All writing

boat drifting in the clouds, unmoored
no ripples to disturb my ghost
and for the moment, the endured
recedes, as I do, from the coast
dark water swallows my intent
the oars abandoned. I'm content.

Author notes: image from maxpixel.net

Love, first discovered, a trial balloon;
saying it, we are so scared.
Does she feel it too? Or did I speak too soon?
Then she repeats it, and says, so do I,
and love, now freed, takes off into the sky.

Author notes: image from quotesgram.com

racing, racing to the bottom
truly, it is hard to fathom
in but weeks, from green to red
just as quickly, they are shed
falling, falling, curling, drying
summer's done, its splendor dying
remnants resting on the bottom
they've all fallen, here comes autumn

Reach for the moon and the stars? That's so done.
She will not settle for less than the sun.
Grab it! The world is your oyster!
Don't let them throttle and cloister your dreams.
Bottle that shine, we shall bask in its beams.

Author notes: image from ebsqart.com

Go on and flash your enigmatic smile.
No teeth today?  No, no, I understand.
Those walrus dentures, they do take a while,
and once you've had those, you tend to depend
on chewability that simply can't be beaten.
You may have heard that I invented those.
Without them, it's as if you haven't eaten.
Don't have to tell me, I am one who knows.
But still, what shall we tell your many fans?
They surely will expect a proper portrait.
Will they surmise the trouble at a glance?
Or worse, assume you simply can't afford it?
Eureka!  We shall say that this is how
you always smile.  And they?  They'll just say "wow!".

Memories' dustbin,
the years and their plunder
Feel like a has been:
what once made me wonder,
now in the attic; it soon overflows.
Nothing surprises. Will it ever? Who knows.

Author notes: image from marketingweek.com

head full of ideas, pocketful of change
some of these could be as wonderful and strange
as you can imagine, others likely not
some are in the margins, others, I forgot

Author notes: image thanks to headtopics.com

Some mountains in hilly Tibet
that haven't been scaled -- well, not yet
So said, Everest
Please, give it a rest
K2's ok too, don't forget

these birds of a feather
have gathered together

they keep their pink plumage
from whitening too much

like to stand on one leg
but the other's not peg

yes, they're banned in some yards
they do send their regards

some will call these birds pinko
I put up a stink, though

those are far off their marks
they don't canvas for Marx

"Make sure your poem has a meter",
the teacher said in English class,
and claimed: if it is to be literature
it must be written thus.
A poem's not a game of inches;
it stretches, shrinks, offends and pinches,
though it is easier to perform
if it conforms to proper norm.
The good news? I don't need a ruler.
My telephone can measure length,
requiring no skill or strength.
So let him call out, Bueller, Bueller.
He'll get a poem, one of mine,
and ending on the fourteenth line.

Author notes: Pushkin style sonnet.  The entry to Eugene Onegin is "My Uncle, of the strictest morals"

When I am old and past my prime...
when simple chores are but a burden,
stairs are too difficult to climb,
a rising sun no longer certain,
know this: I've given it my all!
I did not shy from risk, or failure,
and though it tried, my fate, my jailer,
can't take the credit for my fall.
I'm merely old. And had a ball.

this haiku defends
rhymes against humanity
poet samurai