"The Western Beer"
Oh western beer
Where hast thou gone?
Your passing brings a tear
Christ that I'd bought another can
From the Circle K cashier
You
know they discontinued
Sani Flush because it
was destroying the
planet or something. Still it
lives on in literature:
Brush your teeth with Sani Flush
You don't even need a brush
All you do is wipe it on.
One, two, three, your teeth are gone.
Chocolate!
When I was a kid I
was at the fairgrounds
and was at the John
Birch Society booth
bugging the birchers.
I decided to rewrite
Robert Frost's poem
Birches...
When
I see birchers bend
from left to right
I
like to think some
boy's been bugging
them
But
bugging doesn't bring
them down to stay as
elections do...
My
dad jumped in and
shouted:
Often
you must have seen
them loaded with booze
On a
post election morn!
I
can't remember all I
wrote but the ending
was:
One
could do worse than be
a bugger of birchers.
Starling Gnarling.jpg
… and wolves are gnarling who shall gnaw thee first.
— William Shakespeare
Ocotillos
Maligned is the lowly starling
A bird accused of gnarling
But absolved of even snarling
"I regret that I must skedaddle," said the cattle
egret.
Said the great egret, "With great regret I just must
get."
BIRD
POEMS
AND SOME OTHER SILLY POEMS
Swan Poem.jpg
el fin de la tortura espero
todo el mes de enero
son cortos los dias
las noches son frias
luego viene febrero.
I am not the author of this Spanish poem.
"Your poem strikes me as minor the way most
humorous poems are." Judson McGehee referring
to a poem I wrote.
https://flagartscouncil.org/2016/01/judson-mcgehee-clear-creek/
Judson
McGeehee.jpg
poetry:
Tom Cole on November 23, 2012 at 8:38 pm said:
I
fondly remember
all of the classes
I took with you.
I'm sure you don't
remember me, but I
remember you. I
still have the
many poems and
stories I wrote
for your classes
and look back upon
those days with
happiness. I
remember once John
Dalmas, who wrote
the Yngling and
now a zillion
other novels, came
into your office.
I am friends with
him on Facebook.
He left his newest
book for you to
look at. He was
somewhat reluctant
because in those
days xerox
machines were new
and copies
expensive. I
assume he had
nothing but the
original
typewriter
version. Many
thanks to you for
all the college
memories.
Tom Cole
Love to eat them mousies.jpg
Neither snow nor rain
nor heat nor gloom of
night stay these
couriers from the swift completion
of their appointed rounds.
Let us pause to
reflect upon the junk drawer
and its magical, mystical
origins.
One does not choose
which of one's drawers becomes
the inscrutable
junk drawer. The drawer itself
does the choosing. One has no
control over
its emergence in and
conquest of one's domicile. No
man or army of men
possesses or will ever possess
the power to alter the course
of its inexorable
destiny as the drawer that
wields household dominion over
all others. Steeped
in mystery, the junk drawer,
like Mexico, is an enigma
inside a riddle--wrapped in a
tortilla!
TOM COLE OCTOBER 24, 2015
Junk Drawer.jpg
The Pig A public domain poem that Hitchens liked to recite It was the first of May A lovely warm spring day I was strolling down the street in drunken pride, When my knees went all a-flutter, And I landed in the gutter And a pig came up and lay down by my side. As I lay there in the gutter Thinking thoughts I could not utter A lady passing by did softly say "You can tell a man who boozes By the company he chooses" And the pig got up and slowly walked away.
TOM COLE DECEMBER 5, 20219: When I was a child my sisters were singing a song. I tried to get them to sing it to me and they said I wouldn't understand it. They sang. I couldn't understand it. Now, I do. And it's great!
Great green gobs of greasy, grimy gopher guts Mutilated monkey meat Itsy bitsy dirty birdie feet Pale pink piles of putrefied opossum pus
IT HAPPENED AGAIN. GOT SIX OF THESE WITH WENDY
ON MY 50TH
BIRTHDAY AND I ONLY HAVE THREE LEFT! 20 YEARS!
glass broken
beer glass April 14, 2021.jpg
Today the sky shines none too
bright
Nor is the sun so blue
Last night I broke my wuddle gwass
Boo hoo, boo hoo, boo hoo
The very deep did rot: O Christ!
