Rebecca always hated me I know, because she said: And if I passing, spoke to her I might as well be dead For all the interest she would show. But I would always try: And she might glance up from her book Or not, as I went by. But then, one day, she spoke to … Continue reading "Rebecca"
We raised a paramecium That we could call our own; A single cell, and yet so much, A presence in our home -- We wanted a forever, but The fates would not permit -- That day our paramecium Just up and freaking Split
If the Latin language isn't a subject for poetry, what is?
Not all that heroic The way other people feel about sleeping in Is how I feel about going to bed early Not really that much into revenge I’m short of being a billionaire by roughly a billion dollars In terms of being a world-class Inventor-detective-athlete-martial artist, I’m 0 for 4 I won’t look nearly as … Continue reading "Why I Can’t Be Batman"
Thoughts of a middle-aged man, or, perhaps, many middle-aged men.
I wanted to seduce her with my wit; She started laughing at my clumsiness. I thought, “I’ll let my style do the bit” – Then knocked over the wine, and made a mess She came towards me with a yellow towel, And I no more my laughter could abate: Then her eyes shone when I … Continue reading "A Dating Memory"
(A few of my friends – some of whose adventures I have chronicled previously – found out I kept a poetry blog, and have provided me with some helpful suggestions for poems. A selection of the more repeatable ones are shown below. – Owen) I met a traveler from an antique land Who said, “You … Continue reading "Classical Poetry, as Updated by My Despicable Friends"
O lonely sock upon the floor, Seek you the sacred coves That other socks of mine have sought, Escaping, then, in droves? I see you setting out, this hour, To find those silver gates, And join the other mismatched soles Who no longer have mates. So where, tomorrow, you will be There’s none can truly … Continue reading "O Lonely Sock Upon The Floor"
This poem’s ending happily, I’ll tell you right up front. It’s when the moon’s at syzygy You question if that’s quite a word: It is. And there’s the brunt Of what I mostly meant to say Today, tomorrow, yesterday — For there are words that you can see Like apogee, or perigee, Of doubtless authenticity. … Continue reading "At Syzygy"