Rudolph refuses
leading the sleigh on Yule Eve
good luck in that fog
he says to other reindeer
you just like my nose, not me
Rudolph refuses
leading the sleigh on Yule Eve
good luck in that fog
he says to other reindeer
you just like my nose, not me
dolls nestle
within dolls
within dolls
within dolls
within spies
to make a death rattle
clear your throat politely
letting the angel
handling reservations
know you’re next
running, yelling
who’ll be police
who’ll be gangstas
who’ll chalk the bodies
little boys at play
living in a house
of nine small rooms
then stepping outside
into bright sunshine–
our buddha nature
(Paraphrase of Daisaku Ikeda,
The Wisdom of the Lotus Sutra, vol. 4)
where are the boys
up before sunrise
to hurl ink smeared
newspapers into hedges
and milk bottles
splashing in rainbows
shards of strobe lightning
southern comforted soul
grates pieces of her heart
into the microphones
(for Janis, of course)
hitch-hiking along
the Oregon coast
ten thousand candles
blaze just for me
and ships at sea
you’ve gone where
fully packed stadiums
wait, chant, and clap
for you to read your verse
and speak their hearts
struts and shocks are shot
on our old sturdy Camry
wife wants a new car
with no dashboard cassette deck
for my Eagles collection
六十六 (Rewrite)
drop by drop by drop
that bamboo pail grows fuller
bangs on a boulder
a gunshot scaring away
deer feasting in the garden
六十六
Creation’s a tree
of ornaments, lights, tinsel
so bedazzling
its dark branches go unseen
cradling the galaxies.
maybe after all
there’s God, Angels, gold slippers
my church goer friends
catcalling downwards to me
see, told you so, told you so
for jacking prices
on drugs five thousand percent
I will seek you out
to bargain with in Hades
a small drop of ice water
everyday my aunt
in her old ramshackle house
shifts hiding places
for her cash and jewelry
stumbles on hidden treasures
in Hiroshima
on a tram at ground zero
overhead wires
short out– a ferocity
of light floods the crowded car
where are paperboys
marauders on bicycles
flycasting ink-smeared
Chronicles into hedges
and bowling down milk bottles?
She speaks of her days
As courtesan long ago
To the royal court
Her famed eyelashes spiders
Behind her fluttering fan
when caught in headlights
they whip out top hats and canes
make a chorus line
that’s how shy our blacktail deer
in my town are becoming
Shop Bards & Beyond!
buy sonnets by the metre
frogs, fireflies, crows
to inspire your tanka
major credit cards taken
Enjoying Life In New Ways
Poetry, Photography, haiku,
the literary asylum
Wherever I lay my pen, that's my home
my humanity in written form
Guitarist / Songwriter
Poetry, Fiction & Photography
New content every Sunday.
Tales from the mouth of a wolf
a collection of words about my average, bog-standard life accompanied by some sub-par illustrations that depict selected moments in said life
Tales of humour, whimsy and courgettes
𝙳𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚖 𝚋𝚒𝚐! 𝙻𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚋𝚒𝚐𝚐𝚎𝚛!
to be worth sharing
Domenic Garisto / LIFE IS NOT A REHERSAL,SO LIVE IT..if you can't be the poet, be the poem..havau22.com
One Poet's Writing Practice
My thousand lines..
A Poet's Place | Wolff Poetry Literary Magazine is Publishing Poetry Submitted by Published & Emerging Writers,