That ever this should be
Will what became of gwassy gwass
Be what becomes of me?
Hoy el cielo no brilla más
Ni el sol amaneció
Quebré mi querido vaso
Y lloro lloro yo
Fue un vistazo horrible
Pero era lo que vi
¿Lo que le pasó a mi vaso
Me pasará a mí?
|
Today the sky shines none too bright
Nor is the sun
so blue
Last night I
broke my wuddle gwass
Boo hoo, boo
hoo, boo hoo
The very deep
did rot: O Christ!
That ever this
should be
Will what became
of gwassy gwass
Be what becomes
of me?
Hoy el cielo no
brilla más
Ni el sol
amaneció
Quebré mi
querido vaso
Y lloro lloro yo
Fue un vistazo
horrible
Pero era lo que
vi
¿Lo que le pasó
a mi vaso
Me pasará a mí?
Mistaking a bench for a coyote.jpg
l 
Hat Rack
Poem.jpg
Click the
Picture to Read the Poem
HOME
TEST:
HERE'S é ü ¡ ¿
INDIANA SENATOR
Here''s to the
American eagle
That noble old
bird of prey
He nests in
Indiana
And shits in
IOWAY!
IOWAN SENATOR
Here's to the
state of Iowa
Whose soil is so
fertile and rich
We don't need
the turd of your noble bird
You dirty son of
a bitch!
I'M WORKING ON
THIS ONE:
The season of
treason may breeze in
seizin', not
pleasin'
One sees in
How I squeeze
in,
knees in
I'm Freezin'
for a reason
and this one
THE ONION SKIN
by
Tom Cole
I sit
and stare at the onion skin
Then
it begins
To
wear me thin
OR
BETTER:
I'll
sit and stare at an onion skin
Until
it's begun to wear me thin
October 20,
2021
In folklore it's said that a guy owned a collie
That he sent to
the store
To buy a tamale.
THE EARLY BEER
I think I'll
have
an early beer
that surely,
dear,
will bring me
cheer
Tomaré una cerveza temprana
Que me gustará más que marijuana
THE LITTLE KITTY
by Steve Cole
I love the
Little Kitty
I love the
little kitty
I love the
little cat
I love his
little raincoat
I love his
little hat
I hope that
little kitty
Watches out for
cars and trucks
The last time he
was injured
It cost me fifty
bucks
Oh, puddy at the
fishbowl
Puddy on my knee
Puddy at the
garbage can
Puddy up a tree
I love the
little kitty
He is so very
nice
When I brought
him to the city
He had ticks and
fleas and lice
Oh, puddy at the
opera
Puddy at the
scene
Puddy at the
wheel
Of the
Mississippi Queen
Kitty used to be
so bold
We used to call
him studs
But then we took
him to the vet
To have them nip
his buds
Oh, puddy on an
island
Puddy on a reef
Puddy at a
hospital
Extracting
people's teeth
Last night there
was a meeting
Of the bird
society
The tiny little
kitty
Sat upon my knee
Alas, ere long
I wished him
gone
I told him then
to scat
He came back in
a jiffy
With a
yellow-breasted chat
Oh, puddy with a
bible
Puddy on crusade
Puddy with a
shotgun
Puddy with a
blade
See the little
kitty
lying on the
couch
he is so bright
and witty
he's never been
a slouch.
Oh puddy with a
saxophone
playing in a
band
puddy in the cat
box
scratchin' in
the sand.
After my
Booster Shot
welt.jpg
I.
To my surprise
My hives
Have lost their
lives!
The demise of my
hives
Was like the dying
of flies!
II.
Helter skelter my
welts sought shelter
Leaving not even
their pelts to swelter!
III.
To the nether
regions
Went legions of
lesions!
