You Might Be a Poet

1. If you have ten or more poetry books or your nightstand in various stages of being read

You might be a poet

2. If you have wallpapered your bathroom with rejection notices

You might be a poet

3. If you wake up in the middle of the night to write down an interesting word or phrase

You might be a poet

4. If you carry a small notepad in your pocket or purse and a fancy pen

You might be a poet

5. If you have heard of Ted Kooser or W.S. Merwin and know what they have been recognized for

You might be a poet

6. If you write a poem a day for fifteen months straight

You might be a poet

7. If you go to poetry readings held by someone called the Poetry Pope

You might be a poet

8. If you write grocery lists and what you are packing for a trip, in an ABCdarian

You might be a poet

9. If you  understand what a clarity pyramid is

You might be a poet

10. If you like writing by a strict set of rules but can’t find the top of your desk

You might be a poet

11. If you spend all day tweaking a poem that’s already finished

You might be a poet

12. If you have been coming to Lillian’s classes for four or more years or have been published in
The Rain Bird

You might be a poet.

Enticement

Kaneohe bay

waves lapping sandy island

lunch on private beach



The Legend of Nalo Man

***Nalo means lost in Hawaiian

      Mana is spirit or power
      Haumea and Wakea are ancient gods; Laka is their daughter, the goddess of hula.
      Akepa: is a scarlet or yellow-green hawaiian honeycreeper


Last night he dreamt again of the past.

the answer disappears with the finches
when he wakes
under his mystical banyan
in Kalihi Valley.

The tree that he knew
as a child
which shows him its mana
in the howl of the damp
in the leaves
whispering her name
combing-out memories
tangled within their dark stillness.

Coarse roots stretching back
to the time of
Wakea and Haumea.

A goddess born from Haumea’s eye

Kapo has many names
one is Laka.

Laka can be seen
as a lizard or
a human.

Her chants
awaken
the old spirits.

He is blinded
afraid of her truth
a truth that haunts his stirring dreams.

He knows that
the stones of life
by the spouting waters
can heal him
from her intrusion

but he is lost.

Wandering alone
as he seeks the old path
that the kahuna spoke of
long overgrown and forgotten.

He remembers
that the words to her song

guide the way

but they are as faint as the stars
in the tropical sun
invisible
in his frantic mind.
He bargains with her for the key
but the guardian

taunts him

detecting his weakness
for drink
and keeps his path
shrouded in darkness.

Countless moons wax and wane

as flocks of mischievous Akepa
gather leaves and weave seed leis
within the coarse black strands
of his lengthening beard

as he sleeps

at night
between the broad roots at the
foot of the banyan
its thick branches
shielding him
from her wiles
as he fitfully rests
inside their sway.

Bodhisattva

Divine feminine
psychic smile, embraces world
journeying within.

A Poet Lives Here

A

Pithy
Observant
Evocative
Tattler

Lassoes
Images, and for a
Voluble show of approval will
Enlist
Spell-checker, cliché

Half-truths
Euphemisms
Rambles, rants and
Eminent domain.

Pricing Philosophy

I am GOD of my section

omnipresent
directing the flow
making the ultimate decisions
as to what stays
what goes

how much to charge

how little

which polished newcomers
get an all access pass
to Bill’s Bookmobile

which ones go on to the prisons

and hospitals

And what inevitably gets called home
to heaven

the tired,
marked up
mildewed,
highlighted ones
with post-its stuck
in irretrievable places
spoiled and unsalable.

Hell has to wait

its turn after
a dissertation on morality
even bullshit
endures my scrutiny
green in my omniscience.

The list
of human
speculation
is endless
in fact
stacks of them
keep petitioning
for another audience
hoping
for a different outcome.

Love

my favorite
usually ends up
at the top of the pile
since I am

GOD

and GOD is love

and well

because I said so!

Wizard Stones--Waikiki

Tahitian healers

transferred powers to bell stones

Waikiki landmark.

Floribunda Roses--Cinnamon Twist

Orange rose cluster

dewy invitation steams

delicious sweet scent.

I Touched Death 15.25

I touched death’s icy hand
and peeled back my crying skin
glued on
with false hope
safety pinned with lies.

This couldn’t be him
who
had captured my heart
cradled me in his hot embrace
searing, empty promises.

This wasn’t him, in this shiny black casket
in this frozen parlor.

This was a wax mannequin
an empty shell
pumped full
of foul juices
preserved like the frogs
ready for dissection
in 10th grade biology

I was dreaming.

My fingers touched his
hard and fixed
his death mask
distorted smile

carefully dressed in a suit.

I thirsted for his affection
slit without warning
on that dark haunted road
black as a tar
black as a bottomless well
yearning for the splash.

Frozen screams
skated across the green bog

trapped

beneath thick black ice
fists hammering an opaque ceiling
tagged and trapped in the horror zone
waiting for some sign
that I could still see him.

Shredded like a rag doll
sliced by hot steel
by a drunken monster in a black Cadillac
blood drained,
organs extracted
at no extra charge.

Waiting for one last damp kiss
before his appointment
with Mr. Grim.

Las Vegas 15.24

City of sin, din
sights and lights.

City of luck
Mega bucks
cherry red lips
Chicken Ranch hips.

City of lost wages
redeemed savers
wedding chapels and
venture capital.

City to lose
drink too much booze
rack up coins
wolf tenderloin.

A city with eyes
cameras up high
and Cirque shows every night
while gorgeous show girls
show off their girls
and Criss Angel levitates
breathing deep in a red rock scape.

A city of slots, high rollers, big shots
musical fountains and Roman art
River pools, sidewalk misters
Shopping malls, iconic vistas.

Where dry heat is a relative term
as flamingos drip on a Venetian urn.

And tourists leave last dollars
in Wheel of Fortune slots
shouting
honey come quick, I’ve won the jackpot!!

Pen Women Luncheon 15.23

Welcome to New Year
Artists, Writers, Musicians
inspired menu.

Alien Seed 15.22

Ancient astronauts
designed Egypt's pyramids

Do the math earthling!

Labor Day Stroll 15.21

Kailua beach swarms
outriggers pass flat island
sea turtles swim free.

Mental Abuse 15.20

I love you
so much
sweetheart.

Now follow
all my
commands
to the letter.

Overindulgence 15.19

Spoiled
myopic youth
neglects his teeth.

Gummy candy
belly and
devouring habits
dentist’s dream.

Communication 15.18

Hiking

unfamiliar trails
with foreign speaking
strangers.

Accessing understanding
utilizing
sunscreen and sign language.

Contentment 15.17

Septolet

The Septolet is a poem consisting of seven lines containing fourteen words with a break in between
the two parts. Both parts deal with the same thought and create a picture.



