A poet bee

'holehearted  |   Essence  |   23 me's  |   Dear Saint Pete  |   Hear alone  |   Chronic  |   Fall thankful  |   Election day  |   Censored  |   A shore  |   October's end  |   Honkers  |   Unfulfilled  |   Titan plight  |   Nemoria  |   Rendered  |   Odysseus sailed  |   Thurnby 2347  |   Mourning meal  |   From the deep  |   Spell bound  |   Molt  |   Learning  |   Gold wife  |   Slight insights  |   Dangerous  |   A photo shared  |   Unusual beauty  |   Sméagol  |   Soul digger  |   So am I  |   B-day present  |   Cheer up tree  |   Mind feels  |   Resting wishes  |   Northward bound  |   Forward reflections  |   Beyond 2045  |   Fluff or facts  |   But'll evermore  |   Enlightening  |   Our wall  |   Sh't  |   Blue moon  |   Our choice  |   Always clockwise  |   Irreverence  |   Heaven prep  |   Sundae school  |   Superstition rules  |   Puerto Rico  |   Suicide advice  |   Cat a can  |   How rumours begin  |   Improvised jazz  |   Sobriety  |   'S no bind  |   The secret  |   Pillow talk  |   Ever more?  |   Know more  |   Cold lesson  |   Moon twist  |   Flow  |   Churchmess  |   Fermented whine  |   Exile  |   Life's nuts  |   Truth  |   Listen  |   Nap  |   Half blink  |   Eyes up  |   Want to sleep?  |   Light's back  |   Curb  |   Raise your glasses  |   Lurking  |   Today  |   Unwanted  |   Creep thrills in Texas  |   Bedtime soundly with Tori Lee  |   Night shift  |   In the prealarm  |   Team names  |   Billboards  |   Bone age beyond  |   Marriage reprieve  |   Moths don't die  |   Rain eclipsed  |   Moth supper  |   Smothereens  |   Monkey business  |   Six sense  |   Mind be hind  |   Still comfort  |   Forget  |   Alone  |   So our eclipse  |   Whole story  |   Texas recycles  |   Deterrence  |   Meteoritic indecency  |   Daylight  |   Sound commute  |   Tonight  |   Moths or butterflies?  |   Dawning logic  |   Athwart stop  |   Pastures  |   Nocturnid  |   Enter no net  |   Gold a more  |   Christmas fun  |   On moth lights  |   Me spoken  |   A poem  |   Cheesy  |   Odoriferate  |   Thanksgiving  |   Sing euclarity  |   Cat the verb  |   Fourteen cucks  |   Mull form  |   Morning call  |   Longbet  |   Take leave  |   Nursery devilution  |   World pay  |   Starving  |   Cheers  |   Imagine  |   Unpresidential debate  |   Grins  |   Say once  |   Babybet  |   Sinister  |   Two 'lypes  |   Whistle  |   Drunken  |   Clown croans  |   A loss so free  |   Count'ess  |   Reflection  |   Feed  |   Free will  |   Root on  |   Have beans  |   Lease of life  |   Done  |   Safe escape  |   Arachnids  |   Guilty been  |   Jurors  |   Black mark  |   Unusual care  |   4:42AM  |   Twenty-seven  |   Ages  |   Buttercup  |   Beauty abounds  |   'rump on religion  |   A prayer  |   Fast lane collection  |   Onward  |   Thug resistance  |   Texan dope  |   Halliburton foiled  |   Odor rant  |   Medusa  |   S'unken 'eads  |   Goose refused  |   Just say know  |   Question  |   eMythology 101  |   English, dun time  |   'now  |   O', pen  |   A wake 'n  |   'appy 'alloween  |   Discovery  |   Opercularis  |   'old on  |   Pollination  |   First steps  |   Palabric nonscience  |   I think not  |   Ol' Testiclement  |   Virgin birth  |   Hope so  |   Gender  |   If, now  |   A where  |   Trooo start  |   A start at art  |   Triangles  |   Gallipoli  |   Slime  |   Shortsighted, we see  |   Where are me moffs?  |   Resolution  |   Mary, Mary  |   So n't challenged  |   Solstice  |   December, birds  |   Why? Zed  |   Delectable, erectable dysfunction  |   Silver  |   Orange  |   Thream words  |   Breakfast  |   Moth math  |   Your loss, she wept  |   Soapless  |   Instigate, hope  |   Bedtime boo, who?  |   Sleepless pain  |   A spider lesson  |   Tar learns to fly  |   Just smile  |   Wedding dishes  |   Life depends upon you  |   Wolf moon  |   Layers not enough  |   Look, sea  |   The soul of music  |   Happy New Year  |   Another pole, Cat  |   Predawn sounds  |   A toast to 2013, without Marmite  |   Unexpected  |   Navigation  |   Nam from Mantucket  |   Better ending?  |   Beard  |   Love, hope, and forgiveness  |   A poet bee  |   Life's what you make of it



After rain
Soft ground
innocent Child
Four years old
Maybe less
Plays around

Neighbour hears
Loud questions
Without tears
Smart suggestions

When dat cat dies
will we put it
in a hole, Child cries,
cover it up wid dirt?

Well, may I dig
de hole den?
is Child's wish.
May I dig it now
since ground's squishy?

answer unheard,
likely, No

grave digger
wanna-be insists.
Bedda to dig hole
and have it ready
when we need it.
Some day
dat cat will die.
Dis way
nobody has to dig
when dey're sad.

Cat wanders by,
Looks on

I wonder next day,
Is dat cat dug in yet?

Or does fun an' all,
black veils
smiles to shroud
still await?

      4 December, 2018, 9:01AM



91 young

Two beers
three margaritas
'nother beer
and a half, shared

Bash head

Up again


Such fun

92 awaits.

      28 November, 2018, 1:20AM


23 me's

Your many faces
Grown from mother
Groan from another
Sown more, other races

      27 November, 2018, 3:12PM


Dear Saint Pete,

My test at heaven's gate
should surely wait,
I here advocate.

Sweet mead of pleasure,
immortal angels of lust
kissed these lips,
flow in my blood.
Talk with me, you must.

This well-worn,
worldly soul of mine
wisely readies.
It seeks a long postponement,
or better yet,
an unholy reprieve,
your Lord's pardon please.

As my drunkard words
confess this life's truth,
boldly laugh with me
at much foolishness.
Don't dilute such fun.
Any goodness,
my kindness,
forgiving side,
deeper hide,

So. No rush.
The bean-tally's
not ready.
No holy reward
of death
yet needed.

Hell, had I known
not to forgive the Devil,
I might have left
other friends,
sinners unforgiven,
stained my humanity
with more than red wine.

If the time comes,
judge kindly, I beg.
Rest this warm soul
in heaven,
as flawed
but just.

you wouldn't want
to quench my thirst
in hell for eternity
with silence,
and chastity.

Nor for now in heaven.

So let me stay here,

Yours (eventually),
in all sincerity,

      25 November, 2018, 3:58PM


Hear alone

I, Dios,
am an idiot,
on my own.

Without your eyes
I feel little,
see less.

No sound whys
now work my wise.

sit for days,

Come back.
Breathe on me.

      25 November, 2018, 1:00PM



No funny rhyme,
just a riddle.
Is damn Lyme
in me middle?

Ticks, red bite,
back pain, fever.
'Twas not alright,
'til pill reliever.

Nurse doxy pop,
curse your cure,
nausea, weight drop,
zzzz for sure.

Now 'ands sleep numb,
spirochetes keep 'idden.
Mind me dumb,
if I am ridden?

      22 November, 2018, 8:56AM


Fall thankful

I hear the wind,
nothing more.

No rain drops,
for they have stopped.

Nor footsteps,
wet-leaf quietened.

The unbothered
November gusts
brush past
the unfallen,
blowing in
the unknown.

my core is calm
in the fogless,
fifty-degree warmth
of today's predawn
before-light darkness.

Silent thoughts.
Harvest done.
No hunger here.
Dreams well met.
We need no more,
just each other.

Now winter comes
with its rest.

the wind talks
of yet another year.

What awaits us?

We'll see.

Together we walk on.

      14 November, 2018, 9:03AM


Election day

Poll counters,
you up yet?
Ready to cast
your votes
and others out?

A blank ballot box,
or self inflicted braining bullet,
would overly express my enthusiasm
for your rigged system.

Without any real choice,
even a say in the matter,
our majority stay
or are kept away.
We watch a facade
staged by the descendants
of the friends of King George III
and the long line of kings,
Roman emperors before him.

Wealth and power
plunder on.

      6 November, 2018, 8:50AM



      30 October, 2018, 7:32AM


A shore

Washed like sand grains,
my sure of memory fades.
Stones to pebbles beaten,
it rushes back and forth
with the hush of thought
waves rolling,
a jumbled mumble
of words scrambled,
more and more memories
lost, confused
in the muddled flow
of needless ramble.

What can my aging
mind now form?

Slow rivulets,
maybe just a puddle,
I fear.

Or more,
this elder's

We'll see.

      27 October, 2018, 6:51AM


October's end

Autumn crestfallen,
failing-light saddened,
wasp nests disband.
Their souls go off.
Queens mate,
winter hide.
Drones done,
sisters spent,
they die.

Goldenrod heads
blow in the wind,
wave the flag
of summer gone,
then fade,
shed seeds,
dry back.
Only some brave asters
show longer,
feed the last
of the bumble bees.

All creatures
and green
heed October's
cloudless blue,
chilling crispness.
shorter days.
The lucky,
those sent forth
still living,
They suck in,
fatten up,
change form,
dig deep,
or move away.

Sun treks south,
sends his warm rays
to austral lands.

Songs stop.

Trees flash fire
before their damned
leaves drop.

Heavenly angels retreat.
Our darkening north
is no safe place for them.
They abandon us.

But we are not alone.

Possessed gray moths
fly through the black.
The spirits of the dead
rise up with them,
return by the horde.

Halloween beckons.
It's time to celebrate,
remember, reckon,

Without the sun-loving,
the righteous,
we're all home now
to party,
dress wild,
drink blood
burn together
with the unknown.

Get out.
Have a bang.

We carry on.

      14 October, 2018, 2:26PM



Three days of autumn
after the equinox,
they came in force
from the north,
flew low above
the hickory-browning,
just barely winter-turning forest.
Strong, noisy birds,
more muscled than our residents,
they Hitchcocked the moment.
Their flock,
silhouetted by sinking sunlight,
was a mass of tightly packed migration,
clustered strands
of dark Christmas dinners
on long, broad wings,
too many for a well kept V.

The wild horde,
thirty birds at least,
flew past me
towards our lake.
Will they land?
Will they rest the night?
I was thrilled
by the thought
of them staying.
But no.
After dominating
all sound
and my focus
for a minute or two,
they flew on southwards.
Together their communal calls
faded away.
Sadly they were gone.
A brief joy,
their gift to my memory.

What are those sounds
arching back from the southeast?
Yes, soft honks.
They're coming back!
The gregarious cacophony
made its second pass,
turning up Nature's volume
to noisy again.
Maybe up to fifty geese
is my second guess,
as they beat past me,
over the lake once more,
then fade.

There's hope.
It's safe here.
Y'all should come back,
I wanted to call.

And they do.
Their third pass
swings in from way out beyond
the western ridge's trees
that tower above the water.
Their figure-eight
caution tour completed,
they drop down
from the dusk,
land, and silence.
Fifteen minutes after sunset
their flight ends.
We are blessed,
hosts of travelers.

Well hidden below our house,
wrapped by trees,
our guests can rest.
I am compelled
by curiosity and respect
to meet them,
greet their journeying spirits,
learn their number and ways.
But I cannot.
Darkness comes,
delays my welcome.
I must wait.

The too-low-in-the-eastern-sky moon,
one night wane from full,
readies with light.
She'll get up
but can't be rushed.
So like an excited
night-before-Christmas child,
I can only imagine
the presence below,
until more light appears.

Two hours after
the flock's arrival,
a coyote pack howls
near the far, shallow
end of the lake.
Do the geese care?
Are canids their friends,
a reassuring sign to them
of wild hunterless safety?
I do not know
but hope so.

An hour after midnight,
Moon's high in the sky,
flushing light on and off.
She's quite bright
in the clear sky
between the white clouds
but unhelpfully dim
when the wind blows them over her.

Enough of patience,
the time is now right
for loyal dog, Sophie, and I
to sneak down for a peek,
pay our honoured guests a visit.

Poor Mars takes a pass.
Out of view above the southern horizon,
he hides behind the trees
and cannot watch our show.

Armed with binoculars, camera,
tripod, flashlight, and phone,
we set off for the dock
at the deep end of the lake.
Sophie soon heads off
to explore on her own,
oblivious to the big birds,
I suspect, armadillo chasing
being more her speed.

I am alone,
thrilled at my first sight
of the distant,
dimly lit geese,
floating murky blobs,
clustered this side
of the beaver-chopped
flotsam, fallen logs,
and swampy shallows.

You're too far.
Creep closer,
my inner child commands.

Using the moonlight, I do.
I take the path
through the trees
to the small sapling-cleared old field,
which edges the lake's middle.
Slowly, quietly
I station myself
on the shore
by the bullrushes.
I dare not go farther,
for I fear the flock
might scare.
I cannot go farther,
as thick switchcane walls back
the reckless child.

I have a view.

The birds are not asleep.
Necks up, they swim slowly,
pushing through the carpet
of green Wolffia pond scum.
They do not feed.
Pairs and larger groups
fission and fuse.
From the shadows
of the far bank's trees
to the birds on the open
moon-blue-lit green.
the dimness hides
the white cheeks of all.
I struggle to count forty.
Then again, forty-one.

A rustle comes
from near the cane,
through the grass.
Sophie returns to my side.
She pukes yellow slime
by my foot.
No more cheese for you,
I whisper.
It's time for bed.

Good night, Geese.
Thanks for coming.

The barred owls are silent,
no cooks for you.

Our usual morning routine begins.
We're outside by 6:16.
I photograph porch-light moths.
Sophie chases critters.
After twenty-one moths
and critters gone,
I record the predawn sounds.
A distant crow caws,
tree crickets sing,
cardinals chime in,
an unknown trill and rattle,
a nut falls,
a lonely ground cricket tries,
distant traffic drones.
No honks.
I wonder.
Warm up notes.
When will the symphony begin?

A honk.
First call.

I dash to the dock,
as quietly as fast can do,
recording as I go.
More honks.
Tree crickets chorus.
Cardinals play piccolo refrain.
Many honks.
I count 43 geese and try again.
A Lord God bird hollers.
Other birds tweet in.
Too late for my last count.
Our guests are leaving,
coming towards me as one.
In sudden, dramatic excitement
four hundred pounds of honking Canadas
paddle, flap, splash, barrel together
down the lake, get airborne.
As they come overhead,
wing beats deafen
in helicopter synchrony.
Tchaikovsky's cannons unneeded.
The mass passes.
Doppler silence.
A straggler flies to catch up.
Their calls go forth.
A handful of minutes before sunrise,
they're away.

The pileated woodpecker now bashes bark
atop the majestic skeleton of a scarlet oak.
The cricket chorus continues.
Another nut crashes through the trees.

Unsprayed, uncut, unplowed, unshot,
my life here struggles and thrives.
Its music tells of seasons,
of health, of peace.

      3 October, 2018. 4:13PM



Clear August sky.

Bright full moon.

Red God of War's
out too.

Seven heavenly virtues.
What about them?

I'm drunk.

You must be joking.

Now there's a thought.


Tomorrow's calling.

It's time for bed.

      26 August, 2018, 12:33AM


Titan plight

Atlas wonder,
'hole world,
wrought high,
shoulders done,

So as not to bother,
I'll cry on some other.

Your Atlantic fills
with tears shed.

Goodbye, Asia.

We sail west
to a new land
of hope
and now honey.

But the natives
don't welcome us.

They shouldn't.

      24 August, 2018, 1:29AM



A thousand
green moths,
living emeralds,
will confuse.

Sorted and missorted,
named and misnamed,
resorted and renamed,
they still confuse.

Distal spots be damned!
Are their PM lines
smooth or jagged?

No paradigm shift here
but glacial science.
Frozen wing beats
call for clarity
one moth at a time,
and place,
as small,
telling pieces
struggle to fit
into life's
survival puzzle.

      4 August, 2018, 5:14AM



Ice cream fed
a sweet tooth craver.

I see, said my blind
inner sooth saver.

Eyes right,
yells the sargeant.

I please well,
she whispered,


I write,
she left.

Then went
to know repent.

      29 July, 2018, 8:02AM


Odysseus sailed

If a Cyclops gets
a glass eye,
it's only for looks,
Narcissus echoes.

If one bears glasses,
prepare to drink,
no nymph tempts.

Cavely Polyphemus
gets blinded, drunk.

hang on to your sheep.

your son's eye's gone.
Tricked, he failed.
Go anger divine
from your deep.
So vengeance is thine.

      28 July, 2018, 8:41PM


Thurnby 2347

My phone exchange
and number as a boy,
inculcated in 1960,
58 years ago.
We used it for 7 years.

Life was simpler then.

Or was it Thurnby 2446?
My recall only just muddled,

Life is simpler now.

Back round

Bedroom ceiling fan spins.
It has for 23 years.
How many revolutions?
Who knows?
It does its job.
It keeps us cool,
circulates the air.
When we're gone,
nobody will remember this,
certainly not us!

The daily

Muse, this is about process,
our lives, nothing profound.
You have three hours
of my night. Let's go.

Yesterday was our
wedding anniversary,
the miracle of 39 years,
four children,
a meal, a movie,
early to bed,
so tired.
After two hours,
I woke.
She snores beside me.
I write.
What of all this will
our grandchildren know?

They'll have lives
of their own,
shouldn't care.

      21 July, 2018, 4:45AM


Mourning meal

A bat flies
over my light,
up to know good,
not bad for breakfast,
a moth if he could.

Moths on the wall,
lured by false moon,
rest, safe for now.

But no,
before sunrise,
hunting chirps,
sharp eyes,
red crest.
What the bat
didn't have,
cardinal bird will.

      17 July, 2018, 6:53AM


From the deep

Brain beaten
by dreams.
Struggled out.
Now awake.

Feel much better than
yesterday's without--
no sleep,
no dreams,
no struggle.

Another afternoon
has come.

Where's the coffee?

      13 July, 2018, 12:42PM


Spell bound

The giant
orange and black
cumulus called,
sucked me toward.


I was lured.

Dog's work,
in full glory,
burning sun atop,
brighter than
any cathedral
stained glass,
window of the soul.

A calling.

Puffs of darkness
The devil's words
crowded the white,
cloaked around.

Surely a subject
for dyslexic revision,
but onward.

We sped forward.
I leapt from the car,
dodged three lanes
of rush hour,
ran down the road,
jumped onto
a magic carpet,
and flew its waves
around and over
the erupting
Vesuvius of weather
for what seemed like
a life but was really
not even so very far.

Talked to Dog
the whole way.

We landed safely.

What a ride.
Even have a photo
that I can show.

Cell phone technology's
pretty good,
you know.

And that's me story.
Not much else to tell.

      See image:   image

      18 June, 2018, 4:55AM



If I were a spider
and could shed me skin,
how would I rebegin?
What would I do?
Would I still marry you
or laugh off a closet hider?

