pressing people
all around
they stop and go
they’re up and down
to and fro
all day and night
fast and slow
black and white
high and low
left and right
marching sheeple
toe to toe
pressing people
i don’t know
Tag: poetry
limerick 86
in my church, i have always been told
that a rich man can’t enter the fold,
so it seems a bit odd
of our down-to-earth god
to dress heaven in pearls and gold.
paths, interrupted (tanka)
nothing makes a man
reconsider his path like
a close lightning strike–
that goes for his path in life
as well as his path in step
dive-bombed
i went into the wetlands for to shoot some birds in flight,
but i had no idea they would put up such a fight;
a problem with these swallows that is likely to occur:
if you get too near their nests, they will dive-bomb you for sure!
they swoop down out of nowhere, and it makes you duck and squat,
but if you keep from flinching, you may get your flying shot.
and what is my excuse for my failure here today?
the sun was in my eyes and my beard was in my way.
–photo by friend
shot of the day (6/13/25)
In the woods, June has its own shade of green–lighter than forest green, ironically, but darker than, say, mint. After a long winter of bare limbs in the forest, it’s nice to have it filling back in; it’s greening up, so to speak. Sometimes the undergrowth seems to take on shapes.
this bush reminds me
of a skinny little teen
with a bunch of pink barrettes
in her hair so green
–photo by me
whispers
the smallest voices
in nature often whisper
the greatest secrets
–photo by me
the birds are back!
the lakes now teem with geese and gulls,
the rivers, pelicans,
and cranes are dancing in the fields–
the birds are back again!
–photos by me
a june morning
i left the house thinking i’d get good shots today,
so i went to the pit, but the ducks swam away,
and then, at the river, there were no swallows there–
the only shot i found was all the pollen in the air.
–photos by me
a summer day with you (archives)
at dawn, we watched the sunrise
splashing colors on the day
and when it got too hot
we swam the afternoon away
at dusk, we danced in meadows
flecked with flashing fireflies
while zephyrs whispered secrets
under deepened azure skies
at night, we told tall tales
as we sat beneath the stars–
you, the goddess venus
and me, the man from mars
–photo by me
secret of life
now, in my seventies,
i finally get it:
it’s about doing what
you can for others,
to become selfless,
to be a good person.
when, on that final day,
they lay me to rest and say,
he was a good man,
to deserve it.
to have everyone there
nod in agreement–
that’s it. that’s all of it.
–photo by mom?
michaeljordahl 