November’s Spawn

November’s spawn
came in like a wet blanket
shed its care on my doorstep.

It forewarned
sad times were coming

I saw that it was heavy
that I should not try to lift it alone
and I am ready this time
resigned to the fact
that we are alone.

We will face this together
and move on

that is how we began our journey
that is how we will continue
until long after the winter
washes all our dirty laundry
clean and
hangs it out
to dry.

Alien Trial

They live among us

now as in the past
scores of them

left behind

frantic for a new beginning
their former lives forgotten
bolting back with ancient gods
through key magnetic fields
back to distant planets.

Their offspring
surfacing throughout history
providing us with the missing link
explaining the giants and the freaks.

A controlled experiment
that started with the
small-brained ape.

Also scattered behind
other-worldly signs
strategically erected
to discern and ponder
giant markers
blocking the night sky
and ancient air strips
drawing the way
back home.

Explaining Normal to an Alien

What’s normal Earthling


Where does it live
Is it under that rock
Does it crawl on four legs
Or walk upright
Play with fire
Take risks
Does it have to have a Mercedes
Sleep in the nude

Remember what it did
what it ate for dinner

Does normal worry

Does normal have meaning
Or does it just exist

Does normal get disappointed
Is normal creative
Does normal laugh

Does it ever fly off the edge

Self destruct
Have hot flashes
Sleep all night

Is my normal the same as yours
Does normal have to grow up
listen
Can normal hide
Does normal even exist
Is normal a choice

Can normal be warm and fuzzy
Smile a lot
Laugh at bad jokes
Soak up its fair share of Vitamin D
Drink alcohol and
Do drugs in moderation

Enjoy Sex

Dig its toes
deep into the sand
Eat organic vegetables
Wilted lettuce
know how to balance a checkbook
pay its bills on time
keep it's word

Have hobbies
Like hiking, running
Swimming
Bicycling
Boogey boarding

Stay busy
Volunteer

Eat pasta and pizza
Love dessert
Know GOD
Need to be heard
Require help and understanding
Is normal fickle

Well, Mr. Alien
Sometimes
if all the stars are aligned
and the earth's magnetic forces are fully charged
and the Moon is in Venus
and if you close your eyes and pray really really hard
and you gotta believe or it won't work then either
because those demons will get you if you're not careful
and you have to have lots of help from lots of  friends
then  
Normal
Makes goals
Practices
Asks for help
Sticks with it
when it gets hard.
Because normal
Knows that life is short.
And LOL
Normal knows it is
a dying breed
and that no matter
how you choose to dissect it
normal requires
water, food, friends,
a steady supply of oxygen
and low stress levels
in order to thrive.

Outliers

***A synopsis of “Outliers” –The Story of Success by Malcolm Gladwell

Outliers

excites

dares

penetrates your psyche

with its high IQ

eliminates the bull

propels you past Jupiter

challenges

everything

you know

and believe.

Outliers

questions

who you are

when you were born

where you live

how smart you are

why you succeeded

when others failed

the innate qualities

that reside within all of us

and then dares you to

exceed your

present

expectations.

Jazz Raz Ma Taz-Suki Sue and Slicky Dicky

Rat atat tum

slicky dicky come
clicking down the street
two hot bodies meet
snappy tappy dance
dark side dey prance
yolk running white
slinky slapping dyke

who gonna say

who gotta pay

rubber lips dey smack
boozer heart she whack
wet on yer nickel
jerk, jack be fickle
jazz raz ma taz
Suki Sue pizazz.

Underground Edinburgh

Ghoulish den of death

Edinburgh’s catacombs

preyed upon the poor.

Dependence

Dependence

weaves its fibers deep.

It watches
as you begin to falter
ready to pounce like a cat.
It scratches deep
leaves scars
that itch
a reminder of
the hold that it has.

You the hostage
it the toxin
your body craves.
It the venom
you lust after.

It the alien
tearing into your flesh
inserting a
humming metal diode
plugged in to your
nervous system
frequency ready.

Halloween

Hark
All Hallows Eve draws near
Lining up the livestock for slaughter for winter stores was
Linked to the ancient festival of Samhain. A time when
Otherworld borders were thin allowing both spirits good and evil in.
Warded off by guising on this
Elemental Autumn
Evening to celebrate the Celtic
New Year.

Vote--acrostic

Valuable
Opportunity
To initiate positive change
Elect your candidate today

Paul the Octopus

World Cup guesser dies
Paul the famous octopus
leaves aquarium.


From The Australian:"The world's most famous octopus, the underwater Nostradamus, the eight-armed cephalopod prophet of the football pitch, has died in his German aquarium.
The good news, foul play is not suspected."

Am I Crazy OR E.T.--Phone Home!

Am I crazy?

I have this feeling

I can’t seem to shake today

Maybe it’s because my bulova watch

didn’t come back. Only the parts

I needed, a new crystal and a battery

plus shipping.