Daylight streams
gold
pink and
sapphire vistas.

Silver encircles
uncharted white nimbi
admit one.

Low Battery 15.16

Recharge Battery

Find adapter cable
plug into computer and wait.

Remember when an apple a day kept the doctor away?
well, some things never change
apples still fuel the day.

Dieter 15.15

Dieter
is a serious man
who doesn’t care much for children.

He is still single
in-between women and loves his imported beer
although not quite as much as he did in his youth.

At fifty two, he wears thick eyeglasses.

Dark blond and blue eyed, his pock marked skin is clean shaven.
He wears an aloha shirt and loose tan shorts for evenings out
complete with white crew length socks and a clean pair of deck shoes
inadequately concealing his portly frame.

He hoards his money
earned from
installing razor wire fences around prisons,
this has been quite lucrative over the years.

In his spare time he looks through the real estate ads
and waits for that special parcel
in a neighboring state, not too far from his Mother,
who is eighty two now, an ex smoker burdened with emphysema.

He has many friends.

One has a Hawaiian themed backyard complete with swimming pool
around which preside Tikis which he carved by hand from oak, cherry and other hard woods.
At the intricately carved bar
blowfish twirl from suji fishing lines and swim
in the heavy air
bright with white lights stuffed into their diaphanous round bellies.
Voracious mosquitoes thickly blanket this upstate New York town
underwhelmed by the lack of trade winds or repellant
overwhelming his cousin, Crystal.

Koko Head Hike 15.14

Climbing

Up railroad ties

Drenched clothes dizzying heat

Shaking while crossing the trestle

Dump fear.

Reassessing Preferences 15.13

Precious moments

reflect Hawaii’s leisurely pace

fade in and out on a cerulean zephyr

and sandy walks in Kailua

imperceptible as they light in our footprints

marching to a German cadence

and settle at last on love’s single red rose

so sweetly presented.

New York minutes

vividly unfold as pages in a prized book.

Healing moments inhaled and exhaled

with family

while strolling country hills

retracing past lives

outlining a memoir’s flawed pattern

and pausing for a moment to capture

as brazen deer

feed on emerald lawns

and toast the amber dew.

Not an Addict 15.12

Hello, my name is Cornelia


and I’m not an addict or an alcoholic,

I am his Mom


and I am stubborn

a family trait.

My past behavior reflects

that I can be glaringly stupid too.


I had a moment of clarity recently

it seems my main problem

is that I’ve developed a nasty habit of speaking my mind

I also have some forgiveness issues.

I want my chocolate chip cake and ice-cream with the pirouette cookie

and I don’t want to share.

I want to sit on the right hand side of god

and then tell him how to run things.

I like pants

and yet

skirts are also nice.

I love my family

and I am embarrassed by them.

I invite suggestions

but will do what I want.

I tend to ignore gorillas in small rooms.

My problem is

I can’t have it all and I’m running out of time.

So my brain talks to me and says

Cornelia, choose already!

Find out

if all your hard work and effort

all the time you put in

all the tears

was worth it.

Keep going.

You are almost there.

Let go of the false hope

the alternate reality

where life is always fair

where you get Prince Charming --and the castle.

Just Be Happy!


But Just Be Happy--is bull.

You have to work to make yourself happy--it’s hard

you have to decide every day---you have to choose it.

Happy is a metaphor for good choices.


So stop moaning

about what you don’t have

about what life didn’t give you?

how you didn’t deserve to suffer

and about how tough it was

all those years

in the blistering heat

in the tropics

working as a roofer

twelve hour days

having to go home

crawl into bed

only to wake up and repeat the same thing the next day—year after year

to go shopping after work in filthy sweat stained raggedy clothes

walking through Safeway looking

like I was homeless

only I wasn’t—I was building a life

carving it out of stone—me and the other fossils

who could’ve done it better in your instruction book

yada, yada, yada

cause nobody wants to hear it!


Sometimes the only thing left

is to get down and pray

yes –pray, from a non believer

Pray for peace

Pray for enlightenment

Let go of the entitlement fantasy

Pray that your hijacked memory comes back

and that you see really wake-up before you get locked up or the reaper comes for your sorry ass.

Pray that you see what really matters

before you drown in that pit that you’ve dug for yourself.

Because there is one thing I do know

I was quite willing to get down there with you

to wander dark alleys

hunting for discarded scraps

forgetting about family

blanking out my own sanity

lost on some river in Egypt.

Face down, eyes closed, teeth grinding, always there

a phone call away, waiting for you to have one lousy moment of clarity.

I did manage to learn a few things though

I learned that

I count too

that my wants and needs are, just as important as yours

that if I constantly drive against traffic with you-- ignoring reality

that I am not taking care of me.

I learned that it’s not only okay to say no, it is a requirement.

So don’t ask me for help anymore.

Don’t ask me to sit quietly and watch

while you destroy the most precious thing in my life

one day at a time

bit by bit

because if you don’t care enough to help you

at least have the guts to leave me alone

because I could sure use some help right now.

Because I’m mom

and even though my brain is saying no

my heart is saying yes

because my off switch

is stuck

and because even if I could turn it off

I won’t.

I will defy logic

Dad

and the law if need be

because that’s how I’m wired

but you already know that.

You are betting that Mom

will come and bail you out again and again

and tomorrow will magically be okay

and hell the world’s coming to an end anyway in 2012

so, WTF!

Might as well go out smiling

kiss your bony butt goodbye

take your mom hostage with

drag her stupid ass through the mud too.



We could make up some

Mom’s coming to jail to visit me and bring money, so I can do more drugs-- T-shirts

make them this shitty brown color

or maybe a piss yellow

or how about a purple barf stain.

Purple’s my favorite color.

So when mom has to drop her laundry

to see your sorry ass in jail

she can tell herself it’s because she loves you

and it wasn’t really that bad

and then promise you again that she

will keep jumping back into that pit with you-- forever if need be

because she couldn’t possibly let you do it alone.

Someone might rape you

or stab you repeatedly

leaving your bloody corpse unrecognizable

and then she would have to bury you in a closed casket

and then mom would have to

dig up some old photo

before you were a drug addict

when you still resembled something loveable and pure

and pretend to all the relatives

and friends-- you still had,

that life had just dealt you a bad hand

and if you had just had some breaks

and a little help--you might still be alive today

only--that would be a lie

because it really wasn’t about that at all

If the truth were to finally come out

long after your rotten corpse

decomposed

and the cockroaches crawled around

your intestines and had millions of babies

nesting inside

your ruptured skeleton

buried in an unmarked grave

that the real reason you died

the real reason you wasted your life

even though you had it all

was all because you made some bad choices.

