The birds who
honk, honk
don’t deserve
to be called
birds at all.
They crap
without modesty
or a sense
of direction.
They are arrogant,
long-necked,
awkward standing,
weird looking
birds.
I acknowledge
their existence,
and I realize
that we must coexist.
Still,
they can honk, honk
to hell.
I’m just trying
to run here.
I share the sidewalk
with your feathery asses.
Give me an inch
and stop hissing
at me.
I have a lovely thought.
It spins through my mind again and again.
I think to myself
why not use it as a quatern’s sweet refrain?
I have a tale to tell.
It’s both melodic and a little sad.
My muse comes along and says
Why not write it as a ballad?
Sometimes I feel silly
and want to make folks laugh.
Why not write a limerick
on something like a too-short-necked giraffe?
Lines of just two syllables
in my head begin to pound.
I decide why not
be footling around?
Something short but wonderful
gives my muse a spark.
Why not write a monoku -
far better than a mere remark.
At times I grow reflective
on a topic for a sonnet.
Why not use those 14 lines
of iambic pentameter on it?
And why not try free verse?
(some people say to me.)
That’s not always easy,
so as I am doing now – I rhyme my poetry.
Android, light a fire!
Melt down metal and stone.
Forge of these a wire.
O hateful, hold thy own!
Hordes of havoc, ride with fate!
Loose thy battle cry!
Warrior, thy will is hate!
Compel these to die!
Sigh, O waiting ladies?
Not readily, good sir.
Look up at the Pleiades!
Reality, just blur...
Automaton, black abyss!
Apocalypse; kiss.
Flock of pelican, fish. Grow, gris.
Serpent coiling, hiss.
Bile and blasphemy, break. Be.
All tomorrow, flee.
Beat of my heart, suddenly!
Vision means to see...
Cold confusion, coffee cake!
Help a brother out!
Vampire, do ye fear the stake?
Dragon, do ye doubt?
Flame eternal, burn within!
Blanch, O fire of Sin!
Scorching heat of oven? In!
What ye dream, begin!
Light of spark and intellect!
Brilliant is thy glow!
Raven of fate, how you pecked!
Necked and tossed below!
Chain unbroken, forge. Deep gorge.
Weathervane, point. Sight.
Unit twenty, thou art corge.
One it takes to fight...
Wolf.
Puma.
Long-necked (or was it
long-bodied?)
Dragon.
Forest...Fire.
A Bunny, cute -
and on its back.
A Bounding Fox
with Seaspray Fluff
of Following Tail.
A long-nosed Fellow
bearing bulbous eyes;
grown wider with surprise
at the Cloudball gone:
teetering off from said
Nose.
A Wingsuit Aerialist
falling bellylong into
greens below. Laughing.
An Otter, now -
popped up from (,some-
how,) a Prairie Dog’s hole.
Over the Water Gap.
A profile, of
a Presence’s Silouhette
but with lip backlit...
and Chin. About to
Smile in the foreground
of...a
...Waterfall of Light.
Curiously, a Bighorn Seahorse Sheep.
I drive.
Press on.
I drive.
Look up.
I drive.
Clouds drift. I drive.
Early morning and the gantry cranes
at Webb Dock look like long necked
dinosaurs lining up to drink from the river -
and the sky is aglow as it might have been
when tinged by the first hint of that asteroid
slamming into Yucatan on the other side
of the world 66 million years ago.
This is 2025 and no asteroid threatens
our fragile planet, yet more subtle
things do - things that reside in the dark
precincts of the human soul that pour
out pollution and in silos and undersea,
stoke embers that could at anytime
break free and incinerate us all.
silence resonates
eerie gray glow of night sky
nightjar* prays for moon
*The fiery-necked nightjar has a distinctive call that many have rendered as 'good-lord-deliver-us'.
Purim Theorem!
Rambam holds Hashem is math,
Hashem does not take a path,
Like “Squaring the Circle”,
Such is illogical,
Yet the Zohar differs on Hashem’s craft!
Witness the Aron anomaly,
Giving rise to a homily,
Finite length & width yet zero volume,
Boggling the mind, yielding it solemn,
Evoking Emunah more than normally!
Size yet no volume?
Anomaly! as in Shalom,
Moshe saw that the “Burning Bush”,
Was unconsumed, he didn’t silence: Hush!,
Risking ridicule, courage to be alone!
Moshe saw water & fire combine,
Hashem’s Shalom nonintuitively align,
Illogic surprise from mire,
Despair be gone! Lost? A Divine sign!
Purim, 339 Before Common Era,
Hashem again was a true “Chevra”,
Upending Haman’s goose,
In a long necked noose,
Saving the Yidden from an evil schema!
Arrogance vanquished,
Anomaly? Yes by logic languished,
Expect the unsuspected,
Human reason dissected,
Headstand of man anguished!