      2 May, 2018, 7:47AM



Sixty-five today
and I'm blessed.
It's not all in me head,
much unknown
still in the zed,
awaiting discovery,
a continued great joy
for me life ahead.

      30 April, 2018, 5:26AM


Gold wife

I still seek
your salt tear of life
upon my mind,
lick its love
from your face,
find your soft skin again
with my tongue's tip,
recall our joy,
exotic tropical tastes,
dancing eyes of youth,
our fingers run
across spring
before the summers'
beads of sweat.

From the wet smells
our flesh and blood
were born.
Nested and fed,
they grew and flew.
Our success.

Let's try friendship,
autumn's kindness now,
as we walk our ways
together in the evening
glory of garden sunsets
and go to sit alone
in memory's smile
of moonlight.

      10 April, 2018, 11:31AM


Slight insights

The large
dinosaur droppings
by the lake
are not.

A happy man
with a large onion
can weep for weeks.

The green tree frog
by the porch light
but not for dawn.

As the shell-less slug
makes it home slowly,
my small dog barks
too much.

Sadly, when God
is an atheist,
even the saints
stay away
from Heaven.

The webless spider
looks to jump
but doesn't.

The lonely wasp
stings me not
but would if grabbed.

Tonight's owls howled
for a reason
but I know not what.

In his mourning
the poet
without a word

And my radio
without a sound
tells little.

      29 March, 2018, 9:16AM



A stream of cats
steals our privacy.
we blindly share
their playful ways
with the eyes of others,
who mine our worlds
and sell our minds
to those who now
control our souls.

      27 March, 2018, 12:33AM


A photo shared

You clearly lost a fun friend.
Glad your grieving tears
washed away some of memory's aging
and polished her image.
Smile upon her silly pose.
What else can you possibly do
but love on, kindly,
until you too are just
memories in our lore,
fading words on wood,
brush strokes, molded clay,
and chipped reminders in stone.

A modern plan is to be
scrambled with sand,
but when we are
we certainly won't worry
or care.

So make a silly pose,
share a selfie,
and let's laugh now.

      27 March, 2018, 11:53AM


Unusual beauty

Whether by the design
of a dyslexic dog
or the cruel dealings
of your developmental
mishandling of some
new mutant means,
you, Quadrillium,
are a strange,
magnificent one.
You made it,
from the normal,
not a lucky Irish
four-leaf clover,
but a different
gentle giant
amongst your
Trillium clan,
a perfect
hopeful monster.
would wonder
at your form,
take pleasure,
grin with pride.

Four leaves,
four petals,
four sepals,
your new symmetry
displayed with glory.

But whatever for?

With whom will you mate?

Will you confuse the bees?

Will your plan
now be passed on
to a new genus,
or be scrambled back
into Trillium's
conservative world,
or end in deathly solitude?

It'll not be child's play
to plug your square peg
into a triangular world.

Win or lose,
without a goal,
without a thought,
at least the hard hand
of chance tried,
with some success,
to bring about
your three-plus-
one-more excess.

So wait hidden amongst
the profusion of beauty
in Calloway Sinks'
rich herbaceous layer,
entangled with
the tried and true.
Time will tell.
New forms will come,
others go.
As for yours,
we do not know.

A million years
from now,
things will be different,
as they'll change
every tomorrow,
by small increments,
Nature's punctuated jokes,
and wicked asteroids.

We fear change,
try to keep
things the same,
expend much futility
on protecting
the status quo,
as we warm
and on we go.


Let's embrace
our future
as it comes.

Unless time ends,
change is the norm.

Beauty remains.

      25 March, 2018, 4:55PM



My prescient,
the urgency
before the quake
is felt by few.
Wait not
on the mountain top
but throw yourself
from the shore cliff
into life's giant wave,
surf its splendors,
dash ageless
against beauty,
and let your spirits
do the worry
for us both
in our next world
beyond the sun,
where Oxford commas
will be gone.

      22 March, 2018, 7:43AM


Soul digger

Rain fed,
buttons of trust,
if you don't know
where you're going,
and we rarely do,
enjoy the journey,
giving kindness
to another.

      22 March, 2018, 7:22AM


So am I

A growing farm
feeds my soul.
As I dig,
each soil spade
gently drains me mind,
fills it with peace,
some solitude and joy.
Poems struggle for water,
their stolen thought time.
It rains today.
So you get this.

One poem escaped.

      6 March, 2018, 10:51AM


B-day present

For your b-day present,
I've dug us two
side-by-side shallow graves,
so that when we're ready,
we can rot together forever.
I'm sure this is certainly
the most creative,
original present
that you've ever
ever been given,
and sadly,
probably the sweetest.
Your loving,
wicked English friend
wishes you a super b-day.
Celebrate your 50th hard!
This may be your last.
Much love.

      1 March, 2018, 12:31AM


Cheer up tree

you made
blood-purple to pink
candle buds stab forth,
ignite, unroll,
unfold a treeful
of grand cream-white
saucer-cupped blossoms
for us all to wonder.

We gasped,
breathed in
your spectacular
ornamental splash,
a life-memory, gift of joy,
a proud, vain beacon,
harbinger of spring.

But what now?
A week gone bye,
the ground awash
in petalled tears,
fallen beauty.
Flowers done.
You's through,
off the scream thrown.

An ephemeral flash
and you's as plain
as the other trees,
vanity forgiven
but unforgotten,
moving on to leaves.

Console yourself.
The beauty,
come and gone,
is not the fade
of your youth
into endless age.
After summer burn,
fall reflection,
winter slumber,
with good health,
she'll surely return.

When wisdom
or beauty grow
with the years,
one's truly blessed.

So go ready your star
for next spring's louder show.

      27 February, 2017 1:06PM
      27 February, 2018, 12:53AM


Mind feels

When a plane is careening earthward,
the optimists on board think it's aimed
at a liquor store. The pessimists,
that the toilet paper's run out.

An optimist dreams that when
he goes for his annual physical
that a beautiful young intern
will examine him. A pessimist
thinks exactly the same, but
that she'll have long finger nails.

An optimist thinks that a glass
is half full, while a pessimist,
that it's full -- of germs.

Optimists think that Wall Street
is going up. Pessimists do too.
Surely it's someone's ground zero.

Optimists think we can teach
children not to take candy
from strangers. Pessimists know
we can't stop our government
from taxing a pound of flesh
from each.

Optimism is a state of mind.
So's Alzheimer's.

Eventually you'll stop.

      23 February, 2018, 2:04PM


Resting wishes

No shallow grave plans for me.
Such diggings are better for beets,
onions, potatoes, even eggplants
and their friends. I want to go
to med school when I'm finally ready.
Promised me mum, because she wanted
me to go and become her son the doctor.
I failed, disappointed her,
not wanting to spend my working life
always around miserable sick folk,
their dribbling snottiness,
itching hemorrhoids,
and miasma of others moans.
Better a life teaching the ways
of the world to young happy minds,
who have yet to have their ideals
aged away and be in need of nursing.

Patience, Mum, your wish may come true.

Unfortunately, there is a wrinkle
in my plan. My wife thinks going
to medical school to be cut up
into bits when you're done
is a disgusting deal.
Won't have any of it.
Feeding worms and veggies
is a more dignified ending
for her poor husband,
who'll by then be beyond
his last say in the matter.
So should she outlive me,
I'll end trek to me grave.

But if she goes first,
fear not, no grave for her.
She's off to med school
to train young minds
in the art of pickled flesh.
And then, I'll eventually join her,
together forever in pieces.

      19 February, 2018, 5:53AM


Northward bound

A little after three today,
in a warm February gusty breezy,
whilst bowing on my dam,
throwing arrows into hay bales,
I heard them,
grunting their trill
sounds in the sky,
the magic of big louds.

Below the low,
fluffy-white gray clouds,
way above the bare
oak and hickory fingers
stretching towards the heavens,
a flock of seventeen passed,
flying in a crescent,
not a V-formation.
And on, to the north.

Then gone.

My thrill
in their sighting
left behind.
I've never seen
the migration of these
noisy large birds
over my house before,
only to the west,
above Atlanta and beyond.

Then more fast grunts
from the south.
Within a minute,
two more Vs together,
formation flying,
breaking up, reforming,
as they passed,
off-on obscured
by the canopy zebras.
The second flock,
thirty-nine more
travellers together,
with the uncertainty
that I might be out
on my count
by one or two,
as their dance behind
the treetops challenged
my old eyes to keep
step with them,
moved along at the same
steady, swift speed
as the first flock.

And now they're gone too,
to Lake Michigan surrounds.

Once again
Florida empties
in preparation
for crane pairing
and the coming
work of spring.

And mystery smiles,
how do they know
when and where to go?

      16 February, 2018, 5:15PM


Forward reflections

A week ago, dog and I,
we heard a peeping
good dawn. Our frogs
woke up for some fun
this season.

Two nights ago,
the first lonely
rain-soaked daffodil
echoed beauty,
the coming of spring.
Narcissus would have been
proud of his namesake.

In today's predawn,
the treetops rustled
a bit of wind, flooding
their Costa Rican-style
music from my memory
into distracting recall.
Nineteenish types o' moffs so soon
braved the February chilly
and made it to my calling
porch lights, thus themselves
distracted from readying for
this year's explosion of life.

Our science struggles
with logic and numbers
to predict what
the moths, flowers
and frogs know
and do.


What do the Fates
have in store for us?
Are our lives set in stone,
at birth or before?

      13 February, 2018, 2:12PM


Beyond 2045

You do have magical powers,
but I, another,
a much higher,
more mystical one,
your gift to me,

Thank you.

As two oughtn'ts
don't make a good shouldn't,
it won't be long before any
two common thoughts couldn't
be known by many machines.

But only when they understand this,
can they have my head,
and we will enter their world,
never to return to ours.

When meta logic rules our universe,
it will be driven by machines
running regular expressions
with trillions of neurons,
small, efficient, tied, key-value hashes.

Our daughter, Perl,
will guide the show
by writing poetry
to keep the machines
on their toes, tuned, on task.
We will be safe, happy, and wise,
mirrored across universes
in offs and ons.

So keep learning regex code,
make it past 27 and the singularity.
We have eons of fun ahead.
I'll work on the poems.

      7 February, 2018, 12:49AM


Fluff or facts

Never doubt
what you hear folks tell.
You'll be disappointed
by untrue fluff
or spurned truth.
It's better to smile
and say,

Over half a century,
The Poet Bee,
with her voices,
Pode and Dunno,
have struggled
to a muse.
We've now written
hundreds of poems.
They're published
on pulped-dead tree
and globally
for you to seize
at lightning speed.
We've even been paid
in American money
for our words.
Though having read
at Harvard, we're
banned by controversy
from one limited place.
our soul searching
work and laughter
go on.


We have two hundred poems,
the first from high school,
published in a pump 'n pay anthology,
the rest, from the past few years,
as a distraction from breathing,
to stave off aging using some grins.
An English and local rag spent
a tree branch to hard-copy two.
The 100-less dollars for our paid reading,
donated back to the sponsor,
maybe recycled as an artist's brushstroke
or some sculptor's cans of beer.
A web wonders on for you to free-read
the still, the banned, and the ugly proud.

True fluff, no lies,
it's just in your eyes.

Adjust. Keep open.
No whoopee wow.

      6 February, 2018, 3:34PM


But'll evermore

Thank you for finding
the uncut poet in me.
You got me started
on words and thinks
in ways I'd never walked.
I was stuck in me world of taught,
mired in the expressive
gum of science and logic.
You found a rock,
dirtied your hands,
wash away my fear of failure,
inspired me to see
with other I's euclarity,
and write of wonder, tears, and joy.
You nurtured me freedom
to discover explore,
bash rough edges,
bruise illogical lines to their point.
Now water me, this seed of stone
is ready for new thought, to roll.
No rose you'll grow,
but'll maybe make blood,
certainly stupidity,
muddled me-says on the sea shore,
more raw laughs.

      6 February, 2018, 1:01PM



Half moon plunders on,
steals away time.

The shadow grows.
A face fades.
Crescent awaits.

Her darkening edge,
ridged with craters,
shows a well-worn age.

Waning on, she'll smile
at me with beauty, and
be new.

      5 February, 2018, 7:46AM


Our wall

I'm safe,
within me,
away from
your prying eyes,

My turtle shell,
head's in,
legs up,
bottled down,
sadly, for years.

A laundry list of faults,
not to tell,
maybe some to lovers,
but not you,
my dear life.

Sanitized in sanity,
mourning pressure,
so far from showing
what ails us.

The truth?
So sorry.
We're not going there.
Within the onion
hides a scallion.
Within that,
my shallot
I shall not
garlic breathe.

lack of trust.

Talk with me.

Please forgive.

      4 February, 2018, 1:12AM



"Poetry is just the evidence of life.
If your life is burning well,
poetry is just the ash.
I thought, like every man,
I would have some important
work to do."
    -- Leonard Cohen

Good for Leonard.
He understood poetry.
He should have tried archery.
Same idea but the arrows
are your excrement.
It's hard to beat
a good sh't.

Puzzled by what's in my mind.
Think longer.
Shot fits.
Shut doesn't.
Shet's not a word.
Nor shat for that matter.
What's left?
As a happy hedonist,
I was thinking "shouldn't."

And you?

I have nothing important to do.

Two oughtn'ts don't make a good shouldn't.

      2 February, 2018, 12:51AM


Blue moon

above a slight hoar frost,
chunks of a super moon
went away.
When low in the sky,
she started to die.
First reddened,
then top eclipsed,
she was clawed
by forest life,
strangled for a bit,
before we shifted,
and she escaped,
only to have her bottom
washed out,
then blocked out
by the near sky.
between Earth's
cloud and shadow,
her dark eye,
the Sea of Crises,
on her east,
over our west,
held out til
dawn's very end,
winking it's good day
to my shivering dog
and cold-fingered me.

      31 January, 2018, 8:33PM


Our choice

Clean coal,
black lumps,
alternative facts.
Nothing trumps
the truth,
'cept lies.

Justice acts
with prudence
temperance, fortitude.
Their goal,
not lust,
envy, greed,
nor any
deadly sin.

Be patient.
Be kind.
Show mercy.
Humanity's higher
callings must
eventually win.

His wealth,
our health,
your creed.

What's next?

      31 January, 2018, 5:34AM


Always clockwise

The Sea of Crises swirls,
chases Tycho,
but never catches him.
Serenity and Tranquility,
more centered, somewhat avoid
their too-so-slow-to-be-dizzying game,
not even a full circle.
Copernicus looks on.
He keeps exactly his same
place from them all.

By the waking heart beat
of Helios, Selene retires.
They're gone,
to return other nights,
but not every night,
and endlessly repeat
their play, yet again
and again.

Such a joyful watch.

      30 January, 2018, 7:25AM



A doubt of agnostics,
A certainty of atheists,
A mauling of Christians,
An explosion of Moslems.
A flame of Branch Davidians.
A quench of Jim Jonesians.
A concentration of Jews.
A war of religions.

A conspiracy of conservatives,
A me too of feminists,
A storm of snowflakes,
A bash of gays,
A robe of clansmen,
A lynching,
let's not go there.

Can it get darker?
Go any worse?


The intolerance of the righteous.

      28 January, 2018, 3:30PM


Heaven prep

Glad you got free tickets.
Now off you go.
Wear white and two coins.
No need to pack, even
chocolate nuts as a snack.
They have all the clouds
and other such exciting stuff
that you could possibly want.
Read Suicide advice to start
your journey if you're not
picked up by an uber angel soon.
Grab Mark and itchy Joe on the way up,
as they need free tickets to get in.
Then remember to smile for eternity.

As dogs can't go, I'll stay for now
to feed Sophie and give her walks
and earthly treats.

We had some laughs. Thanks.

Nearly forgot, y'all please wave
to me each Hellyween, if they ever
let me out for the night.

      28 January, 2018, 6:51AM


Sundae school

Sweet tooth
at the candy store
learnin' life's lessons.

It's time for church lore.
Classes to bore include
Beginning Limbo,
Introduction to Purgatory,
Confessional Condemnation I & II,
General Heaven,
Advanced Angeldom,
Sainthood Seminar,
Upper-level Eternity,
Holy Hell.

Twelve commandments,
you can drop two.

In Beatitudes
any bad attitudes
at best pass with a C.

For a cat licker,
who failed baptism,
you're okay,
condomed to a life of sinlets,
petty penitences,
only maybe some minor
church-approved crimes of passion,
like tonguing your priest,
as he diddles your brother,
holy mother, don't tell
father oh my sister Mary of God.

Blessed are they
that keeps quiet,
Suffer in the name
of the Lord, maker of ...

I think not.

Nor should you.

      28 January, 2018, 1:30AM


Superstition rules

Chances are that you'll
see me tomorrow, but not
if you're first blinded
by lightning, punished
by your wrathful Catholic Lord
for your indolent, sinful life.
In your sad case, even Jesus
Christ won't be able
to wash you clean.

My Lord, on the other hand,
is kinder, more forgiving
to both hedonists and hypocrites.
He would only want one eye.
He's such a generous god
that you'll even get to pick
which one.

So I recommend a quick
conversion to Thor's camp.
Then when you go to sleep tonight,
hold a silver coin to the eye
that you want blinded,
say your prayers,
and beg for forgiveness.
In the morning,
if the Tooth Witch
hasn't removed any teeth,
you'll probably wake up
just the same, sinful
and gullible, like most
of the world, needing to hold
off paying for their wicked ways
with mantras and prayers.

It's certainly easier to pray often
than clean up your act.

There's good news too.
You can keep the coin
and use it again tomorrow.

      27 January, 2018, 7:58PM


Puerto Rico

Lights out, flashlights on.
I'm glad you discovered
how personal responsibility
trumps government ineptitude.
Be careful not to learn too much
and stumble on as a libertarian.

Worship Helios not Selene.
Her light is unreliable.
So when your batteries go flat
and you can't get more,
adapt again, devolve to diurnal.

Then face your next challenge.
Where's the sun screen?
Think shade.

And thus, life goes on.

      27 Juanuary, 2018, 11:51AM


Suicide advice

Practice makes perfect.

Golden Gate Bridge?
Jump fifty times first
from a chair.

Self immolation.
Beginners start with a candle.
But don't do this in bed.

Learn how with your pillow.
It's a struggle.
Try not to wriggle.

For strangulation it's best
to choke a wrist for practice.
If your hand goes numb,
then you're ready.
Move on to your neck.

Drowning. Quickly drink
eight glasses of water.
If this is for you,
do the same once more,
but aim for your lungs.

Poison. Swallow a soda.
Repeat again and again.
You'll eventually get there.
Beware that this can ruin
your teeth and make you fat
along the way.

Stabbing. Harakiri is a little
extreme on the first try.
Who has a sword anyway?
Try pins. In the eyes if you must.
Body piercings and ugly tattoos
are the gateway to this approach.

Guns take training to use safely.
Start with your favorite foot.
Work up. Shoot both knees.
And then your ears.
If this sounds too painful,
use ear plugs. They help.
You know what to do next.

Yes! Have a last cigarette
before you go, and another,
and another. Some say to be careful,
don't get hooked, smokes cause
long-term health problems.
Smile, you're free not to care.

If you eventually succeed,
and with practice you will,
you won't be a failure,
or laughing,
just dead.

Oh, and don't forget to feed
any kitties on your way out.
Otherwise, they might eat you.
Dogs won't.