I’m waiting for

Rod Serling

to call me

or Scotty to beam me up.

Captain there seems to be

a problem with the transporter

mechanism.

Kind of like Mr. Spock

playing chess

with a single

cell amoeba.

Meanwhile the Klingons

would be coughing up

greenish red snot tearing up

from laughing so hard.

Vowing like the terminator

to soon be back

before they

warped, factor 7 to the next galaxy

where the takeover would at least be a challenge for their intellect.

Red

Red
excites
unites
disturbs
unnerves
won’t apologize
and flashes hot before your eyes.

Doesn’t ask permission
or advice
persuades
demands
will do as it pleases
flirts and
lies
then strip teases
leaving you broke
red in the face
without remorse, a sore disgrace.

Wham bam
bleeds in the pan
surrenders juice
from the vine
to unwind
on the sand
getting tanned
wraps your wrist
in a twist
trails cut glass
sub atomic mass
finger pricks
smacking lips
autumn leaves
scarlet weaves
crimson blush
Cardinal crush.

Klepto Mom

Mom is a kleptomaniac.
She steals shiny baubles
from the jewelry counter at Sears.

She can’t afford
a gardener
but has plenty of
different colored handbags
to match every outfit.
She doesn’t do yard work.
Instead of roses and tulips
her yard
has weeds and poison ivy
Taking things is her way of
coping with
Dad
Especially now that they‘re saying
he’s got that old-timers disease.

So Sis, watch her
the next time we go shopping
just don’t tell her you know.

Solo in G Minor

Shama pierces silence, plays flutelike composition.

Obama Talks

Obama says SURE!

Suggests new referendum

sways local author.

Madame Tussaud’s—who do you want to meet?



Letters to a Prisoner

Prisoner letters

a mother cries out to world

Meth—not even once!

Criss Angel Believe

Criss Angel--Believe

Las Vegas illusionist

Mind Freak mania.

Crazy Horse Paris

Crazy Horse Paris

magic of lights and costumes

paint colorful dreams.

Zumanity

Zumanity swings

sensual Cirque du Soleil

frisky business.

Cirque du Soleil—Love

Cirque du Soleil—Love
is a kaleidoscope
wrapping the senses.

It's peace and love, warm and fuzzy
Beatles music
personified
reminding me of the musical genius
of John Lennon whose life was cruelly extinguished
outside his New York City apartment by a
monster with a gun.

A monster whose wife I met at church in
Hawaii, a devout unassuming woman. Still going
to work each day,
still alone.

Leaving On a Jet Plane

I’m leeea--ving on-- a jet plane


Do know-- when I’ll---- be back a—gain!

It’s the part in the middle
I’m not too sure about
It should be fun—funner, more fun
than anyone should have!
Three Cirque du Soleil Shows, comedy
and a plethora of female nude art
using color, subdued light and geometry.

Shopping
picture taking
people watching, sitting by the pool
slurping sodas, slapping sunscreen
on, shoveling through the desert
with a big spoon, going back for seconds
and then walking it off. Staying up way past

my bedtime far into the neon night
watching the stars line up
optimistic
that the magic roll of the dice
will levitate and rip through
the crack in the facade.

On Speeches

A brilliant three minute speech
reigns in the right hemisphere
of my brain. Or is it
the left? No matter
it plans to move to the
correct corner soon.

It promised.

In the meantime
I wait like
a hopeful puppy
with a pink ball
tossing ideas at the wall
hoping they bounce and snap back
so that I can shine
for a few moments
in the light of acceptance
before the gray balding
man in the back
goes home to daydream
about poetry
comes up with
a tantalizing verse of his own
and shares it
with the world.

Journey to the Center of the Earth 2

Movie set takes priority at Heeia Kea Boat Harbor.

No parking for anyone at anytime

between Ocotber 14th thru November 2nd.

Fisherman, Tour Boat Operators, Tourists,

left to flounder like a pod of

beached whales on a deserted isle.

Feeding the Boys

They gallop like horses

to the back of the house
answering their master’s call.

Who wants to eat?

Hungry, dripping saliva
tails wagging
ears pulled back
trained to wait
until he is finished
scooping out the dry
and finally adding the meat.

Canines glinting
they descend quickly
into their meal
inhaling the savory chunks.

Meat is what they hunger for
devoured first.
Tonight’s meal
short ribs
marinated and cooked
carefully deboned
meat not pedigree dry
leftovers for the doves and the mynas
who watch and wait
for the scraps.
Sizeable portions left behind
spilled in distracted haste.
Patient for their turn to feast
to puckishly perch on
metal rimmed bowls
in small semicircles.

Pecking and
cooing at their mates
who gossip above
in the octopus trees
about this morning’s
breakfast menu.

