if ninety fine
slightly mounted mint
chipmunks can sub-
sist on tiny yin
fins tied togeth-
er like some jamba-
laya snort cakes
zen can you imag-
ine all of the Vandals that would be sacking those very
same cakes when in Rome?
O short-snouted slouth
with your quivering stamp-fangs,
you thud-thump my soul with procedural sludge;
the cosmos groans in beige.
By decree of Sub-Section
Twelve-and-a-Half-Point-Nine,
I must submit my shoelaces in quadruplicate,
signed by three witnesses and a mildly confused turnip.
O mighty Desk of Doom,
why must your flobber-forms that
cling to my sanity like damp bureaucratic algae?
the wind blows again
old times it blew and it stayed
you can see mountains clearly
days we looked for them
ah to be and not to be
see the mountains, not the wind
I am out of place.
His name is Zed, he is a pumpkin head.
This is funny I said to my pal, Jed.
He said I kid you not. Please get out of bed.
I want you to meet Zed before he is wed.
I knew I would not be interested no matter how led.
My pal Jed is a trickster, amply named and fed.
He probably made up a story about a pumpkin head.
I brought along my sister and her boyfriend Ned.
Her boyfriend is a physician at K-med.
My cheeks were embarrassed, and my face was red.
When I was introduced to Zed, the pumpkin head.
I thought you were fictitious, I stupidly said.
He laughed at that and threw back his head.
Almost as good as what I thought; I thought you were dead.
We both glared at Jed, who was as silly as his twin Ted.
But here you are alive and well, instead said Zed.
My dad is bigger than yours she said.
It made me mad; I wished she was dead.
Took my anger to my Uncle Ned.
He started laughing, happy instead.
Most serious now, sick in my head,
Ran to my cousin, Goofball named Zed.
He chased me off, his face spitball of red.
With laughter shaking his feather bed.
I decided to sit in my little she-shed.
Devoured Ritz crackers ‘til I was fed.
Refused to talk to my Uncle Ted.
Who was spitting a story about Brother Ed.
I rode off on my purple and pink Moped.
Had an accident, needed bandage and a med.
The nurse who helped me was named Mrs. Ked.
Beautiful, she was a recent newlywed.
My dad is bigger than yours she said.
I was shocked for a second, but then I read
A book, settled down, no longer in my head.
Seeing the humor of Ed, Zed, Ned and Ted.
Based on L. Cohen’s Field Commander Cohen
Dedicated to my mentor and friend Z. Miroslawski
Field Commander Zed,
he was a poet not a spy,
firm believer that his duty
was to fill the void with beauty
of his metaphors and rhyme,
before it is infiltrated
with uncertainty and hatred
of hard-headed men.
Once when faced
with verbal violence,
that his kindness failed to silence
he used what was at hand...
then came back
to teaching, writing,
boredom some are advertising as
POETRY!
Zest sparks a fest
Yield what works best
eXplore fine jest
Word a fond glow
Verse sanguine show
Urge primes sure flow
Touch a sure art
Seed a sure part
Rouse a good heart
Quest in sure time
Peace knows what rhymes
Opt for clear chimes
Note passion play,
Move what you say
Live well each day
Keep voice on wit
Joy keeps fine fit
Ink bit by bit
Health hurls fond keep
Grace feeds things deep
Feel thought and creed
Etch a fond stay
Deed a strong say
Charm words each day
Be all you can
Ask for a plan
Leon Enriquez
13 March 2015
Singapore
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