not what i thought

Flickering along just out of sight,
A dragon flew by me last night;
His wings overhead
May have filled me with dread,
But at least he neglected to bite.
-
The dragon's incessant and arrogant shriek
Left me feeling confused and frightened and weak.
As his drone disappeared,
It was just as I'd feared:
To the airfield he turned as his landing gear squeaked.
-
Flaps down, he cried to the tower, at last,
And I ducked as his tail fin's shadow flew past;
This mythical creature, I see now, it's plain,
No dragon at all, is a small private plane!
I stand, shaking slightly, still staring, aghast.

war is heck

the dragons are back
they growl overhead
if they attack
i'm dead

where can i hide
this war is not good
for the losing side
in my neighborhood

there must be a way
that someone should know
to let humans stay
and make dragons go

dreamsword

Hanging over my head,
Past the edge of the bed,
A sword on a chain gently swings.

The dreams that it brings,
Of wars and such things,
Makes me glad when I wake I'm not dead.

I know what I've said
Makes me seem so ill-bred,
As do some of my wilder flings;

Though opprobrium clings
To the dragon’s rough wings,
He flies on wherever his fate may have led.

stalking the wild hallucinagen

pinions slicing the clouds
as peasants rush
to make the final payments on their shrouds
flames gush over the crowds
and the countryside is stifled in a morbid hush

A wing with a claw,
a voracious maw,
a dragon that bites
off heads as he fights --
the prospect sticks in my craw!

He circles the town.
The wizard looks down;
on the peak he stands
with staff in his hands,
and faces death with a frown.

The end of the day --
no end to the fray --
the dragon lights up the night.

With one last great spell,
the wizard to hell
sends the beast -- in secret delight.

Wizards and dragons
don't play well together,
and the tricks that they do
can disrupt local weather.

domestic tranquillity

The flowers, bright in the window box,
don't mind if the weather's not so hot.
They don't need water or light to grow:
they aren't real, but it doesn't show
from a distance.

I haven't got time to help plants die,
although they won't thrive, I don't know why.
Is it the water here is too hard,
or that I often forget to guard
them from the dragon?

He's only a tiny wyrm
and can't even get my dinner to burn
when he heats it.

He's better than a microwave
cause he chars meat nicely when he wants to behave,
unless he eats it.

What's the use of a flaming pet
when it's generally worse than an even bet
that he'll cheat me?

But I have hopes I can train this beast
and until then I can hope at least
he won't eat me.

here there be dragons

As dragons drift by overhead
the peasants below gaze in dread
while the mighty barbarian
his bold battlecry varyin'
decided to stay home in bed.

The knights in their armor of silver and gold
were tired of hearing they had to be told
that the village defenseless
would be beaten senseless
if the dragon defeated them all once again as of old!

The wizard rose up in his glory
with hair and beard windblown and hoary
with staff in his hand
on the mountain he'll stand
to ward off the dragon all fiery and gory!

unblocking the writer again

Writer's block, afflicting
the delicate sensibilities
of the urban poet,

easily overcome
by the rigorous application
of urban limericks:

Those writers who travel in flocks
are rarely subjected to blocks
but those who alone
their writing skills hone
are the ones that the Muse often mocks.

extraspection

the mirror's misted over and i cannot see my face
and if i were to see it i would claim this saving grace
i've seen those lines so often i don't notice that they're there
i hardly even notice all the gray now in my hair
i look around at all my friends who limp along and whine
and wonder why i feel that i'm still doing fine

da fundamentals

if ya listen ta me
ya could go ta heaven
salvation's not free
like da seven-eleven
ya pays ya money
an ya takes ya choice
people look at ya funny
when ya raise ya voice
but da word is da word
an if ya rebel
ya already heard
ya could go ta hell

to the european union, on immigration

Come into my parlor,
said the fly to the spider,
as she poured a cup of tea,
and sat down beside her.

I doubt you mean to do me harm,
I really hope you won't,
but if you try, I think I'll die.
Please don't.

The spider flipped around
and tied the fly into a knot.
It wasn't very gracious,
but she said: "So what?"

caterwauling

midnight cats prowling
as their soft growling echoes
off empty sidewalks

simply sinuous
fluffy felines fidgeting
rarely racing rats

late night, in my lap
like a microwaved pillow
a motionless cat

a caricature
the small ferocious beast slinks
hunting canned dinner

unblocking the writer

There’s no better way to make writing work,
without seeming like an illiterate jerk,
than to pen an insouciant limerick
and hope those poor lines will do the trick.
Meanwhile I lurk in the murk.

i can't remember but i can see

words tumbling
pebbles in a rushing stream
poets fumbling
writing down a fast-forgotten dream

tropical birds in blazing color
shotguns blasting feathers from the sky
falling now and somehow duller
all that lives must die

the vulture, brother to the hawk
circles patiently, avoiding useless talk

khovanshchina

rippling notes define the stage
as dawn arrives on the moscow river
no storm no rage
the music wakens just a shiver
a story from a different age

* ****** **** ****** *

listen khovanshchina - zubin mehta

epea pteroenta

words hidden in the lists of a dictionary
like birds in the upper mists of an aviary

suddenly the flock soars across the open page
and their song implores us to release them from their cage

sick sick sick

DCLXVI

just some funny ancient numbers
who knows what they really say?

"superstition still encumbers
civilization's fragile sway."

what, me worry?

urban vermin sometime worry
but he never need to hurry

catastrophic circumstances
will confront him if he dances
if he hide, not takin chances

if he frolic, if he sing
if he dodges fortune's sling

better to enjoy the sunshine
if the bomb fall then he'll whine

d-day

what can i add?
too late to say how sad
the scenes that fill the movie screens

the ones who lived have died
we've tossed their memories aside
no longer knowing what it means

in every generation
the world needs our attention
the bloody chariot through fiery skies careens

solipsitude

a hawk floats alone
in the pale and empty sky
just for me to see

responding to shakespeare

To muse upon the Muse,
as if we dare
our hopes and wishes
with the goddess share,
is not so simple
as the Bard did write,
although we sit up trying
every night!

in all seriousness

We live in a dangerous world. Violence has become too common. I follow the news with difficulty, since the media generally are poorly informed on what they report. So I cherish the occasional enlightening article or analysis. Today was a good day: I found two worth keeping.

From The New Yorker, THE AGITATOR - Oriana Fallaci directs her fury toward Islam.

From Augean Stables, DEMOPATHS & DUPES - Demopaths are people who use democratic language and invoke human rights only when it serves their interests, and not when it calls for self-criticism or self-restraint.

in defense of today's storms

yes, they did predict heavy rain today ...

urban vermin rushed outside
indoors he could not abide

sitting down and moping's dreary
running in the sunshine's cheery

but the rain was pouring down
drowning every street in town
changed his smile to a frown

tried to walk a couple blocks
soaked his shoes and soaked his socks
parking lots looked more like docks

this is the downpour of the year
the creeks will rise the ducks will cheer

urban vermin back in time
to write this sorry little rhyme

in defense of bloggery

thunderstorms
each day they promise
but we never see the rain

till the night
when cooling breezes
tell me i should not complain

news reports
are so misleading
how can i believe they're true?

journalists
are clever liars
but for news what can we do?

find a blog
that thinks like you do
but who knows what's happening

soon you'll feel
that you are writing
every clever witty thing