Word Economy

featured in the poetry forum May 5, 2013  :: 0 comments

Dear Bill,

Your “To be or not to be”
doesn’t work for me.
Invoke word economy,
tighten your wording:
think B&B/J&B/GB.

Parcy Monious,
The Editor of “Word Economy”.

editors note:

From one editor to another… (sending thoughts of gratitude to economize a bit, too)… (giggle) – mh

A Poem Or Two

featured in the poetry forum August 26, 2012  :: 0 comments

Hey, I could use a poem or two
To brighten up my day —
There’s nothing like a merry verse
To chase the gloom away.

Yes, I could use a poem or two
To thrust upon my foes —
There’s nothing like a witty word
To step on hated toes.

So, I could craft a poem or two,
But they are hard to hone.
There’s nothing like an awkward verse
To make an author groan.

editors note:

A rhyme about rhyme, about the struggle sublime. Nice! – mh

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.