THE END
ROBERT FROST
Good-by
and Keep Cold.jpg
NOVEMBER 1962
You ought to see
me chop a tree
Because it
always falls on me
Christmas season
every year
I bump my head
and scratch my ear
The living
room's the place it's put
It falls again
and hits my foot.
The rhythm
drops out when I try
to add something
from the Beverly
Hillbillies (the
tadpole part) and
then when I steal
from a classmate who
wrote--If you were
in East Berlin,
you'd jump into a
storage bin. I would
have been better
doing all original
work.
You can
paint all your skies
in shades of gray.
But if
you do, you waste
each day
Living
for your dreams just
to chase them away.
Christmas Essay Mrs. Wells.jpg
MONKEY ISLAND
by Steve Cole
I took the
little pigeons
far from where
they cooed
Now they live on
Monkey Island
eatin' monkey
food.
At first the
pigeons were upset
they thought
they had been screwed
But it wasn't
long before they learned
to eat dat
monkey food.
The monkeys
there are so polite
they're never
vile or crude
they treat the
pigeons just like guests
what eat that
monkey food.
The rhino bayed
The gibbon
shreiked
The giraffes all
stood and mooed
The pidgies
heard this clearly
While they
munched that monkey food
ARIZONA SUMMER
POEM
"These
are the days that try men's souls and dry mink
stoles."
Poem about Meds
Oct 27, 2023
Let me say a word of what I endured
A simply dreadful occurrence
When I got out of bed
I was fed no med
'Cause I didn't have insurance
October 30, 2023
And now they've said
I've naught to dread
In reward for my endurance
I'll get my med before I'm dead*
For this I have assurance
*for little bread
Pigeon Poem Nov 25, 2023.jpg
Tom's Silly Bird
Poems and More
Arizona
Summer Poem
"These are the days that try men's
souls and dry mink stoles."
The Killdeer
A plover came over the field of clover
That stretched to the edge of the white cliffs
of Dover
He wasn't a dog but his friends called him Rover
And he very much resented this!
--April 2015
Unfortunately there aren't any killdeers in
England. WORSE in England they pronouce plover
Pluhver.
If I Had to Choose the Seagull that I
Would Come to Be
by Tom Cole
July 10, 2019
If I had to choose the seagull
That I would come to be
The one whose shoes and hat I'd wear
Is obvious to me
An aristocratic air
The seagull that I'd be
Would bear in regal glory
And he would say to thee,
"Systematic is my stance
"And fairness my decree
"I swear that I shall never brook
"A bit of quackery
"No works of Linus Pauling
"Nor schemes to grow new hair
"Replacing hair that's falling
"Nor chiropractic care!"
As his name so clearly shows
He knows what's good to eat
And that certain kinds of fish
Are known to be a treat
He never errs as fast he takes
His transatlantic bearing
His eyes alive, his ears alert
His nostrils bravely flaring!
I'm not adverse
To be so terse
And boldly take my daring
Far enough to say aloud,
"The answer is so glaring!"
The gull I'd be is plain to see
So I'm declaring null
All others save the one I'd be
The stately herring gull!
The gull I'd be is
plain to see
As any
staring skull
The one
that I would choose to be
Would be
the herring gull!
Far
enough to say aloud,
"The
answer is so glaring!"
The Solitary Sandpiper
Call it wary
The solitary sandpiper
As we are using sanitary handwipers
And six-foot partitioning
Not natural to the task as is a bird
at social distancing
APRIL 30, 2020
Solitary Sandpiper Sept 1 2017 Mysterious Puddle
copy.jpg
Call me a fuddy duddy
But buddy, you can study the
cluck
of the bloody ruddy duck
Frankly my dear
I don't give a damn
muddy
If I Could Be
a Bird
If I could choose to be a bird
I think I'd be a finch
I wouldn't be too muscular
Could never crank a winch
But other tasks both big and small
To me would be a cinch.
And finches are so colorful!
