that I adore;
I have merchandise galore—
things in use and things in store—
but I want more, and more, and more.
Thanking? —Something I abhor.
Asking? —Even though it’s such chore,
once again, I implore,
“Please, Sir, may I have some more?”
[ASIDE: As I enjoyed a warm shower this morning,
I realized how full my life is of simple pleasures
that I take for granted and that most human beings
have never once experienced.]
100104
PEEK-A-BOO-HOO
All those days
being discreet,
effacing myself,
trying to hide.
Such effort!
And you weren’t
even looking.
100103
NIGHT VISITOR
There’s no gift like a giver—
and the One who gave us sight
and touch and hearing
visited last night,
leaving a world of stillness
wrapped in winter white.
DISMAL DECADE
Bad as it was, it’s over now—
the decade of the Aughts—
and would have been much better,
had we fulfilled our Oughts.
100102
BLUE—WHO KNEW? (for Carrie)
I learned tonight—
a Blue Moon's not blue;
just the second one
in a month with two.
[ASIDE: As for me, I learned online today that this date
can be written 2010-01-02 or "20100102" which reads
the same backwards or forwards. Such a palindrome
will not recur for ages.]
* * *
100105
DEAR GOD!
I have this—but I want more;
I want that, with every pore.
I have things that I adore;
I have merchandise galore—
things in use and things in store—
but I want more, and more, and more.
Thanking? —Something I abhor.
Asking? —Even though it’s such chore,
once again, I implore,
“Please, Sir, may I have some more?”
[ASIDE: As I enjoyed a warm shower this morning,
I realized how full my life is of simple pleasures
that I take for granted and that most human beings
have never once experienced.]
100104
PEEK-A-BOO-HOO
All those days
being discreet,
effacing myself,
trying to hide.
Such effort!
And you weren’t
even looking.
100103
NIGHT VISITOR
There’s no gift like a giver—
and the One who gave us sight
and touch and hearing
visited last night,
leaving a world of stillness
wrapped in winter white.
DISMAL DECADE
Bad as it was, it’s over now—
the decade of the Aughts—
and would have been much better,
had we fulfilled our Oughts.
100102
BLUE—WHO KNEW? (for Carrie)
I learned tonight—
a Blue Moon's not blue;
just the second one
in a month with two.
[ASIDE: As for me, I learned online today that this date
can be written 2010-01-02 or "20100102" which reads
the same backwards or forwards. Such a palindrome
will not recur for ages.]
* * *
Friday, January 1, 2010
New Year Musings
* * *
100101
NEW-YEAR DAWN
Some suns
(of course, there’s only one)
appear
at start of day or year
so loud.
BOOM! quite bright
and rowdy.
I’m enamored of today’s
and proud.
It gently burned its way
through overlays
of cloud.
SECOND HELPINGS
A word’s a tool
to help you think,
and it has tools
like pen and ink.
A HOT NEW YEAR!
Party early! Party late!
Dance! Have fun!
January one—
New Year’s come.
Mama’s got a hot new date!
SOURCE MATERIAL
If I asked my muse
for a music score,
or novel, or sitcom script,
would she roar
with laughter
or fury—
then slam the door?
Maybe
she would kiss me.
All I know, so far,
is she gives me
what she gives me.
SENSITIVE
“Emma!”
I call to our blind kitty,
“It’s a new year—
can you tell?”
“Oh, Mom!”
her posture replies,
“I can’t even tell
if it’s a new day.”
For a split second,
I believe her.
(20)10: 01/01
This date
looks like
binary code:
100101.
So let me
make this
poem brief
(no ode):
“100101”
Okay, I’m done.
MUSE ENTHUSED
The Muse you choose—
No, it’s a mutual thing!
One’s the pong to the other’s ping.
Sometimes you’re carping
on your Muse’s ways.
Sometimes she’s harping
on your own delays.
Sometimes you’re waiting
at your Muse’s door.
Sometimes she’s pacing
your draft-strewn floor.
Be there for her, the Muse you choose.
You don’t want your Muse to snooze!
[ASIDE: Thank you, Muse, for nixing “ding-dong” as the
source of the word-pair in the third line of this poem.]
* * *
100101
NEW-YEAR DAWN
Some suns
(of course, there’s only one)
appear
at start of day or year
so loud.
BOOM! quite bright
and rowdy.
I’m enamored of today’s
and proud.
It gently burned its way
through overlays
of cloud.
SECOND HELPINGS
A word’s a tool
to help you think,
and it has tools
like pen and ink.
A HOT NEW YEAR!
Party early! Party late!
Dance! Have fun!
January one—
New Year’s come.
Mama’s got a hot new date!
SOURCE MATERIAL
If I asked my muse
for a music score,
or novel, or sitcom script,
would she roar
with laughter
or fury—
then slam the door?
Maybe
she would kiss me.
All I know, so far,
is she gives me
what she gives me.
SENSITIVE
“Emma!”
I call to our blind kitty,
“It’s a new year—
can you tell?”
“Oh, Mom!”
her posture replies,
“I can’t even tell
if it’s a new day.”
For a split second,
I believe her.
(20)10: 01/01
This date
looks like
binary code:
100101.
So let me
make this
poem brief
(no ode):
“100101”
Okay, I’m done.
MUSE ENTHUSED
The Muse you choose—
No, it’s a mutual thing!
One’s the pong to the other’s ping.
Sometimes you’re carping
on your Muse’s ways.
Sometimes she’s harping
on your own delays.
Sometimes you’re waiting
at your Muse’s door.
Sometimes she’s pacing
your draft-strewn floor.
Be there for her, the Muse you choose.
You don’t want your Muse to snooze!
[ASIDE: Thank you, Muse, for nixing “ding-dong” as the
source of the word-pair in the third line of this poem.]
* * *
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