Sad

I should be happy not snappy
a clown

instead I drown in
the stroppy sphere
of tears
sliding bleakly down my
cheeks

a
danger
sign
in the Eden
of my mind.

Cleaning Day II

The Craftsman Wet/Dry vacuum
inhaled a yard of dirt and grass
from the garage floor on a sucking rampage
leering at the treadmill and weight equipment
freshly wiped down with ammonia
baying at the bottom
of two mirrors sprayed with Windex
dried to a streak free shine.
It howled inside the gold Hyundai
leaking soapy residue on the chipped cement floor

then pulled me to the Studio
where it jumped at the dusty cobwebs
spiders and centipedes
dead and alone.

Napping
this afternoon
now that it
has had
its fill.

Poetry Slam

I smell the sweet ginger
lei hanging from my office door
another birthday gift
from my son.

It makes me proud to be his mom

proud that I went last night
to something W A Y
out of my comfort zone

a poetry slam

where the average age in the room
put me into the mold category
sweet mold
but mold nonetheless. I loved meeting Kealoha
waiting in the wings
having my name called out, I loved that I was spot-on
my delivery, my timing.

And guess what
they gave me a 10
and some eights
and a seven point something or other
but H E Y, I did it.

I got up in front of
total strangers; the hot, and the self-righteous
the chubby and the unprepared.

and I delivered my lines and I forgot about being nervous
because I O W N E D that stage
I owned my poem
I owned my precious three minutes and
ten seconds and no one booed or hissed

Or said get off the stage Auntie.

And there was real talent in the room
Real honest-to-Jesus talent and it lifted me up
enforcing my belief in my new religion

A warm and fuzzy peach in the eye of the storm

And I saw Liz Soto of Youth Speaks
and I thanked her for being my inspiration
Mentioned her name on stage and she thanked me for that.

And we hugged.

My husband Tommy even said
He was proud of me.
That you poets are C R A Z Y
but that I showed spunk, that in spite of everything
I did get up and perform my poem
that I had practiced for weeks, polished like a diamond.

I think it caught him off-guard.

He said, that ten o’clock was way past his bedtime

that was why we had to leave before the end.

Before the esteemed author, Karen Finneyfrock, had
completed saying what she came there to say.
I heard her first three poems though.

And I was glad I did.

Because I K N O W I heard
what I was supposed to hear.

And well the rest will come soon

because I am a champion
not a quitter.

And free styling or practiced

It is MY TIME.

So step aside slam poets
plan to perform paperless
because I am here now
and my strong words
are dangerous.

Aiea Loop Trail

4.8 mile loop

Koa and Ohia trees
line tree rooted paths.

Backsplash

San Souci beach wall

wave action prompts photo-op

splish-splash excitement.

Diamond Head Hat Collection

Diamond Head’s rim view

Contributions optional

Trades 5-15

Barter is available

for lithe quick-thinking shoppers.

Phantasmagoria

 Twisting my way

into a dark jungle

pushing past awkward and wild.

As a valiant oak offers

cool shade

from the blistering sun.

Long forgotten leaves

surrender their hold

fall away

and expose old scars.

Submissive browns

reconciled reds and oranges

long-suffering yellows

raked and

heaped into piles

ready to finally

appease the gods.

A kaleidoscope

briefly

soothing the ache

that gnaws

like a fungus

mushrooming

white circles on the lawn.

Screamer

Sizzling screamer

passionate red head tips game

publishes dark tome.



Hole in the Ko'olau

Kamehameha's

legendary hole in cliff

to spot invaders.

Autumn Show

Autumn

croons

jazzy tune

trails

La Lune

in

harvest

swoon.

Windward Times— Special Edition, September 29th 2010

***A prose poem written in pidgin english

Da gross cockroach militia stays booming in da plumbing
in da face of mass killings in Kaneohe town.
Small kine remenants was seen unda da kine drain stops.
Our leaders met at da G8 summit behind braddah Kimo’s drainpipe stay Kahalu’u.

Kimo was heard to say—“Wat and you still alive?”

Rumors have pop up dat da militant Ant Army stay invading us on account of dey stupid leader,
da kine Mack-Mood I-Stay-One–Damn-Jerk,
who won one nodda election by his bullying.
We stay on da threshold of war. I repeat da invasion stay soon.
Bans going be carried out.
It was agreed dat furda talks going need happen
maybe next month at da Cockroach U. N. behind Auntie Carol’s Pearl City Bowl.

On one nodda note, da Common Myna’s
stay spurtin tru-out da Windward side.
Dis roach reporter saw
mass sightings of bird kookai-- piles brah!
Dis one--major.
Tunnels stay being blocked.
Dey was warned…. Bring yuz guys shovels we tink dey got one pony in dea.

On one lighter note,
Da Annual Cockroach Ball stay happening mid-October, try let dem know soon
if you stay come--eh?