--October 14, 2015
If I could choose to be a bird I think I'd be a
finch.jpg
The Abert's Towhee
April 11, 2019
The Abert's Towhee has a dark black mask
And its belly I'm told is doughy
These birds hark back to the ancient past
When the world was cold and snowy
Abert's Towhee Poem.jpg
Another Abert's Towhee Poem.jpg
Eftsoons this bird of
lordly plumes
Is best portrayed as knightly
The
Bobolink
The bobolink has a cheerful song
And he always sings it sprightly,
Though he has his days of dark malaise
When the sun shines none too brightly.
No melancholy coddly Molly
May one describe him rightly
This strapping fellow is black and
yellow
And best portrayed as knightly
A code of honor holds he firm
Twich is to say most tightly
And in his talons crookt and cragged
He clutches, too, forthrightly
Thirteen arrows and a sword
And cries out most contritely
"What is Truth but a shining orb
"That burns both red and whitely?
"And a heart but a beating drum within
"That pounds in no way slightly?
"So, lest thy shoes so neatly spruced
"Be soiled and made unsightly
"O'er the patch of ground 'neath which I roost
Tread not ye even lightly!"
--Started October 14, 2015, Redone July 22, 2016
bobolink.jpg
The Inca Dove
Authored
by Tom Cole
See the little Inca dove go 'cross the
roller rink
Inky dinky,
Inky dinky,
Inky dinky,
Dink!
The Tortoise
The tortoise lives 'twixt mortised decks
A shielding that its life protects...
I think it clever of the tortoise
To avoid a case of rigor mortis
Tortoise and Dog with Poem.jpg
The Devil's Banjo (The Sandshark or
Guitar Fish)
Has perfect pitch on the sea
But is temperamental and known to fret.
Picks its way through the seaweed.
Strums up and down the coast!
The Cactus Wren
The cactus wren is intrepid
You can get so close you could
step on it!
I found this weird version in
my bird database/bird processor
The cactus wren is intrepid
You can get so close
you could step on it.
It's never uncouth.
Or long in the tooth.
It'll tell you the truth--you
can bet on it.
The
Puffin
A curious bird is the puffin
He ain't afraid of nothing
Not even of death
And with regard to his breath
You can often hear him huffin'
The Sparrow
The most ubiquitous bird is the sparrow
Its environs simply aren't narrow
This kingly old rover
Wears a crown in Hannover
And in Guaymas a great big sombrero!
(In addition, in Egypt the locals often refer to
him as “the pharaoh”)
--October 14, 2015
The Omnipresent
Starling
Ubiquitous are starlings
They're spotted near and far
You'll find you've got these darlings
No matter where you are
The Omnipresent Starling
Poem.jpg
7873 Madrid, Spain
June 17, 2019.JPG
Here you'll find no
Texaco
Or man who wears the star
But you'll find folks from Mexico
No matter where you are
The Verdin
November 25, 2018
The range map of the verdin
Shows where the bird's conspicuous
It lives down south and way out west
But it can't be called ubiquitous
You'll never see the bird up north
That would be ridiculous
(For, of course, it doesn't have such wide
dominion.)
And a verdin heard in the middle of the night
Is likely not a verdin
Or even a bird in my opinion!
Range Map of the Verdin.jpg
The Wigeon
There's a duck that is known as the wigeon
That likes to argue religion
While he'll squabble with flocks
Of sparrows and hawks
He'll seldom have words with a pigeon
The wigeon and the pigeon,
This avian pair,
Have decidedly little of
Thoughts that compare,
And less than a lot
Are the things that they share
In the way of what's doctrine--or doctrinaire.
But with regard to faith in religion
Like the wigeon
The pigeon
Hasn't a smidgen
Wigeon Poem.jpg
How the Grackle Got
His Name
He's not so named
for his drywall skills nor his love of using spackle
(Whilst, of course, there is no job that he is
loathe to tackle!)
