feasting on the moon, and poems

{a ramble in sestina form}



the moon’s a golden pest,
a horizon harlot crack
-ing open the sky in a ramble
of tide, a hiccup
of light. watch her wince
-squint her way to dawn’s festoon

of crimson ribbons, or festoon
herself in cheese, or perhaps pest
-oh if you please {we wince
at the thought}, or does it crack
us up, give us the hiccups
and that morning hum-ramble

that helps us (sc)ramble
our way to all the new day’s festoon
-ings? fill your cup, hiccup
a poem or two; your pen’s a pest
when the page won’t crack
open just right, wince

with light or twice-wince
since you’ve ramble
(d) on so long. and then crack!
screams the sky, a festoon
of ebony silk, a pest
-(s)ilence of stars that crack

-le and pop, hiccup
their way twi(n)ce
into your heart, pest
-er you until you ramble
on again, festoon
the night in inky maps and the crack

-ling of keys, the crack
of phrase that pleases us, hiccups
forth a giggle fest(oon).
oh, that wily moon. she winks, we wince
and know this knowing sky’s a (b)ramble
bush of pinpricked promise. a test. a pest.

pester me up a poem, i’ll crack
open the wine, and we’ll ramble-hiccup
our winced-way til dawn’s ink-drunk last fe(a)st(m)oons.

PAD, day 27. Anytime someone throws exactly 6 words on the floor, the sestina form comes to mind. Usually, I hates it. This one was fun. Which perhaps simply means it isn’t any good. 😉 You can read more about the sestina form here

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pocket poems

go ahead, be a pest.
crack open your pocket, your heart, your chest.
ramble on in perfect rhyme,
or hiccup in perfect iambic time.
they might wince or squint as you show ’em,
but let’s festoon the world with poems.

PAD, day 27. Happy Poem in Your Pocket Day! 

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sunset unsavored

when we hurry through
……to yawn
……to dawn
..we miss
..the last kiss
of tangerine-cherry slush sky.





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Manna {What is it?}








google images


there was no food
in their food
for awhile there.
A couple of ingredients
shy of plastic.
P r e s e r v a t i v e s
galore. Fake this,
faux that. More
chemicals than the
plates it was all
served on. No wonder
they gave up the ghost,
after eating billions of

Thank goodness a small
faction of us had the good
sense to go back to the
…….the sky
………………….the trees.



NaPoWriMo, day 26



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I lie to myself all the time. But I never believe me.
– The Outsiders, S.E. Hinton 


Looking in
I wonder just how long
it’s been
{no doubt}

since I was
on the inside,

This poem
is a freak,
a geek, a chic example
of what you just might not
want to be. It’s

a nerd. Absurd. Lives
on the third rock
from the sun, but
still says alien things.

This poem is strange,
deranged, on the out
-skirts of town, the
other side of the tracks,
at least two cards shy
of a full

It’s tumultuous and temp
-estuous and testy and tangled.
It’s getting ready to dangle
its participles
as far as the eye can see.

But here’s the thing:
……………… it’s free.














Art by manicddaily.com.
Prompted by toads



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Paper Tigers

This poem has no re
-morse code, no regrets.
It does not wish it wasn’t,
or want
to be something else, even
as it trips over its own un
-iambic feet.

It’s complete in its im
-perfections, its imp
-ossibilities, its ability
to just

This poem has crossed
lines and sung off key;
it’s tangled with talons
and claws. It’s cawed
itself a murder or two,
then flown
the coop.

It’s got no shame
at having no name,
and no place to live
when it rolls up its
kerned streets.

It’s got no stripes
to heal, no feelings
about politics, or
love, or death, or
time. It might rhyme.
It might not. It’s
not caught up
in the details of
its own small fails
or its lack.

Some day, it will simply
……………..without ever




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Regrets, Get Your Regrets!


Regrets, get your regrets!
Your troubles and your frets!

Bad relationships? We’ve got ’em,
and just when you think you’ve hit rock bottom,
we can add that fifth divorce to the pile.

Job you hate?
There’s no debate!
And oh, we’ve got clothes that were never in style.

Ill-advised haircuts and piercings!
Bad uniforms, hairnets and weird things
you’ve had to wear and do for every job.

Convenience store sushi!
That dozen-donut binge!
And that time you drunk-kissed that guy named…Bob?

Regrets! Get your regrets!
Your dumpings, doubts and debts!

We’ve got pictures, and video.
Yep, plenty of evidence!

All the books you’ve never finished!
All the giant cakes you have.
We’ve even got that time you rocked a Snuggie…in mauve.

You bought too much house, remember?
You went swimming in December
and just about froze your a$$ets off.

Regrets! Get your regrets!
Every single shame, and let’s
talk about that time you crashed your Daddy’s car.

Yikes! You’ve never been to Paris!
And you’ve only rode the Ferris
wheel with creeps who tried to take it way too far.

Student L0an$! Traffic cones!
Late-night snacks! Paperwork stacks!
All the roads you’ve never traveled,
and the ones that got you crashed.

Shower singing, booger flinging,
forgot to floss, flipped off your boss.
All the minutes that you’ve wasted;
all the quinoa and kale you’ve tasted.

Throw the towel in, hit the floor;
and what’s more, you
never have to have another regret;
we’ve had ’em all for you!
(We’ve emptied our store, we have nothing left to give.)

Regrets! Get your regrets!

wad them in a ball and pitch them,
’cuz if you really want to be rich, then:
raise your head high,
laugh at yourself,
and just live.

PAD, day 26

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