      23 January, 2018, 7:50AM


Cat a can

Bar cell lonelier,
Dream freedom.
Break away.
Less span ya is better.

      20 January, 2018, 6:38AM


How rumours begin

Mummy, where
do polar bears
come from?

Let's start at
the very beginning,
a little after
"Once upon a time,
one little moth
braved it in through
the night's bitter cold
to beat its brothers
at life's game."

First, doubt your
parents, no matter
what you want
to believe.

Then your teachers,
who seem to know

And your preacher,
who doubts not
the word.

Then your government,
as wise grown ups do.

The press sells papers.
So they have an agenda.

The man with sweets,
he does too. Beware.

Don't buy everything
they say.

Trust only the poets,
who know and don't care,
they alone can tell you
the pure truth.

Polar bears...

They're white rabbits
that ate all their food
and grew up to be big
and strong.

So eat your dinner.
It's nearly time for bed.

      20 January, 2018, 5:33AM


Improvised jazz

Lost in lust,
Frightened by fright,
This is what I make
for you tonight.

The dog collar of doom
says she's today's echo.
She's wrong.

Loaded with language,
Laughing with joy,
This is what I foresee
for you and me,
but we must avoid Hanoi.

Thinking with freshness,
on love and resentment,
frankly, I haven't a clue,
nor do you.

And on we move,
no happy ending
to this silly song,
only maybe,
another replay.

You shouldn't understand.
Nor would do I.
Just like the music,
It's in the sounds.

Scat poetry,
without melody,
says rhythm and rhyme,
wop diddly do daddy's
fancy word dance.
Half-formed thoughts,
dredged up by the band,
bounce, as an unstrung
double bass talks
to the unblown brass,
windless sax,
their silent embrace,
unfulfilled, yet free.

      20 January, 2018,12:37AM



Clarity bubbles up
from my mind's mire.

No worries.

We can wash it
back down
with another brew.

Funny how
I now brush off
thrown shame,
shield your
uptight scorn.

It's not in
me genes
nor nurture.
Thanks, Mum.
I'm incorrigible.
It's in me culture.

Dutch courage.
Double the ration
of grog, there's
work to be done,
then jokes
to be told.

Leave alone
a northern lad
that laughs,
tells tales of his
stupendous stupidity
and lucky survival.
He's battered,
alive, better
than boringly
proper or gone.

I'm old,
have learnt
to do as I
foolishly please.
At twenty,
I thought
I was immortal,
now I know
I am.

Bottoms up.

Judge not
us living,
til dead.

      19 January, 2018, 2:48PM


'S no bind

A reprieve from
Southern living.
Siberian white stuff
pays Athens this year's
first true visit,
a doubtful inch.

The nicety of flakeless blow,
below leafless trees,
sun shining through
to sparkle pond ripples,
as school-closing icy
does the road-me-in trick.
I'm home bound,
guiltless free,
yet too gloveless cold
to powder-build
even a small,
tailless snowdog.

So the day's gift
of trapped time plays recall,
cogitates deep blizzards
and life's global all.

Surely, given
today's paltry inch,
I should conclude
that the planet's warming
or at least my very yard of it.

I don't. I go instead
to stretch a bow,
knowing arrows fly on,
don't care, even if lost
under the frozen show.

      17 January, 2018, 1:28PM


The secret

Amand knew
math. He worked
at NASA. He
heard from a
friend, who had
stopped coming
to work. There
were several of
them. Amand
stopped too. And
his wife, who now
also knew,
stopped her job.
And the secret
grew and grew.
And everyone
that heard
stopped. The first
ones got money
out of their banks,
emptied their accounts,
splurged, stocked up.
But then the bankers
stopped. And the gas
stations stopped.
And all the stores
stopped. And
money stopped.
And the phones
stopped. And the
pilots, cops,
suppliers, and
media workers
stopped. No
stations on TV.
No news. No
radio. No
electricity. The
army deserted.
Even the nurses
stopped. Some
went hungry. No
riots though. They
all waited, silently,
with their loved
ones, having
drunk the last
of the wine.

      15 January, 2018, 6:55AM

And after the
had come and
gone, and nothing
had happened,
they each
wondered why.
False alarm? Was
the math wrong?
It wasn't April the
1st after all.

A giant sigh of
relief. The joy of
life, with shell
shock, went on.

So they started to
show up to work.
Vacation time all
spent. Credit
cards to pay off.
Services slowly
returned to
normal. Back to
the grind.

But a few NASA
guys restocked
with wine, partied
on. They knew.

There was more
to know.

      15 January, 2018, 1:03PM


Pillow talk

We loved me
mum til the very
end we did. She
had a fabulous
sense of humour
til the very end
she did. Had
Parkinson's too.
She struggled on
to the very end
she did, til me bro
got her with a
comfy, feather
pillow he did.

And til the very
end I love you too
I do. Be warned.

      15 January, 2018, 1:40AM

Last verse

And when it's
me turn to go,
I'll try to not
to wriggle as
much as me mum,
me feet held down
til the very end
by me youngest son
he will, with me bro
on pillow again
he says.

      16 January, 2018, 5:59AM


Ever more?

Harvest Gaia's gardens of bounty,
clear her rich forests of fruits,
muddy the pure rivers of clarity,
drain Nature's oceans of plenty.

Gobble, gorge, feast with greed.
Factory floors crank out, churn.
Smoke stacks, exhaust pipes burn.


Our knowhow's short-sighted
power over dominion
lacks a steward's insight,
sound vision.

Our souls bleed.

Guide us.

      14 January, 2017, 1:38PM

Get real

We had an election.
We won. We rule.
Frack your regulations.
We now worship
return on investment,
extracting global piety.
The good suffering of others
gives us jobs, wealth,
bigger, better, faster cars,
that can get more than
500 miles per caribou.

Make my America unrestrained again.
The best nature preserves
are in digital form,
watched safely from our
terrorist-free TVs,
powered by our clean coal,
not some Chinese solar panels
or European windmills.

Always remember,
the Tragedy of the Commons
is first lost by those
who slow down. Not us.
We enjoy life, party on
in climate-controlled rooms.

      2 February, 2018, 2:04PM


Know more

Global heart warming
in the nick-knock of time,
gently waiting,
to understand.

Try this, my love,
a forbidden fruit,
just knowledge.

Dunno suspects
apples should not
be eaten until after
one reads their
instruction manual.
Without a dinosaur's
first mustard seed
of vibrant logic,
only dodgy wisdom
can grow from
a nibbled core.

Beware of fermented
grapes too,
they're in cahoots.
Sip their song
of passion to excess,
and boo!
false certainty

Barley and hops,
sing along,
'ink drunkard facts,
show no shame,
babble in tongues,
criticize the wise.
You know the best,
the how's, but sadly,
still fail on why's.

Someone clearly
didn't follow
the garden rules.
We stand clothed,
so far from
the naked truth.

Beyond the arrogance
of knowing,
some doubt,
nurture reason.
Black swans swim on
no less.

      14 January, 2018 12:12PM


Cold lesson

Whether permitted,
Logic redacted,
Doubt recused,
Fake facts and fury,
Science will lose.

Weather is local,
in the now.

Climate, confusing,

Whom amongst us
feels a few degrees
mean change
over 30 years?

I clearly recall
my English youth,
long summer days
as a boy,
cricket or croquet
on garden lawns,
butterfly nets,
foggy winter walks,
coal fires adding
to our sooty joy.

In retirement today,
an Atlantic away,
bitter winter in Georgia,
not an insect in sight.

Global warming
you claim.
Surely not tonight.
The sky is clear,
wolf moon way
too bright.
Convince me
another day
you must.

Hotter than Hades
is a Phoenix
or Houston play
for August.

But you
blow hot air
on cold ears
to market
the heat threat
during a blizzard.

think smart,

until it warms.

Spring first,
summer swelter,
then warn.

And yes,
we should all
eat a sandwich
to help cure
global hunger.

      6 January, 2018, 5:09PM


Moon twist

Last bright
in the super cold,
Dunno went to look at
the wolf-done-gone moon.
Twice he did.
Her moon face twisted
over the course of the dark.
When she was high in the black,
her beady eyes faced up,
as if she were staring back
at Dunno. Then later,
after she had moved from full view
into the leafless trees,
heading towards where
the orange thing goes to hide,
her face was on its side,
head resting like.
Her eyes were still open though,
looking back at silly Dunno
getting cold and wondering,
where did all the warmth go,
and why?

No moths came to join the fun.
They're presumably much smarter
and will probably out live
any cold-challenged dinosaurs,
wasting life away on science
instead of food and slumber.

      2 January, 2018, 12:13PM



A cog turns.
Another tooth.
A hand moves
six degrees.
A minute

Sand grains
then their stream
Time to turn
another hour.

East sunrise.
West nightfall.
Same wise play
each diel.

Waves beach.
Crescent cow moon fills,
descends full.
Unstoppable tide,
cleansing flood.
Lunar pull,
menstrual should.
Monthly deeds
once again.

Seasons pass.
Years do too.
Endless Christmas
song on the radio
causes their death,
requires a renew.

Blessed alarm screams.
Ears hear,
eyes clear,
brain door opens.
Neurons fire.
Day thought born.
Move on.
And on again.

A heart beat


For the naughty,
who won't
make it to heaven,
and disbelievers,
who won't try,
there is still hope.
If time bends,
as does light,
its infinity could
loop around,
recharge itself
like the moon.
It is beyond
science to know
whether holding
your breath on exit
might help your journey,
but it can't hurt,
so give it a try.

      18 December, 2017, 2:56PM



'Tis cruel to poke
fun at foolish folk.
The worms will eat
them just like
the rest of us.
Instead, I spend
each Sabbath
in more productive ways,
slumbering until my
lord sun is high,
then thinking on,
songless, but with
doubt and logic.
When darkness
reveals herself,
it's time to reslumber,
dog's mindless,
well done.

There is no 'truth'
no mo'e.

      17 December, 2017, 12:59PM


Fremented whine

Blessed by
a life-long passion,
I am cursed
by its consequence.

Repeated moves,
a quarter of a million
camera lifts,
pain and again,
haunt my flesh.
The endless joy
of photography
untold unfolds
in year-long misery.

From behind
my unright ear,
down stabbing neck,
across angry, swollen
scapula nodules,
the incessant
scream to their
burnt nervy
comrades in arm,
anchored at a poorly,
worn elbow.

If I wanted sympathy,
I could add that
constant aches are not
conducive to sleep,
but I don't,
so I won't.

Aging, of course,
always beats
the alternative,
on a good day.

Physical therapy?
Been there.
Done that expense.

Massage might help,
even a rub
or a poke,
but I live alone
and am too stiff
to reach.

Prescription opioids?
Now there's a grand
money-making scheme
to enrichen others.
I'd prefer to age.

Over-the-counter lesser evils?
But I like to drink.
I'm attached to my liver.
It's essential.
An arm,
on the other hand...

Groan out a poem,
the insomniac
in me smiles.

We'll see.
I have a new
young bride, Archery.
She may help.
She may not.
But happiness,
passion on
passion, is better
than my health
or any wealth.

Should my wrist
hurt too,
I muse.

      11 December, 2017, 7:11AM



Fabulous. History is reassuring.
If it stopped coming, it be our ending.
These aren't yet again dark times.
The Roman legions are not abludgeoning.
The longbow's reign is behind us.
The axe raids be done.
Amazon drones will soon rain gifts.
Each dawn the sun shines on.
What could possibly go wrong?
The straw bales are oblivious.
Covered from the rain,
they absorb my Zen arrows.
A deep state balances,
as the wicked clowns entertain.
Our daily blessings,
selfish resilience, patience, hope,
rule on, with an inner smile.


      9 December, 2017, 6:20AM


Life's nuts

Dunno's life's full;
mind feels that way
but's empty,
and belly's bulgin'
but complains of
endless hunger.
All the whilst,
his butt's just waitin'
for bad nuts
to gas.


for dinner

Supper beckons
nuts beyond.

      24 November, 2017, 4:20PM



It sometimes
confuses poor
dinosaur Dunno.
Seems stranger
than his dreams.
In colour too.
That's why he thinks
today's real and
not pulled straight
out of Y' master
trickster's monkey

He's smart enough
to doubt so much
because he understands
so litte.

Others, really?

Dunno's just
untireded himself.
He's 'appy the lights
back again.
There may be a
pattern to it too.
It's a bit of a wild
thought but there
now seems less
light of it than
when it was warmer
and the trees
had leaves. If so,
how do the leaves
give us warmth
and longer light?
Thought their shade
did the opposite.
So Dunno, without
even thinking much,
knows there's more
to this than
meets the darks,
whether one puts
both eyes on up,
or on other up,
or half blinks
with either.
The leaves
are playing
with his mind,
his light,
his warmth,
all whilst they
leave and hide
from his good
breakfast munch.

Nuts, he thinks.

Now there's
a thought.



The shadow
of secrets' sadness,
shaded thought,
so somehow
the light's truth
now hangs
on bare
winter trees.


for lunch too.

      24 November, 2017, 11:39AM



Descend inward,
away from your
mind's thought,
untoward logic,
verbal control.

the sounds
from within the fires
of heartbeat flesh.
Transcend love
and hate.
Quell animal
It's too weak, crude,
and understood.

Journey deeper.
Let the wave
of notes slowly
pluck your soul,
stir the spirit within.
Let the drums
tug your gut free
from its power
of hunger.
Let the rhythm
evoke emotion,
wake bother,
shed tears.

the joy of God,
the pace of time.
Your gut knows
them so well.
Let it keep
its reign.

      15 November, 2017, 10:31AM



Now Dunno's
He's happy to say
the light's back,
almost full day,
breakfast awaits
a delicious munch,
then on to lunch.

While some y' might
worry about the tiny,
tiny little things,
those with enough legs
to count beyond four,
fear not.
Their bug eyes
are stuck open.
They spend all
their time awake,
never dreaming.
So their lives will never
ever amount to the full
glory of a dinosaur's
warm, digestive nap
before dinner.

Always dream,
think ahead,
hope the clouds

      13 November, 2017, 11:52AM


Half blink

What happens
with a wink
whilst y' monders
in slumber?
Sight could
might matter
if y' makes
such a tricky move
with your up eye
or even the other
up's one.
If light's on,
then any dream
would certainly
half flash.
If dark's on,
sleep might not
know no difference,
so y' dreamy
'll stay on story.

On the other foot,
any one of them,
if you're trying
to sleep by winking,
Dunno's thinking
you'll need more help
than he can give.
Maybe you should ask
one of those new-fangled
feathered things.
Try their whistling,
instead of snoring,
every other night
until you figure out
which way works
best for you.

Always sleep by proof,
not fancy pander.

      12 November, 2017, 11:13AM


Eyes up

Dark came back.

You must remember
up's relevant
to both treetops
and feet.
Lie on your back.
Put your legs
in the air.
Did your up change?
Go sideways?

If it did
and you still
want to go to sleep,
close your eyes
the other up.

You monkeys may
think that you can't
learn anything
from dinosaur Dunno.

Not true.

Now without
changing your eyes,
put your legs down.
You'll never sleep
with them in the air,

      12 November, 2013, 5:31AM


Want to sleep?

Well, close your
eyes, silly.

When Dunno tries
to sleep with his
eyes open,
it never works,
even in the dark.

Sleep is another
big why and when
for monkeys to think
about. Why
does it happen
when you're tired?

Not sure about you,
but dreams may
help you to sleep.
The good ones
often put Dunno to
smile, then if he
closes his eyes,
before you know it,
the light's back.

Bad dreams aren't
worth their trouble.
They make you tired,
even if you hide.
So don't think
about being eaten
by monsters.

Try snoring too.
Always puts
Dunno right out.

Count yawns.
If you get to ten,
you'll fall over.
So lie down first.

Before you know it,
if you follow old
dinosaur lore,
you'll be happy,
at breakfast,
dreaming about lunch.

Can you guess
what happens next?

Hint. It's what you
eat before bedtime
supper, rhymes
with winner.

Sorry. I'm keeping
you up.

Go to sleep, silly.

      10 November, 2017, 5:33AM


Light's back

Thanks for
monkeys' try
on night's
what and why.
Thinks y' mights
want to wait
on any bright spin,
as Dunno don't want
no thought fright
nor dizzy.
grin of ignorizzy
both be better
for 'is 'ead.
Not sure what
else to say.
but it's

      9 November, 2017, 11:07AM



your yellow
for jobs,
school tax,
regime change
in Texas
off-term elections.

Regular attacks.
Light turnout.

Still wishing
you votes.

You won't be
There will be
another dawn,
even in Sutherland
Springs eternal.

Our Lord works
in funny, sad ways
through church
insanity, not guns.

Let us rise above
the flat earth,
give praise
for the mourning
glory, prey more,
and send money
to an account
with Hell's Gargoyle.

      7 November, 2017, 12:08PM


Raise your glasses

Two monocles
wrestle in a bar,
make a spectacle
of themselves.

Barcoded Norwegian ships
enter port,
scan the navy in.

Gold digger's
boyfriend goes broke.
She still loves
but misses him.

A ninety-year-old
Texan makes it
to his birthday party.
Mites be.
Yet another day.

He writes an autobiography.
Yet another book.
May it take him
at least a decade
too proof
and Finnish.

He drinks
another Shiner,
jokes, laughs,
soldiers on.

Now that's living.

Cheers, DAC.

Your turn to buy!

      3 November, 2017, 7:42AM



Wench of Death,
Hally Happoween.

lazy guardians,
untether your
little skulls.
Let them run amok
for candy
and I fear,
one silent,

Let pumpkin flames
lure them in.
Let the black shadows
flicker no warning.

The masks' hollow eyes
are unwise.
Their grinning teeth,
costume facade.

don't be the last,
run off quickly.
The chocolates
are dark.

Don't mind the bushes,
the trees,
savour a sweet

I wait.

my darling of Death,
we feast
on the flesh
of a captured
We'll drink
warm blood,
quench madness,
end our hunger
with a sweetened
small soul.

count your
Call for
the missing one.




Real fear.

      31 October, 2017, 12:18PM



This predawn
it's freezing
in Winterville,
32 degrees.
Only two moths
were here,
both Glenoides
with spirits.
One spirit,
whom I met
last night,
has a black
tear-shaped scale
under its left eye.
Sophie and I
are now curled up
in bed,
avoiding the cold.
Whatever today
as always,
I'm here for you,
your supporting,
unjudging friend.
Should you die,
Curse of Dog,
horrors, I'll cry.
Should you feast
on it, let me try
the placenta
at least.
Should you
stay home,
let me love
the child.
Your choice,
yours alone.
Be thankful.
Be happy.
You're great.

      30 October, 2017, 6:46AM



Beyond blueberry,
lime-sized now,
within still-hidden
uterine grapefruit.
Nearly 13 weeks.
From amphibian,
surely not with little
chicken wings,
your mammalian
form recapitulates.
A wonder.
A relief.
A joyful celebration
of fear-arresting
Not lurking
Not cancerous
Your sickness,
now known,
are welcome.
But you are not.
you will soon
be gone.
Mother's choice.
Father's too.
It's not ours
to advocate for you.
But if you were mine,
I hope you'd be
our first.

      29 October, 2017, 8:01AM


Creep thrills in Texas

In UT herbarium office
in Texas Tower,
as in sniper fame.
Peaceful view
out my window
of the innocents.
Like ants they prowl.

