Poems

The Devil said: "It's time for a parade.
Arrange the sinners into neat platoons,
according to the order Dante made,
and march them to the sound of martial tunes."

Beelzebub objected: "Foulness, please!
You know we simply cannot square a circle,
it is a rule of angles and degreesss..."
Trailed off with an apologetic gurgle.

"Get Euclid and Pythagoras to work",
his boss demanded, willing him to silence,
"or you will get demoted back to clerk.
Don't bore me with your can't be dones and science."

Beelzebub complied, but though he's fly,
has failed to overcome the humble Pi.

Unhappy couples, each in their own way --
as Tolstoy said in his immortal book --
should I feel guilty, or be thankful, pray?
Avert my eyes, be trying not to look?

We do not, no, we cannot understand.
Our feelings are too maudlin, too sappy.
For those of us who're dealt a better hand,
a nagging question: can't they just be happy?

Is there some special secret to the task?
No shortage of advisors and well wishers.
You've but to raise a hand, begin to ask,
and they're at work repairing cracks and fissures.

The answer I subscribe to and espouse:
We know, deep down, the day we make our vows.

A fairytale, its moral loud and clear,
attempted to regain a little balance.
Why even try? That's neither there nor here.
Since subtlety was not among its talents,
it set about the task with grim resolve,
determined to convert reluctant readers,
convinced their understanding will evolve:
what better way to groom those future leaders!
It soon discovered it is not alone,
as all the other fairytales endeavor
to expiate, aby, and to atone
in ways some call unnatural, some clever.
Do they succeed in their desired missions?
Beyond compare, can't find the old editions.

Redid my house and boarded up the windows.
The flat, brand new TVs will do the trick.
As to the walls, although I'm trapped within those,
repainted in the latest style and chic.

The grass outside gets cut, his name is Jorge.
Deliveries for toiletries and stuff.
My food, as if by magic, to the doorway.
That pizza, I can never get enough.

Grown tired of the constant admonition.
The wisdom of the ages leaves me dry.
I swore, indeed I've made it my life's mission,
to argue, to resist and to defy.

So yes, I sit and brood here, all alone.
Glass windows boarded up, I throw a stone.

in geometry
parallel lines cannot meet
without perspective

some are changing, set to morph
to a brown or yellow dwarf
some are nova, some are giant
bending gravity, defiant
they are far, so very far
but each one wants to be your star

"Hey honey, it's your turn to change the baby."
Indignant, I respond: "Change into what?
A dragon or an elf? A mermaid, maybe?
Can't change her to a princess, she's all that."

I know, of course, the answer to my question.
The diaper on the princess a bit full.
Unless in an extraordinary session,
we each must take a turn, that is the rule.

You'd think the rules of magic would permit it.
A snap of fingers and the diaper's changed.
To pamper it, to clean it or to feed it,
a spell that seems so easily arranged...

Up in her crib, the baby starts to squeal
reminding me that magic can be real.

evening gown, pompadour
and the mask, a nice touch
leaves you begging for more
best not want it too much
and her eyes say it all
she's the belle of the ball

Author notes: image from poetrypoppoetryblog.com

wet concrete beneath my feet
street's a dirty mirror
the reflections, incomplete
although getting clearer
as the streetlamps flicker on
and the day admits it's done

Author notes: image from nextcity.com

I first misplaced myself in college,
(this happens to the best of us).
Was it a lack of carnal knowledge?
Perhaps, but like the rest of us,
I suffered through my English major.
My friends would party, drink and wager,
but I did study, study hard,
while planning to become a bard.
Then daddy said: "get a profession",
and added: "no one wants to write,
but to have written." He was right,
and so when faced with this confession,
I put my barding on a shelf,
and ever since, look for myself.

the rhyming haiku
for those having not a clue
between me and you

"Your situational awareness",
said my exasperated coach,
"it truly sucks, although in fairness,
the effort is beyond reproach."
No, it was not these words exactly,
but said just so, matter-of-factly,
and added, just as even keeled:
"why don't you try for track and field?"
Track didn't serve me any better,
and tennis wouldn't do at all,
since all I did was drop the ball.
though when at last put on a sweater,
found out that skiing fit the bill
and ever since, it's been downhill.