Barbel 15.11

Thirteen
and in love
with a new boy
every day on Face Book.
Posters of Justin Bieber
hang in her bedroom
soon to be replaced by the latest teen idol.

She is the hot one
in her crowd
and likes being the
center of attention.

Silver braces line her teeth.

Her bright eyes
one blue
one brown
and long blond shoulder length hair
will make her Dad
pace the living room
in a few more years.

Right now
she’s still into sleepovers
with her chubby
girlfriends
and swimming at the town pool.

Karl 15.10

Karl

is a bear of a man

owns his business.

He is the man to call when
you need heat in the winter
and AC in the summer

He charges more for his time

because he’s good, damn good.

He is a proud man
honest and
has integrity

so long as you pay him.

Competition is fierce
and cash flow
a constant juggle

although he is
pretty good at
balancing work and play.

An agreeable man
he enjoys his imported beer

retired from both the Army and National Guard

he was stationed in Germany
he has siblings there
family means everything to him
since his mom and brothers escaped
from his wife-beater father

and moved in with his step dad.

Food is a comfort
after a hard day of service calls
and since he quit smoking

as it is with Heather
their stout gray cat
who demands breakfast
at six a.m.
scratching
at the bedroom door
her tail swishing to and fro
in cadence with clock
as it chimes at the hour
every hour

Ding, Ding, Ding, Dong
Ding, Dong, Ding, Dong
DONG, DONG.

He is married to Sabine
his soul-mate.

Crystal 15.9

The oldest
most world wise
writes it all down
She digs out the old

foundation exposing the rotten wood replacing it, careful to maintain the integrity of the structure, a painstaking process, as she crafts and starts to build a new stronger base discovering along the way how the cement was first formed, alert to to how the form needs to be outlined first reading the instructions and then mixing the sand and gravel then slowly adding water building layer upon solid layer smoothing the surface until it is compacted and firm. A sly sally she knows exactly what needs to be shown and what should fall away hidden, the work means everything to her.

The work paves the way.

She is not to be fooled with.

Her short cropped light brown hair
exposes a few gray roots
her penetrating blue eyes
see the cracks.

She is the athlete

tough and tenacious
willing to bend
but only so far
her roots grow deep
and she remembers everything
separating the reality
from the fiction
separating herself
from the characters
within her fragmented past.

The others inside her sleep
and remain silent for now.

Sabine 15.8

is Playboy material

her blunt cut flaxen hair
parted in the middle
frames an oval face.

Sharp blue eyes
question everything.

She is the queen in her castle
complete with central air
and vacuum
sucking out the waste
transferring it
to face again at a later date
a perpetual motion
defining the orbit of her existence.

A mom to a teenage girl
who looks more like sixteen
she does it all
from house painting to
to riding the tractor and
when she’s done at home
she cuts the lawn
for her mom
risking poison ivy and snakes.

She feels trapped
but resigned to staying
in everyone’s good graces
for another summer
as the thunder builds
and echoes
a warning
of an impending cyclone.

Carolla 15.7

is the middle child
a fighter and
an ex smoker
often noticed for
her Dolly Parton-like bosom.

Short and fierce
she breaks through the bull
divides her time
between
FOX NEWS
and QVC

her zealous tongue
encouraged
by her
redneck husband.

She works at the school cafeteria
mostly for the medical
suffers from
allergies and snores
like a lumberjack.

A new grandma
she proudly carries
pictures of the baby
in her wallet

along with
her menopause badge
and a silver revolver
with a pink pearl
handle.

Gisela 15.6

She doesn't hear them anymore.

Her attention is held captive
by wishful thinking.

Her sparkling blue eyes have turned gray.

Buxom and petite
wearing last years
bargain basement
matching dress and hat
she stubbornly
wait for Godot.

Lost in yesterdays
rotary dial
and rabbit ears
fearful and furious.

He has scolded away
her innocence.

She still works for nickels and dimes
to regain control
convinced
that it really doesn't matter
that she still has to work
that her brothers and sisters
don't write.

Fifty years
ignored away
as fine.

Sometimes she takes things
shiny beads
a ring
briefly
satisfying her hunger
though
more and more
thirsty now
for the fermented white grape
and her arthritic
ankles and fingers
ache from the damp.

Horst-- 15.5

He can’t tell them what he wants

lost inside another vodka fog
sneezing green balls of phlegm
into his palm while
searching for Kleenex.

His hairless
white belly
distended inside a white t-shirt
overlapping beige
shorts, the only pair that he can find,
as he mechanically belches
and squeezes out farts
that would’ve put Hitler to shame
as he starts to sing from another old German opera
unable to resurrect his youth
failing to amuse his
sedated audience.

Happy hour begins at eleven
in his tiny world
and continues
long into the night
every night
as he salutes the setting sun
with cracked deformed nails
constipated and
cursing at his bad luck

and to anyone who will listen

pausing for a moment as
he tries to ingratiate himself
on a practiced widow
down the hall from his room.

Shadow Art--15.4

Tall black silhouettes

mirror serious imprint

sandy exposure.

Therapy 15-3

Up at seven
I pull on my swimsuit and head out the door
ready to tackle the group.
Armed with advice and witticism
our conversation like the bright morning sun
is circular
our walk
mired in the tide pools
of rationale and comfort zones.

The old thread that ties us together
is strong
a crocheted blanket dragged from birth
pacifying our discontent
deflecting our resolve.
repeating the sequence each morning
unable to decipher the combination
digging up ancient history
wanting in
unable to find
the entrance
blocked from my view.

Eric-Acrostic 15-2

E-Z Does It at 41,
Ready to party and have some fun
Italian pizza piping hot and
Chocolate ice-cream hits the spot.



Happy Birthday!!!

Meet Me in Maine 15-1

Meet me in Maine

by the shore
I’ll watch the birds
learn some words
hoot and holler
leave some dollars

vacationing with family.

And forget about
writing poems
the rhymes will keep
till I get home
and dig my toes
into the sand
hanging loose
getting tanned

It’s time to go
eat lobster rolls
and for a stroll
then play some cards
and have some laughs
for time sure flies
and that’s a fact.

Unlocking Memory

Witnesses flood perceptions door
banging to get in
plagued by
an impermeable strain
of
dementia
distorted
and dissected into
quantum realities
as facades crack
and begin their
ascent
gasping for air
fearing the vacuum
housed inside their
glass containers.

Time Traveler

Driving back
into a dark overgrown jungle
pushing past awkward and wild

to where the truth lies

rooted deep

impassive
like a tall oak
cooling me
from the blistering sun
as leaves begin to fall away and
expose old scabs
piling offerings
damp mounds
dormant and unruffled
waiting for a familiar face to
burn them on the alter
and appease the gods
applying the salve
soothing the ache
that gnaws
like a fungus
mushrooming
white circles on the lawn.

