vazambam
new old kid on the blog, with an occasional old or new poem written off the old writer's block
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An Essay
My Weekly Hubris Columns
My Runkeeper Biking Reports
My Photographs
Sunday, June 30, 2019
Moonlighter
Following the money
Moonlit snail leaves
Winding silver tracks
Trail behind it.
Friday, June 28, 2019
What The Eye Fails To Take In, The Heart Will
—for Ans and Peter, inveterate birders par excellence
Not the green limb trembling
In the still air but the departed
Beating of wings
The branch was home to
No longer there.
Tuesday, June 25, 2019
Haiku: Good Investment
What
is a word worth
Spending your morning watching
Bees gather pollen.
Sunday, June 23, 2019
In God We Trust
Trust me—
When you said you would
Try harder the next time,
Nobody believed you, not
Even your best friend,
Your lying self
To the bitter end.
Wednesday, June 19, 2019
Epitaph For A Spaced-Out Astronomer
Love, don’t you be like me
When the stars got in my eyes,
I looked for the nearest
Black hole.
Monday, June 17, 2019
Ambivalence
Suffering’s well hidden,
Festering in Everyman’s heart,
And everyone wants it
Ripped out
Without hurting the heart.
Saturday, June 15, 2019
Shall We Or Shall We Not?
Uproot the poem which dares
Rear its head out of season
Lest that bizarre beauty develop
A mind of its own
And bewitch us.
Thursday, June 13, 2019
How Poets End Up Getting The Reader's Goat
Remember leading that nag
To water to no avail? Well,
Your exasperating poetic
Manner reminds me of a nanny
Goat that gives us a milk can
Full to the brim, then
Straightaway kicks it
Over before we can fully
Take all that wholesomeness in.
Tuesday, June 11, 2019
Haiku: Artisan's Well-Wrought Urn Embellishing Mantelpiece
Ashes to ashes. . . . .
No bones about it—
Dedicated to an art
Finely worked to death.
Sunday, June 9, 2019
Quasi-Cartesian Contemplation
Where I can
Stand, I choose
To do so, other-
Wise, I sit.
Friday, June 7, 2019
No Trespassing--This Means You!
This abandoned derelict has nothing left to say
Of what went on inside it, years of pent-up anger
Keep it shut away.
Tuesday, June 4, 2019
A Poem Should Be (17)
Finely spun as a spider’s
Web poised deceptively
In the morning sun,
And you an ephemeral
Struggling captive soon
To be undone.
Sunday, June 2, 2019
Rub A Dub Tub
More than likely,
The perfect poem is never
Going to be there when
You need it, even if
You’ve just cut your veins
And are waiting patiently
For divine inspiration to save you
From a fate worse than death.
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