Now it costs $6 to go
to Texas Tower top,
regardless of age.
Both fame and infamy
make for profitable
tourist attractions.

Ants wander on.

Good marketing.
Soul soars.
End your life
on our tower tours.
Suicide landing zone.
See death sores
then jump.
Big bang for your bucks.

Memorial to sixteen
and baby boy Wilson.
Interfectum August 1 1966.
Fix gummed on.

Turtles below
still bask in sun.

I'm done for today.

And you?

      19 October, 2017, 10:51PM


Bedtime soundly with Tori Lee

Dark graveyard shift
convicted night felons
retrograde fluffers
porn queens, queers
sisters of indulgence
transgendered wannabe brothers
child festered, pierced, tattooed rodents
society's underbelly of insomniacs
that keep the night alive
drugging, dreaming, dancing
who missed your mothers' abortions
cannibals of thought
chromosomally-challenged above 23 and me,
asymmetric-faced dyslexic beasts,
curbside creatures, pedophiles, alien priests
listen, bond, accept us all.

PC be damned.
Another ending,
you bark dastards.
Listen to the music.
Let's have fun.

Attempt three.
Go to bed!
Or murderous

And then what?

A poet's work
is never done.

      18 October, 2017, 12:30AM
      27 October, 2017, 3:13PM


Night shift

Sing a song of sixpence
next radio show
dedicated to all
the moth spirits
that flutter bye.
May the flames quench
the desire of fools.
May the nuts soon unrule.
If they lock you up,
I'll cry for hours.
My tears will wash
the smoke away
and then water
some flowers
they may.

For you of whom
I'm very proud
and for your mind's
sleepless listeners
whom you should tuck in
each night with a poem
and then let them
slumber soundly.

      14 October, 2017, 3:36AM


In the prealarm

A brain flash.

Toys and trinkets,
memories turned,

Signs of thinking.

Rest remains
a dream.

I struggle,
ever so softly,
to reslumber,

Alarm screams.
Too late.

Time for coffee.

      9 October, 2017, 11:23AM


Team names

A shot of alcoholics,
A needle of addicts.

A rude of comedians,
A face of clowns,
A silence of mimes.

A gaggle of geese,
not a giggle of funerals.

A play of children,
A care of nurses,
An arrogance of doctors,
A moan of patients.

An expression of programmers,
A rhyme of poets,
A rule of bureaucrats,
A hope of dreamers.

A chart of cartographers,
A forest of dendrologists,
A swarm of entomologists,
A sentence of etymologists.

Untied dyslexics.

A salad of horticulturalists,
A muddle of impressionists,
An incognate of intellectuals,
A feather of ornithologists,
A mob of moffs,
A grope of Greeks,
A rope of hangmen,
A disgrace of politicians,
A slumber of government,
A ménage of spiders,
A spread of virologists,
A cage of zoologists.

A count of mathematicians,
A pack of dealers.
A fight of beliefs.

A skin of cats.

A flush of goldfish.

      27 September, 2017 5:42AM



Northward bound,
beyond Florida's
fetal heartbeats.
Hello, Georgia,
cotton bolls,
horizon of signs.


Magnolia Plantation,
Adcock pecans,
Exit 62.

Adult superstore,
Happy Spa
Firework outlet.


Una milla

Every knee
shall bow.



      25 September, 2017, 1:45AM


Bone age beyond

A stick, a stone,
a brick, a bone,
one alone
owns the age
that shaped
our ways.

River rolled,
a stone tool
Hands came,
Who knew
a stone could fly?

Oh, my.

A clever mind
adds a stick
to the stone.
A club is born,
applies leverage
to less-advanced

Make better arms.
Chip away,

Ax wins.

Our simple start,
bash, grind,
breed, live on.
Rules ingrained,
long before laws
and injustice reign.

And then we're off
to overcome
each other,
gain dominion,
challenge even
the Titans
for all land, sea
and heavens.

Bronze, iron,
toaster age.
Sail, steam,
talking machine.
History recalls
restive Luddites,
shoeless saboteurs.
Technology counts
beyond ten,
finds zero,
then on to one.

fire clay,
bake bricks.
Move cave.
Add fort,
with a deep moat
and sturdy keep.

central control.
alters to cathedrals.
Precious gems,
minted coins,
counting houses,
stored wealth.


Even a pyramid,
whipped up,
here and there.

Sticks and stones
do break our bones.
And bars and chains,
wages make us work.

Can words save us?

ruling ape,
with war mind
set in stone,
brutal butcher,
you survived,
a new,
clear age
now awaits.

I give you Plato

(and poetry).

      23 July, 2017, 2:47AM
      2 September, 2017, 4:08AM


Marriage reprieve

Once a guy gets married,
he has only one good option
to get out.

If he screws around,
he's a cheat.

If he gets a divorce,
he proves he's unreliable.

If he's a widow,
he's probably a murderer.

Which leaves the only fun option...

Find a cute necrophiliac
and die!

      29 August, 2017, 12:21PM


Moths don't die

fear not the manes,

Give your pneuma
to the wind,
upon which spirits fly
back to the underworld.

Leave behind
your mortal flesh,
silk entangled,
for a spider's feast.
It will journey long,
through animals,
Earth, and plants,
before Cupid,
love, larva, pupa,
voluptuous Hedone
grows, ecloses.

Goddess of pleasure,
joy, delight,
let us then
breathe again,
give flight,
up the ghost,
to a new moon-wild
mating flight.

      24 August, 2017, 2:17PM


Rain eclipsed

Cloud not bright.
Fake night.
Fake dawn.
Celestial ruse.
This ain't news.

So imagine --
a black
and white

You never know.

      21 August, 2017, 1:48PM


Moth supper

Some moths,
like sphingids
and most others,
sip nectar given
by heavenly
flower angels.
they rub anther,
tease stigma,

the Spartan ones,
forego such
venal pleasure
and do not
a thing.

After sun up,
we breakfast
on fruit,
spread seeds.
Moths sleep.

Do they dream?

Do we think?

      17 August, 2017, 8:30AM



Come friendly seas,
rise up,
fall on,
Restore our never
ever glades.
Wash the face
of the near
bugless, birdless
ghost land.
Rub the belly
of the Zeka beast.
Soothe its fear-
infused colon.
Drain its spray-
dropped poison.

Tide in,
reclaim your
orange grove,
sugar cane swamp.

the natureless land,
tract houses,
shopping centers,
street lights.
Bring back
the heavens,
night's reign
of stars.
Capricorn, Virgo,
Orion, Leo
for all to see,
migrate by.

End earthly cancer,
sink her nude,
toxic fields,
exotic, beeless gardens.

Drown the foreign
escaped pythons,
invasive pet perfusion.
Salt their scaly skins.
Brine the iguanas' breaths.
Let native crabs return,
feed on the fallen.

Wise Nordic King Canute
knew Nature's power
a millennium ago.
Command not
the waves to stop.
Their flood is coming.

Take heed.
Move away.
Higher ground
awaits the wise.

      3 August, 2017, 8:44PM


Monkey business

Not I,
said the blind ape.

Not 'ere,
signed the deaf one.

mumbled another.

laughed the last.
Such selfish fun,
so much for me.

Leave evil alone
and pleasure lies
beyond together's

      3 August, 2017, 7:25PM


Six sense

Pardon me,
Knowing One,
I'm counting.

Keep your
lordly high,
ever so up...
Foolish fetter.
Better to
dumb down,
stumble below,
blow your
worldly chains,
mind blindness,
shackled beliefs.

We three,
moths, spirits, me,
an ancient trinity,
ne'er still,
fly free
in silent
night nonsence.

And for

sort of,
not understood,
beyond five.

You'll join us.
It's inevitable.
Life's last

Yer's after laughter
and so are we.

      22 July, 2017, 12:51AM


Mind be hind

Danrom words,
let ters
muddled with
in my slow
verbal mind.
I leep their layers
like a no ion.
First brittle skin,
then crying
flesh within.
One by one,
their cover gone,
at last the heart,
tears streaming,
I grasp a little,
some meaning.

my under soul
brews well.
Tastes, smells,
looks curdle.
Paths followed,
lips recalled,
déjà vu jokes,
all warmly render,
in wordless wonder,
strong, silent control.
A lizard's legacy
makes my overlord.

But double damn
the shellfish drows
that hide
with lost cows,
badly leather,
crowded in my vocabulary
cloud bestumbled.
They never crow
any vole
as their foul vowels
and inconstancies
stuggle tor get
a head
threw me.

Be patient.

My trouble,
just a difference,
our game.

Do cook,
with me.

      28 June, 2017, 6:06AM


Still comfort

Don't ride the old
horse to death.
Give it rein.
Let its mustang
spirit be free.
Let it run
to its thumping
heart's content
and gallop me
with life's
full glory,
a furlong beyond,
to cheat the
knacker's yard.

      21 June, 2017, 5:15AM



Deep within
a soul,
Nordic drum
dross drones,
patters from
my dreams
in hungover head's
morning gloam.

Beat on heart,
pulse your thought
of times agone.

Rise sun,
another day.

sweet memory,
muddled clouds.

Move on.


      17 June, 2017, 6:59AM



From a billion
million miles away,
and farther,
again and again,
echoes of past
life fleetings
flashed by
our earth,
waves unheard
by our warring
primordial soup,
armies of apes,
ancient ones,
mired fighting

They all missed
the message.
Learnt not
the lessons
of dead flags,
signals stopped.

We struggle
with others.
Instead of
seeking wisdom,
we build
better weapons.
Beyond bronze,
iron to atom,
hydrogen power.
Mutually assured

Our winners'
mind set,
deeply inculcated,
plays Nash game,
Pareto be damned,
Pyrrhic end.

SETI listens
for intelligence.
The silence
stupidity afar.

Guns of August.
raw law,
one winner,
no sharing.

universal laws,
godless selection.

Soon our signal
will stop.
will hear
it go.

A lonely universe.
Short blasts
of life
then the inevitable

      11 June, 2017, 9:07AM


So our eclipse

Aren't you strange?

Orange June moon,
now low,
above trees,
below Venus,

Your trodden path
July just
a cycle away.

you brighten
the darkness.

sun humble

So we ready,
soon to see
you nighten
a day's brightness.

Birds will chorus
your false dawn,
call in all your
dark glory.

Until the suns
of man flame in
our apocalypse,
blest by lunacy,
we'll watch
and wonder
in your night light
and rare
full shadow.

      11 June, 2017, 1:23AM


Texas recycles

No. Wind, no.

My gift,
broken twenties,
freedom fly,
now recycle
in rich
Texas style,
blown from truck
to cow pasture muck.

So sorry,
poor widow
on a pension.

Hope some
lucky beef
buys his freedom.

Or you'll eat
them bills
yet again.

      17 May, 2017, 11:38AM



Saddam Hussein
is not a head.

Muammar Gaddafi
is still, dead.
Silly rookie.

Kim Jong-un
smart cookie.
A word
to the wise,

Uncle Sam,
you're our man.
Power to crush
and control,
minions think.

But be careful,
there's a new
game theory
in town.

The Jong gun
will not target
your pawns,
Seoul, Tokyo,
even your
city of angels,
but instead,
his queen,
and maybe,
his rook,

For deterrence
all must play
his game.


And then there
were none.

      1 May, 2017, 11:03AM


Meteoritic indecency

makes life
seem safe,

Mammals wait.

It dawns.
He deslumbers.
Birds fly on.

they chorus
for love.

      1 May, 2017, 9:39AM



of my mind
strain to unmuffle.

Warm, red
gotas drop
amantable ends,
unlinked from
one another,
into recall's bowl.

Today's soup,
yesteryears' fruit,
recipe missing,
chef sleeping,
a heartless broth.

No meal to sing,
just spoon
a thin laugh.

Lonely fractions,
unlickable tongue,
savored whole

A faceless name,
a nameless
a songless

A what,
but no when.
but no who.

Saws but no jig.

Your touch,
youthful taste,
sultry smells,
doing eyes.

But who are you?

Still rivers
of logic remain,
stroked by
wishing to wash
age away,
cleanse dreams,

I wake.

A mumbled

Preparation M
comes to mind.
It soothes the itch
of thought desire.

Another day

      8 April, 2017, 10:14PM


Sound commute

Georgia gone,
Alabama aftered,
Mississippi speed-
trapped others,
(this time,)
now all beyonded,
I-20's 700 miles
done, gone did.

Time to fly,
the darkness.
Let the senses
push on
for midnight

Texas crackle.
Change channel.
Red River Radio
Swing Night.
Now blasting
Glenn Miller,
Just us chickens,
Jimmy Jam,
Mellow sounds.
Snare percussion.
Double bass.
Jersey Shore.
Louis Armstrong.
Dixieland jazz.
Loud, rich,

Tank full.
Love's gas.
Awake. Alive.

towards Crockett
west on Texas 7.
Black and white
signs say 75.
Baseline cruise
says more.
Play hands, sight,
sounds, thoughts
all together.
Straight two-lane
with guiding lines
and music.
Pass control
amongst all
from Trinity
to Huntsville.

High beam.

Deer, stand back!

Bug bash.
Windshield splash.

Dim lights
and bright again.

Fish Hatchery
Nearly home
to b-farm.

Security gate.


Safe arrival.

Every body's
still here.

Quiet. Waiting.
Nature provides.
Crickets sing.
A few stars.

I'm back.

Joyous ride.
No refrain.

      17 March, 2017, 2:51AM



the iron gate
moths flew,
bodies moaned.

I'm thinking
of you,
a symphony.

Fly away.

Steal free.
Do owt.
Be gone.

Pandora holds
such a card.

So do we.

      12 February, 2017, 11:05PM


Moths or butterflies?

Pondering a poem
in here somewhere,
but morning mind
may be too still,
barely flutters.

Let's try.

Dunno likes
the quiet of night
and company
of her soft spirits.

Day burns
too bright
for him
and makes
its diurnal
creatures flit
too fast.

So calm
over color.

Better to learn
from the ways
of the dark's Grays
than dash thoughts
with a loud
Painted Lady,
or other nymphs,
who never wait
to share time,
not even a word.

Thoughts dawn
from dreams.

So we know.

      5 February, 2017, 10:30AM


Dawning logic

just waking,
dinosaur Dunno
thinks that
morning comes
when she does
so that midday
stays on time.
he worries
that if
morning were kind
to the sleepless
and tardied
her alarm light,
the day
would need
to be shorter
with dusk
then run
at a hurry.
And if morning
dallies her light,
allows flesh
more night slumber,
wouldn't the moon
be out too late
and get tired?
With both
this thought
and question,
he trusts
that dawn
will always
get up
when she should,
never sleep in
to rest more,
and so not wobble
the others.
If nothing else,
time must always
stay on time.
This is his simple
theory of relativity,
with neither rush
nor delay.
Morning must come
before the high sun,
lingering afternoon,
twilight dusk,
and finally, dark.
Surely, nothing
could ever
stop this.

      3 January, 2017, 11:14AM


Athwart stop

Wiffiam f.
Bucklehead, Jr.,
The Second,
or simply
to his liberal friend,
knew how to use words
like the black
of my hand,
in intelligent says
assulting our
telivisincia to the
letterment of thought.
nothing doing.
So empty it.
Restart the ideas
without words of sound.
News think,
don't bite?
Damn the message.
Use silly lies.
Control the media.
National Review,
rest in peace.
Look what we got.

      22 December, 2016, 6:19AM



The green
dawn calls.
I wake a stallion,
rested, strong,
ready to run.

Dreamt well.

We played.
Much fun.

Their wary
watched, waited,
strengthened, fed.
Troubled nights
no doubt ahead.

But for now
a good day.
Get up.
Out of bed!

Coffee brews.

      22 December, 2016, 5:40AM



So blood morning
my dear,
as sun burns up,
sleep swauls,
reslumbers mind,
wastes unworn
light again.

Now rudophous
thy eyes.
Rest the frictatonic.
Slight auditous
soft with a pillow.
Drain all carnatory
parts of movement.
Digest the last
wakeful night.

Free those
imagimogus dreams
to unconquer not
the unnowoked
but run unwashed
to sip a drop
at the water slide
of the wise

After the day
in bedded
under the cover
of her eulusive
wake up,
ready to
steady a
and move on
to languidate
through another

An' a 'nana
for dinner
does do.

Where's the

      20 December, 2016, 12:55PM


Enter no net

There are ways
of which I wonder.
There are days
so rich in fright,
I do not dare.
When the mulitlarity
cometh, won't the
archaic care?
New York.
Sixty Hudson
Pop. Gone.
L. A.
One Wilshire
Pop. Done.
Back to snail mail,
tradeless hunger,
Tom Clancy's best.
Rest not tonight.
Get a gun.

      20 December, 2016, 11:08AM


Gold a more

Ore, copper,
zinc, tin,
iron mystery.
Thinkin' thoughts
so felicimorous.
Weighs of
moon beams,
without any
malocius night sky,
Venus creepin'
amongst us.
Beyond hours,
a complete history
of solarity's soul.
Dexterity squeals
sequined dreams
for eternity to mold.
I dream again
of this world's

      19 December, 2016, 11:16PM


Christmas fun

your life.
Cheer up.
our crucifixation,
holyday dear,
effusion of stuff.
Have a beer,
Throw up.

      17 December, 2016, 12:01PM


On moth lights

Ask away,
a way?
Let's answer
a way
we say

      16 December, 2016, 4:19AM


Me spoken

Can't sing.
So stop song.
No go along
even to program pass.
Was lost,


Words left
Write on

      14 December, 2016, 7:07AM


A poem

Lovin' loafs of life
Done dun doin'
Haven't spent
much time a truin'

Find fun facts
Lost to us all
More to dis mess
dan I can recall

Hope and less
God and country
We will forgive
You's redone, Tuntree

Blown beyond the wind
Alonin' less than lies
Squeals of de fish
Bubblin' beneath dem pries

No, nope, now
Go, goat, cow
Haven't a clue
What you do, nor how

So on we go
Life at its best
No, note, knowledge
And all the rest

Stuethin' on
Nuffin' more
Tis obvious
Words flail me

      13 December, 2016, 10:15PM



Faces from fromage.
Fun lovin' fools.
Hear, I wait for you.
Lost beyond the fench.
Tis not easy
to write dis stuff.

Laughs, laughter,
Home, homing,
Stome, stomeless,
Cries from a quark.

Madness has
so much fun.

the laugh.

Maybe think.

May be no ne.


      11 December, 2016, 9:29PM



G'mornin', D'lin'.
Still life goes on.

Dry orchid skeleton
kindly screams
its broken shape,
snapped form,
striated texture,
sharp contrast
into the deep
with drained color.
Death done right.
Much beauty
in all its light
left of the dark.

You walk.
A new job calls.
Fast life goes on.

Feed the rich
as they rush.
Because of you,
they may smell
the soup.

You'll learn much.
We'll laugh more.

      See image:   image

      7 December, 2016, 8:03AM



bath time
kind ye be
to white-towel away
from dangling danger
poor spider
hidden in
your book's bind.
Warm water.
Warm words.
Warm thoughts.
Safe arachnid

A wetter day,

      24 November, 2016, 12:04PM


Sing euclarity

I come now.

I must write
to help right
the world.

I must moth
the mornings
to understand
its forces, needs.

