Poetry for Strangers: Unknown

grain of truth

no one is pleased with nothing without first being nothing happily
wandering emptyhanded and joking about hunger snappily

the easy eager neurosis of the internist fiddling with the defibrillator
resulted in a hasty stratagem of which he was the instigator

the president turned her gaze on the people and their seething wants
she ventured into the taverns to savor their alesoaked haunts

balladeers made their ducats at whirling eastcheap to dos
the psychic limed the suckers by boasting of her voodoos

a pretty bird the cuckoo she warbles as she flies
her tricky songs paralyze the indecisive wise

jellyfish sense their world all around them in a global view
we monkeys see but half our world like a bolt of cobalt blue

i summon demons from the vasty deep the rebel snickered and roared
unknown was what other devils would come up in a sneering hoard

you can mark it or kill it but time is never on your side
deathless and proud time is a rolling tide

For more, visit Poetry for Strangers: Unknown


Poetry for Strangers: Bonita


there are thirteen ways of looking at a sandwich
first on a plate by itself on a croquet pitch

ozymandias sat alone at the bar nursing his beer
have you seen my works he asked everyone near

what if our lives are entertainment for god
reality is a goofy tv show wild and slipshod

on the carse the alchemist gathered mugwort
the elixir of life had been demanded at court

bonita bonita te amo the mariachi crooned
as she stood on the isle of her heart marooned

treasure hunters opened the tomb of the last templar
his shield was gold and copper but his remains were char

whats bred in the bone is never forgotten
love and fear smell sweetsick and slightly rotten

big ideas accommodate myriad small facts
the weft of life is a weave of brave and kind acts

For more, visit Poetry for Strangers: Bonita

Poetry for Strangers: Almost

climbing wolf

the process of recollection itself reshapes the memory
a romance on a squalid beach over time becomes shimmery

monthly thirlage complete the brewmaster surveyed the sucken
while savoring a barleywine that rendered him strucken

the silly hat club convened every wednesday in the tea room
this week they passed around a hussar shako with a purple plume

man is the only creature that makes pictures of his species
painting battles with the warthog on the canvas of the teepees

theres nothing wrong with swapping phatic niceties
like kir they help along the conversation with ease

drunk drunk on words the autodidact postulated and theorized
on cognitive discombobulation unrealized

under a blood harvest moon the apple pickers hummed and fiddled
sneaking galas and fujis from the deaf old man who whittled

so near so far the skunk was fooled by the killdeers broken wing act
as they escaped across the fairway their eggs still lay intact

not so almost the hyrax is the closest relative of the elephant
tiny adorable and furry only its spirit is gray and giant

For more, visit Poetry for Strangers: Almost