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Two poems

Preface: do you ever wonder how much of your fiction is the past dragging onto you? Anyway here are two new new poems.

“indifference” by yours truly
Indifference or Sin of Omission?
Distinction without difference:
Just say an Act of Contrition.
This is your mission.

“Cord” by yours truly
The cord came out.
No more electricity
Or synchronicity.
She left no doubt.
No more connection
Or affection,
Only reflection
In the mirror.
You’ll not be nearer
To her.

Still have some poems but just a light-hearted extract today

“I remember, but what kind of plot did such poem have?”
10:48
”
It is a two-stanza poem about having a big romantic crush when young that goes badly wrong in the second stanza.”
10:51
“It Seems to me that you are amorous to this day still.”
10:55
“With you? Is your last name McGill?”
11:52
“Who is McGill, Edmund? Are you sure you’re not talking with Thai one? 😄”
“11:58C “She does not really exist, or is she you?”
“I don’t get it) Would you like to describe what you really think now?”

Some joke poems

1) “Hair” by yours truly
Don’t worry that she has very long hair,
Though it takes much grooming and care.
Do not grab the hair
To drag her around on the ground
Back to your cave, you knave.
You need a shave,
Or she may not kiss you
Or miss you.

2) “Right and Wrong” by yours truly
Miss Right meet Mister Wrong.
Soon you could be a couple and live in a bubble.
It would not be long.
Together you could sing a song
And stay together all night long,
To yourselves belong.
But don’t speak of owning one another,
Sister and brother.

3) “A Very Bad Attempt at Haiku” by yours truly
The calm before the storm
Like the farts before the poop.

4) “Jokes” by yours truly
Advice: don’t laugh at your own jokes…unless no one else likes them.

A poem

“Photos” by yours truly

There are photos of us joking around as kids:
Me telling her jokes
And jumping after her at track practice.
She seemed to play along, and I never touched her.
Her older brother even found it funny,
But her Dad told me to calm down.
I made a bad joke about pursuing her
As motive for an endurance race.

It didn’t end well, almost a disgrace.
The older brother wanted to kill me.
His Father had to stop him.
But then the brother chilled and patted my back.
Hope for forgiveness.
For grace.

Three brief poems

“Forearms” by yours truly
“Look woman,
My forearms are as big as Popeye’s.”
“Oh Mr. Man, stop the lies,
Or I may have to gouge out your eyes.”

“Hummus and Hotdogs” by yours truly
“For din-din, hummus, pita, and hotdogs
With some Dijon and Sauer kraut on.
What? You seem wan.”
“When a child we put it once upon.”

“More Sky” by yours truly
White and blue clouds over foothills.
Snow gone but still windy chills.
Kind of pleasant on the skin.
“Will you ever win?” — Stevie Nicks
Wind sounds heard inside.
Oh, my pride!

Need to get to work on a new novella that has stalled several months. I read a novel by a Scottish writer called “How Late It Was, How Late.” That is how I feel about this work in progress. Anyway, here it is a poem for now.

“God’s Art” by yours truly

“Nature is God’s art,”

Said someone famous.

And the sky over foothills

At land already over 7,000 feet

Can seem like abstract expressionist art.

We are so far apart,

So far apart.

A poem

Just chores today. I have a backlog of poems but today just one.

“White and Grey” by yours truly

White and grey clouds

Below blue sky

As far as the eye can…

Over cold Spring foothills

Whatever our ways, whatever our wills.

Loud wind, at some point we will end.

Let’s not pretend.

Letter meant to send.

On Mass and a brief poem

In Mass today, the pastor referred to “the true, the beautiful, and the good.” It reminded me of a grad school literature course called Aesthetics and Decadence that used the same three part approach to literary text (my joke to my Mom was the course was about 50-50 between the two). But seriously, they are three things people should strive for.

“Refund” by yours truly

“Hey, I paid a lot for this joke,

And no one laughs.

I want a refund!”

“No sir. We do not give refunds.

Now move along,

Or I will call the police.”

“Why try calling The Police?

They don’t exist anymore.

But we will always enjoy their music.”

A brief poem

“Age” by yours truly

At this age,

It is a bit strange that

The artists you love

Recorded their best work

When younger than you now.

One professor spoke of fiction writers

Going beyond productive life,

And another of Keats dying at only 25.

A comment

A social media contact recently asked why I just did not write about love when I said I was planning fiction about politics which I do not really like. Well, I have already published fiction on love, and the new novella would have some love interest behind the politics.