What Have You Got In Your Backyard?

featured in the poetry forum March 24, 2012  :: 0 comments

Garbage bins, a crippled rocking chair,
Weedy flowerbeds, yawning cats,
Lizards drinking the sunshine,
Dirt, barking dogs, busy ants.

How about a star exploding, a supernova
Spilling out its luminous star guts
Just a million light years away,
Right in your backyard.

So what have you got in your backyard?

editors note:

It’s the backyard of the mind; trip over a wagon or a fallen star. – mh

An Apple

March 24, 2012  :: 0 comments

really fall on his head,
the mythical Newton’s apple?
Not exactly, but who gives a damn —
it looks great in cartoons, that’s the point.
The apple indeed landed beside him while
he meandered pensively in a Lincolnshire
garden — thus was born gravitation. And if
I walked through an orchard, would I get
revelation as well? Worth a try. There
still may be fruits on the


July 22, 2011  :: 0 comments

Years of bills, receipts, accounts,
Dusty stacks of assorted papers
Rustle like dry autumn leaves
As I feed them to a hungry shredder:
Devoured, disfigured, disappeared.

What about my crumpled dreams?
Could I stuff them into the shredder?
My crippled impotent thoughts,
Rotten hopes, spotted with mildew?
Shred them to bits, greedy chomper!

Devoured, disfigured, disappeared —
Relief, rebirth, renewal
Or end, emptiness, eradication?
And what if the shredder gets sick?
Disgusting. Forget the renewal.
Paper, I’ll give it more paper.


featured in the poetry forum July 22, 2011  :: 0 comments

My body is not perfect,
It has never been,
Time does not help either.
Still, I’m not bothered
When you see me naked.
Perfect or not,
I’m not ashamed.

It’s different with my poems.
Some of them I share with you –
Those where my pain
Is nicely combed,
My soul is covered with
Many layers of wrappings
Glued together by resin of laughter,
Placed into a painted
Sarcophagus of rhyme.

Other poems though,
Where my pain is
Unkempt and disheveled,
My soul is naked,
With ugly bulges of sorrow protruding
Beneath the worn out rags of illusions,

I may show them to somebody else,

Not to you, I don’t want you to see them.

A Man on the Stair

featured in the poetry forum April 6, 2011  :: 0 comments

First floor, second, up I run,
Here he is, the familiar man,
Always there, between
The second floor and the third.
Cracks in the stone stair
Portray him, visible only to me,
I never fail to meet
His eyeless stare.

Third floor, second, first,
Down I went, never turning back,
Continents away,
No regrets, no despair,
No cracks in the stairs,
I use an elevator today.

Why then if I drift
Toward the past,
To the shabby house
Of my childhood years,
The first face I see
Is him, always there,
Etched on the stone stair.
I never fail to meet
His eyeless stare.

How to Write a Poem – A Comprehensive Manual

featured in the poetry forum February 22, 2011  :: 0 comments

Take a sheet of paper, a pen, a pencil
Or stare into nowhere, aloof and pensive,
Close your eyes or wear a silly smile,
Sit down or walk at random for a while…

Now grab a thought, an idea, a distant notion,
Throw it away with a frustrated motion,
Pull out another inkling, you have a lot,
Settle down on something, an embryo plot.

Put together some words, arrange in a line,
Toss them around until they feel fine,
Hunt for images, powerful, poignant, fresh,
Implant them firmly into the poem’s flesh.

Then add your pain, loss, love, hope, fear,
Squeeze your soul to get something here,
Something palpable on this crumpled page –
Dig it from your heart, either joy or rage.

After your poem is sprinkled with blood,
Sparkles with mirth or is stained with mud,
Polish its surface slowly, without haste;
Consider adding irony by taste.

Read the poem aloud and cringe in dismay,
Tear it into pieces and throw away!
After a while gather the shreds again,
Revise once more with all due restraint.

Now show it to somebody you can trust
And do with it whatever you must –
Send to a publisher, hide in a drawer
Or simply go write another poem.

A Buried Dream

featured in the poetry forum January 4, 2011  :: 0 comments

Loading a dishwasher with plates,
Hanging shirts on a rope,
I do my best to appear relaxed
Mourning my secret hope.

A cleaning lady comes once a week,
The place stays neat for a day.
Returning from work I absently seek
To straighten the disarray.

In fifty years or hundred at most
Robots will do all the chores,
Cleaning and cooking for their host,
Preserving his time and force.

I can’t partake from the future fruit
No matter how much I strive.
I load the dishes and cook the food
And bury my dream alive.


November 4, 2010  :: 0 comments

“Nice poem.” the editors said.
“An interesting topic, but
What’s all this redundancy for?
Cut it out, we may reconsider.”

So you call it redundancy, well,
I thought it was a repetition,
Like a refrain, you know,
For an emphasis, an atmosphere.

I could cut it out, of course,
Made it shopping list style,
Brief and laconic and cold,
Everything just to the point.

Too bad you have redundancy too,
Legs, arms, eyes, all these
Pairs so plainly redundant.
You could do with one leg,

Oh, you are feeling attached
To your precious repetitive parts.
It would hurt, it would bleed,
It would make you a cripple.

Isn’t a poem too kind of
Like a living body?
It’s an old notion, I know,
Nowadays out of fashion.

Well, if you ever decide
To cut your redundancies off,
Dear editors, please, let me know.
I may reconsider.

Equation of Life

featured in the poetry forum November 4, 2010  :: 0 comments

With equation of life I stopped worrying myself for a while,
With its endless unknowns I am no longer concerned.
Other people’s solutions presented with vigor and style
I don’t read anymore, and my thoughts on the topic I burned.

Let them search algorithms and drown in interpolations,
Let them solve differential integral, wish them success.
I’ll take in every day I’ve still got with its joys and frustrations
Till my private equation achieves upper limit of … (guess).

Synopsis of the Lecture on Homer

featured in the poetry forum August 10, 2010  :: 0 comments

This is a lecture about Homer,
“Iliad” and “Odyssey” guy,
So, to the following questions
Today we need to reply:

Who was Homer?
Was he blind?
Is Homer one man or a number of people?
Is Homer a name or maybe it’s a profession?
Did he even exist?
And really, why do we care?

I change my answers every year
According to the latest finds.
At the moment, as far as we care,
The following picture transpires:

Who was Homer?
Nobody knows.

Was he blind?

Is Homer one man or a number of people?
There is no consensus.

Is Homer a name or may be it’s a profession?
Could be any of those.

Did he even exist?
Most likely.

And really, why do we care?
It’s all about eternal topics,
This Iliad and Odyssey stuff.
Be sure to read these immortal epics.
I think I told you enough