Nor was he christened so because his flaming soul
doth crackle
Or for the fact that lock or chain could never
serve to shackle
One as he who has the stealth and slyness of a
jackal
Yeah, hale and hearty this one treads 'midst
gabbling clucks and quackle
Of dabbling ducks and quail upon whose heads is
seen a hackle
Attending neither church nor mosque nor any
tabernacle
He never flirts with Tarot cards or items zodiacal
No vicious blow, no savage punch, no overwhelming
whack'll
Cause his sturdy wings to ache (Though at times,
of course, his back'll!)
Not heretofore what you have heard wherefore was
named the grackle
His handle was awarded for his tendency to cackle.
Green Flies
There's a certain kind of green fly
You know the ones I mean
The ones when doggie defecates
Come flyin' on the scene
They appear as if by magic
They appear as in a dream
With their emerald opalescence
And their iridescent sheen
When doggie doesn't defecate
These flies are never seen!
So where do green flies come from?
From some green fly machine?
From the carcass of a rotting steer
In some dried up ravine?
Where do green flies come from?
Do they hatch from a green fly bean?
Or when doggie poops does someone somewhere
Open up a screen?
And let the green flies fly about
To on her stool convene?
I'll never know the answer
But I judge from their cuisine
That the place the green flies call their home
Is a place that's none too clean!
The Dowitcher
My favorite bird is the dowitcher
It has a beak as big as a howitzer
And when it moves it it seems
Like a sewing machine
But it's just getting pieces of chow which're
Quite tasty thank you very much indeed!
Here's a video link to this lymerick:
https://www.facebook.com/video.php?v=3501862045851&l=6670711087352250464
THE GECKO
BY TOM COLE
The stylized form of the gecko
Was popular in 20s art deco
But as far as I know
it has never appeared
in the works of the famous El Greco
I can't help but recall of the gecko
A fact that others may echo
That a gecko that lives in Tikal
Is a gecko Guatemalteco
Gekko.jpg
Would you pay my Bill? Eat a
Daffodil?
For my nickel
I'd skip the daffodil
And have a half a dill pickle
Oliver Twist Daffodill Half a Dill Pickle.jpg
Assonance
If you write in perfect rhyme
You'll likely have a worthless time
Whatever you might want to say
You're not allowed--no how no way
To get a rhyme for honkytonk
All I could find was donkey honk
And that's not what you want
To lead your hit parade
Instead just use some assonance
Don't try to get an ass to dance
Do you think Johnny Cash perchance
Could play guitar
Or sing in a choir
Or compose to save his life
(Though everyone knows
He wrote “Ring of Fire”
When it was really his wife)
Let's agree then you and I
On assonance
Don't look at me with eye and lash askance
For what is perfect rhyme?
Extravagance
Balderdash
Now, I know ya'll will ask
That I be brash
And call the Man in Black
A hack and overrated
Well, I have studied
Facts that have been stated
Resolutely, astutely, anecdotally
And he was--acutely, absolutely, totally!
—DECEMBER 23, 2015
Sleeping
I sleep here every night like a rat
A rat, a rat, a rat, a rat
A rat, a rat, a rat, a rat
A rat, a rat, a rat!
I Don't Like
My Truck
Written August
26, 2006
I don't like
my truck.
It ain't for
me
Trucks are
for country music fans
Cowboys
And other
dumb clucks
Climbing up a
tree!
POEM
CORN SHARK, BRONZED BONITO, SLOW WATER SALMON
People like trout
But frankly I'd sooner
Have myself a stringer
Full of stock tank tuna
Loogy Lake
STARTED THIS IN 1987 AND NEVER FINISHED:
TOM COLE
Fed fat by the Elkhorn Trickle
And nurkled by Icky Creek
Nary a sound dares to percol
Or vie with its gurgling gleek
We all of us formed a circle
'Round Filkins, whose first name was Joe
And feigned our enrapturous interest
In what we cared diddle to know
His eyes they were piercing
They gripped like a vice
His chin had a curious cleft
He gave us a glare that was colder than ice
As fully a third of us left
"I got myself in a pickle," quothe he
A pickle that lasted a week
My vocals from cursing were tickled
I barely sufficed to speak!