Lady Gaga, Janet and Cher, our hot cuzins on da mainland,
stay proud to announce da grand opening dea new consignment store
at da site of da old Arakawas in Waipahu
dea got da kine gently used gowns wit wing slits on top
plus matching roach bags, titanium jewelry and get sticky spike shoes fo grab sweets
jus in case you need dance and run. Titas--No bring da kids--eh!

Dis just In--Da human peoples in da state still no more job,
us being watched, but brighter days coming,
Ho--da deadly freakin gas nearly gone wat!

In Sports—Wings Flapporino da Flyin Hawaiian scores da winning touchdown
winning over dea arch rival, Boots Black of da Bedbugs—who defeated da Stinkbugs from Philly last year --Final score, 32-2.

Weather Alert—Partly cloudy wit remote kine showers—Highs stay in da low 80’s, Lows stay in da low 60’s Same as always—brah! Hey baboose--Try keep da storm drains closed and carry one snorkel—no need floaters, downpours stay flooding low lying pot holes-one risky bugga dat!
Try member da numba one cockroach rule, cuz--Safety First!

We stay proud to bring you dis edition of da Windward Times

Paid for wit cash by Butterfly Airlines, da junior of Monarch Butterfly

Flying Furda den da Rest—Cos Can!

Ancient Birthing Stones--Koolau Golf Course

Ancient birthing stones

isolated ocean view

spiritual flow.



Searching for a Savior

They called him

teacher,

skilled and

wise.

They feared

his gaze

the fire in his eyes.

He did things

that they could not explain

why

they sold him

in exchange

for their pain.

He came with a special guarantee

believe it

and you will be set free

but science later

came along

and put their blinders back on

to wander lost

throughout time

without a savior

powerless to find.

A host of casualties

to heap up the cost

in this village of the damned

forever lost.

Plumbing Hell

**This is my creation---using real places and an ancient ruler whose bones remain hidden today.

     Kamehameha I was also known as The Great One

The supernatural

lurks
beneath the plumb
of perception
waits in misery
and obscurity
for discernment.

Sometimes
you can hear them
as you hike
up the Stairway to Heaven.

Climbing up steep
cliff ladders with
howling winds at your back
the almost imperceptible
low chanting and drums
between the undulating peaks
shrouded in mist.
Pointing
to the petroglyphs
naming
the hidden path
to the secret tomb
of The Great One
a formidable foe
even in death.

Calling up things better left alone
as an apparition appears
somber

from beneath miles of sediment.

Larger than life
intent to lead
his army of
night marchers.

Blood-thirsty
lips cry
bewitch waterfalls
unlock ancient doors
between emerald cliffs

waking hell’s elite mercenaries

a foul eruption
panting in the shadows
hungry for flesh
leering in the gloom
as he
brutally stabs
a black widow.

Her web
thick with
motionless prey
entombed
and screeching
his name.

Blue Angels

Slice sky

blue pie

solo cross

diamond floss

smoky exhaust

spiral gravity

pure depravity

ozone cavity.

Night Music

The north wind gasps in
the wee hours as
pipes play and ghosts dance
across the coast highway, wreaking havoc.

 
Naani is one of Indian's most popular Telugu poems. Naani means an expression of one and all.

It consists of 4 lines, the total lines consists of 20 to 25 syllables. The poem is not bounded to
a particular subject. Generally it depends upon human relations and current statements

Wishful Thinking

Wishful thinking

is something we  adopt
a bright idea that comes at the worst possible time
and stays long after its welcome is worn out
like an old pair of garden gloves
with holes in the fingers
comfortable, but they no longer
do the job.

Unable to let them go
you then
try to fix them,
when one surely disappears
you convince yourself that sooner or later it will turn up
and everything will work out, but it never does.

Not until long after
you’ve thrown its mate into the trash
and it’s been hauled away
by that giant yellow truck
reeking of dead fish and stale beer.

Mask

MASK

death mask

preserved age

displayed in Cairo

enameled gold and gems
guarded the soul from evil

“Egyptian clay mask remedy”

Pedicure

Feet
soak in
tepid swirl
nails clipped, shaped, filed.
Cuticles pushed back
calluses shaved, feet scrubbed.
Moisturizer massaged deep
into toes and calves up to knees
energizing tired feet and legs.
Red nail bed summons white hibiscus sketch.

Confessions of a Pioneer Woman

My name is Gert


my corset hurts

my hair is fine

wrapped tight with twine.

My day begins

before the sun

with cows to milk

and chores a ton

My husband died

from the grippe

left me

six kids

and a buffalo chip.

The banker said

his last check bounced

across the prairie

unannounced

I’m good at sewing

can make a mean pie

spin a tall yarn

look you dead

in the eye.

I’ll groom your horse

keep the home fires

burning

just get me out

of this

butter churning.

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.