Poems

"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

a cat in the hat
or a landscape infused
with longing for shores
distant still

yes, he was all that,
intrigued and amused
what wonderful doors
and my quill

would often engage
and await from this sage
a word to encourage
or stow

may poems of light
amuse and delight
god speed, in your carriage
Jon Coe

Witches gather in their covens
scheming evil upon Man
Devil, sitting by the ovens
launches his ambitious plan

Rule in heaven with God's power
that is his eternal dream
doesn't die and doesn't sour
Hell in heaven is his scheme.

Warlocks chant their incantations
demons hasten to obey
Plot the rise and fall of nations
so the Devil may hold sway

Doom is coming to your empires
yes, the end is coming soon
werewolves battling with vampires
under an October moon

if Romeo met Juliet
on TikTok or on Tinder
would Montagues and Capulets
facilitate or hinder
the social network spurred romance
the friends list's such a bother
could he just ask her to the dance
or fear her older brother?
which ever way the story goes
it will wind up on Netflix
see star crossed lovers in the throes
we love romantic conflicts

Did form come first? Or did it follow function?
Eggs did come before chickens, since you're asking.
Let me persuade you, though, that function is what followed.

What right have I to challenge, at this junction
clichés that permeate our language?  They are basking
in platitudes.  Both commonspeak and hallowed,

as if there is a body that would sanction
and sanctify their "truisms".  Their unmasking
is surely not an enviable chore. They're swallowed

without a speck of doubt.  Well, the expunction
of platitudes and truisms -- that's my tasking
so writings are no longer sunk or shallowed

by them.  What argument do I intend to proffer?
Look up Lamarck and Darwin, that's my offer.

How did we get here, to this junction?
It could not have been a conjunction,
as those are absent from this writ,
and it is, nonetheless, complete.

her lips, the sneer of cold command
her eyes, cold as a queen's
bare naked shoulders, lightly tanned
jewel pendant signals means
hopeless, my kneeling at her shrine
there is no spell to make her mine

Author notes: image from sasee.com with apologies to Shelly and Ozymandias

Well, shall we strike a bargain, then?
I'll hunt for food, you'll guard the den?
We'll run together in the park
and meet nice ladies -- but not bark!
And when the thunder shakes the glass
we'll snuggle on our couch, just us.

Author notes: image from rd.com

You ever wonder why old myths persist
in elevating those the gods cast down?
An easy trend to note; it can't be missed.
The deity that wears the lofty crown
will always have a counterpoint, a foil.
An enemy that pays the utmost price,
of hideous appearance -- you'll recoil,
but also marvel at their daring vice.
Is Lucifer Prometheus, you ask?
The shining star, sent to the depths below?
Who, if not Satan, got the crucial task
of making sure that Man was in the know?
Our spark, at unimaginable cost.
It was for us that paradise was lost.

Author notes: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lucifer_and_Prometheus

Unspoken grief is what they share.
A crushing weight that's always there.
An unimaginable loss.
Together, they will bear this cross,
and then, one blessed day, lights out.
And afterwards? They hope. But doubt.

Author notes: image from adobe.com