Breaking the Fast

Piping hot coffee warms
my innards
cozy
inside a moss green mug.

Juicy blueberries burst
pushing against
orange cantaloupe
swimming inside a
slippery pool
vying for my attention
tempting me sweetly
from the second shelf
next to a muscled Greek
packing extra protein
blinking
his vanilla honey code.

Kornelia with a K

Kornelia with a K

sat next to me last night on the flight
from Honolulu
but that’s wasn’t all
Kornelia liked to be called Konnie
I had to ask her twice, to be polite
did I hear it right

Konnie with a K?
yes she said, that was right
Kornelia was German
spoke with an accent
her family
originated in that land
where they made the kielbasa

but that’s not all

Kornelia loved living in Hawaii
but it was time for her to go
back to Germany
back to her family
back to school
she’s no fool
Kornelia will be back some day
to the land that paved the way
so send an email, drop me a line
keep in touch for you won’t find
many of us in economy class
so plant your behind, listen up
Cornelia is coming from the back of the plane
and Cornelia, dear sisters, is unrestrained.

Bake, Bake a Cake!

An old German Nursery Rhyme in German and English with a Haiku at the bottom.

“Backe, backe kuchen!”
der Backer hat gerufen
“Wer will guten kuchen backen
Der muss haben sieben Sachen:
Butter und Saltz,
Zucker und Schmaltz,
Milch und Mehl,
Und Eier machen den Kuchen gel.”

“Bake, Bake a cake!”
the Baker called out.
“Whoever wants to make
a good cake,
He must have seven things:
Butter and Salt,
Sugar and Lard,
Milk and Flour,
and Eggs to make the cake gold.”

German rhyme calls back

Happy childhood memories

Bitte, Deutsch sprechen!

(kindly speak German)

Ready to Go

All packed
Breathe deeply
Check list
Determine objective
Early on
Freedom earned
Goals accomplished
Heady thoughts
Ignite memory
Jump high
Kick habits
Leave anchors
Manage choices
Need little
Open up
Pop pretense
Question everything
Resolve approval
Speak clearly
Tackle doubts
Use resources
Value judgment
Work hard
X-ray attitude
Yield for no one
Zealous stance.

Wonder Bread and Klingons

We grew up in a quiet town surrounded by four lakes;
sometimes we'd go hiking and swimming at the fourth lake,
since it was a short walk from the railroad tracks,
halfway between my house
and my cousin Ralph’s
just before the town dump.

Mid summer
the urge to explore
strange new trails became strong,
Captain Kirk and
Mr. Spock were my heroes.
Ralph and I would
set our phazers on stun
and dare to encounter
alien life forms.
it was quiet
except for the odd branch
falling or when our shoes crunched
on a dry patch of leaves,
occasionally a snake would cross our path,
but Ralph would always arm us
with a cap gun
or a long stick with a sharp point
on one end to protect us.

The favorite part
would be lunch,
my chubby cousin
always made sure
that we had plenty to eat.
Being a skinny child,
I was more interested
in the possibility of
running into some
Romulans or Klingons
but when the food appeared
I would inhale it.

One favorite, when my Aunt ran out of bologna and cheese
was cherry koolaide accompanied by
wonder bread and white sugar sandwiches,
the grit of the white sugar
against our teeth put us into orbit
and I would lick the sugar
and let it dissolve
slowly on the tip of my tongue
after showing my
cousin,
who had an annoying habit
of teasing me
for no reason.

Sometimes I would daydream
of him falling down
and breaking a leg
and then I would have to save him
and he would be eternally grateful
and never tease me again, of course
I would have to let him lie there helpless and in pain
for a very long time before I came back,
and risk running into aliens and bears just to teach him a lesson.

The Rose

On a dusty August night in 1974 a rebel rode into the Town of Rosendale in Ulster County, New York on his 750 chopped Honda the chrome was polished and the sissy bar gleaming,

as he parked in front of The Well, where he met Billie Ghoulie, the unofficial mayor who
owned and bartended there. Billie was freakish in his top hat, black cape, and skin tight jeans
but had found his niche and calling. Billie also owned the Astoria, the only hotel in town. The Well had a good reputation and you could find well-known bands like Three Dog Night jamming to “Jeremiah was a Bullfrog” on a Saturday night.
That first night he met and befriended a man named Dirty John and his wife Sue.
Dirty John’s Everything Shop housed both him and that Honda for the next few months
as he quickly made his way through the local town
produce, squeezing and partaking of all the fresh melons
passing on the Astoria—full up for the Labor Day holiday.
Of course, she didn’t know that yet, a good girl, Cheryl was barely out of high school.
Sue had whispered about him
the way he shined like a new copper penny.
He had called her pretty lady, that first night they met
fresh from a hot bath, he didn’t know
he had swept her away
smelling that way.
Not until much later did he recall
that he had stolen
the Rose out of Rosendale.

Self-Loathing

Bruxism


that's what they called it

grinding her teeth

at night while she slept

only one of the nasty habits

she'd picked up

the main reason

she still needed

to unlock those damned doors



Her subconscious

still directing

the plot

tangled

inside a sixties B movie



protecting her

by hiding

the truth

redirecting

her thoughts

leading her

towards the light

but the dark

still beckoned

leaving a slick stain

beneath the sheets

of her memory

like unwashed skin

exuding its distinct odor

she had to find the key

she had to let go of the ring.

Defiance

How does this sound for the prologue of my new book?


She’s thought about it
way too long
anger simmering
like pasta writhing
in boiling water,
only she doesn’t soften.
Lingering in the old pot
as she plots and
plans her escape.
The final details
appearing as foam
on a briny bank.

One last thing
before she departs
into the unknown
a card
to a loved one
with
unconditional
instructions.

The Human Equation

We are a speck
 in the grand scheme
of the universe
ignorant and
full of hot air
waiting for Mars to appear in the night sky

billions of tiny pulses of energy
lowered to their least common denominator
like lightning bugs in a glass jar

Studied from space
like a lab experiment
impatient for the resolution
for a brilliant scientist
to discover the true meaning
behind the meaning

Or are we mere child’s play?

Is it all an illusion

Is our splinter of hope

Fool’s gold

Will we try to use it
to feed
the hungry
cure cancer

What is it about the moon?

Dare we recall
or is it better this way

GOD

If you do exist
have some pity
on us
we still don’t know why
we are here?

Waiting for Dawn

I can see the flushed pink
across the bay as I
wait for the glow, focused
as I envision an orange rim
cresting over white pillows
flanked by a Pirate’s
Black Pearl.
And as my
mind lusts for its
buried treasure
hidden
in the east.