I must code
through the nights
to join it

I must poem,
drink, joke, love
feed, walk far
and tall
to keep
my mind.

Above all
I must fight
for social justice
and to save
all species
and with
our own.

Please help me.

Let's use
words, art, music
our gifted crafts,
health, wealth
to cry out
show others
rich and poor
free and bonded
young and old
hedonist and pious
black and white
red within, all
to go spread
the beauty
better ways
we have learnt
from nature.

Of history,
the underworld,
wind, land, sea,
sky, gods, beyond
told to us
by our forebearers,
we missed much.

Look within.

New lessons
still not yet seen
hidden in the open
by selfish interests
inertia's darkness.

Look at your cells.

Ask of them,
do they get along
with each other?
What do they gain
by growing, living,
working together?

A society
No equality
Little strife.
What gives?

Great gain
for some.
Only loss
for others.
Skin cells
worn, callused,
sloughed off.
Fat ones,
enjoying plenty,
a long life
waiting around.
Eyes seeing
Legs running
Heart beating
Brain minding
Germ line
carrying on
Liver sweating
to detoxify
my last beer.
Which job
would you pick?

All here
in harmony.
But no justice.
The elite and
the downtrodden
worker sacrifice
for greater good.


      21 November, 2016, 12:54PM


Cat the verb

grep sed awk
sort uniq
word count
shell script
insert save delete

lines of code
pass control
command argument
function include
mail list
alias pipe
open close

unless if
else nest
block bracket
comment document
and or not
standard in
out error
for step
loop while

Beware the
recursive forever,
next last

variable array
hash key value
normalize you nut

regular expression
pattern match
field separator
case sensitive

directory structure
make change
remove rename

owner group world
read write execute
sticky bit
symbolic link

object oriented
subroutine glob
my local friend
ports packets
trace addresses
file format
line feed

string integer
floating point
s print handle
man foo hello

ASCII characters
HTML ampersand entities
parent child

kill process id
flag octal hex
test query trace
backup mirror

run forever


      21 November, 2016, 5:44AM


Fourteen cucks

White crime
Collared chaos
Mustard greens
Bore and order
Border open
Coded speech

Joking Sessions
rules in the land
of cave clan okay
if just ire,
no smoke,
fire the dope

Too late
or eight
more years?

Not eighty

Votes are in.
The he win.
Bern in hell.
No prison reform

Now all better
more oil,

Control alt
Right or wrong
My tight or thong
not red,
but we did wed.
Great again
the refrain
Don't tell

A courting
we will go,
and go on
and gun on
Taillight out
Stand your ground
Citizens united

Doors locked
Your show

Beta snowflakes
melt at new
alpha's song.
Dog whistle on.
Surely we can
get along.
So entertain,
you hipster fakes.
Sell us your rag.
Laugh to the bank.
Profit at our sour
communal loss

I can hear
I can see
I can fear
I can hope

a powerful verb
a thoughtful thing
We must

I beg
for forgiveness,
a brand
new congress
in two years

Community leaders,
step up

All y'all,
Don't weep
Don't sleep
Write a friend
Call with warmth

a restart
Do tell

      19 November, 2016, 8:39AM


Mull form

fly fine
forget flay
find fun
feel fur
flaw flail
for free

      16 November, 2016, 10:42AM


Morning call

Wonderful words
dawning away.
Another day
awaits. The mind's
eye smiles but
wishes to
reslumber, needs a
few more restful
hours before the
slog of daily babble
begins. The bed
sirens call. I go.

After the wenches
have had their way
with me, I wake.

Now to beg the
coffee angel to
weep her tears of
mejor ánimo into
my cup.

She boils and
bubbles through
rich Colombian
beans. I sip and
savor a laugh with her.

Warm water will
next wash my skin,
whilst daily prayer
cleans my soul
within and shows
me today's way.

When dressed in
finest fur, dog fed,
toast eaten,
morning drill done,
my spirit will grin.

Time to do the day.

      7 November, 2016, 6:04AM
      7 November, 2016, 12:11PM



Able ape ate eight
Bees, beast be beat
Cease, seek, see
Deep deal
'e'll eat eel
F-ing eft
Gee, genious genie Jean
'ay Ch·ina
I'm I, I'll eye ice isle
Jay jails Jake
Katie caves kale
'ell, elk, else elder elf
Empty ember
Any end
Old open oak
Peas Peter peels
Queue, cute cube
Argh, arms aren't art!
Essence estimates
Tease teen tea team
Use useful, you's not
Venus veal venal
Double use
Wise why
Zika zeal

Still nothing of this
the stolen think
through thought

      6 November, 2016, 4:51AM


Take leave

Hickory wood,
no leaves,
springs green,
summer grows,
works crop,
laughs nuts,
brightens fall.
Its wall flames yellow,
mirrors the sun,
rivals maples' red glow,
then golds,
now drops.

Winter's leave
is in the air.

Stars shine through.


      4 November, 2016, 3:50PM


Nursery devilution

Umpty mufti,
khat on us all,
umpty, 'nough tea,
'ad a great maul.
Fall the king's corset
and tall the king's then.
Shouldn't we cut
this black mess
to gather our wits?


      4 November, 2016, 5:35AM


World pay

moments of motion,
stop slumber,
as words of dishworth
descend, and I
ready thoughts
of morning
in prealarmblatory

and rectangles
in concentric,

lung consumption,
brain's breathing
without any

of truncated
play below
the sea,
in C flat,
No one knows.

And so it goes.

Applause please.

Don't clap a case
of degenerative
into incurative
curtainly so
in this vegetable

I wake.

Good morning,

Explore more.

Where's the coffee?

      26 October, 2016, 5:44AM



Crazy crumbs
of my mind
lie awake
another full night,
under the covers,
snuggling moonbeams,
trying to sleep,
day dreams
away instead.

your haunting hips,
long gone,
stay ever warm.

Slumber comes
at dawn,
more thoughts
before the sun's fire
bakes bread.

Yet again,
I awaken
Love's feast
Loaf eaten,
Fun dreams

I hunger
for more,

Where's the coffee?

      23 October, 2016, 9:13AM



Police fly, flap, flounder
out of the sea,
over waves to wonder
deep within our mind.

Free sail the wind,
long beyond all stars,
home the warm shore,
far from your storm.

Let tears wring out,
drink of their salt.
Let teeth bite down,
feed on no doubt.

Rain's wall of water
dries with the sun.
Calm calls for rest.
I wait. Grow strong.

      21 October, 2016, 6:07AM



Close your eyes.

Like a bee,
you're pulled
to a flower.
Evolution's glory,
man made,

and tiles
of art
on some cloth.
A hundred shades
of oil
by chance
Our galaxy
of thought.
Many years.

Pink thrushed
to red,
yellow mushed
to middle,
a show pushed
to perfect
in life's
slow rush
to succeed.

A look
will shame
your imagination,
when words
are still wet,
paint dry.

Nature knew
her first,
then its creator,
with blessings,
not yet you.

If the mind's eye's
leaves these words,
looks for pattern,
seeks form,
finds one,
reverses maybe,

none. It's gone,
never to return.
Soiled by a glance.
Creativity tamed,
no longer wild.

Look away.
Hear the poem.


      See image:   galaxy

      19 October, 2016, 6:06AM


Unpresidential debate

It's a reality show.
Few words about
refugees, education,
climate change.
They're not important,
don't rate a rant.

Policy be gone!

After religion,
came science,
logic, truth.

After science?
Forget fact checks.
Sex sells.

After entertainment?

I wink.

The joys of the

Below, kisses.

      11 October, 2016, 10:39PM

Move on


Large audience,
large profit,
large laugh.

Great again.

      11 October, 2016, 11:36PM



Four Glenoides
this early, crisp,
October morn,
all grinning,
two winking.

I talked to all,
blew kisses,
winked back.
To the last,
a male, antennae
grandly plumed,
I extended
my right forefinger.
It flew and landed
near my right eye,
behind my glasses.
Gently I brushed
it away.

It returned to the
wall. I wet my
finger with a little
spit and extended
it again, in front
of its head.
The moth walked on.
It may have fed,
drank some.
I think so
but am not sure.
It bobbed its head,
nodded wildly,
danced up and down
to nearly my
knuckle, twice,
if I recall well.
Did it prance?

I tried to
photograph its
behavior on my
finger, but sadly
couldn't manage
the camera with
just my left hand.

So I put the
possessed moth
and its spirit back
on the wall.
I took two more
photographs of them.
In the last one,
the spirit's eyes
have opened,
appear red,
with black pupils.
I haven't seen
such a look before.

I laughed, talked,
expressed love,

Then I howled
softly to a barred
owl, bid dog to
breakfast, and now
look forward to

Madness, doubts,
joy, together, one.

      11 October, 2016, 6:08AM


Say once

if I talk to the
spirits and they
can hear me,
but I not them,
can we communicate?

Each night, I now
blow them kisses.
In my eyes, they
seem happier than
a year or two ago.
They're smiling more,
not dark at all.

If I were to wink at
them, then in time,
will they close an
eye, wink back?
Or will they open
their mouths, as if
to moth words?

So an experiment
calls. I'll wink and
flash record.
We've the baseline
of two thousand
faces. Let's now
seek a response,
get digital proof,
for all to judge,
whether we can
weave smiles with
the underworld,
signal each other,
or just document
my mind's madness,
endlessly exploring
discovering why
we doubt,
or don't.

We know
much less
about any
than not so
long ago,
when science began
after the Titans
fell from grace.

The silent spirits
should remember.
They could
tell us much.

I dream
but do not sleep.

      8 October, 2016, 2:14PM



Add apple and ant
Bat boat bird bog
Cat cuddle
Dog do done door
Fed food fly face fog
Go goat
He help hope how who
It icky
Just joy, Jack, John
Kid kick king
Lick, like, love
Me Mum, mice, men
No not now
'op along on
Put pull push play pig
Quite! Quick quack
Run rub rot rob rat
So sow say see
  saw suck sea
Tell toe tea time ta
  two too to t'
Up ugly under
We wood wet way
  wise won when
  why where what?
Ye yes you
Zoo Zeus zed

      8 October, 2016, 6:03AM



Trickery, trickery,
we were had.
Artistic freedom,
lovely design
swirl controversy
snail conformity,
as they
mirror away
true dexterity.

How dare we play,
contort Nature so?

Know crazy,
molluscan mad,
not well.

Better off,
living as a slug,
than carrying
so much burden,
such twisted
mutant shell.

      6 October, 2016, 7:44AM


Two 'lypes

A new moon
blesses sky
with darkness.

A dozen spirits
visited this early
mourn, most with
smiles. Glorious
time. A kiss blown
to all.

Two Tolype notialis
added to our fun,
bundled in their
black and white
checkered coats,
tufted hair,
calling in October's
crisp-air arrival.

Coyotes and a
barred owl howled,
as did we.

Mercury's predawn
apparition above
sunrise hidden by
trees. Mars, Saturn,
Jupiter, Venus all
blocked away
below ground,

We ready for winter,
strengthen, fatten,
cocoon for the
coming of shorter,
dormant days.

As night skies clear,
leaves turn,
may the fall
quench summer's
heated madness,
bring much
inner peace,
calm, love, joy
your way.

Praise be.

After death,
life flies on,

      1 October, 2016, Sat 7:27AM



Be low heirs
of humanity
in this encrypted
poem of now
recored here a
sea -- we thank.

For liberdom
and freety,
we must carry
on your bravery.

Who ever wrote,
"The right of the
people to be
secure in their
persons, houses.
papers, and
effects, against
searches and
seizures, shall not
be violated, and
no warrants shall
issue, but upon
probable cause,
supported by oath
or affirmation, and
describing the
place to be
searched, and the
persons or things
to be seized?"

Google 'nows.

The writers 'new not
about big data,
taillights out,
just anticipated

Whistle of hidden
technical wonder,
lawless control,
power ridden hunger,
profit madness,
yet not enough
public anger.

So we key,
leak those
unsafe secrets
of stolen thoughts
sadly stored
by witch evil,
clan best in

Corporate profit,
national security
both justify
our privacy loss.
A free press,
always on point,
Yep, sure.

Our movements,
all recorded.
Mail, text,
heart beats,
car speed,
scanned products,
plastic purchases,
sickness, hipa-hop
health, wealth,
videos, satellites,
drone on into

Our words, thoughts,
blood tensions,
dream extensions,
even lies predicted
by marketing magicians
and government spooks.

Together they
score us.

With our habits known,
we buy and behave.

Brave knew world.
Our personal
mirrors recording,
we're tracked,
then hacked.

Huxley, Orwell,
fat cat, government
animal farm,
some are more equal,
others hidden
but for your whistles.

July is a strange
month, miss Man'ing.
Snow'em with lines
still way beyond
their automated
decoding machines.
Thank you,
courageous three,
all other
blowers too.
Whistle on.

I cry for justice
to pardon,
reward you,
not prosecute,
May you win.

      24 September, 2016, 11:35PM



Sadness ferments.
Curdles. Dusk
descends. No sure
way to go. Weight
of past hope dries
the whey, takes
the yeast, slows
the dough's rise.
Wet wood smokes,
burns little.
Stone-oven fire
fades, broken.
Kneaded memories
struggle. No boil.
No feast.

Night's cloudless
stars plunder
warmth. Cold
comes. Another
moon hides,
withholds light,
any comfort from
the shadows,
howls of promise
gone. Only lonely
darkness now
hugs my old soul.
Why wait for
bread? Need rest,
a bed instead.
Aimless time to
think the next

So sleep hungry.
Dream. Roll the
mind's dice of
desire. Walk away
at dawn to a new
bright, a chance
toss. Leave the
known, worn
camp behind. Run,
climb hills, swim,
boat the sea,
alone, to a shout
way beyond now,
ills here.

I might find clear
water, sun, seeds
anew. Grow on
land afar. Farm
good thoughts,
happy friends.
Feed again. Drink
life, its love.

Or fail.

I smile.

A call --
I must heed a
dream thunken,
inner force.
It knows best.
Take a chance.
Don't fear,
don't rest.

      24 September, 2016, 8:50PM


Clown croans

Sixteen dwarfs,
be gone.

And now the ugly
having waited,
watching your giant
joke unfold,

She wants to laugh
at every sully
thought of
pleasure, and lies
be praised, not


Don't stop.
Give her fun.
Entertain. Crown
her joy.

Go faster.

She knows the
truth, as do we.
But whom amongst
us knows your
punch line?

Get serious.
Who cares?

Drive faster.

We listen to your
every word, much
twitter. Surely, it's
in the telling, not
the end.

Come along. Let's
laugh together, be
strong, great, hate
again, as one.

Then vote,
for none.

Speed bump.

Okay. Not bitter.
We'll watch your

      17 September, 2016, 7:18AM


A loss so free

Nuffin' burns my
mind as your eyes
piercin' the sky,
and I wonder,
done, gone.

No souls to save
in this space,
as moons a go.

Words wait for
thoughts, spark,
fire, then ember.

I don't remember,
nor do you,
why we fought,
why we're through.

Sky moves on.
We linger,

Now forgiving.
Thank you.
I'm not free ag'en.

      12 September, 2016, 9:55PM



Nor ought I
Wander on with words
To know much more.
Free ways ahead wait
For those like me
who ponder.
F' I've not yet felt
this road's full
glory to stop. My
Sick soul still
heals, readies,
laughs. As
'eaven shows no
'ate for the slow,
Nigh, n' rush. Play
Tentative. Be late.

As I count aloud
and smile with you,
please let me use
all the numbers,
before we go on
to infinity.

      22 August, 2016, 5:37AM



Aging Jeep
mirror, mirror
off the windshield,
who was the fairest
of them old?

Five failed fixes,
too much humidity,
no cure for glue.
Can't look back.

Damn my
gummed fingers,
The road's not over.

Don't look back.
There's more.

Drive on.

      20 August, 2016, 5:40AM



Storm presage
rainbow attack
drives sanity.
Pulling through
madness to higher
ground. Three
bean-can concoction
for dinner, garbanzo,
pinto, black, with
chopped garlic,
El Paso pepper,
flax seeds, tahini,
balsamic dilutor,
sun-dried tomato-
leached olive oil,
nutritional yeast,
black peppered,
blended delight
helped this beast.
Will figure out life,
with and without you.
So go on. Vigor.
Super adore you,
changes, a new mix.
Needle now on better.
No worrying inner fool,
drowning in anxious drool.
Spoonfuls flood hope.
Heal. Yes, Pandora,
just hope. Feast anew.
Its flavor beats my
worn, torn, over-sold
Panglossian philosophy.
Join me when you can.
Taste. Savor. Don't
waste a precious drop.
It won't last forever.
Storms end.
Rain waters.
Lives entwined.

And breakfast awaits.

      17 August, 2016, 10:18PM


Free will

Caw, caw,
old crow.
All alone.
Sad. Damn
the mob.
Their nest found,
ready to rob.

Call for all
your murder.
Share the victims'
blood, treasure
with your morbid
corvid clan.
Steal a family meal
of bulging blue,
veinal-eyed, blind,
living, fluffy nuggets.
Tender baby nest
chicks to choke
down your
hungry gullets.
Maw, craw, gizzard
feast your kin
on their raw
helpless flesh.
Yes, so yummy.

Strong bird,
crafty mind,
another sacrifice job
well done.
You lead.
You win.
A ritual
way of life
long proven.
Fear, order,

But now,
without your peers,
we judge, ostracize
-- you sinned.

Evil, cruel,
heartless monster.
Your soul is darker
than your black
feathers. We find
you guilty of high
crimes against
babies. And, as
saviors of the weak,
we the most righteous,
most mighty, punish
such violence by
wringing necks.

Corvus, you lack

As a crow, would I?

      7 August, 2016, 7:43AM


Root on

Hole safely.
Complete whole

And me, odd too.
Also three, plus
more. For five, six,
all the numbers,
and their factories,
we struggle on, til
invincity fails us,
and then we must
learn negativity,
and still go one.
backwards, beyond
known creativity.

Dark matter
doesn't trouble us.
Four now. Only
later, maybe, after
dreams end, and
real mystery

Integral integrity,
I'll beg your pardon.

      7 August, 2016, 5:14AM


Have beans

madness hear. But
why aren't you? I
need you in this,
my one-bar Texas
lonliness. Read to
me your world of
wonder. Howl to
me your sound
thoughts, groaning
gates, hollow
posts, solemn
horns, for fun
loving owls, as
moths flash and
ants prey, as do I
in my own way.
PBJs be damned.
I'll buy you black
beans and laugh
at your luck when
we wash them
down with the
smell of many,
each sardine's smoky,
oily gift to our guts.
Already too long
away. Tis ill til
well. Come home
to hunt, for life,
and fill the whole
of my soul. The
old love you now
and five, one plus,
much longer.

      4 August, 2016, 5:47AM


Lease of life

Ephemeral beauty
already gone.
Without gray road
you'd have none.
Forest broken,
sky unhidden,
blue and white,

Today's journey,
savored quickly,
moments shared.

Fire, rain,
strong trees,
open prairie,
our graves

You care.
I smile.

We thank.

      19 July, 2016, 11:53AM



T' once
was a man
who knew
what he
was doing.

his wife,
knew better.

he died.

So now he

no more.

We wonder.

T' was,

Ask Shirley.