"There's nothing wrong with your vocal chords
now
Or even your pickle," we spake.
"So tell us the story or you're gonna be sorry:
Mick'll smack your fat head with this rake!
"Forsaken forlorn was I on that morn
A life there ain't worth a nickel
Never again would I dare to contend
With her rambling bramble and snickle"
"Whether you ramble or bramble or die
Not one of us cares but a whickle
We'll gamble to say you're a heck of a guy
But now you are being so fickle!
"Filkins am I, not fickle," he cried
"No gambling, ante, or bid!"
"Then out with the tale!" The ten of us wail.
"Well maybe I will!"
And he did.
In view of a roof
Not far from Duluth
Is a lake that is bordered by prickle
With a wicked tailrace
A communist place
In the shape of a hammer and sickle
I packed up my gear
Hitched up my boat
And carefully stowed my tackle
Paying no heed to the avarice, greed
Or the lugubrious eye of the grackle.
A Drummer in
the Band
WORKING ON THIS ONE
STILL...BORRADOR/DRAFT
Lemme tell a tale of hell's travail
That happened just this summer
I was in a four-piece combo
Three musicians and drummer
No source of joy was bongo boy
A bummer we couldn't stand
Friend, you don't need a case of hives
Or a drummer in the band
One day I started strumming
And heard to my surprise
The sound of someone drummin'
I had to close my eyes!
I didn't want to see 'im
I didn't want to hear 'im
And when we kicked him off the stage
The people started cheerin'
Your gig might be on land or sea
Or near the Rio Grande
But you don't need a fungus
Or a drummer in the band
If you're into chunkin'
Or if you're into pickin'
The only drumstick that you need
Is on a roasted chicken
'Cause if you have a lick of sense
You're surely gonna know
That when your band is cursed
You tell Pete Worst to go
I'll let you play that violin
or viola in your hand
But I'd rather have ebola
Than a drummer in the band
And when you've kicked that drummer out
The feeling is sublime
To once again be playing
In a band that's keeping time!
Limerick to a
Knitwit, Philip
J.
Fracica
(Pulmonologist and absolute numbskull who wrote
me
a perfectly nauseating brush-off letter in
response to my
complaint of wholesale proselytizing at Mercy
Gilbert Hospital,
"Where Jesus Freaks Hover over the Operating
Tables like Bats!")
A loathsome man named Fracica
Was known from Maine to Topeka
As an oblivious pulmonologist
A litigious ideologist
And a prodigious religious apologist!
Now I Want My Money! (song lyrics possibly)
Here in Arizona we got blazin' heat
All the days are hot and sunny
I cut your grass and burned my ass
And now I want my money!
Working in the freezer all day long
My nose got cold and runny
Like Niagra Falls as I froze my balls
And now I want my money!
I worked with the public all day long
Polite as a little bunny
I've had enough of all their guff
And now I want my money!
I worked all day and got no pay
Maybe you think that's funny
Go ahead and laugh
And kiss my ass
And give me my goddamned money!
Vinegar is nasty stuff they say
You'll catch more flies with honey
Don't want no flies
And nunna yor lies
I want my goddamned money!
Santa's Done Grown Mean
Those reindeer get complainin' Santa stops them
in their tracks
As he lays that holly-studded WHIP across their
backs
Walking
down Apache
Boulevard
I woke up last
Sunday
And the sky was gone
No explanation
But maybe
It was because of
What had gone on
Beneath it
and gone wrong
Whatever the reason
It sure was eerie
Walking down Apache
Boulevard
With the sky gone
I woke up last Monday
And my heart was gone
No explanation
Nothing to explain why my
heart was gone
But knowing I had once
been heartless
Perhaps an ironic fate
was saying,
"Oh, yeah? Try this on.”
