Category Archives: Poetry

The Mess

Poemblaze challenged me to compose a poem using three particular words.  Can you guess which ones?

The Mess

The baby’s diaper
attained the shape
of an igloo.

The exasperated mother
the mess, aiming at
the Westboro Baptists
on the front lawn.

Calmly, she applied
to the baby’s bottom.

As it Shall Be

This poem was inspired by some recent conversations I have had with my fiancée concerning how we might handle the ‘holidays’ with future children. I should probably indicate that the future presented below was not one of the more serious options discussed.

As it Shall Be

Bobby, and Suzy, and Patrick
all get presents on Christmas.
They say Santa Claus
comes down their chimney
the night before
and leaves them cool stuff.
They can’t explain
how Santa doesn’t get burned

It’s not logical.
I don’t know who
gives them their presents
but I know where mine come from.

Shadrach, Meshach,
and that guy with the name
I can’t pronounce
I call him Abe.
They come down our chimney
not on Christmas eve
but the night before
the 25th day of Kislev
a month that appears
on a calendar that hangs
on the refrigerator
held by a magnet
with a six pointed star.

Many years ago
Shadrach, Meshach
and Abe
survived the fire
a mean guy
named Nebachasomething
threw them into
so it’s logical
they can survive
our chimney.

Dad says this guy
named Judah Maccabee
was the great great great grandson
of Abe, and Judah
fought against some Syrian Greeks
and saved our ancestors.

The Syrians are still bad guys
but they’re no longer Greek.

Mom says Dad is full of hooey
and that some Syrians
might actually be OK,
and Judah
isn’t really descended from Abe,
but Dad is a genealogist
so he would know.



My brown eyes
splash inside the pools
of your grays

heedless whether
anyone else gets soaked
in the process

I seek
for my selfishness


quick attempts
at committing hay(na)ku.

Fictional Words

Bob said.
“Meh,” Carol replied.

Word Replacement

can fly.
But not I.

Yoda in Steel Cage Writes Poetry

window, the
sunlight enters through.

Poets of the World Unite – We have nothing to lose but constraints!

Poets of the World Unite
We have nothing to lose but constraints!

May First, Two Thousand Eleven
On the one hundred twenty fifth
Haymarket anniversary
I strike for poems five lines in length;
No more than eight syllables each.

Haymarket Affair – May 1-4, 1886

Note: The 1886 strike was for a five day, forty hour work week. From which I obtained the idea for the poem.

What Did You Learn at School Today (poem)

Are you wondering about the poetry I am writing during National Poetry Month?

Here’s my latest:

What Did You Learn at School Today

“Quote or paraphrase
The classics
And the women
Will fall at your feet,”

I was told
So I approached
The redhead
On the cheerleader squad
And told her

“Even as a cow
You’re lovely.”

Her fist
Told me either
She wasn’t fond
Of Ovid
Or perhaps
I could have
Paraphrased it differently.