Lucy (Haiku Chain)

Canary in cage
Sings sweetly of dear Lucy,
Mourning her absence.

O’ where is Lucy?
Birdie croons impatiently,
Missing her kindness.

Lucy, where is she?
Canary cries sullenly,
Not knowing her fate.

Come home Lucy, please!
Little birdie tweets and pleads –
Lucy is deceased.

Longing for mommy,
Sunshine perched and lonely, meeps,
Lucy, sweet Lucy!

Beatnik Soup (double rondelet)

Hey Daddy-O!
Gimme some of that beatnik soup!
Hey Daddy-O!
Feel the rhythm of the bongo –
Do the swoop, stoop, hoop-da-loop!
Gimme some of that beatnik soup!
Hey Daddy-O!

Hey Daddy-O!
Gimme some of that beatnik soup!
Hey Daddy-O!
Conga beats thump our Zaza bones –
Let’s ah-whoop, droop, snoop-a-boop!
Gimme some of that beatnik soup!
Hey Daddy-O!

Feel the vibe in our bag of bones –
Beatnik, beatnik, beatnik soup!

Jane Doe (rondelet)

Grave keeper, please remember me;
Tend to my final resting place.
No family roots left to trace,
Or bric-a-brac there to fancy.

Heaven knows my identity;
On Earth, I’m just a nameless face.
Grave keeper, please remember me;
Tend to my final resting place.

Honor my haunted memory 
Lingering in this lonesome space;
Won’t someone keep me company?
To know sweet mercy and God’s grace!

O’ grave keeper, remember me;
Tend to my final resting place.

Book of Eight

Spring rain on Palm Sunday cleanses my mind
As April winds drift through this painted pane 
And turn the pages of dreams left behind,
Flipping forward to when I break your heart again. 

In our Book of Eight, life is a refrain
We circle with words of uncertainty 
Around thin excuses you can’t explain,
Skating endlessly around forever maybes.

Swirling in your world of infinity,
You want me to grab nine clouds in the sky
And seal them in glass jars for all to see,
As proof of aspirations that have passed us by.

Forsythia sprigs their blooms you defy
Forcing them to flower early inside
This room, my heart begins to wonder why,
We’re always rushing seasons and the ebb of tides.

Never good enough seems to be the vibe
I sense as sleep spindles wake my third eye;
A galaxy of black stars swirls and glides
When I slumber, while the Moon flashes cryptic sighs.

In our Book of Eight, somber secrets lie
Exposed as we kindle sheets inked in pain
And turn the pages of dreams left behind,
Flipping forward to when you break my heart again.

Tenant

Bitter benzo beauty queen 
Why you got to be so mean;
You’re the coldest bitch I’ve ever seen.

I’d wish you’d cross over the bridge
Yet you don’t move one little smidge,
Grating on my nerves like a pesky midge.

I sleep under your quilt of resentment 
Disrupting an eve’s quiet contentment,
With your absurd sense of redneck entitlement. 

Your frigging TV drowns out my purple spring 
And the night symphony the green peepers bring;
Alas, only the pink Moon can hear the sounds they sing.

All I perceive are shrieks and screams
Blaring from speakers, so it seems,
There is no space left to nurture my dreams.

I watch the night crawlers squirm outside 
In the earth at least they can still hide;
Yet herein this house, a captious grudge resides.

My humble abode is no longer mine
For it has turned into a cultish shrine,
Where this in-law is revered as mother divine.

Bitter benzo beauty queen
Why you got to be so mean;
You’re the coldest bitch I’ve ever seen.

Daylight Savings Time (Roundelay)

Life drifts away like stolen clouds
As whispers of youth streak and shine.
Father Time lifts his ageless brow
At pieces of me left behind;
While I am here for you right now
I can’t turn back this heart of mine.

Father Time lifts his ageless brow
At pieces of me left behind.
Through this glass orb, I don’t know how
To ease the worries of my mind;
While I am here for you right now
I can’t turn back this heart of mine.

Through this glass orb, I don’t know how
To ease the worries of my mind.
Somehow, I got lost in the clouds
Carrying Daylight Savings Time;
While I am here for you right now
I can’t turn back this heart of mine.

Somehow, I got lost in the clouds
Carrying Daylight Savings Time.
Missing days longing to be found
And hours past that won’t rewind.
While I am here for you right now
I can’t turn back this heart of mine.

The Keeper (Terza Rima)

I am not their keeper in this cruel world
Born to fix everyone’s lazy mistakes
Because they’d rather stay cozy and furled.

Ignoring the rumble of life’s earthquakes,
They wait impatiently for tea and toast
While I lose my mind for sanity’s sake.

Bloated with arrogance they coolly boast
How they carry the cure to life’s cancers
Without knowing how to make tea and toast. 

Don’t come to me looking for quick answers
When I burnt your toast and pissed in your tea;
I am not some magic necromancer. 

I am not your sugar or jam, honey;
I’m not here to sweeten your toast or tea.

Like the sleepy cat in a corner furled
You yawn at avocado on brie, baked.
While watching your tea being swirled.

There are no more phony smiles I can fake
As you hiss and moan at your tea and toast;
The endless bitchin’ I can no longer take.

Your racist epithets I despise most,
Yet these slurs you babble will come to pass
While serving bitter tea and tasteless toast.

It’s strange how rich folks can still have no class
As they gobble toast and guzzle green tea;
For this old maid you can no longer sass.

Let me fix you another cup of tea.
While I watch you sip it very slowly.

I told you, as their eyes roll back pearled.
I am not your keeper in this cruel world.

Chinatown (Villanelle)

For another dead girl in Chinatown
Was discarded in an alley stairwell,
Where green shards of jade shiver on the ground.

Hanging paper lanterns don’t make a sound
Afraid to confess they heard the death knell,
For another dead girl in Chinatown.

The lion dancers prance around and round
Outside the Dumpling House; they do not dwell,
Where green shards of jade shiver on the ground.

Orchids and good fortune can still be found
Inside the Hot Pot Buffet; yet there’s hell,
For another dead girl in Chinatown.

Of this inheritance, why are we bound
To hate? In this vibrant place I can’t tell,
Where green shards of jade shiver on the ground.

Against vile racism we must resound
Ere the dragons mourn the next ringing bell
For another dead girl in Chinatown,
Where green shards of jade shiver on the ground.

Ballade of A Thousand Springs

The waxing crescent Moon peaks through the pine
As the fourth week of Lent comes to an end.
I’m tired of giving up this heart of mine
To bitter winters trying to pretend
They bring the cool, gentle breezes that bend
Softly the petals of green hope that clings
To my thawing mind; I can’t comprehend 
Why life promises me a thousand springs?

In morning mist, shamrocks shimmer and shine,
This fifth week of Lent, I would rather spend
My days in Maytime than before this shrine
Bowing to a torn faith I cannot mend,
As yellow daffodils attempt to blend
With tulip parades while they march and sing
In meadows; I ask my fair-weather friends
Why life promises me a thousand springs?

Incense smolders between wafers and wine
The sixth week of Lent when pure love descends
Into night, looking for a robin’s sign
That will lift us to where the light ascends. 
No more a sacrifice for you to tend
To, I won’t be the salvation you bring
Inside this windflower to dare defend
Why life promises me a thousand springs.

No longer am I a means to your end
Or a fluffy Easter chick without wings
Cupped in palms like the Sun your world transcends,
Pondering, why life promises me a thousand springs.