Whatever the reason
It sure was eerie
Walking down Apache
Boulevard
With my heart gone
I woke up last
Tuesday
And my legs were gone
No explanation
But perhaps they were
taken
On account of all
The people and principles
I've inadvertently trod
upon
Whatever the reason
It sure was eerie
Walking down Apache
Boulevard
With my legs gone
Now, you may say
It's impossible all I've
said
As one can't really walk
Without a heart (You'd be
dead!)
And even if you weren't
The question begs
You'd be hard pressed
Without any legs!
But get this:
I woke up last Wednesday
And the world was gone
Again, no
explanation
Just Long Gone John!
Sure was eerie
Walking down Apache
Boulevard
With the world gone
Later that afternoon, it
rained
And when it stopped,
there were puddles
All up and down the long
boulevard
They sparkled in the
glorious summer sunshine
And glistened as do waves
of heat on a desert highway
And since the world was
gone
It seemed as if you could
see forever
The
very
deep did rot: O Christ!
That
ever
this should be! How piteous
Yea,
slimy
things did crawl with legs
Upon
the
slimy sea.
H. amphibius
-ship, bip, blip,
chip, clip, crip,
cslip, dip, drip,
flip, gipp, grip,
gripp, grippe, gyp, hip,
hipp, hippe,
ip, kip,
kipp, klipp,
knipp, lip, lipp,
lippe, nip, nipp,
pip, pipp, q-ship,
quip, quipp, q ship,
q tip, rip, ripp,
rippe, schip,
scrip, scripp, ship,
shipp, sip,
sipp, skip,
skipp, slip, slipp,
snip, stipp, strip,
thrip, tip, tipp,
trip, tripp, trippe,
whipp, yip, zip,
zipp
I'll give you just three guesses
"Tippy Canoe and Tyler too"
I've yet begun to fight
I have not yet begun
to fight
Tippy Canoe and Tyler too
I've yet begun to fight
BODY SHOP
At Starbuck's coffee shop
He bought a lollipop
And then he groaned
When he received a fast karate chop
At Starbuck's coffee shop
He bought a lollipop
And then he groaned
When I gave him a karate chop
Where's my wallet
Did he swallow it?
Petals on a wet black dog.jpg
The apparition of these faces in the crowd
Petals on a wet, black bough
—Ezra Pound
Me in Ireland
May 2012
That is no country for old men.
The young
In one another's arms, birds in
the trees,
—Those dying generations—at their
song,
The salmon-falls, the
mackerel-crowded seas,
Fish, flesh, or fowl, commend all
summer long
Whatever is begotten, born, and
dies.
Caught in that sensual music all
neglect
Monuments of unaging intellect.
CLICK HERE FOR TOM'S POEMS:
Tom's
Silly
Bird Poems and More
Funeral of Shelley
Roasting.jpg
Caminante, son
tus huellas
el camino y nada más;
Caminante, no hay camino,
se hace camino al andar.
Al andar se hace el camino,
y al volver la vista atrás
se ve la senda que nunca
se ha de volver a pisar.
Caminante no hay camino
sino estelas en la mar.Caminante, son tus huellas
el camino y nada más;
Caminante, no hay camino,
se hace camino al andar.
Al andar se hace el camino,
y al volver la vista atrás
se ve la senda que nunca
se ha de volver a pisar.
Caminante no hay camino
sino estelas en la mar.
ñ ó í m-dash: — ¿ ¡
This One
By Jean Cole
The beach was wet. Fog sank to ground level
heavy, like fine rain;
you could feel it on your hand.
Squeezed down in the bed roll
dampness seeped in
from the drenched canvas top.
Charcoal still glowed faintly in the sand,
quiet hung balanced against tide echoes.
On the dunes the truck faded slowly in mist
like edges of burned cholla skeletons.
They appeared abruptly—the coyotes,
warm against the damp.
Moving silently, shadowy forms slid in swift
restless sweeps, searching beach, land.
One paused at the dune edge;
fine droplets clung to thick fur.
Ears back, head lifted toward the sea
this one
sounded blood-colored notes
animal-hot against the night.
--published in West Coast Poetry
Review 1972
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