Temporary lodging
Is found in
Lilacs in May, the solar system.
Ad lib lodging
Is found in
The poem, creation.
One could house
With the fiction of a violin,
Or on the slope of the sleeping giant.
At the heart of the universe
The very catastrophe
Of its beginning.
Author: Bob
2 Short Poems
Observed and Unobserved
Someone graffitied
The interference pattern from the double slit
Experiment on the brick wall behind the bus
Stop. Where would we be without earthworms?
Making it Work
What it lacked in finesse
It made up for in repairs
And though now it slants
“Only slightly” to the side
A rollicking wonderment
Tumbled into form
Like the misshapen poem
Whose aim is true
Analog Greeting
The number of rainy days
When marked on the calendar
Resembles a fingerprint
Roofed against the world.
These rainy days I am
Glad of the Criterion
Channel, an afternoon coffee, the poetry
Of Fernando Pessoa.
His poems as large as the solar system.
I’m taking up postcarding,
Though I’m not going anywhere,
I’m making them myself,
Just to send messages to
My friends.
Poem
On Tuesday
I went to the florist
And asked for a sandwich
And enjoyed a fanzine
On dual star systems
Because the drive-in
Is popular
The renegade robin
Steals powerlines
Eats electricity on toast
Somehow this all fits like a rain puddle
Early in spring
Like a wingspan
Like daisies and isosceles
At home without nomenclature
With fins like the cinema
And the gospel of being outside
Waves
It is all waves. On the largest scales.
And the smallest scales. I am on a ladder
In a dream, sans shoes. The stars bristle over
The sea.
The traffic light blots the intersection
In turn red, in green. It’s raining. I’m out for a walk. It’s all
Chance and honesty. In the end.
And inherent to the universe is complexity, is life.
And all that is breaking. Breaking down. And breaking open.
3 Short Poems
Free Spirit:
Inwardness has distance, too.
And where the spirit turns outward
There is a rolling stone to mark
Its place.
This Can Be Confirmed:
Last night’s dream coughed up
Cliffs and reaffirmed the existence
Of bottomless pits, yet
You become a bird in the air,
The jumping and dancing
Inherent in the stars.
Variables:
It is those who gather lots of room
For lots of meanings
Reeling with all kinds of realities
And who make the most of it
Silhouettes are jigsaw pieces
To one big, puzzling dream
Youth
A bend in the road
For a bank account
And late with my rent
Because of a bird chirping
I lost what was left
Of the little I had
In the evening rain
Yet on
We drove
In open
Rebellion
With designs
On sublimity
*I released a version of this in February. I trimmed it a little. Gave it some direction. And a better title (hopefully).
The Lot
The uncombed grass and feral
Hatchery of hoodlum plants
Like the crooked chicory
And the golden Solidago
I love a messy lot, a stray pumpernickel-colored cat
Without solution, cricket perfection
Little Heart / Big Heart
A whisper depends upon molecules.
Atoms in search of each other.
What would love be without spiral
Galaxies?
The Whatnot
The irony of turtles
Is jellyfish prose
Like a filibustering moon
Roundabouting a dream
In the driveway the cat
Asleep next to the oil splotch
An alliteration of reptiles
Sings Rocketman
Poetry toasts
The aria of balloons
In the hourglass
Too is infinity
naïve haircuts 