to my table the Matre ’dee
brought a blowfish to me
fish was wearing rainbow shades
he said he’d caught him in the Everglades
Do you like to live on the edge?
I looked for a place to hide- a bush, a hedge.
The blowfish stuck his tongue out at me.
Sure, I’ll take a chance I said to the Matre ‘Dee
There once was an old man in love,
Who was smooth as a cue ball above,
As he looked for a gift,
He rode up the lift,
He said, " If I saved my hair, I could knit her gloves!"
She looked for a Valentine love
But found a tire old stud
As she turns to run
He shouts, let's have fun
They dance as light shine from above
Callie had an obsession,
big time was her intention;
she was looking for a preppy,
slim guy in a town
full of chubbies
who drank lots of whiskey:
the best guy was tall Lanny!
Dressed up as Barbie Doll
she roamed shaking her butt,
a cop yelled, " Stop, pussycat:
your shirt makes guys drool! "
Callie laughed at him,
he reacted with a grim,
" A ticket for indecency,
don't ask for clemency! "
She quickly tucked the ticket
in her bra and sped away
tripping on the sidewalk crack;
a drunken fool, a drunken paid
for her summons, a hot body
for sale needed another bail!
Callie looked for a boyfriend,
but she was carried away
by lust and became the next prey;
her life ended: what a tragic end!
Reflection in a Phial
I look at my hands, they are as brown as a farmer`s, this pleases me,
although I have no land to plough, a tractor or a mule, or
a workman`s sturdy hand; all socialists should have hands that
have harvested potatoes or carrots.
I flex the muscles in my upper arms and see a faint movement
like a mouse moving under thawing spring snow.
Glorious vanity, I used to do a hundred press-ups a day in the hope
of looking intense and furious. I think of sex sadly. I wasn`t any good
at it. After the act, I looked for a book to read.
The squalid side of life has always mystified me. Why does
a person choose a path that leads to moral disgrace and ruin?
I have always been lazy; strenuous effort will not touch me,
but I would like to pull up a few more carrots.
I woke to see disoriented infinite shelves,
Enormous books lay with utmost silence.
In the floating dust, identity was found,
And under the endless meanings, the self was buried.
The turning pages reminded me of the unremembered hands,
Meanings were blurred, voices were invalidated.
Every dawn made me welcome to enjoy the curse,
For time had lost its aim.
Sometimes I met sufferers, while others were not counted,
Their tired eyes seemed to be of the weariness of traveling to eternity.
Voices filled with vain efforts, unable to be comprehended,
Since the mind was stuck in endless letters and pauses.
I understood that hell is not about fire or pain,
Though punishment was given through endless reading or searching.
I looked for a respite but was forever denied,
When properly ordered, souls drift astray forever.
the bumblebee was frantically trying to get out of my studio
He was a baby bee, beautifully fuzzy, black and yellow
I looked for a cup, because why not save him?
He is one of God’s creatures too, is he not?
I put the cup over him, glad he did not fly up.
because I am short.
I slid a thin piece of cardboard under him and held it tightly
then I took the cup and the cardboard outside and released the bee
Good grief! He almost flew back inside!
Why would he do that?
What would make him want to do that?
For a second I thought he had flown back inside.
As I returned to my studio I listened for the frantic buzzing.
Luckily, he seemed to be gone.
Had he found his mommy and daddy?
Had he returned to a cone flower? It was interesting to ponder.
I felt smug that I had saved a life.
I have not looked for a while.? Yet its out there...
Somewhere.? I must find time..Before it fades
Thats time i mean.' Elusive to catch despite all
Our wiles.'
I came in from the fields to take a bath.
Taking off my worn clothes I stared aghast.
They were so stained and filthy, torn and worn
That I looked for a way to get new clothes.
Sadly, I was poor without a penny.
I looked and saw the old chains on my feet.
These kept me bound to a cruel master.
I would not be free after my life passed.
I walked by the place where the lamb was killed.
And in quiet desperation I threw
My clothes into the place where its blood spilled.
Quickly, I pulled them out and stared in shock.