Black Pearl

Aye-- that be the Pearl
Savvy Captain Jack Sparrow
at your service, mate.

Cookie Cutter Shark

*** photo courtesy of photobucket



Cookie cutter shark
Round suctorial lips gouge
Stealthy sacrifice.

Captain Tommy D. and 160 lb. Ahi

CONNIE

C--  autiously
O--  ptimistic
N--  ervy
N--  erd
I--    ncites
E--   nthusiasm

Meteora Musing

In Greece there’s a place called Meteora
where they sent
the bothersome ones, too pretty
and smart to live in the rural villages.

Coaxed, bribed and forced to live out their lives
on top of these
tall isolated rock needles.

So isolated that supplies were brought in
once a month
by mule and then
hauled across deep ravines in a bucket on a pulley

No escape from there.

No hope for those prissy little pussies
Sent off like baby lambs, married to this Christ character
And  IN NAME ONLY

Not allowed to speak out loud for years at a time

Sequestered

Maybe some of them
waited for Apollo,
son of Zeus and Leto
to rain down on them
whet their appetites, soak them with his love.

Can you see them sitting there
waiting for some reprieve
from the kneeling and the prayer
the hours of singing the same old tired song.

Yeah--I’d lay odds

double or nothing

that they did a lot of
musing on their fate
planning their escape
Counting the days, plotting out
the location of the stars and the moon
till the next delivery.
Checking the rope
Eyeing up that bucket
figuring out how much weight it could hold
how much time it took to cross over the ravine
how much time before they were missed.

Of course the Greek men weren’t worried
They already knew
the most important factor
in this equation

Girls suck at Science and Math.

False Honor

Puzzling
We will travel to opposite corners of the planet to murder each other
To put another Band-Aid on a festering boil
To leave old men and women staring blankly into the night sky.

We have been in denial mode for so long
Waiting
Waiting

The ones that do come back are
Damaged
Pierced by foreign forks
Mere shells missing their normal psyche
We feed the terror with our apathy and our greed

Noble—there is nothing noble here.

We are all busy texting in our business suits
While our vehicles
Plunge into oblivion, taking out the innocent as we go.

We have been in denial mode for so long.
Waiting
Waiting

Our kids lie about everything to everyone
And then forget who they told their lies to.

It has spread like a fever into our sub conscious
We are immersed in our lies
Soaked through the skin
We keep rowing in circles, our speech mimics our thoughts
Drowning
Getting nowhere faster than ever before and

We have been in denial mode for so long.
Waiting
Waiting

Help —do we even know what that word means?

We are conquerors
We come to do battle
Because of fear and loathing
Because if we don’t-- they will
When does it end?

We have been in denial mode for so long.
Waiting
Waiting

Our planet is changing its code
Our round bodies no longer fit
Into the new landscape
There is no potable water

We have been in denial mode for so long
Waiting
Waiting

Send Them to War

Send the gangsters,

the murderers and rapists
the terrorists, the child molesters
the fossils with more than their fair share of piss and vinegar.
Send the bad attitudes, and the free-loaders.

Send the ones that want to die with their boots on.

Send the experienced ones
the Clint’s the Tom’s
the Arnold’s and
the Dukes, the ones
with snot-free noses.

The ones that know how
and won’t think twice
to fuck you up and will love doing it.

Send the salty, the sick
the brave hearts
on their last leg.

Send the ones who want
to leave this earth making
a statement, leaving their mark
their sweat
their blood.

Send Them!

Let’s leave our youth alone
with their wives and children
with their minds and their bodies intact.

Leave them to care for this country
to bring us back to sanity
to give us hope
to revive our economy
to renew our faith in humanity.

Let’s harness those hormones to rebuild our bridges and dams
to patrol our borders, and to forge new alliances
without any preconceived ideas of what they can and cannot do.

Let’s sit down and think about how we treat each other
reassess wants and needs
how we teach our children

Let’s take a lesson from nature
and send the Neanderthal to fight the age-old feuds

leave our kids to save the planet
and send the apes-- the missing links.

Send Them!

Mango Man--Dream State

**** A story in a poem --in 100 words or less, Mana means spirit or power, Haumea and Wakea were ancient Hawaiian gods. Laka is the goddess of hula




Last night he dreamt of the before time,
it is dim.

It disappears with the birds
when he wakes
under his special tree
above Kalihi Valley.

The tree that he knew
as a child,
which shows him its mana
in the howl of the damp.
In the leaves whispering her name,
combing-out memories
tangled within their dark stillness.

Coarse branches stretching back
to the time of
Wakea and Haumea.

A goddess born from Haumea’s eye,

Kapo has many names,
one is Laka.

She can appear
as a lizard or
a human.

Her hula
inspires
his dreams.

One Syllable Poems

Aspirin


Take one with food
to ease aches and pains.

He looked at the strange script
and scratched his head
as he tried to sound out
the first word

Ass—put---in.


Stamped

He loves to lick stamps

and coat his tongue
with glue.
The taste
slides
down the
back of his throat
sticks to
his ribs
and melds
with the spam and egg
meal
he just ate.

See that Mom!


Déjà vu

It was sweet

She'd had
that taste
in her mouth
a dark fudge
masked
in a thick brown shell
sweet meats
nuts
creams
and mints.

Love

In

A

Box

wrapped up
with a
bright
red
bow.

Intolerance--abcDarian

Aunt Alice had to stop for a few

Beers, she was
Chilling down at
Deeley’s saloon with
Edna Earle. It seems that
Frank James was involved and that
Good for nothing
Henry Hiller, you know the one that used to
Ink the newspaper down outside of
Jasmine over at
Kallops Corner? I believe you know
Lawrence Bishop, he owned the Star something or other,
Maybelle, he will
Never get over this, it sure
Opened my eyes
Pops is still limping because he tried to help poor
Quentin, you know Lawrence’s
Retarded
Step son by his third wife
Tina or Tasha, well anyway it sure was
Upsetting to the old folk they had never seen anything like that in the whole damn
Valley, everyone up in arms over that god forsaken fire
White crosses went up like Christmas trees in July
X-rays showed he had a compound fracture of the tibia, risking his life running down there
Yelling at those fanatics. Nothing he could do and poor Quentin hanging there like that
Zinnia’s got tinged too—will have to replant some new ones come spring.

Yogurt Advertisments-Cinquains

Blueberry Yogurt
Fruity
Low fat yogurt
A five gram protein punch
Satisfies mid-morning hunger
Brain food

Strawberry Yogurt—Rejected Ad
Flavored
Low fat yogurt
Distinguished sour cow
Fermented with bacteria
Grade A




Cinquain is a short, usually unrhymed poem consisting of twenty-two syllables distributed
as 2, 4, 6, 8, 2, in five lines. It was developed by the Imagist poet, Adelaide Crapsey.
Another form, sometimes used by school teachers to teach grammar, is as follows:
Line 1: Noun
Line 2: Description of Noun
Line 3: Action
Line 4: Feeling or Effect
Line 5: Synonym of the initial noun.

