Category Archives: Poetry Forms

Hurt and Harm

Hurt and harm are different
though they often arrive together.
The first is immediate, temporary;
trees losing branches still grow,
even though it is painful.
The other a changed world,
whether by quake or erosion.
I cannot wipe it away,
only adapt to new landscapes,
choosing to climb, not die.


Lyrics/Poem: Macroreptilian Is An Awesome Word!

(originally posted in my Livejournal on 04/17/2008)

Paperwork is smashing my Tokyo in a macroreptilian fashion.

Thursday morning and I hit the ground running
Hit it so fast it didn’t see me coming
Climbing the wall
Trying not to fall
But to finish I will have to be cunning!

Today’s list is over-large and reptilian
My tasks number well over seventy million
Godzilla is smaller
Than my to-do tower
So perhaps I should call Nathan Fillion.

Mal Reynolds could possibly help me, I think
Bring me back from the black and away from the brink
And if help’s not the thing
I will crazily sing
As I’m hauled away by whitecoats to the shrink.

“So take my desk, take my phone
Tell me that I’m all alone.
I don’t care, I still see
You won’t take my list from me
Take me out or I will crack
And you won’t want me comin’ back
Burn my papers, boil my tea
You won’t take my list from me
And it will eat my sanity.”

Poem: Monday Morning

Written on 01-30-2012

It’s Thursday afternoon, I am leaving work,
I busily make my lists
I’m writing down all I need to pack
Because soon I’ll be going to the
filk con!

It’s Friday evening, I’m at the hotel,
Convention’s about to start
I’m hugging those that I’ve been missing
And then I find my fav’rite seat in

the ballroom at the filk con!

It’s Saturday late afternoon, I’m at Interfilk
I’ve come armed with a budget
I’m not resisting the wenches’ charms
Easy to persuade while seated in

the chair in the ballroom at the filk con.

It’s Sunday after dinner, I’m at the Dead Dog
Convention’s nearly over
I’d pour my heart out but my heart’s here
Somewhere that I belong, singing in

the circle with the chair in the ballroom at the filk con.

It’s Monday morning and I’m at work,
I blearily blink and yawn
Searching for the wrong set of faces,
I’m at the office, yet I’m still in

with my friends in the circle with the chair in the ballroom at the filk con.

And I promise I’ll be back next year.

Poem: Do I But Dream

As the world fern droops its fronds and
the red musk wax tree gently burns,
three clouden oak grow thick and strong;
old woodstide rolls and seasons turn.
White skyfish soft and sweetly sing,
a seacrow croaks his wat’ry call,
last sandwhale moans and stirs her wings,
swampleopard lurks, baleful, sees all.
Steadfast and seeking (sought) to no avail,
teaching and taught how to deceive, disguise.
Do I but dream this land fragile, pale,
or, rock solid awaking, lift my eyes?

Poem: Headache

I’m my father’s divisive prize,
With my mother behind his eyes.
As he breaks open the night,
She split his darkness with light,
and I joined the world as The Wise.


Poem: Mercury Retrograde (or, Excuses)

(tongue-in-cheek, poking fun at the concept of Mercury retrograde and how much stock people sometimes put in it)
I can’t go into work today,
Mercury’s in retrograde!
If I stay home, I don’t get paid,
But I cannot work today.

I can’t talk to Mother today,
Mercury’s in retrograde!
If I chat, she’ll twist what I say!
I cannot call her today.

I can’t write my novel today,
Mercury’s in retrograde!
If I try, all my words will stray!
No, I cannot write today.

I can’t get my car fixed today,
Mercury’s in retrograde!
If I rent, they’ll give me a sleigh!
I cannot fix it today.

I can’t start vacation today,
Mercury’s in retrograde!
If I go, I’ll die on the way!
I cannot travel today.

I can’t see my lover today,
Mercury’s in retrograde!
If we talk, I’ll never get laid!
I cannot see him today.

I can’t leave my cottage today,
Mercury’s in retrograde!
If I venture I’ll rue the day…

and so I think in bed I’ll stay,
I’ve time consuming games to play,
I’ll solitaire the day away!
I cannot go out today.

Poetry: Upon Return from Camping

Any poetry I try to write
is thwarted by the many itching
gross, swelling, icky mosquito bites.

Poem: Who Am I?

“Who am I?” I ask.
“You seem to know. So tell me.”
But you say nothing.

Poem: Untitled Haiku

From the earth emerge
The winter now turns to spring
You return, my dear

Poem: Prayer for the Lost and Wandering

Your path and feet have parted ways,
and though none but you may find it,
your chosen methods leave a daze
over those you love who’d mind it.

I have watched you of many days,
your worldview with confusion rife,
unknowing, watched you slip away,
seen what you have done to your life.

I wait in silent simmering
for word from the lady of trees.
Rock bottom dropped from under me
lifting my prayers up to the breeze

that they may be carried to She
Who resides now in summer bright,
that She may grant Her blessings three
to reach you in your deepest night.

Heed them, at your peril ignore
the signs and portents you have made.
You have been placed at Justice’ door
It’s only She can give you aid.

Those who love you do fear for you,
and sadly of you they fear same.
Metaphors cannot help you, true;
it is left to you to take blame.

I plead You, Psychopomp, hear this:
he lies at losing’s very door.
It’s not his time, he’s gone amiss,
must mend those precious things he tore.

I love you like a dear brother,
Gentle, clever, witty, and true.
Your place, ne’er filled by another,
Is now taken by something else.