what if you were

What if you were a pirate and sailed a mighty ship
You were out there on the open seas
a rum bottle on your hip

What if you were a knight and rode a regal steed
You were out there on the open moors
ready to do your next good deed

What if you were a wizard and could cast magic spells
You were out there in the dense forest alone
finding evil where it dwells

What if you could imagine
almost anything around
Put yourself right in the action
and feel how it all goes down

You can do that anytime
with the eye of your own mind
use your imagination
and see what you might find

all the letters for you

A is for Always, right there beside me

B is for Best friend, forever

C is for Cuddles, early each day

D is for Dog, nothing better

E is for Ears, yours are long and they flop

F is for Friend, here again

G is for Gassy, you sometimes are

H is for Heart, mine you are in

I is for Itchy, you seem to be sometimes

J is for Jumpy, for sure

K is for Kisses, when saying good bye

L is for Lap, mine is yours

M is for Missing, I do when I’m gone

N is for Nails, yours are long

O is for Open, I want to go out

P is for Petting, stopping is wrong

Q is for Quiet, not with the mailman

R is for Race, to the door

S is for Smelling, pretty much everything

T is for Treats, give me more

U is for Usual, isn’t it time for a walk?

V is for Vet, we must go

W is for Water, I love to jump in

X is for Xray, oh no!

Y is for Young, I wish you could always be

Z is for Zillion, the pounds of joy you bring me

❤️ This poem is dedicated to my friend David and his new buddy Athos. ❤️

the small girl

did you happen to see
the other day
among the leaves and branches and sticks and bugs
waking up

the small girl
peering out
I could only see her eyes and I wondered why she was there
she disappeared

I pondered
only lightly
if she lives out there alone and does she need something more
she is gone

under a tree

i’m seeing it all
as a great adventure to test
out things that i have not tried before to watch
what happens when i try something new and maybe
delight in what occurs or maybe not like it at all but it is
becoming clear that it does not matter much what happens
once the deed is done and the thing whatever the
thing is yes we have tread that ground
before but sometimes perhaps
i will get tired and i
will
want
to sit
under
a tree
and
rest
and
see
bees buzz
around me and
then i will smile and be done

The Letter

I am exploring forms of poetry. One is called The Letter or Epistolary or Epistle. Not that I knew this before I looked it up but a piece of learning - the Latin word "epistula" means "letter."

---

Here I am again, coaxing
At your door, waiting for you to throw confections
out of the window
Trick or Treat… Trick or Treat

I have, up to now, known you to be
benevolent
Always giving me what I want and sometimes much more
But trust does not come easy
on this side of the glass

I want to confess something to you
I hope this doesn’t damage Us
Yes, I called Us, this thing we are doing,
an Us, is that ok?

I’m afraid I haven’t given you what you need
Does that make any sense?
Instead of bringing you Walt Whitman
I show up with Walt Disney
Instead of Robert Bly
I bring you Rob Lowe

What I’m trying to say
is I may have brought us down.
I worry, I’m sure you feel this,
and oh I hate to say this,
that your ability is not as it once was.

Maybe I’m wrong?
I hope I am.
I have noticed one thing, as I struggle to change
the tone and the tenor and the vibe and the feeling and the spirit of this letter
Is that you don’t let me down with knowing where to go next.

So perhaps as I reflect in this Epistolary
(and yes, there we see a new kind of diet emerging)
we will venture forth as Us

Using our diet full of sweets as our starting point
and maybe even our ending point
how can we really know?

I will work on Trusting.
And, here I turn again and ask you,
can you work on Focus?

Sometimes this new diet does seem bland
or boring or dense or impenetrable or impossible or tiresome or irksome even
but I have the feeling we need to keep ingesting it, albeit slowly.

I have no expectations,
and let’s make this clear here as we make this stop along the way,
I have no imagination of becoming who We aren’t.
What I want, and it is really fairly simple,
is to make something that someone else, who isn’t Us,
might call Beautiful. And maybe I also want Us to call it Beautiful.

Not all the time, mind you.
But sometimes, or even once.

There is really so much to learn.
I’m seeing it all as a great adventure.
Maybe here I can close with this -
I am glad you are my partner.
I can imagine no better traveling companion as you.

I’m sure we will stumble, we have many times.
But we will keep going and
because I know how We are together,
we will have some fun doing it.

The Villanelle

I am working on learning different forms of poetry. Here are two poems that are written in a structure called a Villanelle.