Happy Birthday to Captain Tommy D.

**My husband is 65 today!!

Tommy D is the man for me

His abs are  rock hard

He loves his yard

He knows his way

around my heart

Girl, he sure can cook

he’s really smart.

Tommy D. is the man for me.

He loves his dogs

he gives them treats

He brings them home

raw fish and meat

A man of his word

poetic and proud

surely outspoken

stands out in the crowd.

Yes Tommy D is the man for me.

Obsessed to

not get it, in the ass

Tommy exudes his own kind of class

He wants what he wants

He gets what he gets

So yuz better listen

don’t yuz forget

Tommy D he’s the man for me.

Gone fishing today with

the Habilitat boys

Tommy’s fish catch

all will enjoy

Yes Tommy D is the man for me.

A hard man to live with

his visions are high

He’ll have you

leaping

eyes seeking

the sky.

The why

still blurred

in your sharp head

is clear to him

a leader misread.

Yes Tommy D. is the man for me.

So, as sure as Popeye loves his Olive oil

I’ll stand by my man, I'll be his goil

Cos no one’s perfect, I’m sure you’ll agree

Yes Tommy D is the man for me.

And they lived Happily Eva Afta!!

The End

The Flying Hawaiian- A Tribute

Can Do’s fly into storms to penetrate eye wall’s
named Dennis, Felix, Frances, Gustav, Ike, Ivan, Jean, Katrina,
Ophelia, Paloma, and Rita.
Can do’s stick out their tongues to catch snowflakes while remote sensing gamma radiation in Minnesota.
Can do’s prepare in advance for the what if’s.
Can not’s-- wait for the little fat man in the lederhosen to go back into his side of the house.

Can Do’s are born in July.
They graduate from U.H with a BS in Meteorology
and from Embry Riddle Aeronautical University
doing their graduate studies in Aeronautical Science
They Captain—their “middle-age.”
Can Do’s worked at the
National Marine Fishery Service
where they caught seals and sea turtles.
Can not’s Captain leaky dinghies-- catching dry rot and algae.

Can Do’s commanded NOAA ships
like the John N. Cobb and the Morgan Freeman.
Can not’s command accessories-- like THE REMOTE.

Can Do’s collect data and
observe derelict gill nets in order
to predict the drift of the ocean’s marine debris.
Can not’s predict how many cubic inches
it takes-- to hold a case of BUD.

Can Do’s play slack key music.
Can not’s-- play air guitars.

Can Do’s LOVE deep sea fishing
Can not’s-- left their rain gear at home
while fishing for some spare change.

Can Do’s stick their necks into tight places.
Can not’s are still stuck in the 70’s.

Can Do’s make goals and become Captain’s and Chief Science Officer’s.
Can not’s make goals to grow some Kona gold and may go back to get their GED
after they finish all the Oreos and the chocolate chip ice-cream.

Can do’s make their parents proud
Can do’s draw out the best in people
Can not’s --scratch themselves-- and draw a blank.

Can Do’s --CAN!
Can not’s-- can't.
Captain Barry K. Choy is a Can Do--How about you?

Achieving Balance

Thin boats tip, adapt

pale orange heliconia

express symmetry.

Rainbow

Anuenue
moist spectrum of light appears
multicolored arch

Normal doesn’t live here

Normal doesn’t live here anymore.

IT went the way of the Maya
IT lives somewhere south of the border beneath a bottle green jungle
IT is living its normal life with its friend Patience
IT is happy
IT never looks over the fence to see what’s there

IT doesn’t age or need a Doctor

IT has perfect hair

IT used to have feelings but has advanced itself to a more stable life.
IT doesn’t think about its body because it doesn’t have one.

IT doesn’t concern itself with the doings of man or wo-man

IT knows that much is wrong
but IT ignores them and their hormones
because IT is smart
and realizes what will happen
if IT upsets them or tries to teach them about the laws of evolution

ITS molecules will have to travel to a new galaxy
because even though IT is sure

 IT’s shit is ice-cream

IT is wrong!!!

Let us Make a Change

Let us make a change
Let us make a stand.
Good people signed in
saying yes we can.

Let us sow anew and make well known
how we gave birth
to this
our great home.

We stood for the shy
bellowed for the weak
exorcised the demons
that stalked our dark streets.

Sat down with villains to
play their crooked hand
poker faced
then dared to make a stand.

We've laid miles of track
reckoned with
our faith
gambled with our lives
our severed limbs scathed
spilling bloody rivers
digging countless mines
leaving comfort zones
dragging fat behinds.

Let us make a change
Let us make a stand.
Good people signed in
saying yes we can.

To knead understanding
we'll add yeast and salt
and rise to the challenge
to see our own fault.

Let us make a change
Let us make a stand
Good people signed in
saying yes we can.

Remember now
why we belong
to something real
to something strong
and fight, good people
for what we believe
Or lose it all
and die
in our disease.

Let us make a change
Let us make a stand.
Good people signed in
saying yes we can.

Crabwise--Walking Sideways

*** DLNR has informed us that they will be raising dock fees indiscriminately across the board—in order to standardize rates over the next five years—this means that everyone will be charged the same fees regardless of slip size or amenities.

We are off on a crusade

thick exoskeletons armed

claws ready-made.

Crying out to our clan

the hermit, king and

 horseshoe now stand.

Primitive and developed

from land, freshwater and sea

to make our objections known to

DLNR and the powers that be.

We have listened to your

bullying ways for far too long

it is your time now, to listen, to our song.

Our diet has made us strong and fit

And we refuse to stand still

for any more

of your sh---it!!

Alice's Journey--finding her inner voice

An attitude

a mad hatter royal flush
high tea

dealt by a cat
smoking
a hookah.

Avatar-cherita

A computer generated image, a virtual incarnation

Where a paraplegic marine
can marry an alien and save a world

Forget about beaming me up Scotty
turn on the power and plug me in
this god has spoken.

Morning Song-Rictameter

Raucous
mynas chirp sweet
music outside, after
last night’s riotous red white and
blue revelry. My canine buddies roll
over and stretch their stiff bodies
no longer shaking now
content with the
dawn’s song.

A Fourth of July Toast to John Wayne

A Fourth of July Toast to John Wayne

He blazed rocky trails
brought in murderers and thieves
protected them from being lynched by an angry mob
saw that they got their fair trial.
He was a friend to the Comanche.
He spanked respect
into his willful bride and spoiled daughter
as G.W. McClintock
fought long and hard for his principles
infected us with his kind spirit and vitality
and brought us back again and again to the good old days.

