All writing

too bee or not too bee
asks every flower
for if it's in its power
it won't deter and would prefer
a butterfly

Author notes: wc 23

Nantucket, for many a poet
(though some, it appears, hardly know it)
While Limerick thrives
and sharpens its knives
Nantucket just wishes they'd stow it

my subject argued with its verb
the metaphors abandoned form
the critics, though, exclaimed -- superb!
so flowery their gentle takes
on fairly obvious mistakes
I couldn't understand at first
and so wrote on, from bad to worst
better to kindle words ablaze
than damn to silence with faint praise

When reason is on trial and justice bends
until it is the opposite of truth,
and means adjust according to their ends
and theater succeeds the voting booth --
What lies beneath the plastic of your smile,
your practiced adlibs and impromptu rants?
Too generous to call your nature guile;
too dangerous to think adoring chants
are not just what they are. Your acolytes
are eager to accept whatever comes,
as rhetoric descends from lower heights
and rhythmic thumping beats words into drums.
May terror fill your every waking moment,
and sleep desert your bed.  There’s no atonement.

the English grammar
does excel in past perfect
future, not so much

cross the eyes and dot the tees
this one's a bit of a tease
feel particularly blessed
when my poem's fully dressed

angst I've contrived
but for special occasions
musings deprived
and abstract persuasions
endless adieus
even more endless springs
these, but a few
of my favorite things

words are a game
an unscrambling puzzle
I strive to tame
with pizzazz, razzle-dazzle
style matters too
and when my stanza sings
further ado
for my favorite things

poet, am I?
the beholder's refraining
my alibi
is that I'm still in training
haven't a clue
but a muse often brings
one, with a few
of my favorite things

they're off to see the wizard
a quest beckons, I'm sure
against a giant lizard
so sings the troubadour

they're leaving on the 'morrow
and can't send their regards
and so to drown their sorrow
strong ale, a deck of cards

the serving wench is comely
she winks, a shake of tail
the knight, no longer glumly
sips slowly on his ale

then grabs her hand and signals
like "do we have a deal?"
she slaps him, "not so simple"
and on his groin, her steel

he kisses her, with feeling
and then they disappear
up for a night of healing
tomorrow'll soon be here

I bring up our covalent bond
but soon her eyes glaze over
unsure of how best to respond
I manage to cross over
to ionizing radicals
and chemicals between us
she's chewing on her cuticles
and asks: "had someone seen us"?
"What?", I then ask, "What is your meaning?"
She's getting up, all action
and whispers, leaning
"There is no chemical reaction".

where is prince charming?
can't wait much longer, or I'll
turn into pumpkin

a murder of crows
on vakay from their towers
sat in a neat row
while discussing their powers

they call me a raven
said the crow on the left
and my master, craven,
is fearsome and deft

I simply solve riddles
said the crow in the middle
my scientist master
is quite a bastard

there's one that was silent
the crow on the right
she dozed, her dreams violent
she'll wake for the night

Author notes: wc 74 image from Pinterest

Today is my 39th wedding anniversary.

Easy to remember, right? May Day?
Never forget the flowers.

I have great memories of that day
and of the many celebrations since,
Three kids, four grandkids, and counting...

My earliest memory of May Day, though,
comes from carrying the red flag
for a few minutes, at a May Day
parade. I was six or seven, and
my grandmother, a card carrying Communist,
was walking next to me, and she gave it to me.
She was so proud, so proud...

This was more than fifty years ago
back in Transnistria, which at that time
was simply Moldova, but today might be
next on the tyrant's checklist.

What a May Day it was.