Tag Archives: poetry

Haiku, Poetry, Uncategorized

March of the Haiku

This spate of haikus comes from a prompt offered from the FaceBook page of friend and bard, Terry Wooten. That’s him in the photo performing at his unique venue, Stone Circle. He wrote:

Bi-polar April.
Peepers singing in snowflakes.
Change lawn mower oil.
(April 18, 2022)

I shared his poem on my FaceBook page with the following comment: “It is a nearly perfect example of the the American Haiku: 5-7-5, presents something funny and/or surprising, it contains nature and makes a comment on humanness. It goes above and beyond by banging two things together that don’t belong together (twice!!) for a little “contrapposto.” I took it as a challenge to write my own April poem. I thought I could take inspiration and match his genius. Not today! I’ll keep trying.”

The rest of the day I continued to put out haiku and some are better than others. I’m not certain any rose to Terry’s level above.

Oh no! I just drank
six gay beers and I liked it.
Please don’t tell my wife.
[68]

Heart doctor gave me
(prostate the size of a peach)
Mass diuretics.
[69]

What makes a haiku?
In America, mostly
Humor and surprise.
[70]

Ski masks make baseball
Look like bank robbing–
Another stolen base.
[71]

It’s hard to see things
If you don’t do anything.
Bad haiku! Bad ‘ku!
[72]

When the sun peeks through
on a snowy April day,
don’t believe the lie.
[73]

A Fox News headline
Is a lie that might happen
In Bizarroland.
[74]

Matter/energy
Cannot be made or destroyed.
Where’d the ice cream go?
[75]

Poetry

What a Ride: A Proposal

Looks like we might have made it to the finish line.

At least we could walk it from here.

Well, you could. I have some doubts.

And it wasn’t like it was a smooth ride.

Lots of couples hit some bumps in the road,

But we skidded out more than once,

Saw the ditches way too close 

When I was driving a while ago,

And I know we caught air this last time.

You were driving.

But I think I can see the route ahead

And now that we know we don’t speak the same language,

But we think we’re heading the same way,

I’ll try to navigate if you’ll do the steering.

Deal?

[44]

Poetry, Uncategorized

Admonition

My elders were very poor teachers,
Or I was a piss-poor student.
So much about aging was left unsaid
Or unheard:

That pain is ugly
But it’s only pain.

That your heart will heal
But it might be a little crooked afterwards.

That the injuries from the Spring of youth
Return in the Winter.

That you can weep when one who cares
moves on—
And still wish them every goodness.

They also didn’t mention that
Mentors grow in age,
That gardens aren’t about vegetables,
That owning a dog isn’t about owning.

And shame on them for not telling
How an old heart can swell,
not just with edema,
But from the full panoramic view of life
As it plays out on the faces of children
And then the Elfin magic of grandchildren.

I’m writing this down today
So no one else forgets to say
Or hear.

[43]

Poetry

May 2 Story

Leave a comment

I do not own the rights to this photo.

 

May 2 Story

Once upon a time, I started a WORDLE puzzle with the answer to the previous puzzle. It threw me for such a loop that I failed to solve it, thus, seven words for this WORDLE poem.

FORGO
ROMAN
ORALS
SAVOR
SHORE
SCORN
(STORY)

I had to FORGO my ROMAN holiday.
I had failed my ORALS.
The depression forbid me to SAVOR the flavor of fruits,
The smell of the SHORE—
All but the SCORN of my professors.
The scorn of my cohorts is a different STORY entirely.

Poetry

EARTH TRASH from WORDLE

Leave a comment

I don’t own this image.

The game, starting officially tomorrow, May 1, 2022, is to use the words in your WORDLE solution to serve as a prompt for a poem each day. My addition is to strive to use the words in the order used in the puzzle. But surprise! On this puzzle I did a 2! If I don’t use the start word in the poem, that leaves me with only one word, the solution. Start word: EARTH, solution: TRASH.

Earth Trash

It seems we can go from
EARTH to
TRASH
In one long, slow step.

A very early hominid
stood barefoot
near a fire
and discovered
good
beneath the limitless sky.

A very late hominid
kicked off his Crocs
near a fire
and cut his foot to the bone
on beach glass
beneath a sky interrupted
for low latency internet access.

Poetry, Uncategorized

WORDLE PROMPTS

Leave a comment

I do not own this image. It is used without permission.

An idea emerged kind of organically on Brett Axel’s FaceBook page. The idea was to use one’s WORDLE words as prompts for poems. Further, we (at least three of us) resolved to do this daily through May for some potential book deal later. I put another layer of “rules” on the experiment in that I will endeavor to use the clue words in the order I used them in the WORDLE puzzle.
Book or no book, it’s a fun experiment which I have begun. This might be the first keeper.

Schrodinger’s Kitty

So, they threw me in jail
like a THIEF.
Locked me in a box
and left me.
Pitch dark, silent.
It smelled of tin cans
and ESTERS of cardboard glue.
No room. Could take no STEPS
left nor right.
I do not mind.
I take RESTS.
I admit, after forever,
I panicked
and let loose
lusty howls and
ZESTY yowls and
whimpering mewls.
With each breath,
all of what is/was/
may never be
outside the box
winked into and
out of
existence
.

Poetry

And Now the Spring

Leave a comment

And now the bulb is poised to pop.
And now the seed trembles in the soil.
The rhizome simmers sugars
Surging through cells to crush through mud.

And now the bud swells pregnant
And now the leaf grows shoulders in the bud.
The sun, the rain, the wind thrust,
All tremulous.

And now the yolk shivers in its sac.
And now the worm uncoils in a lurch.
Copulation is insistent and frequent.
The hive quivers its fertile breath.

And now the spring’s fidget returns.
And now the death must dither.
The rut is unopposed.
Even churches cannot begrudge a flower.

Poetry

Again, For Brenda

Leave a comment

Brenda Moossy (on left) with friend Lisa Martinovic (in hat)

As the number of my age
Rises by increments
regular as a plow horse
scratches furrow by furrow,
I look forward to the time
when Brenda and I
will soak in her hot tub
and drink strong drinks
among the stars.

In her voice,
the East Texas
will still subvert
the Arkansas,
Her tones,
(husky-sweet,
like Southern Comfort,
but only a little murky)
taking the time,
lingering in her mouth like earnest work,
Its presence palpable,
before it comes to me.

She bids me, “Breathe.”

Then lays that laugh on me, like light to a moth.

Commentary, Haiku, Poetry

Haiku for a global pandemic

Leave a comment

I recently joined a FaceBook group called “Haiku for a global pandemic.”  Once or twice a day I drop a haiku in that group. I’m going to keep a little collection of them here as well. I’m sure mostly they will be my own, but I’ll put up ones I like with author’s permission. This will be a growing collection through this period of isolation.

4/13/20
Cold Michigan wind

the morning after Easter,

trails strands of somber.
–Steve D. Marsh

4/10/20

My highest highlight:
The most yellow daffodils
Telling Death to wait.

–Steve D. Marsh