They were made new and bleached whiter than snow.
I put them on in surprise and in hope
And found the chains had fallen from my feet.
I danced to the mirror and realized
That the blood of the Lamb made me new born.
I didn't really laugh
I could have, though.
At who?
At myself?
At her?
At the irony of it all?
She always left an imprint on me.
Always gave me a new way of thinking
And left afterward.
I didn't even think about it
Until I looked for a song
I saw her play
On a game
Ironic, I guess
She gave me this good song, not even on purpose
Then told me I was a terrible person in the meanest way
She didn't realize the gift she'd given me
Was it much of a gift anyway?
Maybe not
I do appreciate it
It isn't even really all that funny.
But I laugh at unhumorous things often
So it's okay
I'll be okay
Don't worry
(Am I telling you that or myself?)
I don't need to bother with her anymore
But I'll keep the song.
God Bless You!
Finished shift at eleven o’clock in the night
and go to the underground station, the train flying
to the next stop, changed the line here, at Baker Street
Get on the first carriage, I am always sitting here, the best place
My bag dropped on the seat, I sat down, I love the train window
Movie of the passing night view of the city, and views. I said, ‘Finish today.’
A man sat across from me. He was dressed interestingly, like an
anachronist artist, with long hair. He said, ‘ Yes, finish my shift too, twelve hours.’
He asked my destination, ‘It’s not too far’, I replied, ‘two stops, fortunately, that’s it.’
‘Good for you. I am going to the final stop, then change to the bus,
which is thirty minutes more.’ He said and looked ahead of him, drowsily, and rested.
I watched for a while. He looked for a good man, like a teacher or an actor; a gentle, friendly
My stop arrived, and my book closing in my hand, I went to the door and watched back
‘Have a good journey and night.’ I said to him. ‘You too my friend, and God bless you.’
He answered and smiled in a friendly. From the window he watched me. He was a rare soul.
God Bless You!
beyond mortal grave
along divine hope
my spirit awaits
firmament great sight---
faith's journey sublime.
trust-propped vantage
focused on God*
propels my heart
toward blest view.
heavenly
perspective
drives my soul...
...onward
serene...
...home!
*Hebrews 11:10 For he looked for a city which hath foundations, whose builder and maker is God.
September 12, 2024
8th place, "YOUR CHOICE C" Poetry Writing Contest
Sponsored by Brian Strand; judged on 3/22/2025
I've looked for a way in,
a tear in the silence
that walls whatever is behind
be it nothingness or being,
bright mornings that almost
tip into the ecstatic, a blessed
oblivion where boundaries
dissolve and all things
become one, but the world
always holds together,
its forces fail to break.
A prisoner of form,
my cathedrals are cathedrals
of space buttressed by trees,
a sacristy for the echoes
of creation still sounding across
time. Forgiveness is the gentle
wash of rain and the frail beauty
of a wildflower, white as snow,
is the candle flickering
on the altar of the unknown.
I've looked for a gift to bring you,
but nothing seems enough.
Can flowers be painted;
can the sun be made brighter?
Can rivers flow faster,
or stars be whiter?
Words have become my enemy,
while silence is wrapped in melody.
Perhaps, just perhaps I can make you smile
when telling you that you are pure and beautiful as a lily of a Nile.
Did it work, did you smile?
Being all the time happy would be living a lie.
This one smile, this moment of joy,
may it remain, ‘If you want to be happy, be.’ as said Tolstoy.
No bombs here
I walked ashore in Nagasaki
traces of the bomb had gone
the dead buried
the maimed packed away
no one wanted to talk about
the bomb
Nagasaki had many shops
I bought a kimono made of silk
the beautiful shop assistant
didn't know about The bomb
she giggled and covered her
lovely hands, she found me
amusing
Hiroshima, the world knows
about, we have seen the pictures
Nagasaki, overlooked
I looked for a key ring, to find
a symbol of the past, say,
A golden bomb on a bluish sky
found none, but bought
a key holder with a green
stone, no, not a diamond
I bought a tiny radio also
from a shop where they
said: we don't talk about the bomb
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