“Shemayim’s” Burning Bush is a hymn,
Let the “Olam” Hear Him,
Again no novelty,
“Chiddush” renewal, an end to “Evilty!”
All Adds Up to Purim Theorem!
Late November and spring rain falls the glen,
dry nor-westers shed pine needle and cone -
and “koork kok” crows the cock pheasant and hen
who outside my window have always flown.
In the thickets and hanging gardens from
calls my ring-necked friend, my avian muse
who, silenced by the Iroquois’s loud thrum,
shines in the dappled sun its copper hues.
Behold his red faced wattle in the grass,
a white collared chromatic blue-green head
and long tail feathers that before me pass
as to the heavens his princely wings spread.
For in these hills in wild and wondrous sound
echo game fowl and the choppers inbound.
Written: November 1994
I do not exist among the butterflies
Their fragile beauty idolized
I float unseen past long necked swans
A-glide upon life’s still-life pond
I am not seen on city streets
As hardened silence never seeks
I do not exist yet here I am
In a world that tells me that I don’t
Claims I am an afterthought
Of dreams that no one ever sought
And when I shout “you’re wrong, you’ll see”
My shadow bravely smiles at me
Perhaps this whole damn situation’s
A figment of my imagination
In a world where only I exist
And you do not…now there’s a twist
But wait, that’s wrong, it would be hell
For who would hear ME when I yell
Scorching Sun in severe Summer brought draught with arid field.
Rainy season followed, when cracked soil about to cry.
Roaring storm and floating clouds rushed and fought.
Appeared showers when Summer is gone.
Loud thunderbolt, gust thrusts, cloud melts, rain showers.
Plants bathe with branches, foliages.
Silky shiny leaves are kissed by rain drops.
Glistening greenery embowers.
Sun not sizzling, raindrops drizzling.
Soil gets moistened, glossy green grass in mass.
Flooded damped ground .
Football played wearing soggy Jersey.
Immersing one leg on muddy marshy land
standing long - necked crane to catch fish.
Rain showers soothe when Summer is gone.
Dry Nature gets blessings to relish.
All around fine freshness sparkle.
New love cheers, excites, entertains.,
confusing amusing muse of lovers.
Refused love blends in tears with ceaseless rains.
a long-necked goose pursued
a stuffed hen, waddling
through the entrails of
an all-you-can-eat
charred chick
lunch special
~ Corner of Chick Ken and Charred
somewhere out there in the Twilight Zone ~
They gathered outside- I'm alone,
and at my back window, I groan!
I think- what is this
my hubby will miss?
Then, quickly I reach for my phone!
"We're being invaded, my dear!
Please quickly come home, for I fear
these huge long-necked beasts
are looking for feasts!
Whatever they are- is unclear!”
“I counted at least twenty-one
now looking for food where there's none!
It seemed a bad sign
when their eyes met mine!
The door's locked- so I need not run!"
Some photos I send him to please;
He views them, then texts me with ease-
"Please, honey calm down!
No need for a frown!
Your so-called wild beasts are Turkeys!”
Confusing, as I just recalled
my Thanksgiving Turkeys were bald;
came right from the store
piled up with lots more!
Not “beasts”- but OUR “feasts” - I'm appalled!
A Poem
a poem can be quite funny
a poem can be quite sad
some poems are really sensible
while others are quite mad
some are rather silly
designed to fashion laughs
with talk of roosters ducks and geese
or large long necked giraffes
but poems can tell a story
not just be rhyming word
a poem can make your heart take flight
on strong emotions stirred
a poem can give you pleasure
wondrous and sublime
of which there is no measure
take you to another time
and poems belong to everyone
just follow where they lead
turn the page and there they are
in thought word and deed
for poetry is ancient
a timeless limitless cloak
of thoughts and feelings infinite
as old as language spoke
Wazza
If you knitted a scarf
For a long necked giraffe
How long would the scarf need to be
If you wrapped it around
Would it reach to the ground
Or only get down to his knee
Should the pattern be bold
Could it keep out the cold
Would it make him look chic and have style
If he wore it outside
He would wear it with pride
Along with his ear to ear smile
Change my heart, Lord
Change my heart oh Lord from self to thee.
I am so puffed up and full of me.
May see I am nothing without thee.
I am merely but a lump of clay and it's your breath that is within me.
So change my heart oh Lord to see your way.
Change my heart oh Lord.
What is man, without thee?
Change my heart and may I see I am only dust without thee.
A speck of clay You formed me, me to bring you glory every day but instead, I have chosen my own wayward way.
Stiff-necked and rebellious I was glorifying myself.
So change my heart so I may only reflect thee.
Life is but a fleeting moment, fragile, and soon will end.
But what would it profit me if I end it without thee?
Change my heart Lord and forgive me for my sinful ways.
Change my heart, Lord, so I will only reflect thee.
None of me but all of thee is all I pray.
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