---

The Truth of We

There is a matter dear to me
Tender purpose I hold close
A place others do not see

Setting aside my own warm tea
To make the meal loved most
There is a matter dear to me

Stopping to tend the growing weeds
I allow occasional boast
A place others do not see

Listening to unvoiced needs
I see a long past ghost
There is a matter dear to me

Watching for the urge to flee
I reach for inside post
A place others do not see

Hoping for the truth of we
To invite my heart to host
There is a matter dear to me
A place others do not see

---

Lick of Madness

Lick of madness, rough worn tongue
Words have claws and bite
Smoke of sadness, overcome

Return again to be stung
Hold shoulders tight
Lick of madness, rough worn tongue

Knife of malice, slice and hum
Letters twist out of sight
Smoke of sadness, overcome

Endure days, lowest rung
Do not dare to fight
Lick of madness, rough worn tongue

Quiet sorrow never sung
Retreat day and night
Smoke of sadness, overcome

Breathe it now from your own lung
The wettest form of fright
Lick of madness, rough worn tongue
Smoke of sadness, overcome

a wagon of witches

a story with witches
or beasts or a dragon
why are these tales
i want to put in my wagon

i think it’s because
they smell like magic
and in my mind
there is nothing so tragic

as this boring old world
of going along
just doing your chores
not singing a song

i would rather
devour my life
get sort of dirty
go fly a kite

i know i don’t listen
nearly often enough
to this life nudging
i’m afraid i’m not tough

instead i stay safe
follow the rules
let’s be real honest
this gives me the blues

so when i hear
of a beast who is growling
there is a part of me
that wants to start howling

it is honestly truly amazing
that i can conjure a thing out of air
something a moment ago
just wasn’t there

something appears
that wasn’t before
and all of a sudden
life’s not a bore

it is almost as if
it becomes real
and then magic
i start to feel

so bring on the dragons
the beasts and tree frogs
watch them all moving
among those big logs

make it a big
and mighty narration
it is all coming
from my own imagination

the words come

what do you do if you have nothing to say

you wake up one day with the words gone away

do you stomp your feet and wring your hands

sit down with yourself and make some demands

or do you open your mind and your heart

let something flow, don’t worry about art

let your brain start to dream and imagine

allow some new letters to arrive in a pageant

not out of order, nothing like that

but just something silly that rhymes with say cat

something might happen, something silly indeed

and you learn that the words come just when you need

an accidental love poem?

stalking
quietly slowly stealthily
waiting watching noticing

this prize i want to catch
it comes in many forms
this road that i have traced
it has passed through many storms

it has been always
a challenge to my will
to keep on going
and going i am still

i thought i had caught the thing
several years ago
but it vanished from my grasp
and starting again has been slow

it feels premature to ask
how to keep it caught
the question that is here right now
is whether i can catch it or not

maybe i need to change my tack
consider it more of a courtship
woo it with some love poems
not start out with a guilt trip

leave it little treats and such
say things just to flatter
make sure that it knows the truth
tell it how much it matters

stalking quietly waiting
seeing those small tracks of
a wondrous thing i really need
something that i love

guess you had to be there

seasons bees birds squirrels
crickets mosquitoes anteaters

wait a minute
stop right there
you’ve seen an anteater?
yes, fighting a bear

oh come on, this is crazy
where could you possibly see that?
i saw it in Panama
while getting a hat

you are making this up
you are pulling my leg
nope, i saw the whole thing
the bear’s name was meg

oh come on now, get real
i can’t believe that
what was the anteater’s name?
i suppose it was matt!

no, he was charlie
and meg was his friend
meg wore glasses
at least until when

charlie had come
from a feast of termites
and meg was just lumbering
as bears often might

charlie was bragging
and waving his snout
meg got fed up
and started to shout

this is crazy, i’m walking away
i can’t believe one word you say

that’s fine, do whatever
your loss indeed
you won’t hear the part
where i intercede

you stopped a fight
between anteater and bear!?!?
i did, most surely
guess you had to be there

a space inside you

can you find a space inside you
a place you sometimes go
where everything is quiet
where your thoughts you come to know

when you go to this fine place
what person do you meet
do you treat her with affection
or is there some mean heat

can you tell her she is fine
that nothing is so wrong
this message can be hard to hear
while in the worldly throngs

but in this inside space of yours
maybe make it clear
that no matter what’s outside
this inside space is dear

send the message to yourself
that you love you true
if you can do that for you
there is nothing you can’t do

the dog is here

I get a little frantic
when I see that we
forgot to buy more coffee

today I am tired
and weary
in the space between wanting to sleep
and wanting to be productive

