A. Gee Where words collide

Poems

Circular Reasoning

A snake appears content to slither
unlike the dolphin and the whale,
though if you bother asking either
the tale is rather of the tail:
for cetaceans, an appendage
and thus a portion, a percentage
of the entire body’s length,
although the source of all its strength.
But for the snake? A harder question:
Where does snake end, and tail begin?
Without a rattle or a fin,
it’s hard to know, but a suggestion
to help the skeptic get it right:
start from the end that doesn’t bite.

Author notes: image by author prompt to GPT

All the Rage

To rage against the dying of the light
appears to be as popular as ever,
as if the day might fail to follow night.

But it has never failed yet, am I right?
So does it seem particularly clever
to rage against the dying of the light?

And yet they persevere and rage, despite
not making any difference whatsoever,
as if the day might fail to follow night.

Ironically enough, they call it “fight”,
this hopeless, wholly laughable endeavor,
to rage against the dying of the light.

Disheveled, dirty, don’t they look a fright?
As if they haven’t showered in forever,
as if the day might fail to follow night.

It’s plain, in Times New Roman, black and white,
but they continue, so to hell, what-ever,
to rage against the dying of the light
as if the day might fail to follow night.

Author notes: with apologies to Dylan Thomas. Image created by prompt to GPT

Falling Again

The forest reddens; it can't help but blush,
a maiden shyly starting to undress,
clothes falling on a carpet, soft and plush,
her lips to form a bashful, breathless yes.

And soon it stands stark naked, who'd have thunk it,
as northern winds extend their bearish hug,
and cloak it in a sparkling white blanket,
each cozy limb enshrouded, safe and snug,

to sleep until the sounds of warmer weather
awaken it: a pastoral motif
performed by preening lovebirds of a feather,
embraced by budding branches as they leaf,

each sprout to dress its eager, willing bosom.
It is among them that I found this blossom.

Author notes: image generated by author prompt to GPT

Acornocopia

An acorn snaps and cracks beneath my sandal,
the sound ignored by flower-munching deer.
The driveway is a messy, shameless scandal
of leaves and acorns; not a spot is clear.

My neighbor waves. She has a new leaf blower,
electric, from the sound of it, but still…
Ugh, wish I had a real gas one to show her,
Wait till she gets that new electric bill.

Across the street, their skeleton is bigger.
It looks as if it climbed out of a bog,
and chuckles with a ridiculing snigger
whenever I walk by to walk the dog.

I'll show them who's the real country bumpkin.
We're going to have to get a bigger pumpkin.

Author notes: image generated by Gemini