If horses could talk
would they give him the nod?
Would prostitutes still wink and flash their goods?
Would the local boyz greet him in the hood?
Would our military show up to see his latest film, shake his hand?

You bet they would!!

John Wayne--an American icon
a vital natural resource
a man of his word, our hero
the indestructible
“Duke”---Well I reckon
we owe him
big time, so here’s to you Marion
thanks for lighting the way!

C'est la vie

C'est la vie

I am
past being upset
far beyond the nostalgic nonsense
poking into a brand new box
eager
to sample the exquisite
assortment
of dark
creamy
nutty
nougats
my fingers prying
through
the outer shells
examining
the prize within
finding
new pleasures
under the sun.

Hiki No

Hiki No means Can Do!

Hiki No

Can Do’s climb cliff faces and stick out their tongues to catch snowflakes.

Can not’s trip over their own shadow.

Can Do’s march through puddles.

Can not’s wait for a dry spell.

Can Do’s swim the English Channel

Can not’s failed drown proofing at the Y.

Can Do’s run marathons.

Can not’s run to the fridge.

Can Do’s reinvent their world and make it better for everyone.

Can not’s live on another planet.

Can Do’s find the cure.

Can not’s complain.

Can Do’s stick their necks into tight places.

Can not’s are stuck in the 60’s.

Can Do’s will try it once and succeed in time.

Can not’s excuse themselves from too much excitement.

Can Do’s make goals and stick to them.

Can not’s complain about how hard it is.

Can Do’s show up on time.

Can not’s show up late-- ALL THE TIME!!

Can Do’s, consider your feelings.

Can not’s consider their feelings.

Can Do’s --CAN!

Can not’s-- can't.

HIKI NO--How about you?

Toilet or Closestool

The Title of yesterday's Chinese movie at the Doris Duke Theater was "The Story of the Closestool -- the subtitles were a blurry white on white--gave me a headache---so I let my wild mind loose on the internet, here's what I found out about the closestool: My haiku is at the bottom


The Chain Is Pulled on Britain's Crapper

July 26, 2000

BEIJING (Reuters) - China has flushed Britain's claims to have invented the water closet down the pan with the discovery of a 2,000-year-old toilet complete with running water, a stone seat and a comfortable armrest.

Archaeologists found the antique latrine in the tomb of a king of the Western Han Dynasty (206 BC to 24 AD), who believed his soul would need to enjoy human life after death, the official Xinhua news agency said on Wednesday.

"This top-grade stool is the earliest of its kind ever discovered in the world, meaning that the Chinese used the world's earliest water closet which is quite like what we are using today," Xinhua quoted the archaeologists' report as saying.

"It was a great invention and a symbol of social civilization of that time," Xinhua said.

The invention of the flush toilet is widely attributed to London plumber Thomas Crapper, who patented a U-bend siphoning system for flushing the pan in the late 19th century, and who also installed toilets for Queen Victoria.

Among other inventions claimed by China are toilet paper, fireworks, gunpowder, the compass, paper money, kites, printing and the clock.

The toilet tomb was discovered in Shangqiu county in the central province of Henan, Xinhua said.

Archaeologists also found a queen consort's stone tomb, more than 690 feet long and consisting of more than 30 rooms including a bathroom, toilet, kitchen and an ice-store.

Toilet or Closestool

Two thousand year find

China claims another right

flushed and waste ready.

Moss Covered Steps

Remarkable steps

ecologically aware

curled meditation.

Private Dancer

Sly and the Family Stone reverberates in the background.

I Want to take you High---er! Hi—gh—er!

Boom shaka lacka lacka---boom shaka lacka lacka !!

The darkness throbs and then a
spotlight flashes illuminating
her four inch spikes
all aglitter as her
well defined stems wrap the pole center stage, inching their way up
heels first, towards the dark dusty paper-mache ceiling.

Swirling lights and a throbbing deep-tone tease the regulars as
her voluptuous implants bounce
and her trim
athletic form swings and slides
gracefully
swirling, twirling
thumping, bumping, writhing and smiling to the beat.

Just another sultry artist with pouty red lips
and no tan lines.

High-priced minutes tick by as
thick mascaraed lashes and smoky eyes
slice through the fog, combing for dead presidents
as they salute a beautiful flower
in full bloom, as she eyes a dirty clock
and competes with
younger more fragrant flowers
showing up late for the dinner rush
and now shielded by burly men
in dark corners.

Daylily

Large showy flower

Used in hot and sour soup

medicinal fare.

Water Lily

Sacred water nymph

rooted in lively fishpond

shows genuine smile.

Wasted Words-Rictameter

My comments on war!

Truckloads

of wasted words

line up on back lots, march

past shelled stone facades and down bleak

alleyways seeking young inquisitive

souls trapped in constipated minds

prone outside wisdom’s door

drenched in bullshit

scratching.

Rictameter is a scheme similar to Cinquain. Starting your first line with a two syllable word, you then

consecutively increase the number of syllables per line by two. i.e. 2, 4, 6, 8, 10 Then down again,
8, 6, 4, 2 Making the final line the same two syllable word you began with.

Sentinels

Giant knobby pines

guard Kalihi Valley Park

old rumination.

Last Train Home--Chinese Documentary

Last Train Home--Chinese Documentary


We met at eleven
on a Wednesday
for a Chinese movie
preceded by a fat American
lunch at the Pavilion cafe.

Overfed in our luxury as we
observed the spirit of these dynamic people with
backs bent in two, using simple tools
to farm and rebuild cities, to live in squalid
closet-size rooms for decades, and send money home
to finance dead dreams, to children who don’t understand why.

To children who just want their mommy and daddy to tuck them in at night.

To forsake what we would call normal.

Young couples who have to leave home at an early age
leave their babies to work in factories
to make jeans for spoiled Americans with 40 inch waistlines
until their fingers are bent
until they have become so numb
that they no longer remember
how to speak to their own children.

Migrant workers trapped in their nightmare lives
breathlessly pushing
against the mob
for days
for a train to take them back to
sons and daughters
who live in tiny shacks with grandma
reeking of
inadequate plumbing
looking to escape the duty of being first in their class.
Frustrated lonely children searching for an alternate life
away from their parents’ stark reality.
Sharp children still wide-eyed
more impatient as each year passes
for mommy and daddy’s annual visit.

Early To Bed

On the job by dawn

working outside comfort zone

why I'm retired.

Chasing Dinner

Over hill and dale

shadows

slash

bottle green bushes.

Bits of fur

matted and stained

flutter

in the brisk

morning air and

descend

in a grassy knoll

fragrant

with

lily of the valley

soaked

in

rosemary

and

thyme.