but the dog is here
and we did have some coffee
and I am cozy

a raft of words

on a raft of words
she set sail one day
not sure where she was going
but sure she’d be ok

her raft was not so mighty
she made it all herself
the words were small and mostly rhymed
none from a fancy shelf

the trip would teach navigation
to heed the inner compass
she expected many times
to become cattywampus

on one certain day
of her fateful trip
she came across a ship
it was poems that won awards
and her raft it almost tipped

but onward she kept going
sailing on her raft
because she was determined
to wield this mighty craft

not sure where she is going
but sure she’ll be ok
as long as words keep flowing
for another day

somewhere else

i wish i lived somewhere
where people always said hello
if any person moved away
you were sad to see them go

i wish i lived somewhere
where people liked each other
if any person disagreed
you were anxious to discover

what made them think so different
was it some evil spell
or was it perhaps some underneath thing
that you in fact have as well

i wish i lived somewhere
where it was easier to go along
there wasn’t so much hate churned up
where it seems other is so wrong

maybe the place i want to live
maybe it can’t be real
instead i’m left with a world of hate
it is sad but it is how i feel

what kind of

specimens
crawling and creeping
digging and leaping
stay away from me!
I am here sleeping!

in the darkest of depths
of the longest of nights
what comes to greet you
what worst types of frights

what kind of evil starts stalking your soul
what kind of wind starts building a hole
what kind of madness will never abate
what kind of sadness, what kind of weight

where will you go to comfort your mind
who will you run to, who will you find
how will you reckon with memory of this
the screaming, the howling, the most wicked hiss

oh my goodness

oh my goodness
oh my gosh
I found a cookie
and want to nosh

but oh my goodness
i’m on a diet
but maybe I can
just a little
try it

oh my goodness
i gobbled it up
it was gone
so very quick

oh my gosh
i ruined my diet
maybe I can find
a bag of chips

how velcro saved the day

oh i can’t seem to find my place
said the lace to the shoe
the shoe boomed back just weave inside those little holes
do what you are meant to do

but i feel so flat and those holes are so round
what if i tangle up while weaving in?
will i always be so bound?

what do you think your life is for
you silly little laces
you are meant to serve me
you have no other graces

but what if I want to slither around
and roll into little balls
and just coil and uncoil all the day
maybe even hang from the walls

i have never met such impertinent laces
you have a job to do
here I am, flapping open
and you are worried about you!

and so the laces and the shoes
sat in brittle silence
wondering what would happen next
would the other turn to violence?

this went on for quite some time
and then an amazing thing happened
out of the cupboard jumped a pack of velcro
and before shoe knew it - he was fastened!

and so laces snaked away
to find his something more
but his story doesn’t end so well
he ended up in the back of a drawer

snuggle with your dreams

to create our imagined
life
we often find there is
strife

what if instead of a
struggle
we called it more of a
snuggle

oh i can’t seem to find
time
becomes oh i just found a small
rhyme

do you think they will
like it
turns into I hope it grows when it’s
sunlit

i’m afraid i won’t measure
up
transforms to i love being a young
pup

the words that we use, they do matter
they have the power to shatter
our dreams, our wants and our wishes
so make your words feel like kisses

come out to play

make whatever the words will allow
but whatever you do
do not take a bow

this would be hubris
and there is no thing worse
than an ego filled wordster
with ugh another verse

about how wonderful, bright, fine and deserving
oh how many words for a cheap pair of curtains
just look at them hanging there perfect and light
sorry I just thought they kept out the night

yes a lover of words can indeed be a pain
she will wear you out from being so vain

maybe instead to just love the words
to let them be silly and a little absurd

yes they have meaning and yes they reflect
but maybe it’s better to just be quite direct

to say what you mean
and mean what you say
and yes let the words
always come out to play

beating and mighty

beating and mighty
the words locked inside
comic and tragic
as with the world they collide

daddy i learned a new word just today
the word is poetaster
is that me
would you say

the kids on the playground were laughing at me
as i rhymed and made sillies and talked to a tree

you said i could do whatever i wanted
but you didn’t tell me daddy
that i might get taunted

my daughter my dear
you do whatever you want
and tell those dumb kids
to put a thumb in their rump

they don’t know yet
the power of magic
and to unlock it
you can’t be pedantic

make whatever the words will allow
write it all down and trust me somehow
we never know the story we weave
until much later, until when we leave

beating and mighty
the power of magic
to leave it unsaid
comic and tragic