Poem: Iambic Penta-Manure

“The challenge,” said the bard, “is simply stress;
applied with timing right and words still fresh.
He handed quill and ink for me to say
how I compare you to a summer day.

…, iambic mumble penned in metric botch
poetic mangled mayhem — meaning lost ….
I cannot write a lyric verse. Just watch
as stanzas freely given form are tossed
in steaming heaps of verbal dung and stench.
I best surcease from writing with a wrench.

The bard now hangs his head in shame
because my verse is much too lame.

Poem: Iterative Patterns

(Veni, Vidi, Vici: Latin for I came, I saw, I conquered. See Julius Caesar…)

i can see
we are infinite
retellings of
unoriginal plays
you do as you do
while I do too
and back again
up and down
while all the world’s
upstaged chronicled
by a few good pens

I have done nothing
I have said nothing
that hasn’t already

i can see
we are infinite
reframings of
and then I
some more…

Poem: A Theory of Gravity

gravity just happens
all things attract
one to another
sun, moon, stars
you, me, light
bending our paths
over time and space
generating heat
as the weaker body
collapses into the stronger

observation suggests
you become weightless
when I am near
ever faster away
the tighter my
to your surface

clearly revealing
my weak powers
of attraction
are infinitely less
than my powers
of revulsion.