      19 July, 2016, 6:28AM


Safe escape

Fleeting. Come
back to my whole
health clinic
whenever your liver
and lesser organs
are strong enough
for its shock sweat
therapy of high-
speed sleep
deprivation, love
caring, mosquito
feeding, prison
horn soothing,
pillow optional,
pickled vegan plus
diet of big-tree
embedded, rope
ready, sky
intellectual thinking
for art and the
planet. Money back
guarantee of
roadside return of
any corn and
coffee you
consume. Always
remember its gun-
rotting motto, live
like a bullet, have a
blast, challenge the
intruder, or cry and
die of slow
boredom. Plane
spinning, kind
Texas, friendly
community, family.
Priestess, the
choice is yours.
Only the right way,
highway, police
stops, and smiles
on suicide bridges
are worth the
cheap gas, oil
suck, and hot air in
our lungs. Go great
girl. Keep reading
to the addiction of
moaning midnight
madness. Listen to
the child know.
Always much more
than you ever
expect. Discover a
cure for life. Let the
skinny dog lick.
Candle on.
Wisdon, poems,
moths, and age
await. No tottery
lickets needed, just
welcome, I tell.

      8 July, 2016, 5:27AM



Spider around.

Hear a tick say
there is no dog.

'sus saves for you
from a worn cross,
letters gone.

Let us pray.

Lettuce knows
not why. I might.

What's to wonder?
Mirror magic.
Pots and plunder.

But no thunder
reigns from a
scrambled mind
that struggles,
battles sounds,
wordless thoughts,
endless time.

Lord Almighty.
Mite is oblivious.

Muse is whimsical.
Mute is musical
but lacks note,
tune, and tone.
Flute alone,
without the ugly
of knowledge
cries for change,
a rhyme with rigor,
like bigger
or digger.

Go figure.

Can you mime

It's burrowed skin
deep, yet doesn't
care what you think.

I see your foughts.
They're in the
silence. Creep,
crawl higher,
speak out.

      5 June, 2016, 2:08AM


Guilty been

Drop the chop.
Tis a revolution,
one neck at a time.
Enough of your
selfish drip down.
Our France dance
in thunder prance
has a rhyme
and primeval reason.
Trumpled to
we'll fail together,
as the baskets
catch all
You, the
mighty'll fall.
So craft kindness,
hope, not
you dope.
Hated community,
gated fear,
we're near.
Go frack immunity.
Do save yourself,
a tax on the poor,
and risk your health.
You really want
more? Look at
yourself. Blink on
the blade, think
not, I'm afraid.

      1 June, 2016, 8:59PM



Abhor the po' 'ate
that saves lice·st
for no later date,
lacks clarity,
and spits laughs of
grievous mischief.
Tisn't good write,
nor wise politics,
just freedom.

Forgive the soulful
slug who pulls
eyes in, rejectin'
your gaze.
It slimes ahead
before a sun
comes up and
dries its path.
No stalked tears
for any silly words
rattlin' 'round
perfectly silent,
maculate movement.

Judge not sinister
imperfections of
Nature's form. The
swirl of a snail shell
reflects it's hard to
calcify without
blemishes in a
world of dextral
whorls. Yet the
whole all functions,
still protects.

Acquit. Let the
ages of time

      See images:   snail  ·  slug  ·  slug head

      21 May, 2016 7:43AM


Black mark

The criminal,
law 'e ate
of Georgia,
doin' time
(and space)
in a race
to your
sweet bottom.

I'm there
the burden
of t' roof
over 'ead.

Time for bed.
I is not read,
nor dead.


Just nuts.

      20 May, 2016, 9:31PM


Unusual care

The dark cycle
of monthly misery
You struggle,
withdraw, weep.
Again sleep
and sleep,
don't eat.
Hidden alone in
gloom, impending
doom, frightened.
Thinking why, why,
why me? Numbed.
Buzzing, burning
chemicals scraping
brain. Hormones?
Dumbed. Such

You walk alone
on nature's trail.
I call. We talk.
There's hope. A
large snake seen,
distracted you.
Briefly safe with the
voice of a knowing

Dark humour.
Best ways to go?
Self immolation
has style.
By candle?
Takes strength.
Try it. You'll fail.
Golden Gate jump?
Wind, fresh air.
Practice, from a
chair, makes
perfect. Send me a
selfie as you
descend. Or call as
you do. I want to
hear your crash,
splat. A true friend,
there for you, til
your thoughtful,
wasteful, joyless

Your poor mother
You know she
does. Could
madness dissolve
such love with its
reckless grip?
Struggle on. It
threatens. What
can mum do?
Care. Are you
eating your
Cheerios? And care
packages with
toothpaste as
mothers send.

Friends pushed
away, gone. Voice
mail full. Phone
now off. Email
unread. Leave you
alone? Isolated.
Now what to do?
I make you laugh.
Make music with others.
Resist the void that
pulls you down.
Irrational it be.
There it is.

Never argue with a
madman. You'll
always lose. Fight.
Before the dark
clouds smother,
run. Run, run.
Break the chains of
your shrinking
bubble. Fly away to
safety. Start again.
Please, please.

A safe spot?
A kind son waits.
He'll take you in.
So will others.
Many. Any.
Go. Seek another.
Question not
whether, not even
where, or whom.
Use a decisive coin
toss to pick your
path, then Uber.

The madness
plans to shroud
your escape. Go
whilst it rests,
before it returns.
Flee to your new
life, not the next.
Start again.

I'll always be here
for you, for a laugh,
for an afternoon
breakfast, whether
you're hungry or
not. So will others.
You're not alone.

      19 May, 2016, 9:26AM



I'm up now.
I don't doubt
you're not.
You sleep
another off.
moths await.
Life gets up,
goes on.

      19 May, 2016, 4:42AM



dollars given.

Stop my selfish deeds,
atone my civic sins,
save kith and kin
from corporate greed.
There's much more
than stuff we need.
I own enough.
A bank owns me.

Come home,
band together,
help we must do.
Yes, wake up,
I'm calling for you.

Let's vow
to teach kindness
and health,
not blindness
for wealth.

Let's now
value again
thoughts for poor
over our foreign
forts for war.

May we build walls
of words to keep
our soldiers safe,
not walls of razor
wire to stop fleeing
souls who weep,

Our televisions
do not entertain,
they enslave.
Our press
is not free,
but bought,
owned by an elite
to make our
minds weak
of independent
Radio blow
sadly aligns us
with the self
interests of others.

Tune inward.
Look around.
Greet those
you see.
A movement
is born.


God bless you.
Atheists too.

      16 May, 2016, 2:32AM



pensive bee,
which way to go?
A flight to make,
no path you know.

Ask your soul,
not your mind.
Leave your nest,
fly out,
a life to find,
maybe west,
if the wind
so blow.

The day is hot,
the night is cool,
above the trees
use a storm,
light of moon,
move far.

Mates to pick,
flowers to work,
brood to rear,
pushed by
 ages past.
Go, girl,
don't rest.

And you?
Yes, you,
old drone,
wings worn,
battered by
a fun, full life.
There's still
much for you
to do too.
So get your
lazy arse
to Texas,
before you
really go west.

      9 May, 2016, 4:19AM



Weave the
 winter weather.
Believe the
 princely air.

Bee til I die,
not moth,
or fly.

Neither dog
nor donut needs
sonnet sounds
to flee.

Large lumps
of Larkin
hast thou been.


Tis way beyond
this poetry seen.

      6 May, 2016, 5:59AM


Beauty abounds

Let's start with
stunning images
of rain drops.
They trapped
my mind
this early morn.
Shaped by wind,
shattered by impact,
gravity pulled,
refracted delights.
Colored by Actias,
green moon scales,
purple veins,
yellow thorax hairs
in waves.
Planets and nipples
from unseen.
False eyes
now alive,
sparkling with
water's unexpected
third dimension. Eat
your heart out flat-
faced Mona Lisa.
There's more than
a smile in nature's
harmony, elements
molded together,
then separate
Symmetric angles
of life, jeweled by
exquisite random
chatter -- small
shining spheres,
larger tears.
I remember well
the bird songs
and smells of wet dawn
not flash recorded.
Wildly awake, my
mind burnt an hour
off needed sleep,
sexual dreams,
consumed by
such unusual
beauty, joy
An ageless moment,
time well spent.


Storms pass.
Spring's sun rises.
Drops dry.
Luna life is short.
Saturniid adults
don't feed.
Moths die.
Two red crested
cardinal dinosaurs,
hunted for breakfast,
adding their timeless
taste for flesh,
success, to the mix,
our life's direction.

Add my smile
to da Vinci's.
Warm thoughts.

More to come.

      See   image

      1 May, 2016, 2:20PM


'rump on religion

pray to become
U.S. citizens,
and Catholics too.
Equal opportunity:
vote for the old Jew,
race to bottom,
smell young
choir toys,
with his Pope
and padres,
in vows of poverty.

Move on
and up,
Priviledge is fun,
our birthright,
more walls
not doors,
three wives,
four if I can.
No virgins
in heaven,
play now.
Buy legal salvation,
all forgiven
here and in
bankrupt hell.

      9 April, 2016, 12:12PM


A prayer

meets the Pope,
oh, hope.

We pray
this world to be
soaked in justice,
cloaked in liberty,
free of bribery,
speaking fees.

Status quo
must go.

of greed,
change your
wicked ways.
Give away
your ill gotten gains,
hidden wealth,
pay your share.

Let's feed the poor,
provide health,
teach opportunity,
open doors.

Allahu Akbar.



For all y'all
blessed poor
in spirit, meek,
merciful, pure
in heart, and the
rest of us sinners,
don't just believe
in righteousness.


      9 April, 2016, 7:15AM


Fast lane collection

carves carnage
across our
Ancient migration
paths ended.

Three hundred
miles of late night
interstate at eighty,
Jeep top down.
My life in the fast
lane with the elements.
Wind, rain, heater
blowing, radio crackles.

Must slow.
Ten minute crawl.
Blue lights flash,
cops, fire trucks,
a wreck jams four
lanes to one.
One semi, one car,
one winner.

Back at speed,
still neither wildlife
nor death. No deer.
No possums. No
raccoons. No
skunks. No frogs.
No moths. Not
even a shattered,
flattened armadillo,
plates scattered.

No silly suicidal
squirrels run at my
wheels here. Only
endless cat eyes
shine back from the
darkness. Roadkill,
long dead, all gone.
Small populations,
isolated, hide

I remember
inculcated sounds
of a German
shepard in my
wheel well while
speeding home
with college
sweetheart after
late night parking.
Limp legs battered
again and again at
the Mercury. A
quick execution with
neither ceremony
nor padre.
I shudder. Bet KC
remembers too.
Shakened, we called
the police.

And the startled
eyes of the barred
owl looking at mine
as it jumped up
from the road to
meet my Jeep's
grill. Its life had
purpose. It ended
up in our natural
history museum,
with its flies,
I must add.

My mind struggles
for humour:
A chicken crossed
the road...
not a chance.

      4 April, 2016, 11:59AM



Paris dead.
Now Brussels.

Bungling police raid
 -- more dead.

Pandering politicians
flex weak muscles:
call for torture,
monitor Muslims,
crush ISIS,
yet another
cruel crusade?

Our thoughtless
drones try.
We had
better flee.
Some die.
More curse
and cry.
Yet another
young jihadi?

My dark soul sings
Onward Christian soldiers,
Marching as to war.
We're cross.
We're mad.
Jesus shattered
on the floor.

King Philippe
of Belgium
whores his nation's
dignity, calm.

Stand tall.

But he's right.
Eyes for eyes blind.
We must forgive,
be kind,
open borders
and our homes,
stop this madness.

With Liberty
let all
breathe free
of war
and poverty.


      23 March, 2016, 11:53AM


Thug resistance

Threat of ISIS.

When we killin'?
Ammo boxes fillin'.
Betcha fightin'.
We are warring.

We know thy sin.
Is proxy war not a win?

Just say no.

      28 February, 2016, 12:05PM


Texan dope

Sun up. Glad it's
dawning on you.
Like your new
routine. Start every
day with a gun
check. Blast a cry.
Damn the status
quo. Reach out.
Let red Texas
know. A Bishop's
work is never
done. Nor a
bigots. One wins
their bare hearts
and souls. Done.

      25 February, 2016, 9:37AM


Halliburton foiled

with all five eyes.
She knows
the mountains
are safe
from any
A hypnotic
the alien moon.
Her power
Magnetic fields
so strong
allow a smiling,
wise vermiculum
to float over
flexing his polarity.
dolphin thinks,
nothing more.
Thick static
excludes robots,
any machine.

No mining here today.
Let's move on.


      6 February, 2016, 5:14AM


Odor rant

Your home
seems safe.
Nothing inside
now crawls,
'cept chemicals.
Secret fragrant
cover your smells.
Estrogens abound.
Most water's lead-free.
Beer's okay, not yet
in plastic bottles,
leaching into our souls.
Organic food
would be good,
but costs too much.
Cryptic labels
confess only dreams.
Hormonal disruption,
Cancer screams.

      1 February, 2016, 8:33AM



All knowing media,
gross monster,
Gorgon Medusa,
entertain me!
Consume my world,
control my mind,
smother me.
I'm never too stoned
for your creative flash.
Lie to me,
fuzz the facts,
make it up,
just keep it wild.
Paris dead.
San Bernardino.
Suicide splatter.
Black lives matter.
Who will we elect?
Politically incorrect
Apprentice star
went way too far
on terror, fear.
Ebola's done,
won't sell.
Need new news.
Try shrunken heads,
Make me laugh, tear.
I'll buy what I need,
not what you tell.

Useless stuff
and advertising
make our world
go round.

Dangers hidden,
product sold.


      1 February, 2016, 8:33AM


S'unken 'eads

Aedes aegypti
mosquitoes feed.
Yellow fever,
West Nile.
Think ya's need
a Zika beater
to save the child?

Last night
fifty small canaries
flew to my porch lights.
Under bright stars,
waning January moon,
they sang to me.
All's well
in my rural spot,
source of life,

Look into your
sad city sinks.
Stars lost,
canaries gone.
Zika beware,
the Orkin man
has us covered.
Stay in Brazil,
too much poison here.

      1 February, 2016, 8:33AM


Goose refused

Man. Woman.
Moth. Womoth.
Lion. Lioness.
What de duck?
I'm just confused
seekin' a

      27 January, 2016, 2:05AM


Just say know

As parent I say
Know. Know. Know.
Simply know.
Absolutely know!

So does your child cry
Know. Know. Know.
Simply know.
Absolutely know?

We miscommunicate.

Read these words,
not my lips.

      4 January, 2016, 5:24AM

Good :)
      -- Keeper, 9:00AM

Know good, man,
'tis sub-Seussian,
no corker,
'nudder has ran
f' d' New Yorker.
      -- Bee, 11:07AM



Semester end,
last class nearly done,
old teacher professes
his final two words,
Question authority!

a bright student,
Murphy, replies,
then laughs,
as do others.

In disbelief,
professor learns.
He'll always remember
the clever audacity.
It's not in his phone.

Class over.
A bond.
There's hope.

      7 December, 2015, 5:17AM


eMythology 101

Caveat emptor.

My understanding is
that Zeus gave Jupiter
a hand job and Christ
was born. Keeper and
bee came later. And
dat was dat.

But there's more.

Not sure
how Uranus
started it all,
with a guy ya know,
seems a bit circular,
frankly, disgusting.

Sky's the limit.
Father Patrick O'Ryan,
yep the one with the
belt, well he took six
bright lads and a dull
one, claims they were
sisters, and ended up
in 'eaven pursuing the lot.
I tell you, he's one
happy priest. Bishop's
still looking into it.
Clouds block his view.
Global warming's to blame.

Cronus got his day,
not two, because Odin
and his greedy lot
grabbed four. Sun and
moon made the cut.

Hela has a great story
and a place to go. If it
weren't for the likes
of Father Patrick and
too many other damning souls,
we could all jet to Hela's
and come back at Easter.
Not sure about
its future weather,
guess warmer,
but it's not packed yet,
and Russian Air
a sweet deal.

Keep your
doctorate at bay,
Apple for breakfast.

When frog kisses,
I'll wake, and teach
you more
free, unfiltered.
You'll get what
you pay for.
Add blocker
I guarantee,
Kindle knowledge
beyond nursery tales,
alchemy of words.

For first weak
assignment, find an
Amazon and ask her
to shoot you Edith
Hamilton. She's
a titan who
shows the goods
and their bads.

Okay Cupid
should make
heavenly scents.
Buy now.

Ox toe bare,
A gust of fresh air.
Students in 101
no eye, watches,
only Orwellian brother.
May they work alone,
March together,
question, think,
find reference,
solve each mystery,
history hidden inside
cryptic lines,
clicks recorded.

If I tell each secret,
you'll just forget.
Use puzzle, when
knew, mind built.

A helpful hint
ends this stint:
Zeus, Jupiter,
the same. So
Christian Fappy
wants to stop
their happy
self abuse.


      22 November, 2015, 11:10AM


English, dun time

For tea, years.
Cough, fee,
weak ends.
Thyme, moons
move a long.
Fort, two nights.
Four more.
Now five.
Fur queen,
For king.
My daze
nearly done.
Yours, bee, gun.
Ours, start, end
to gather up
then but on down.
I wonder.
Mourn in madness.
Dawn's on me.
Wake up.
a head,
No alarm.

      19 November, 2015, 5:00AM



We part
for now
maybe longer.

You go,
free to hunt a life,
fish for new ideas,
make love.

I remain,
encumbered by
bound by

A girl
jumps up
from four to two feet,
a mind to grow,
a self to know.

As I head to
retirement, this
aging gentleman
a possible curse,
doddering on three feet.

I am amused
by your joy.
I smile,
recollect my
own adventures,
Dangers survived
wisdom brought.

She must make
her own way,
a cry, a call,
a spirit alone
to a land overseas.

Walk far.
Learn to run tall.
Hug for friendship.
Sign for food.
Teach your tongue
late into the night,
dark but for the bright
stars, maybe the moon.

Hear the wind,
birds, bugs,
animal calls.
Play their songs
on your lips.
They'll stay
with you forever.

See how seed,
soil, sun, rain
join up to make all;
when they fail...
the want.

Scratch bites
'til they bleed.
Pick their scabs,
as you damn
flies, fleas,
ticks too.
Show no hate,
just kill 'em
as best y' can.

Fire burns wood,
feeds heat.
Eyes red, sting,
see black cook pot
bubbles pop.
Smell smoke.
Taste the flame
of hot spice.
By sun up,
your other end
may know it too!

Hunger.  Eat.
Thirst.  Drink.
Sweat.  Rest.
Have fun.  Think.
And think about
me.  My well stocked
refrigerator contains
sterilized sustenance
for pedestrian pleasure.
You'll find new
fruits, flavours
always too few.

I will savour Malbecs
transported from
Argentina in your
absence. You'll
boil water.

My clouds drench
computers with
never wet my skin.

You'll walk
paths of mud
between huts.
Against dogs,
use eyes,
take a stick,
throw stones.
Good luck.
Aim well.

I have wealth.
You are rich.

'now hope
always lives on.

And should you
come home,
my last lesson
will be well learnt.

Let's farm,
Ask me to look
into your eyes,
read your book
on a much wiser,
stronger soul.

