Accidental Poetry: Prospectus

 PRWCX

Current performance may be higher

or lower

than quoted past performance,

which cannot guarantee

future results.

Share price

principal value

and return

will vary.

And

you may  have a gain

or loss

When you sell your shares.

Just messing around. OK, just procrastinating about figuring out where

the hell

to put

my old 401k.

The Cat on the Mat

The life of a cat
Contented and fat
A fur bearing beanbag
Adorning a doormat

No errands to do
No worrying, too
Surrounded by people
Who live to serve you

Every day spent
Doing just as you choose
Chasing computer mice
Chewing on shoes
An enjoyable dinner
Topped off by a snooze

Ah yes, I could dig it
A life as a cat
When reincarnated
I want to be that

Mooses Come Walking

Heard this on Prairie Home Companion this morning. Thought I'd share the fun.

May 9 is Lost Sock Memorial Day

In honor of the occasion, I have written you a poem:

Ode to a Lost Sock

Does anyone know
where the single socks go
when a pair of them go in the dryer?
Do they slip out to play
and wander away,
forgetting that they are attire?

Do they tire of their mate
and their tiresome fate,
every day in the dark of a shoe?
Do they follow the song
of a silky black thong
and cling to that siren like glue?

Are they captured by pirates,
or stolen by gnomes
who are jealous of our cozy toes?
Are they pilfered by mice
to make their nest nice?
Are there gangs of barefoot Eskimos?

There are those who say,
in a sinister way,
that a dryer's a portal in space;
that socks who fall through
(and they swear this is true)
warm the feet of an alien race.

Ah, does anyone
anyone anyone know,
someone who isn't a liar?
Does anyone know
where the single socks go
when a pair of them go in the dryer?

Copyright May 2008

A haiku for you

Karen at Outpost Mavarin hosts a Weekend Challenge every Friday, and this time the assignment is to write a poem in honor of National Poetry Month. I don't usually do writing assignments; my blogging problem is not in finding subjects, but in finding time to write about them. However, I am a big fan of poetry. So how could I pass on this one?

The assignment demands a new poem, fresh from the fires of creation, so to speak. *Here's mine:

Blossoms dance in wind
One bud shuts tight her eyes
Petals sigh and fall

We were not supposed to haul out an old one, but when will I find a better excuse than National Poetry Month? (Hey. You click in here, you get what you get.)

Turning of the Leaves

I must be home at the turning.
Some passion not understood, keenly felt
sends me to the mountain
to hermit out winter in hot tea.

Leaves carpet the evening
and horizons grow on branches, gradually.
A hushing deep in the mountain's heart
gathers power and silence,
reduces all to absolute seed and center.

Now is the iron time and the knowing.
I have always been here for the turning.

(Copyright 1977)

Extra credit: If I had to choose, my favorite poets would be Robert Frost, Billy Collins, and T.S. Eliot.

P.S. OK, so I'm missing the seventh syllable in the haiku. I'm workin' on it.
*Update 4:07 PM. Here's the extra syllable I owe ya.

Buds balloon, bursting
Blossoms dance in laughing wind
Petals sigh and fall

Ghost of snow

The earth exhales
breathing white
into the sky

How softly it fills me
Her quiet breath
The ghost of snow










copyright 2008

Nothing Gold Can Stay

Nature's first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf's a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay. - Robert Frost

First frost is coming tonight. That's the turning point, you know. The night when the bravest flowers breathe their last and tree frog voices go silent. The leaves will begin to fall in earnest now, leaving only baren branches against the sky.

Time to crank up the furnace, put extra blankets on the beds, and hunker down for winter. Too soon by far, too soon.

Meet the StoryPeople

"If you hold on to the handle, she said, it's easier to maintain the illusion of control. But it's more fun if you just let the wind carry you. "




The above is from one of my favorite websites, StoryPeople.com. It's a bit hard to explain StoryPeople. Each "story" is a free-verse poem, or a snippet of conversation. There's just enough to evoke an image; the rest is up to you. They're accompanied by sophisticated, yet child-like line drawings that take a moment to see, and hours to See.

StoryPeople are the work of Iowa artist Brian Andreas and his creative team of "artists, activists, healers and tinkerers."

I highly recommend you check it out. And while you're there, sign up for the e-mail, Story of the Day. It's a wonderful way to start your mornings.