Elderly Immigrant

I don’t remember much

About my youth 

In the old country— 

I was too young to bother 

About memories. 

Now, I tell myself,

I’ll soon know better. 

Moonstruck and Pure As the Driven Snow to Boot

What’s that you say poet waxing poetic 

Your writing’s crystal clear? 

But how clear is that now tell me oh 

Too late I fear I’m drifting off 

Will it help clear things up a bit 

If I stick this shovel in your ear? 

Right As Rain till Kingdom Come and Still No Sign of Wear and Tear

Isn’t it terrible about metaphors? 

Folks have been trying 

To pin them down for ages 

And they’re still tearing about, 

Catching clichés in red weather. 

Definitely Not Lemmings #41

A warm December welcome to Leigh Tuplin. Leigh’s blog combines poetry with photographs—well worth taking a look at. Thank you, Leigh.

At a Loss for Words

–for Eleni, again 

With all my words found wanting 

My love, my muse, what must I do 

To find the one just right for you— 

Wear it on my sleeve? 

All That Glitter Is Not Gold (The Great Pretender)

Poet who fancies 

He has the Midas touch, 

Easy on that gilded dressing— 

You want your head stuffed 

And spinning, grinning on 

A silver platter? 

Beyond the Wildest Stretch of the Imagination

Imagine—once and for all— 

Standing at the sea’s edge, thinking 

Of the poet who said there will always be more to it 

Under the surface once you reach it, 

Will you be able to leave it at that?