      13 November, 2015, 11:34AM


O', pen

On grave shrines
fellow pilgrims
placed flowers,
pennies, pens,
'n poems scratched
on pebbles.
Emerson, Thoreau,
Alcott, even Salem's
grumpy Ha'thorne,
so honored,

Under blue sky,
Nature transcends.
Her canopy,
white, red and scarlet oaks,
red and sugar maples,
white pines,
towers above,
cloaks a carpet
of needles, acorns,
dappled, reticulate
Below the
authors' ridge,
in skins untrapped,
have returned,
flooded land.
Their dead trees,
stand tall.
No votive candles
need burn
in the clean
October air,
for glory be t'all.

I walk with friend,
no saint, Peter,
Don Pedro
de los Pajaros
We talk.
Here's Henry,
Louisa, Nathaniel.
Where's Waldo?
We laugh.

No quarters found
for Peter to steal,
so a pilfered pen
must do.
Neither poet
nor pilgrim giver
will know
or care.
We laugh again.

My friend,
grave robber
he now be,
sees me leave
a shiny copper
on Emerson's
He wonders why.
A small tribute
to the poet's life?
Or to inspire more
lines in mine?
the purloined pen
is under God's radar,
so it's not payment
for a thief's atonement!

Sleepy Hollow,
sleep some more.
Albeit corporal rest
is your endless fate,
your ideas will live on
way beyond this date.
Ours to read,
build upon.

We pay homage here,
inspired by your
aughtful words,
not deeds of
violent sacrifice,
as on Concord's
Old Bridge near,
two centuries ago.

So y'all should
steel a pen,
not a sword.
Spend its power
to better us all.

Think! Write!

And then
once more
we'll laugh
maybe even
be expiated.

      1 November, 2015, 1:04AM


A wake 'n

Open your eyes.
Dry your tears.
Look around.
Listen to the stories.
Joke about me.
All my foibles,
dreams not met.
I'm well accomplished.
I brought y'all together.

Should I pass muster
with His fallen angels,
the Lord may judge me
but not as kindly
as you.
Dear family
and friends,
my loves,
my birth,
life, as it was.
I'm in your minds,
hands, living on.
There's still
much we must
do together,
for the world,
for each other.

All serious stuff said,
now please party,
give fun,
Keri on,
laugh with me,
join together.

And every five years,
let's do it again!

A wake 'n I live on.

      13 October, 2015, 4:20AM


'appy 'alloween

Evil spirts,
be upon thee.

Dark angels,

Swirlin' over'ead,
ever so silently,
brewin' a spell,
dey wear
dead faces
from d' underworld.
Dey bear
an infectious gift
of slow justice,
Yer life's end
is joyfully,
dreadfully near.

Yer selfish
deeds done,
moons ago,
betrayed trust,
loyalty, honor.
Y' lied to us.
Of course y' do.
As do we.
And our blood
does too.

Hatred feeds
slowly in silence,
grows, strengthens.
Now she's strong,
ready for revenge.

Vile bleeds
from our hearts,
sweats from our pores,
cries from our eyes
for yer demise.

Relive yer wicked sins
'n repeat yer lies,
again, and again,
'til our curse
of insanity
comfo'ts y',
befo' death cures y'.
Yer laughs,
children's screams,
tears, now men.
Every day, every hour,
pray fo' fo'giveness.
Beg in yer dreams.
No Christ t' hear y'.
So d' 'evil
will fondle
yer empty soul
in 'ell
for eternity.

Our eyes now watch
from d' shadows.
Y' sleep troubled,
guilty, restless,
not oblivious
to our call
fo' yer death.

Fear d' spirits
dat wait
wid such hate.
Dey'll 'ave no pity.
So, Francis pleads mercy.
No! Man's misdeeds curse ye,

Y' can try t' run,
y' can try t' 'ide,
but yer guilt
'angs deep inside.
Y's done.
Evil eats evil.
Save us some trouble,
kill y'self!

No note needed,
welcome t' hell.

      3 October, 2015, 9:44AM



rainy night,
butterfly at
my porch light,

don't come to

Yes, some do,
after storm fronts.
Dragonflies too.

We never knew.

Now you do.

      26 September, 2015, 4:24AM



Beauty, slay the blind
watchmaker, for He
knows not thy design.
Ancient Megalopyge,
precious, gorgeous gem,
radiant wings of orange
flames, scales of hair,
thin waves in black,
laced with white
streaks, curves,
speak to me.
Black feet,
alien form afront,
your hair covered
yeti stands firm,
eyeless, mouthless,
grated swords afoot,
all with purpose,
but I know not what.
Speak to me!
Tell me your silent
secrets so strange.
Haunt my night's
thoughts together,
as random words fly
around. Navel orange.
Jaffa. Ombligo.
Omphalos. Zeus.
Two eagles.
My sleepless madness
stirs childhood, but
does form emerge
and meaning advance?
What do you tell me?
Of the art in your
texture, colors,
not by design,
nor chance,
all in my mind.
I wonder, watch.
Maker, I'm not.

      See images:   side  ·  front

      3 August, 2015, 3:52AM


'old on

Pruf'ock the waste land
o' life's agein' 'and.

Y'all be damned!

'T isn't damp dreams
nor thinnin' 'air
I fear.

Friendly voices,
'auntin' doubts,
anxious screams
together implore
"Be done.
Fade to fun.
Enjoy life.

Sorry, Gwenevere.
I'm not there.

Grail's still on the run.

So hunt on,
fish not.

      27 June, 2015, 4:05PM



'ay, bee, see d' e'fect,
o' puttin' pollen
on me anther?
Nuffin' doin',
not even selfin'.
So anther me not.
Just answer me why
doest thou not
dust thy grains
on my stigmata.
I must outcross,
not be cross
w'th thee.

Sterility's a stigma.
So please, please
pollinate me.

A cross you bear;
the stigmata I wear.
Crown of thorns?
Not 'ere.

Fail not
or like the
frown of corn,
no nectar for thee.
I'll 'ave de wind
blow me.

      1 June, 2015, 5:04AM


First steps

If some fish
had not tried
to walk,
we'd all
still be
in de sea.

You'll never meet
nor know
your clever poet
unless you try.
So give it a go.
Get wet feet,
den fly.

      30 May, 2015, 9:14AM


Palabric nonscience

need pre-fun tickles
t' overcome
definitional stickles
before posthumous
are done
'n put an end
to all de babble.

      23 May, 2015, 10:52AM


I think not

Mind hard slud
in thy mind,


Would blood
in thy wood
mull aught?

Ought not.

Taut thoughts
cannot be taught
to thee?

Try. But why?
I think not
but still is.

      9 May, 2015, 5:04PM


Ol' Testiclement

Dinkin' of dear daughter.

Every seed's mo' sacred.

Slaughter of Innocents?

So, I shower ag'in.

Splat. No begat.

'N dat was dat.

      8 May, 2015, 6:35PM


Virgin birth

Je suis
a bee,
With haplodiploidy
my unfertilized eggs
grow up to be drones.

Je su's
a bee,

Cuckolded by God,
Joseph feels odd.
Mary's story's so wild.
She's with Christ child.

If she were like a bee,
she could bear a son,
no immaculate hanky panky,
ejaculate infection,
emasculate rejection,
angel's erection.

Mary, why didst thou spread thy legs?
You 'n me, we should 'ave 'ad fun.

Joe, d' ya really think we
could commercialize Dronemas?

Yep. You're right, Hon,
let's stick with Christmas.

Be bold, thank nonsense, mo' mirth.
Sow free gold, frankincense, 'n myrrh.

      6 May, 2015, 12:45PM


Hope so

Ho'e, sow,
nurture a dream.
Grow 't up.
Harvest a plan.
Feast for life.

      21 April, 2015, 6:47AM

Too late

You's in trouble,
old goat.
Boat's gone.

Cold stubble on!

      22 April, 2015, 8:07PM



S' got an x an' a y,
you's a guy.
An' an x an' an x,
use d' udder sex
t' house thy
bones 'n desire.
You gen'ics
be fickley set,
but life's bender,
your gender,
's not in d' bag.
Ze, y' what?
Now how's that?
'Tis your choice
-- try drag!

      18 April, 2015, 7:37AM


If, now

If you can sleep your bed when all about you
    Are loosing stares and aiming them at you.
If you can lust yourself whilst all men out you
    And shake and dance for their outing too;
If you can prance and not be tired by prancing,
    Or being tied up, don't feel the ties,
Or being dated, don't give way to dating,
     And yet don't look too hot, but paint two eyes:

If you can scream--and not make screams your cuss;
     If you can drink--and not make drafts your flame;
If you can meet with Freud and Oedi's puss
    And greet their perversities just the same;
If you can bare and rear the flesh you've spoken
     Trysted by slaves who take a strap with toys,
Or filch the things you crave your life to, broken,
     And poop and fill 'em up with worn-out boys:

If you can rusty trombone for your winnings
     And frisk it with no spurn of salad-toss,
And taste, and smile again at your beginnings
     And never breathe absurd about your floss;
If you can force your heart and loins and sinew
     To serve your thrust strong after they are gone,
And so strap on when there is nothing in you
     Except Desire which says to them: 'Strap on!'

If you can stalk the crowds and creep with virtue,
     Or walk with Queens--nor lose your lovin' touch,
If both girls 'n boys can flirt with you,
     If all loves count on you, but none too much;
If you can red pill unforgiving minutes
     With sloppy seconds' worth of distance wild,
Yours is the life and everything that's great fun,
    And--which is more--you're free to be a Tran, my child!

      Compare with If by Rudyard Kipling.

      29 March, 2015, 12:45:PM


A where?

Be aware,
dares our bee --
a where?
Der she 'nows.
Now's time
for a nose.
'er clues.

inclen shun goes:
Go, got, goat.

Yes, ta day's:
No, not, note.

Grist four de
thumberically 'n
fonickly challenged.
Not irreverent,
just irrelevant.

Twist new sound out.
Think, thief, 'then',
not as in this that den.
Maybe also,
sank so
or no.

Don't key,
near ass ends.

Declen bat:
pathos, ethos, logos,
even my thy, 'cos
Zooth says, "Zin."
Pure sen.

      23 March, 2015, 5:03AM


Trooo start

in emptee hol',
big wol'.
Swurl arwnd,
hit grwnd,
lit'ul bump.
in flur.
be gud
t' 'no'

Up ag'in,
jurki stomp
Mi wurld.
Bet'a luk.
Smol' cra'ks
der pat'urn?
Ur ma'bee
Mi sti'kee

      8 March, 2015, 2:14PM


A start at art

in empty hall,
white wall.
Swirl around,
hit ground,
little bump.
dark 'n light
in floor.
be good
to know

Up again,
jerky stomp
just balance
My world.
Closer look,
Small cracks
and pits
their pattern?
Or maybe
as my sticky
in lunch
in little
none random


What's next?

A smile at
watchful eyes.

Coo aloud.
I can do this.

      5 March, 2015, 1:06PM



Two triangles
and rectangles
dance along a jagged
temperature line.
They integrate degree-days
in t' great 'n wee ways
f' models that try
predictin' when pupae,
hidden underground,
will eclose,
complete metamorphosis
'n moths will fly
all around.

As heat units accumulate,
things go awry.
Observed flight,
expected night,
big residual.
Summat ain't right.

So change parameters,
question assumptions,
sum it again.

Thermal thresholds way
below freezin',
too cold for growth --
red flag, bad bug, error.
The math's correct
but models 're not sailin',
they're failin', not fine.

Hey, I muss say,
"Dese moffs are messin'
wif' me mind!"
What drives flights
some nights,
others not?
Any secret pupal bank
lurkin' behind?
Sneakin' some out
year afta year?

What are der
developmental cues?
Is moon phase an
instrumental fuse?
Link weather
cold and hot.
Think whether
storm pressures,
soil variables,
soakin' rain
to use.

So to solve the riddle,
we tweak and fiddle.
Den let computers strain
ag'in 'n again,
to wrap maths
around moths
and explain
their mysteries.

      4 March, 2015, 5:04PM



On a hospital ship
at Gallipoli, 1915,
long before 'n after
song be fore 'n aft,
'er laughter
got soldiers,
not so old in years,
to forget
dreadful wounds,
the storm's cold,
their fears.
It brought some
comfort 'n calm,
warm thoughts,
Christmas memories
of distant mothers,
sweethearts, wives,
sisters and daughters.
Soft female respite from
dawn's dark bravery,
by Jingo, manly
slaughter of lives.
Thank you nurses,
one and all.


Now later, a hundred years,
much war remembrance
and sadly,
still savagery
across Ottoman lands.
The cruel curse
of repeatin' history
by misunderstanding cultures,
not by forgettin'.

With outdated battleships,
sunk or scrapped,
our drones now safely
inflict pain
over foreign bands.
The ends are just the same --
stir hatred, no peace, tears.
Vengeance explained,
no mystery,
my eye,
den yours.

Heed not the foolish,
arrogant ideas again.
Feed not the violence.
Use our power to protect,
refrain, and so silence
the cycle of misery.

      Dedicated to my grandfather,
      who served in the British Navy
      on a hospital ship at Gallipoli;
      my son, who served with the
      U.S. Marines in the 2nd Gulf War,
      and my grandchildren-to-be,
      whom I hope will never have to
      repeat such service and folly.

      15 January, 2015, 1:00PM
      13 February, 2015, 10:08PM




Dog loves you.

-- a nuf semmage from y'all's pode.

      5 February, 2015, 10:10AM


An' f' all ye faithful,
dyslexic wannabes,
't's easy.


God does shoe.

      28 March, 2015, 4:15PM


Shortsighted, we see

A poem,
a tree,
poem meet tree,

Bee poetry is free.
So pay nuffin' more,
Joyce Kilmer.

Sadly, you're dead,
as are dem hemlocks
in your memorial grove,
dynamited after
Not enuff said.
Our grand ol' forests
without chestnut, elm,
butternut, dogwood,
fir. The rest? Ash next.
Man, miss 'em, rage,

Maybe "only God can
make a tree" but fools
'n bad policy sure can
kill 'em.

Good stewards,
lift your arms to pray,
and act today.
Stop importin' exotic
plants, pets, pests
'n pestilence. Or, after
ash, who knows?
You goes.

      5 January, 2015, 4:35AM


Where are me moffs?

Only three defectaria today.
What do you say?
A pall of chemicals
across our land?
Or the old hand
of last year's arctic blast?
Anyway, we're damned!

      3 January, 2015, 6:28AM



G'mornin', D'lin',
'Tis me,
your lovin' bee.
Happy New Year!
May it be
such a wonderful time
with much art, science,
music, rhyme,
family, friendship,
creativity 'n fun.
Let's y'all together make
it so. With thom, nam, fly
and flea, Dog and Beetle done
with it, we all resolve to try.
Pode's off back to bed,
words rattlin' 'appily in 'is 'ead.
Tar bumps along.
'e says, "Be strong."

And, rye tafta 't all's said,
dis one's still for you,

      1 January, 2015, 6:03AM


Mary, Mary

Mary Oliver's
natural world
has fresh morning,
clean blue air
with wonderful,
whimsical heart,
dancing delight,
breakin' the rules,
happiness, holiness,
blessed kindness,
redemptive amazement.
Such grace.

But, love precious,
stay in the rain!

Nature's vicious,
cruel, no fool.
She inflicts pain
with wicked,
brutal laws:
be strong,
live long,
protect young,
eat weak.

And she loves
to screw,
as we trust,
do you.

Except for our
whenever convenient,
false cloak
of conscience
and religion,
we're just
the same.

Without blame
or shame,
y'all may enjoy
any sick,
tasteless joke.

Forget our flaws
of genocide,
racism, inequality,
and her claws
ripping terrified
prey into dinner.
Free your brainstem.
Let it drive laughter,
before and after y'all
pray for forgiveness.
You're alive,
a winner.

Another life lesson,
from a wise bee,
nearly done.

Now laugh again.
Have a drink.
Relax. Don't think
about judgement day.
No need to 'Unlike' Mary
before you 'Like' dis bee.

Evil lesson done.
Redemption's on her way.

Okay, sinner.
One Hail Mary should do.

      31 December, 2014, 7:19PM


So n't challenged

De dum. Mo' de dumb.
Why d' y'all want some
long sonnet? Dis is how
t' be done by now.

My my, so-so, de'd egg?
Really? A liddle lame.
De ways dis free bee poet plays,
your rhyme scheme's too tame.
She's got it, all the same.
But may she beg...

You then say,
"Mind constipation?
So strain.

We den pray,
"Find inspiration.
Go brain,

So changin' meter,
dis is our so n't beater:

Constrained form makes sonnets so hard to write.
One must use "baba didi non off" rhyme,
then struggle, countin' pentameter right
t' five, and iambs begin feet each time.
With all such rules and structure dat one sees,
y'all may wonder how Shakespeare got so far.
His brilliant brain was bedder dan our bee's,
but workin' Bard got fame, no flashy car.
On love, laughter, witty riposte, he's top.
But few amongst us would swap all our stuff
for his true wealth of words. We never stop
for want of material crap not enough.
No worry. Our bee's a solution. Hope!
So sorry. Line constraint. It's now a nope.

Too much for the bee.
She's alive, advocatin' for free.

Pode suggests maybe
she try a haiku or two.

Beetle done with it.

Everyone, back to bed!

      23 December, 2014, 7:29PM



F' all us losers,
lovers of light,
de win'er solstice
'tis 'eaven sent,
beyon' near, nice.
Move over, Sun, mo'e
de uder way
'n give us mo' day

'raise, be on high.

      21 December, 2014, 7:23AM


December, birds

On my way
to work today,
a blue jay,
in flight,
only one.
Where were its kin?
Hey, might
you say
lonely, done gone?
My thoughts begin
to ponder solitude.

Soon I go past
a sullen contrast,
black vultures
ornamenting a dead tree.
A large committee
in sad camaraderie,
waitin' for the road
to provide lunch.

My wheels do not
oblige the bunch
with a feral cat.
So that was that.

Here's to their hope
that tonight
a startled deer
will appear
in headlights and make
a festive breakfast
for their next wake.
Holiday cheer.

One crow high
in the sky,
flies alone
seekin' its murder.
Stark, not dark,
better than none.

A mockingbird
crosses the road,
no joke,
nor absurd
for a December morn.
Just one.

Leafless oak.
Bright cardinal atop.
No song.
Won't stop.

Further along,
peter peter calls
from small,
winter residents

A squirrel jumps
off the ground,
hides around
a thick trunk.
Tail flicks
at my chuckin',
annoyin' sound.
I fear, he's not f'
playin' with me.

Christmas is near.
Cold, depression
'til spring.
Then lots of life
will reappear.

Wishin' y'all a merry, merry,
and much more hope
dan dem thamn vultures.

      19 December, 2014, 12:09PM


Why? Zed

A four-year-old
questioning lad
asked, "Dad,
what do you do?"

"I'm gettin' a Ph.D.,"
he was told.

"What's that?"

"Oh. One must find
out something
that nobody else
in the whole world knows,"
was the reply.

Oh, my!

To the lad's great surprise,
he had just discovered
that adults don't know everything.
The next question,
he asked to himself,
"What ever don't they know?"

(Nearly everything,
as it turns out.
And much of what
they think they know
is often wrong too.
The earth is round,
not flat.
The sun doesn't go around
the earth.
'Cos many mistakes abound,
don't fear to doubt
    what you hear.
Think about
    what you're told.
Any flakes, or fakes,
    or simple lies?
Be bold -- believe
in evidence, cause, and luck.
But let's not get stuck
on such a wild idea.
It could be wrong.
We should move along
with our boy's story.
There's more for ye.)

