Was Poems

The Other Me Was Unimpressed

The events of last evening were such
that I awoke this morning to find
I was beside myself—
not metaphorically,
but in the most literal sense:
two versions,
one body short.

The mirror caught us first—
a flash of double movement
where there should have been one.
I blinked.
He didn’t.
Or maybe I didn’t.
It’s hard to say
when glass begins to lie.

We shared a glance,
the kind exchanged

Was I Created To Suffer

In the depths of my soul, a question resides,
Was I created to suffer, to bear the weight of pain?
My days begin with tears, a sorrowful refrain,
A longing to live a better life, free from this endless strain.

I yearn to walk in happiness, like others I've seen,
But with each step forward, I stumble and fall, it

Time was when

Words vouched for my good
Made me sulk, feel very bad
In days of childhood.
Today, things do make me sad
Which, in cool silence I brood.

We call it old age
When we subtract more than add
Things on life’s last page,
Dwell on few days we feel glad,
Days not, in muted hush mad.
_______________________
Tanka (Senryu + couplet) |06.09.2025| childhood, life, old age,

I once was heard

Will memories I have remain?
It is my fear that they will not;
for children think I am insane,
and what I say is best forgot.

Spring, I was and knew

Yellow goblet blooms of crocus wild
I ran among, once as a child.

My Shout was Sent Flying

Rushing back with my shout
drinks held aloft skew-whiff.
I was spun all around
like a wild water spout,
     caught by brush
     flush with haste
     shame's a gush
     blush disgraced
     crowd's hush-hush

Surely she was not the new boss

surely, she was not the new boss
our heads swiveled almost in unison
this woman was way too polished for this place
chic in her sophisticated oversized green hat with pink polka dots

Who wore something like that in the sixties?
Her suit was a combination of stripes and dots.
Also a big no no in the sixties.
a BIG no No.

Oh,

A King Was He

I need some help, I'm requesting,
That I understood, I believe
I was in this hitch of unworthiness
Because life had thrown me a switch.

The dope was nasty and pitiless
Trying to escape this world of hostility.
After what had happened that day
My most sinful fear was yet to come by play.

I wasn't being supportive when, 
I thought I was

Zambia Was My Mother

Zambia was my mother—
shaped like a butterfly resting in the heart of Africa,
her wings curved not by nature alone,
but by the lines of empires
who came to take what was never theirs.
They called her Northern Rhodesia,
after tasting the sweetness of her soil
and stealing the copper from her veins.

Her rivers run wild with spirit—
the Zambezi roaring with

This Plague was No Joke

Dr. Moody was discouraged, his job had taken a turn.
This was the third plague that hit Minnesota in twelve years.
People were dying in ditches, seeking relief from their open sores.
Frozen corpses with gaping mouths greeted him from town to town.

Optimism had died about three years back
he had no idea why he survived.
Three plagues, and he

Was it all a Lie?

They told me,
“Get over it—
It wasn’t that deep.”
But how can shallow waters
drown me in my sleep?

I loved him—
with the kind of love
you feel in your ribs
when laughter turns quiet,
when silence feels safe,
when just breathing beside someone
feels like home.

He said it was fake.
Said I was just easy—
a toy for his boredom,
a name he’d forget
like a number

As Kyle was Walking Down the Aisle

as Kyle was walking down the aisle
he tasted disgusting salty green bile
looked up and saw a weird smile on Lyle
Feeling vile, he started to dial.

His bride Wilhemina was dressed in style.
she outclassed him by a city mile
he ran, jumping a massive wood pile
did not return for quite a while

in the meantime, the groomsman named Lyle
wooed

My next verse, too, was not a great hit

My next verse, too, was not a great hit.
And that ain't even the half of it.
They said, "You call yourself a poet?"
"I never did! I'm not! I know it!"
"With crap like this, you really show it."

The Good Was Taken Out of the Summer

The Good was Taken out of the Summer

The good was taken out of the summer,
With her garden patch left abandoned,
 Lettuce heads and scallions gone wild,
Her sweet summer plans all spoiled.

The good was taken out of the summer,
With green fly festering her roses,
Overwatered orchids on the sill
As her plastic bread bowl lay still.

The good was

Kim Rodrigues When Paris was

Kim's song in French


Lent son du saxophone ; je m'allonge
et j'écoute les paroles du bon vieux temps,

quand Paris était à la mode,
et que le temps de l'amour est révolu
pour la vieille fille sirotant du vin
à la terrasse d'un café ; fixant,

sommes-nous, les yeux d'un tableau
pluvieux et coloré ; romantiquement

par le son frémissant du saxophone ;
ses

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