Monthly Archives: March 2016

Six Word Memoirs

Heart like a river–seasonal flooding.

Dogs were there when I needed.

Years crowd around me: sit still!

Too Full to Talk About

Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and right-doing there is a field. I’ll meet you there. When the soul lies down in that grass, the world is too full to talk about.

–Rumi

Crummy Limerick for the American Election

The GOP uses dog whistle words
for decades to rile up the turds
who are paler than tanner and racist in manner
and can’t tell the Greeks from the Kurds

Nabokov, Vonnegut and You

Nabokov said falling stars are cigarettes thrown away by guilty angels when the archangel passes by.

Vonnegut said pillars of salt are the dead who could not let go of the past.

I say the bright light that shone in them shines in you — it is there whether you can see it today or not.

The Ferry Boat

The sea has no memory.
A field of chipped granite
moving back and forth
over a sediment of soldiers.

Where the warships collide
is a canyon where sailors
wait to jump.

A sunken fighter plane lies
covered in sargasso seaweed.
Eyeless windows, engines mouths for starfish.

Above, a ferry boat wanders
the night-fogged sea,
a blinkered tunnel
without an end point.

What carries light to such places?
Seeds of stars are falling,
trying to turn things around.

Refugee Camp

a fence line of blue toes
clanking stomachs
night cutting words

*This poem was first published in DoveTails Literary Journal

Strange Creatures

I love the craft of poetry. Notice how John Looker’s slant rhymes seem to disappear inside his poem Strange Creatures.

 

Moments before, the sea was breathlessly calm. Suddenly the surface ruptured and a head arose, dripping, dark. Then onto our beach it came, lumbering heavily, tossing its head with a roar. Somewher…

Source: Strange Creatures