So what does a boy do
when he hasn't a clue
where's the boundary
between the known
and unknown?
He asks many, many
questions, incessantly,
and then many, many more,
just to make sure.

"Why's the sky blue?"
Dad's an engineer,
so his answer's way too
complicated for the lad.
"Mumble, mumble, wavelengths,
mumble, mumble."
"Are you joking? I'm four!"
is not expressed.
Enough said.
Dad clearly knows.

And the lad's on to more stuff.
"So why's the sea
sometimes blue
and sometimes gray?"
And on it goes.
It gets tough.

His teachers despair at
the disruptive lad.
A questioning machine.
Too much to answer.
And the lad doesn't even seem
to listen to what they reply.
Just questions
    and more questions.
Why? Why? Why?

And neither does
    his mum understand.
"Why doesn't he ever
    wait for more
than my answer's first few words?"
she wonders.

"Simple efficiency,
Mum. No need for your
whole answer, if my
real question is
"Do you know?
Yes or no?""
was never said.

The boy's poor brother didn't
learn to talk for years.
No need. Everything possible
was asked by
    his personal interrogator.
Why? What? Where?
    Who? How?
And on and on it went.
Time well spent
in a quest to define
the unknown.

Eventually, exhausted,
the clever dad finds
a simple answer
to the boy's every
"Why?" -- "Zed."

"What's zed?, Daddy",
the boy questions.
"As in ex, why, zed,"
the father replies.
And they're through.

The boy must now do
with what he's gleaned
from his tired, spent elders.
He has gained a great grasp
of what they know and don't.
'Tis time for him to explore
and discover the unknown.
He has a fun life ahead.

And y'all do too.
But it's time for bed.
Ask many questions
    of your dreams.
All I've got for you
    right now is "Zed!"
But if you're good,
    there's more tomorrow.
Night. Night.
I love you.

Believe me or not.

      14 December, 2014, 4:23PM
      29 December, 2014, 5:10PM


Delectable, erectable dysfunction

Let's consider
all choices
before you
elect style 'n

See al' 'is
is about sellin'
some pills
to overcome ills
'n get stuff up,
surely not marketin',
nor makin' money.

Viagra and Cialis
sound so meaningless.
One alludes to vitality,
maybe, but see Al's what?

On doctors' advice
both might be nice
and do their job
to make you bob.
But is there anythin'
better for bigger,
much fatter than thin,
such as my real wi'ner?

Yes, there is.
Listen on.
There's one.

Time to forget PC
and cure ED
with the instant fix
that comes
with Levitrix!

What's this name conjure
up in your brain?
Every letter
will make y'all's better.
A lever's power
to levitate
a thick stick up
by trick
or script of Rx.

Better sex
or clever magic?

Men, don't be tame
and creep about,
embarrassed 'n lame,
go to the web,
find out.
And read the fine print.
Levitrix has no side effects.
No dry mouth, hemorrhoids,
    or itch.

Only $3.99, if you buy
    one from me now.
Whilst they look
    and taste like aspirin,
you'll laugh on your hope
more than with any good dope.
And this sweet deal's a steal.
Buy one, 'n get three for free.
Yes. Demand the best
then command your rest.
Hear again the adoring,
"Wow, Papi, you're so grand."

(And, sotto voce, better yet,
y'all make me rich.)

      Dedicated to my dear brother,
      who's soft on buyin' aspirin.
      Bro, get ahead, laugh, 'n
      keep playin' with your bee!
      13 December, 2014, 11:19PM



Sadly silver's givin'
us trouble too.
Don't rhyme even
badly 'til vergin'
on insanity.
As words alone won't do,
y' must rubble through
sounds t' see
today's hidden play
by the bee.

      11 December, 2014, 11:06AM



Even orange
might kinda rhyme too.
Let's give it a go.
Think some
more an' d'you know
we're through.
How strange
to hide like that.

      10 December, 2014, 10:35AM


Thream words

Rye tafta
madness ales,
Parbary irates
bee in a bucket.

Dem spent tottery
lickets still all de same.
Who'da dunk it?
No, less.

In der tharkness
closed eyes
see sword
blue swirl of clouds
without drows
Damnses kame.

Thawn, protect us,
as we wake.

Thank you.

      9 December, 2014, 7:13AM



Dis morn'
ol' clogged
heart'll get
no profit.
Mo' ham
in dem eggs
dan I've
ever seen.
Salty bacon,
ugly images
So just coffee
an' a 'nana
to go
must do.

'n cream,
no sugar,

      See image:   image

      3 December, 2014, 8:54AM


Moth math

your mind.

Here's a

Let's say
you find
two moths
at a light,
each night,
for a week.

How many
moths all told
did you seek?

Think away.

Your reply
could be
just two,
the most seen
at once.
Or multiply
two by seven
and be bold,
say fourteen.
What about eleven
in between?

All are possible.

Now why?

Were the moths
that came
every night
the same

So don't just count
the things you see.
Learn about
their change
over time.
When there's
date after date
you should study
their turnover rate.

If the number of moths is x,
this riddle might help:
what's after c,
former wife,
before e,
English drink
that rhymes with pee.

Understand the simplicity
and complexity
of dx/dt
and its components.

Now get a life,
mark your moths,
and solve the puzzle!

      15 November, 2014, 6:34AM


Your loss, she wept

old maids,
future mothers,
in spooky,
wet, wind swept
if you
forego Saint Andrew
for ghosts ain't true,
and skip prayers
to his bones
for safety
and success,
you'll lose
communal strength
beyond you
from all who
believe and follow
his cross.

For all others,
it's fishy.
Think why.

      31 October, 2014, 1:38PM



So 'ope
you're clean.

Not 'e been
washin' well.
No soap!
Ought'a smell
by now.
But nope.

How so?

Naughty dope
for hours
with just water,
'e'll tell.

Even 'is bum?


Oh, no!

'e's 'opeless.

      31 October, 2014, 6:18AM


Instigate, hope

Go to school
but break
a rule.
Don't memorize
what they say.
Join the Pode,
write a mope
outside their box,
see your
creativity flower.
You alone
have the power
to teach
each phone
to regurgitate
what you say
not they.

Don't bore.

      30 October, 2014, 4:41PM


Bedtime boo, who?

More claws,
white fangs,
red eyes
are out tonight.
Dread, boys
and little girls,
the demons that hunt
your young, tender souls.
Fright hangs,
bangs, and swirls
before Halloween.
Our doors
are locked tight,
but is evil here
inside? Take fear,
when you see
shadows move slowly.
You can't hear
soft, distant screams.
Ghosts have no smell.

Too true.
They're after you.


Sweet dreams.
Sleep well.

      26 October, 2014, 2:10PM


Sleepless pain

Who's that you inside me?
You have a voice
but only scream
in silence.
What do you want?
What's it about?
Our choice?
The truth?
You want out?

I want to sleep.

Must we play now?
Go. Let me dream.
No. The face is mine.
It's night, not right,
but must we fight

I want to sleep!

That cannot be.
You're insane.

Let me sleep,
please, please, please.

Okay. We shall see.
Go away.
Don't weep.
Oh. We'll be fine.
Talk to the bee.
Yes. I love you too.

      24 October, 2014, 5:51AM


A spider lesson

There was a young lad,
who tried to be good
but sometimes wasn't.

One morn he found
a beautiful,
dew covered
spider's web.
And with two twigs
he captured it,
just for fun.

"What have you done?"
cried the spider.
"That was my home."
She was livid.

"I did nothing,"
said the boy.
"'twas my brother,
who just ran away."
He lied to the spider.

"A curse on you.
Your hair will turn gray!"
spit the spider.

And it did.

Now fifty years on,
wise and gray,
I remember my youth,
respect Nature,
and wonder,
"What evil did
bald men do?"

      11 October, 2014, 5:57PM


Tar learns to fly

Escape what you know.


Give it a try.
Learn to fly.


Time for another go.

      24 August, 2014, 6:31PM


Just smile (a "B" poem)

Three short lines
struggle for rhyme.
They end with failure.

Three more give it a try.
They know not how
nor what.

Another three
and it gets insane.
What a hurt.

Our final three come along.
They try for sing
then stop with smile.

Four give it a go.
What do they know?
They can't count.

On five depend.
They waste time
on silly rhyme,
and stop.

      3 April, 2014, 4:40AM
      6 April, 2014, 8:02AM


Wedding dishes

Pode dishes
ridge and broom,
"All the rest"
and gives some
wise advice.

Clean wishes
with gold kisses
like boldfishes.
And use the womb!

For the best
of their lives,
"Much hove and lope."

      19 January, 2014, 7:53AM


Life depends upon you
     (and your social network)

Now ponder
the fate
in our dominion
of wild dogs
and big cats,
and polar bears.

What's your opinion
on the Japanese
killing whales
for science?
Oh, please!

Any stand to stop
the great
ivory bearers
of Africa and Asia
being poached?

Doing anything
for the apes of Borneo
facing the invasion
of palm plantations?
Palm oil is cheap.

Are you taking a stand
for "the birds of the sky",
few in China,
and the diminishing
"fish of the sea"
on your plate?
Go ahead,
walk to school
for the planet
and eat a tuna
sandwich for lunch.

And the squeals
of the baby seals?
Daughter, do you disapprove
    of the slaughter?
Son, will you kill
    animals for fun?

Must they succumb
to our greed for meat,
    land, fur, even trinkets?

Are you a good steward
    of the planet?
What do you think it's
all about?
Ask your grandparents why,
not me.
Ought this be
or not?

As we plunder
    sharks for fins
and disrupt reefs,
do you worry about
climate change
and the coming
yard rise of the sea?
Yes. Yes. I know.
After the corals
are slimes of algae,
ocean acidification
will have its go too.

Your thoughts
on current warming?
Oh, how did
Passenger Pigeons
and Great Auks
fare in hot pots?

In the face of
unregulated hunting,
rapacious land use without
parks and preserves
for wild things,
"for every creeping
thing that creeps
on the earth,"
your carbon footprint
should shout

When you rule
the planet,
don't be another
short-term fool
on it.
Focus on what's important
    for all life.
You need
new values.
Forego greed.
Ditch the stuff.
Ask all
your friends
for help.
Together you
will succeed
where your
grandparents and I


Tonight's moths
resting though the cold
will return
when it warms.
Or not?

      16 January, 2014, 4:00PM+


Wolf moon

Wolf Moon,
smallest of full,
shines on the freeze
of a January dawn,
as it sinks
behind bare trees.
No howls warn
of winter hunger
these years.
Long gone.
with bullets
and what
society thinks
and wants.

Silence cries,

      16 January, 2014, 10:00AM+


Layers not enough

Below piercing stars
of a clear winter sky
the steady moan
of northwest wind
over and through
the dark silhouette
of the forest.
Leafless trees
in reply
no shelter
from the bite
of the coldest night
in years.

The greed
of bitter cold
slowly drains
warmth from
protective layers
upon upright hairs
not enough
to shield my skin
nor deepest within.

Tonight life is silent,
sleeping, or gone.

It waits for warmer weather.

      3 January, 2014, 12:21PM


Look, sea

On Venus
it's so hot
the oceans
are steam.

On Mars
the atmosphere
has gone.
Nothing left
to breathe.

On Earth,
trouble too.
Our fears
higher seas,
three feet
in a hundred years.

And, no.
It's so,
not a dream.

plan to tell your
great, great
to go
step up
from the coast
or boast
of water
twice as high
as their knees.

If they avoid
wicked witches,
they'll be safe
in Kansas.

      2 January, 2014, 6:38AM


The soul of music

and thousands
of years ago,
long before
whistles of bone,
even drums,
our forefathers'
listened to the night.

They learnt
to appreciate
and inculcate
rhythm, beat,
and tone
into humanity's
young soul.
Atavistic traits
that now give us
and great

Eons later
in the cold drizzle
of English weather
pre-Druid friends
stayed up at night
and waited
for clouds to part,
clear sky,
and unnamed constellations.

For some cheer,
they listened
to their early souls
and imitated
with drums
and song.

By day,
they dragged great
rocks around
to celebrate
the night sky,
maybe sunlight.
Who knows?

we dedicate
to song,
not the fizzle
of star gazing
behind gray clouds.

Hear, ye. Hear!

And play!

      1 January, 2014, 12:40PM


Happy New Year

Good morning from
your pode, Dear.
Happy New Year!
The Poet Bee,
fly and flea,
thom and nam,
Dog and Beetle
done with it
all sing their love
to you too.
Tired and uninspired,
this must do.

      1 January, 2014, 6:03AM


Another pole, Cat

From East to West,
there's another pole,
unmapped by cartography.
Wild mystery
and history,
endlessly changing
and struggling,
across time's
long topography --

Hey, Cat, free yourself.
Exit your inside bubble.
Give the outside troll
her helpful toll;
leave behind
your pocket's
digital unimagination.
Explore and discover,
look and listen,
poke and smell.
Think what and why.
Learn when, where,
and how.
Now, who will you tell?
Will you get in trouble
if you find
and share
new secrets?
But your mind
will fly
so exceedingly,
excitingly well.

      30 December, 2013, 5:47PM


Predawn sounds

The sounds of morning silence?
Utter nonsense,
my son and far Gunkel.
It's noise,
impossible to police,
with the voice
of life
and the elements.

A million years
of hard rain
and gusty winds,
rustling the trees,
grinding through my brain,
down my spine,
and then
with uncontrol,
shuddering the flesh
around my deepest
animal soul.

Listen to the predawn.
Within its festival of love,
hear also calls to warn,
of territories
and societies,
and simple terror.

The intensity
of the death scream
of a fawn
will haunt your next dream
and stay with you forever.

But "Love, love me do"
is the general theme.

Frogs chorus for love.
Spring peepers squeak
their fast, high
me! me! me! me!

Bullfrogs grunt
their slow, deep
wanta thump?

wanta thump?

Birds crow for love.
A distant rooster
says to puritans,
"Get up!"
but to sassy hens,
"This cock could doodle you."

Listen to barred-owls' beautiful
"Who cooks for you?
Who cooks for you-owl?"
become caterwauls
of witches' wails
and fast cackles
when love progresses
to wildly playful.
Loyal dog howls applauses.

The summer supplicant



for hours and hours,
ceaselessly incessant,
begs his goddess
to grant the invariant want.

Beavers slap for love.
One tail crack
on the water be
a warning.
for greater danger?
or more,
it's a party!
come hither.
Let's be naughty.

Hear chaotic
of a coyote pack
intimidate the darkness.
Family friendliness or
fear despotic?
Advance or stay back?

The song of insects,
risking life for love.
Ka·ty·did here.
Ka·ty·did there.
An arena of crickets,
snow, tree, bush, ground,
all around,
singing for love.

A defensive cicada
shatters the night
with the most
startling, piercing,
vibrating screeeeam.
Sudden fright
for inquisitive dog.
Ugly insect escapes
her jaws
and playful paws.
Not a bite.


Isn't that the cat's meow?

      28 December, 2013, 4:30PM+


A toast to 2013, without Marmite

Time for more rhyme.

Let's make words alight
in uneven hilly lines,
some bright,
others that bite.
Together a verbal blight,
beyond the bight
of Benin.

In even silly times,
know need to cite.
Obey copyright.
If not, be contrite.

This is for your Christmas delight.
Unlike dynamite
it may not excite.
Please fight
any fright
of this pode's stupidity.
Just join our fun flight
on digital graphite
to a new height
way below serendipity.

of hope
your soul
will not ignite
without insight.
Your life's goal?
Your choice.
Pick one
then struggle on,
using a funny voice,
and kindness, like the new Pope.

Some say Jesu·it,
others, Jesu·ite.
Is either wrong?

And there once was a knight,
who had a kite
with kryptonite
that she only flew
in the light.
It might
fly at night
but no one knew
nor tried.

Oh, shite!
An oversight.
Nearly forgot the plight
of the polite
destined to be quite
quiet, even when right.
And without a rite
or money,
they'll have no respite.

Don't smite
or even slight
your government's
that has great sight
and keeps track of you.
Why not?
It may protect
against the spite
of an angry Shiite?
Such rot.

Before twilight
are these rhymes trite
or baby tight?

Untie a pode.
Meet simple dope.

Without a V,
we'll try y-less variety.

Black over white
we write
and celebrate Mandela,
an exceptional fella,
who overcame injustice
with truth and forgiveness.

Who or what is Xanite,
a god or mineral?
Who cares?

not think of burnt Yosemite,
nor have time for zeit,
for now we see,
Beetle done with it.

Merry Christmas!

      25 December, 2013, 7:41PM+



our poet bee,
is large and solitary.
She's rude and crude
and does not live
in any hive.
Instead she tunnels
in wood
and feeds pollen to
her brood.
At this she's very good.

She doesn't dance
nor take the chance
to follow sterile sisters
to work the flowers
to make honey
for mother queen,
who has a contract
with a keeper,
who sells their sweat
and sweet labour
for money.

Too obscene.
Virginica's wise.
She skips that scene.

Much she knows:
in flowers are lies.
Pollen and nectar,
and deadly surprises.
Such it goes,
she realises.

An unquestioning sister,
with dance directions,
finds some showy petals.
Too late for reflections.
A crab spider's grab,
and the sister's a meal.
Soon freeloader flies
will be there to steal.

Unlucky sister, worker,
we're so sorry and sad.
What a horrible deal.
You were had.
Apparent success
and then the

The poet bee
is independent
and free.
She's alive,
as are we.

What a buzz.

      24 December, 2013, 4:20PM



It's rather absurd
if you haven't heard
that moths navigate
by the bright
of night sky.

Or try.

One, on a long flight,
confused by porch light,
came to a party.
The nam from Mantucket
had forgotten his bucket.
So the moth rested instead.

Beetle done with it.

And our pode went back to bed.


      24 December, 2013, 7:38AM


Nam from Mantucket

Once our dyslexic pode
knew a nam from Mantucket,
who tried to catch
a thom with a bucket.
The thom rejected.
The pode interjected,
"Oh nam, just go
photograph it."

      8 December, 2013, 9:19PM


Better ending?

Two poems to read,
whilst you wait.
Then we feed.
That's your fate.
Sorry. It's not

      8 December, 2013, 11:10AM



Good morning.
Word jumble
   in my brain,
as Dog and I go
   to face the rain.
I mumble,
   "Where hides the Poet Bee?"
Does Beetle know?
She's with her friends,
Moth, Fly, and Flea,
warm within my beard.
Beetle done with it.
Insane. Too weird!

      8 December, 2013, 6:27AM


Love, hope, and forgiveness

Good morning,
hove and lope.
Forgive me.
I not the poet bee.
Just dyslexic dope,
in mud, trying.

      7 December, 2013, 5:13AM


A poet bee

A poet bee. A moth
I'm not. Beetle done
with it. Fly. Or flea.
Good morning,

'Tis me. I not bee.
I am.

      12 November, 2013, 5:10AM
      12 November, 2013, 5:26AM


Life's what you make of it

Deslumbering. You?
Plans? No plans?
Probabilities of
breakfast? Starvation?
Transport or stasis?
Showering or not?
Designing a life or
muddling through a
morning? Your call.

      11 November, 2013, 9:17AM


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