His name was Dan but most called him “snake”,
we listened intently to each thing that he spake.
His voice would croak,
and that is no joke,
Because he was different we thought him a flake.
Senryu 1
Road bends, turns, and twists,
We stumble, then stand up tall,
New horizons wait.
Oak Tree Hiku 46
lonely oak tree
battered by storms and men~
nature`s grace standing tall.
~
~ o ~ ~
~ y ~ a ~
~ l ~ ~ k \ \
~ e ~ t \ \ s and m>e>n~
n r \ \ \ m
o e \ \ \ r
l e \ \ o ~
\ t ~ i ~ n
s –h –a –t –t –e –r –e -d by s ~ d ~ ~ g
~n ~ t
a a
t l
n-a –t -u –r -e`s g –r –a –c -e s l.
Tigers in the tall grass.
Bruins in the buckwheat.
Sirens, sing of sassafras!
Eagles, time to eat...
Linger, O my looking-glass...
Red run in reply.
Languid liquor, poison gas!
Death, glance at me sly...
Frankincense burned on the tomb?
Ashes, coat the walls.
Belladonna, how you bloom!
Funeral, how ye palls!
Pyramid, best to get rid?
Gold on rim, crater?
Hell and Heaven, hid or bid?
Only if you're sure!
Wind, over the atolls fly!
Cold as coffee fields!
O my Spartans, don't be shy!
Win or on thy shields!
Forbidden City, thy birth?
Life, what are you worth?
Decency, dismay, thy dearth!
Estuary? Firth!
Honed like blades of iron!
Shining in the air!
O chessmasters, sac the pawn!
Tortoise, eat the hare!
Heaven and Hell, apply. When?
Beginning again!
Coyote, doth fear the hen?
One day out of ten...
Written By: D. Collins 6/11/25
Nothing could explain how soft OKC probably is.
Blocking out? And a max of 4 points from a big?
They have no Charles Barkley who sat in their laps.
Ensuring they couldn't jump and came over the back.
There was an umbrella around the rim in the old days.
Now 4 out of 5 players stand around to shoot tre's.
The game has changed to where it's played without thought.
Just step out of bounds, throw it in, and get ripped off.
They throw it into to SGA then do nothing at all.
Stand around the perimeter hoping they'll get the ball.
No cuts through the paint to finish at the rack.
I'm just wondering whatever happened to that?
In rooms where futures are decided,
old men argued about small voices,
children who had been silenced
for a thousand years.
"Should we teach them in English,
the language of their masters?
Or let them speak
in their grandmother's tongue?"
One truth burned bright:
every word they chose
would echo in ten million hearts.
They decided:
Let the Kannada child
dream in Kannada first,
let the Tamil child
sing Tamil songs,
but teach them all
that two plus two
equals hope
in any language.
This was revolution
disguised as policy,
understanding that a flower
blooms best in home soil
but must grow tall enough
to touch the sun.
So they built bridges:
from village to nation,
from mother's lullaby
to the world's stage,
from one small voice
to the chorus of tomorrow.
Education became love,
the bridge between
who you are
and who you could become.
The edge is close, my steps are slow,
I shouldn’t look, but still, I know.
I told myself I’d just come see
But now the fear is holding me.
The ground’s too far, my hands feel weak,
My chest is tight, I barely speak.
The railing’s there, but what if not?
What if it slips? What if I drop?
I take one step, then stop again,
The panic rising in my skin.
The wind is sharp, it stings my face,
I feel too small for this high place.
I take a breath, I step away,
The edge behind, I make my way.
With every step, I feel more free,
The fear is gone, I’m moving, see?
I don’t look back, I don’t regret,
I take each step, no more to fear.
The fear still lingers, but I survive
I’m off that path. I’m still alive.
the tall tree
slivers of sunlight stream
through the lacunas between leaves.
the soil scattered with seeds,
yet dewdrops only adorn
the ripe, red apple.
the avenue's trees
What is with this month of May
the day is as cold as November
the leaves on the trees are full
and green, yet among the mass
of chlorophyll, I see many yellow
and Auburn leaves.
It is as if the trees think of autumn
has arrived and is prepared
for winter hiatus.
If I tell the plants it is because of
melting ice in the Arctic, they
will look skeptical and say
we follow nature's signal, this
year will be the shortest one
on record, except for the ano
of 1748, when snow fell in June
and it was possible to sled
from Oslo to London in one day
This world wasn’t a nicest fit for me
But I lived here for awhile
I’m a spirit of a tall leafy tree
A tree with indefinite lovely smile
I provided shade when it was hot
A shelter from rains when it poured
My meekness was noticed, so I’ve finally got
A typical fate to be cut into boards
I’ve been carved into a table and put
In some pub, where the visitors discuss
Football and politics, but I think of my root
Where is it now, in what pile of dust
As a table, I’m just an indifferent plank
Detached from the time, when I was tall
I try to forget how they chopped my trunk
I can’t get over to be so small
By slicing me up into separate planks
They’ve made a complete fool out of me
I’d love to express my ironical thanks
But no one remembers a tall tree.
A man from Connecticut found
His legs would not reach to the ground.
“I wish I was shorter,”
He told a reporter,
“To stop all this floating around.”
She woke up to a sunrise;
Bright in her eyes as she rose
She stares at the moon as it disappears.
The red hat sitting on her dresser,
As she picked out her daily dress.
Brushed her hair, sprayed perfume-
Still, something was missing.
The girl followed the echoes of her mom’s voice;
Alerting her of the time rush.
As she waited for the bus, the sense of incompleteness
Overweighed her.
Right then, her mom lent her the red hat.
A slight grin crosses her lips
As she outfitted herself with the red hat.
From then on, she’s never felt incomplete
Nor forget the red hat.
Ah, behold
Prince William in uniform,
chiseled chin held high under ceremonial sunlight,
a speech polished like his medals,
echoing across parade grounds
as cameras hum like obedient bees.
“Duty, honor, courage,”
he proclaims,
as if reading from an antique scroll
dusted off for dramatic effect.
Crowds swoon.
Generals nod.
Newspapers burst into patriotic confetti.
And somewhere, in mahogany offices,
other leaders lean forward—
inspired, invigorated,
tugging at their tailored lapels,
murmuring, “Yes, yes, it’s time I put on a uniform too.”
What a pageant!
Suitors of war now march with princely conviction,
banners of legacy fluttering in the breeze of manufactured glory.
Recruitment numbers spike,
missile budgets blossom,
and drones, oh so dutiful,
take flight with newfound moral purpose.
Peace?
A quaint notion—
better saved for museum plaques and children's books.
The Prince has spoken.
The machinery whirs louder,
oiled by rhetoric,
driven by legacy,
and crowned by applause.
I can make my way
If You guide me Lord
Hold on to me
Hold on to me
Drive all my thoughts dear Lord
Loved all of the time
Loved all of the time
There is no end to Your faithfulness
Help me to stand tall
Please help me to stand tall
And I will always trust in Your ways
I will live for You all of my days
• He's tall, but he feels short
• She's short, but she feels tall
• Nobody knows when they met
• Out side of "in the fall"
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