Poem – Strange Bed Fellows

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Where should I

Sleep tonight?

Ant beds

Look soft,

But they’re full of

Crumbs.

Fish beds

Are cool,

But they always

Wet them.

Beds of rice,

Beds of lettuce,

Beds of quinoa even.

Beds of worms,

Beds of nails,

Flatbed trucks, and

Fossils with

Embedded snails.

Perhaps I won’t

Risk a fright,

And sleep in my

Bed tonight.

Hope the bed bugs

Don’t bite.

Goodnight. Goodnight.

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Poem – Crazy Uncles and Pomegranates

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My Uncle Jack said,

“Have a snack!

There’s grapes,

Bananas,

And apples!

Have some

For goodness sake!”

“But Uncle Jack,”

I said.

“Those are dates,

Eggplants,

And pomegranates!

And these aren’t snacks,

They’re made of wax!

I’ll get a stomach ache!”

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Poem – Grief

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The day is new,
Cool, wet, and
Ancient.
Nostalgia
Weighs heavy
Upon my breast.
I feel loss
And a sense of
Currentness,
As if no
Past or Future
Exists.
I know,
Inexorably,
That this,
Like the dawn,
Will pass with
Time.
Though time itself
Seems nonexistent,
I’m keenly aware
That my experience
Does not alter
Reality.

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Poem – Autumn Near

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Cicada moving

Slow upon the shelf of a

Garden green table.

Poem – Insomniacal #1

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Perhaps 2 AM

Is not

The best time

To drink

Coffee.

However,

Time is

Relative.

And I’m

Relatively sure

It’s time

For some

Coffee.

Epic Poem – Saga of my Life – Macaroni

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This is a mostly true story…

Listen closely to my tale

Of making macaroni from scratch.

I began by forging a mighty cauldron.

Seven tons of iron ore I dipped

Into the molten fires of Mt. Mfjlldrk.

For seven centuries, I hammered

The red hot iron until it

Wrought the mighty cauldron.

To fill the cauldron,

I carried it clear to the springs

Of Fjordenbjork. With a thunderous

Stomp, I made the waters

Leap into my mighty cauldron!

Next, I used my great battle axe

To chop down a forest for tinder.

With one chop, I felled ten trees.

With two chops, one thousand!

With my bare hands, I pulled

A boulder of flint from the mountainside.

I dragged it across my rugged beard

Sending flames shooting over the forest.

I placed my mighty cauldron

Atop the flames and filled it

With the legendary Elbows of Macaroni.

I then grabbed the ocean by

Its corners and shook the salt

Into my mighty cauldron.

From the frozen north, I took cheese

Made with milk ripped from

The teats of the ancient grass-fed

Cows of Brudermilken

And grated a mountain of cheese.

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I then began to stir the

Legendary Elbows of Macaroni

With a one hundred foot tall

Sapling of Fjordenbjork.

Suddenly, water heated to

One million degrees splashed

On to my hand. Without flinching,

I disregarded the tenth degree

Burns and plunged my hand

Into butter made from milk

Ripped from the teats of the ancient grass-fed

Cows of Brudermilken.

Finally, I poured the water from

My mighty cauldron, forming

A seventh sea. I mixed in

The cheese and butter and blew

The fire out with one breath.

Ten thousand Vikings filled my

Mead Hall and yet they could not

Finish all of the legendary

Elbows of Macaroni that I set

Before them. To this day,

There still exists leftovers

From that epic meal.

Poem – No Ace in the Hole

Inspired by: Michael and Sunday Writing Prompt – 13th September – Cards

“You must play the

Hand

Dealt you.”

My foot!

Is it in

The stars,

The cards?

You say,

“That’s how the

Chips fall.”

Meanwhile,

Everyone has an

Ace

Up his sleeve.

Someone else always holds the

Deck.

I’m just asking for my

Cut.

Here’s a tell:

Bluff your way through.

There’s always another

Shuffle

When you’ve got

Chips

On the table.

Poem – Confessions of an Avid Author (or Artist) #5

I used to have

A pet

Rhinoceros Beetle.

His name was

Rocksteady.

He really liked

To burrow into

Peaches

Or roll them around.

He was really

Strong.

Once,

I caught him doing

Push-ups

With his climbing

Log.

The good thing about

Beetles

is, they don’t really

Die.

They just become

Display Pieces.

I think

It’s what he

Would have

Wanted.

Poem – A Dung Beetle: Disgusting Beauty

An Emerald set in

Shimmering Gold and

Burnished Copper.

A priceless jewel

Made for rolling

Dung into a hole.

I guess if you’re going to do it,

You might as well do it in style.

Poem – Confessions of an Avid Author (or Artist) #5

I often write

Entire stories

In my head,

Then tell them

From memory.

But I can’t remember

The date,

My birthday,

What I had for lunch,

The time,

Names,

Memories,

What you just said,

Numbers,

…,

…,

…,