A Poem: Emotions

broken car vehicle vintage
Photo by Skitterphoto on Pexels.com


You can pick the last few pieces,

on sale at the neighborhood goodwill store,

Next to the tie-die shirts and clogs;

that nobody has any use for anymore.

I ran my fingers over the frayed material

as if to bid one last good-bye,

You could see they were worn out.

Life has a way of wearing out

delicate material like this. That is…

if you are hackneyed enough to carry

such old styles in your wardrobe in the first place.

My mother passed them on to me,

suitcases and suitcases of emotions.

They run thick in our family.

And I foolishly carried them on with me hoping

to pass them on to my kids.

But kids these days have such little patience for gibberish.

So I emptied the suitcases of emotions

and folded them into a neat pile

to be donated to goodwill

with the rest of the “old and no longer used”.

Limerick a day keeps the Doctor away

Limerick a day keeps the Doctor away, how about four?

i. Clickety clock
Someone’s at the door; knock, knock
Who’s there?
Lovely Ms Montclair
He opened the door, suited booted and missing a sock

ii. There once was an old Man
Descendant of a royal clan
Poor as a pauper
Wise as a priest
Lived in a mini van and ate out of a tin can

iii. There was a young man named Moe
Bought a house and grew a Mustachio
In order to woo his lady love,
She flew away; a rich man’s dove
Now he waits for his bungalow to pass escrow

iv. Hocus Pocus
Lovely red lotus
Flower of the Wild
Face of a child
Sacred offering in temples and pagodas

Picture 117

Short lives of Wives

Henry VIII wives

The illusionist packs two tricks,
Carefully placing the ‘i’ before ‘e’, except after ‘c’,
Countless rhymes estranged from its poem,
Encoding a simple meaning into warped confusion.

Crafting a wide angle shot of a marble temple,
Where the fates of the six wives of Henry VIII,
Turned into ornate statues,
Stand on guard outside the grand palace.

The insolence of the high power blades of time,
that make and break human spirit at a cellular level,
Pay a callous homage to these brilliant shadows,
Nicknamed by history; divorced, beheaded, died, divorced,
beheaded, survived.


A wintry day in school,
Learning by wrote, conformance is rule,
Everyone seems to catch on in class,
But I, who yet again forgets homework, detention alas!

At lunch I play alone,
A snow cannonball aimed for my head,
Missed by a few inches,
This whole school thing is way overblown,

Mom is in hospital,
A problem gynecological,
Should be back in a week?
She is so far, we can’t see her, nor speak.

Dad makes egg omelet yet again,
Outside snow falls thick,
Dear God, bring mommy back, Amen,
My sister breaks her tooth.

Next morning I feign sickness,
Dad is too clever to fool,
He packs us lunch and sends us off to school,
Wrapped up in woolens, snow shoes, and beanie hats.

Andrea is my only friend,
I walk with my head down; won’t confide nor vent,
It’s been longer than a week, why won’t she come back?
I take my itchy beanie hat, and stomp all over it.

Back at home Dad looks happy and bemused,
My teacher called to complain,
But he has better News,
Mom is coming back home tomorrow!



It’s way past midnight,
All decent men safe in their homes,
The hour is rife for drunken brawls and fistfights,
In the alleyways only trouble and evil roam.

I walk the cobbled roads, tired but conceited,
No goal in mind; lost and sleepless,
My brazen knife in my breast pocket, still unsheathed,
I wander the dark, alone and heedless.

When my startled ears, pick a voice so sweet,
More alluring than a nightingale song,
My legs comply, while my brain warns of wile deceit,
Is this a calypso, or a hapless maiden lovelorn?

The ghetto streets I walk, tunnel magically into a Babylonian garden,
She turns around more beautiful than life, this ethereal maiden,
And gently lets her black hair down, off fly a thousand raven,
Carved with perfection, looking at her is divine, it’s salvation!

Who are you? What magic, what witchery? Pray tell me?
She opens her mouth to speak, I am entranced,
Her lips are blossoms, and her eyes a shimmering blue sea,
“I am sun, moon and stars.” And around her a hundred peacocks dance.

“I made you and all of this mankind.
This land that you walk, the wine you drink, the air you breathe,
Is mine. Yet you forget me; your soul? How foolish. How unkind!
You destroy, defile me? I am Nature. Your mother divine!”

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