Again this year I participated in Robert Lee Brewer’s November Poem A Day challenge. The poems are supposed to form a chapbook, but I wasn’t aiming for that. I simply wanted to write poetry.
My muse has been in an un-serious mood most of the month. I’ve done a lot of rhyming and a lot of, well …
Here are a couple of poems:
Dust like stars. Any storm in a port. The eye of my apple. Dust the bite. Blind a turned eye. Fuse a blow. Worm an open can. A death worse than fate. Ice the break. Knot the tie. A society of pillars.
Moons with rock piles made of diamonds, worlds of water where huge ships sail, never reaching shore, jungles full of purple cows, green tigers, and yellow elephants, dragons, fairies two feet tall, ten-foot-tall giants, magic wands, movies that turn themselves on with a blink of an eye.
My car sprouts helicopter wings. I look down on the cars lined up on route 95 as it winds through downtown Providence, and I open my mouth and sing, loudly, beautifully on pitch, remembering all the words.
The Truth about Truth
I desire a Truth
in my Christmas stocking.
Instead, in my head,
I hear a voice mocking.
“Truth’s much too fat
to be hung from a ledge
above a hot fire.”
Alas, though I pledge
she’ll never get burned,
she just shakes her large head.
Perhaps I will dream her
tonight in my bed.
She’ll plop on my blanket,
speak low in my ear.
I hope I’ll be able
to shut up and hear.
When He’s Gone
Alas, my laptop, Joe, is dead.
He tripped and fell right on his head.
The light went off. I almost cried,
the night my laptop, Joseph, died.
I had another laptop, Lou.
Unfortunately, he’s finished, too.
I spilled some coffee on his head,
and now my laptop, Lou, is dead.
Alas, I fear I’ll be offline
until November 12 at nine
AM when I return to work,
and leap onto my desktop, Kirk.
So for a time, I bid adieu
while I consider what to do:
to buy another or repair
or find someone who has a spare.