“She seemed happy on Facebook, officer!”
Tag: poetry
Wilted
I lay here on my lawn chair
Out in the merciless sun,
Too hot to move to the shade.
The shimmering air is still,
And I’m actually being cooked
alive in this backyard oven.
I’m sizzling like a sausage.
The meat is done and ready
To slide right off my bones.
I’m going to spontaneously
Combust any second now.
Detonation is imminent–
Wait! Suddenly a breeze!
A lovely, lovely, breeze!
I am saved by the wind.
Don’t leave, lovely breeze.
Come back! Tell your friends!
I am back in the fiery pit.
I am wilted.
–Photo by me
haiku 69
a brief stillness comes
as summer hesitates to
give way to autumn
–photo by me
Tanka: WWJD?
We Americans
Say we’re a Christian nation–
Clearly, we are not.
We have far more vacant homes
Than we have homeless people.
Haibun: Rock Solid
My son Aaron and I like to go on “adventures” together as often as we can. Today, we’re at the very rocky North Shore of Lake Superior, or Gitchi Gami, as the Indians called it, meaning “Great Sea”. It’s the world’s largest fresh-water lake, and has the highest elevation of the Great Lakes chain.
We’re climbing around on the massive rocks to try to find a good shot, and it’s so hot, I’m tempted to dive in. There’s a constant squawking of sea gulls and other birds as they keep jockeying for better positions on the rocky islands just off shore. The relentless waves slap against the unyielding stone. A tall sailboat silently slides by.
As I stand here and gaze out over the vast expanse of water, I suddenly feel very small, and I realize how lucky I am to have this precious time together with my son.
* * *
a shore of great stones–
solid as the bond between
a father and son
–photos by me
Double Take
There are blonde little ponies
Out here everywhere;
They race with the wind,
And it tousles their hair.
But look a bit closer–
You’ll find, as you pass,
The blonde little ponies
Have turned into grass.
–Photo by me
too
the days are too long
the afternoons are too hot
a star is too close
Limerick 21
A neighborhood squirrel named Jack
Does a dance in the street for a snack
And when people ask why,
All we say in reply
Is an acorn’s a tough nut to crack.
–photo by me
coming storm
the coming storm
obscures the light
of lifted lamp
and golden door;
without our beacon
burning bright,
our land grows dark
from shore to shore.
–photo by me
fawn
fawn
tawny, dappled
nursing, hiding, leaping
always waiting for mama
bambi
–photo by me
michaeljordahl 