Vog Sunrise

The scarlet sun slices

an ebony frame

dazzling the Iwa birds

circling violet water lilies

blowing orange kisses as

amber tongues poke

tall banyan trees

greening with dew.

From Wikipedia:


Vog is a form of air pollution that results when sulfur dioxide and other gases and particles emitted by an erupting volcano react with oxygen and moisture in the presence of sunlight....


**The Frigate Bird is called `Iwa, in Hawaii.

Purple Tongued Dendrobium

Sinister motive
purple tongued dendrobium
lavish phony praise.

Common Myna Pair

Common Myna pair
each louder than the other
earplugs required.

Dads vs. Grandpas

Here's a little humor---Happy Father's Day to all the Dads out there


Dads have it tough!

They have to correct their naughty children.
They have go to work and then come home and
work some more.
They have to fix what everyone else breaks.

They need to make an appointment for sex.


They have to wait for everything
wait for their wives to get ready
so they can go out and spend money
they don't have
on food that they already have
in the freezer.

They have to fight traffic-- twice a day-- FIVE DAYS A WEEK.

They have to wait
to have their toe nails trimmed
wait until Xmas for new shirts, ties, underwear and socks.

And wait for Father's Day to hear from their grown-up kids--Maybe!

Yeah--Dads have it tough!

Dads are good for car keys
an extra couple of bucks
and explaining about the birds and the bees.
They are dependable.
They are there when you need them and
if you get into trouble or just
want some support
even though they are usually in the dark
the last one you run to
after all else fails.

Yeah-Dads have it tough!

Dads get better with age
they mellow like an old pair of socks
that you can see through.
They become almost human
thoughtful and caring
they develop a sense of humor
soon after the last child
leaves the nest.

Yeah--Dads have it tough!

Now Grandpas-- they get all the perks
They get to spoil the grandkids
feed them junk food
buy them anything they want
drop them off two hours late
with toilet paper stuck to their shoes
giggling about some off color joke
they weren't supposed to hear.

SHH--remember not to tell your Dad!

Grandpas get all the news about school
and friends while Dad is plugging away
being responsible.

Grandpas know where all the bodies are buried.

Grandpas know how to fix that hole in the drywall
or that dent in the garage door
that your new car accidentally hit
while you were backing up
loaded on a few beers after graduation!

Yeah-- being a Dad is tough-- isn't that right Grandpa?

White Stephanotis

White Stephanotis
sings Halleluliah Chorus
releasing sweet scent.

Cannibal Stew

Native pot empty

warns open invitation

moist mortal dinner.

Swan

Graceful swimmer glides

spins lady photographer

twirls water haven.

Moth Orchid

Phalaenopsis grins

beneath moist canopy

echoes moths in flight.

Icarus

Icarus penquin

swims at local Hilton pool

swank amenities.

Fish Hawk

Fish Hawk scans green depth

stark orange focus intent

dinner at ten sharp.

Turtle Rant-Ku

The service here stinks

and we have to share our pool

with Antarctic birds.

Golden Shrimp Plants

Golden Shrimp flowers

trill lemon lollipop song

long throated glamour.

Spider Orchid

Arachnid visit

spins a welcoming mirror

engaging partner.

XYZ- XML

My rules for this one were to use XYZ in each sentence!!

Xian’s yellow xenon zephyr zooms-in-on Xanadu.

Xanthippe’s xenophobic XY zygote zigzags zip code zeroing-in-on zither.

Xerophyte x-ray yields yucca yelp zinging zinnia.

Zechariah’s XL zenana yields Yiddish zinfandel.

Yankee xylophonist yearns-for yodeling yogi in Zaire.

Xuzhou’s zucchini yardstick yields yawn in Zurich, yowl in Zanzibar.

Yonder xeriscape zooms in on zany yuppie in zoysia yelling for Yorkie.

Xuzhou: city in eastern China
XL: extra large
XML: a mark-up language that indicates the structural type of data
Zenana: harem
Zoysia: any of a genus of creeping perennial grasses having fine wiry leaves and including some used as lawn grasses.

Wayward--W’s-- Rictameter

Rictameter is a scheme similar to Cinquain. Starting your first line with a two syllable word, you then
consecutively increase the number of syllables per line by two. i.e. 2, 4, 6, 8, 10 Then down again,
8, 6, 4, 2 Making the final line the same two syllable word you began with.

Water

wheel, well- balanced

weather-beaten, waking

wanton wide-eyed water-lily

watching water-fowl win wistful wall-eye

warding west wind wending wasp-at

wee water-moccasin

wrestling wet, white

water.

Nurturing Hands

Working together means laulima in Hawaiian

Utilizing U’s --Cinquain

Cinquain is a short, usually unrhymed poem consisting of twenty-two syllables distributed
as 2, 4, 6, 8, 2, in five lines. It was developed by the Imagist poet, Adelaide Crapsey.

Urbane

Ukulele

Unorthodox union

Uttering Uxoriously

Uncle.

Telling T’s, cherita

I have been alliterating through the alphabet--learned alot of new words, and stretched with my friend Merriam Webster, however today with the letter T--I am reverting back to a structured form. Thanks everyone for hanging in there!!


Tongue tackles tact teaches transcendent taste.

Truth tweaks trust

trumps temptation.

Trilling To Try

taxes thoughts

trains to thwart triumph.

Savoring S’s

Sacred sage sachet soothes squeamish salamander.

Sarcasm sandwich smears self-righteous sheriff.

Sultry showers shift, splash Suns staunch splendor.

Splendid scene spanks sponsor spooning secretary.

Scavenger scarfs smoked sausage

signaling smiling shutterbug snapping sow.

Space-age spade shovels sovereign shit

spiking Saturn’s silent satellite.

Spotty spores sport sprouts splicing spleen.

Street walker streaks Safeway struts stringy stump

submitting suburbia- to sudden suffering.

Sugar survey summons sweet satisfaction

synapses signal synchronized symphony.

Pasta Poem

Pasta Poem


I’m having PASTA withdrawal, here!


I have a Casarecce condition

an epoch  Elbow gripe.

I am a Gemelli guerilla

married to Tommy Tortellini

who happens to be in a numb Noodle narcosis.

I live in petrified Penne poverty.

My revolver is stuck in a Rigatoni riddle

My bullets are ricocheting in a pool of ricotta

swearing in Shell shock.

You are playing with a vile villainess

wandering wired

without any Ziti-- zip

and now you dare tell me

we have no Linguini, no Spaghetti, and no meat for the sauce?

Goodbye!!

Scaling Peaks

Lanihuli peak

nimbly climbs to scenic heights

fanning free spirit.