Photographic Fantasia

Photographic fantasia
wild blooming animalia
budding posy from Asia
points to fierce vernalia.

Of course I was not the first to coin
"Vernalia", but I am using it
as a new term for Spring

My Grecian Urn Moment

Wien waltzes with wild wolves
photos for fabulous flashbacks
youthful jogging yields judgement
whereby whoever walked the way would
continually be calibrated cadencially
passing the performance perpetually
mimicking masterfully in memory
only never to outshine that occasion
when waltzing the voluptuous Viennese.

To Jimmy Taub, the dancer whom every other is measured by
and found wanting.

Wall haiku

This Spring Ides of March
in wondrous wall flowers
incessantly blooms

Notes on Modest Mussorgsky

each visitor brings her own notes
to the pictures at an exhibition
each has her musical depiction
if a novice to the state of art
will forthwith just jump start
if an expert to the avant-garde
will enjoy the l'art pour l'art:
one by one decides on her vision
a truly personal musical precision
each will have her double-quotes

thinking of Mussorgsky and the Hubble Space pictures among Renaissance Art
The ten pictures Mussorgsky depicts are: a gnome-shaped nutcracker; a troubadour plaintively singing outside an ancient castle; children vigorously playing and quarrelling in a park; a lumbering wooden Polish ox-cart; a ballet of peeping chicks as they hatch from their shells; an argument between two Warsaw Jews, one haughty and vain, the other poor and garrulous; shrill women and vendors in a crowded marketplace; the eerie, echoing gloom of catacombs beneath Paris; the hut of a grotesque bone-chomping witch of Russian folk-lore; and a design for an entrance gate to Kiev.

The First Sex - SCREAM!

Wonders of women - ponders Vigga the Vølva,
how can they keep on accepting their fates
the poor - the illiterate - the females
kept in their place by tawdry tradition
and fiercely fatherly rocking religion?
To all these women who die in childbirth
or get gang-raped to thrash the transgressions
of somebody else - innocent bystanders
to tribal male malicious prick pride,
all the feisty females - in abusive alliances -
there has got to be a way to stop that desecration
of the body and mind and spirit of the first sex.

Monastically the male was the prime panther,
alas, by brunt extortion, the female principle,
the mother of their children was charmingly choked
into servant submission and in male monitored places -
still it is happening in the world of today, why?
The Vølva is perpetually pondering this paradox.
Testosterone's tests participate in power
entitling male domination of the female
backed up by 3000 years worth of shady tradition
and religious raunchiest rabid hate of the amazons'
ability to create, to give birth to new life.

Vølva Vigga will appeal to all wenches - once virgins -
that they should help the female counterparts
by changing the politics of the western democracies
and boycott all countries where female torture
takes place, be it at home or in the villages, in towns.

Alas, Vigga the Vølva well knows that submission
to home abuse takes place, even in enlightened relationships,
but at least it can be dealt with by shouting it out
from the roof tops in suburbia, cities, remote hamlets.
Use your voice against verbal, sexual, any partner abuse,
scream it out in your churches, in neighborhoods,
in malls, in center town halls - then mayhap
the people of power may legitimately listen -
especially, if the female yells justly about another abomination
abuse of - a special kind - the unprotected innocent child.

But today is the day for hailing the feminine principle
the first sex. Albeit the Vølva is painfully aware
whence the masculine pricks took over - when the
alphabet arrived and the bountiful earth went from
hunterer and gatherer to connecting the dots at crossroads.
Granted we may not yet have had computers
because the manly male needs creative out-pour
for the overproduction of domineering testosterone.

But then, she asks, why do three established religions
condone their proselytes' behavior - she shrugs
because most of their pulputarians - godfathers are men.
One religion in particular promises a 70 wives for
taking out another human being in the name of God.
Vigga winks humorlessly at this flaky fallacy.
How many Virgins are there in Paradise, or
does Eden have blown-up plastic dolls for that purpose.
Maybe the Virgins of hog heaven get their hymens back
every time a new martyr rides on his merry way to them.

Enough of making fun - knowing what rape is like
what powerless fear can do to a feisty female,
Vigga the Vølva went through the wretched ordeal herself
and was now pondering what would happen to a lady,
if she had daily beatings or brutal beratings
of her body and her mind and her spirit
- with nobody to back her up - what could a chick do?
With family ties broken or the law of the community
not on her side, how could she survive being battered?

By not screaming it out in the ether, by keeping quiet,
the crime will be revoltingly repeated ad nauseam.
The Vølva Vigga urges vigorously virgins and vixens,
women of all ages and sizes to scream and to yell:
Assault - Abuse - Wicked - Wrong - and last but not least
S T O P VIOLATING ME and TELL EVERYONE!

Tiles of history

Tiles tell tales
mosaics prevail
the ancients - hail!

Blogging thought

Bloggers blog their thoughts.
Do bloggers block
other bloggers blogs?
Blog, my blog, blog away
a blogger can blog
thousands of blogs a day.
Bloggers - blog - hurrah -
all for blogging naught.

Grave smokescreen

A grave site appeared
an island in the Aegean
Ulysses' Ithaca?
The Iliad literally revisited?
When the Ancients speak
do we even listen?
When the matriarchs tell tales
do we even believe?
When the old men present
do we even bother?
Another grave - our own
leaving just airwaves
and bits - a smokescreen?

A dying idea

A thought
over the miles
no response
fear of ...
drying

An idea
over the tiles
no answer
fear of ...
flying

A notion
over the aisles
no reply
fear of ...
lying

A concept
over the piles
no rebut
fear of ...
prying

A vision

over the files

no retort

fear of ...

dying

February 29 Tanka

The frog leaps highly
in all the years of the rat -
a gorgeous high jump.
An Olympian gameshow
of theatricals it is.

Mood indigo

A fool's tirade
or a gambler's arcade?
The first's serenade
against the second's masquerade?
All a big charade
in the world man-made.

Smothering

when mothers protect
their offspring too much
we neglect to let them fail
in motherly smothering
in the name of our love
a child just derail'd?

Virtute et armis

Thousand ships launched
for a beauty of a face
Thousand rockets hurled
for a true just cause
Thousand stones thrown
for an innate sacred right
Inhumane humanity
in vain - only vanity

Hamlet's dilemma

belated
updated
rotated
debated
negated
indicated
to be
syncopated
or not

Chance encounter

unknown poet-man
admired an essayist
found a tome of his
read it quite avidly.

unknown fellow-man
a solid worldly view
quiet happenstance
a fab allegorist.

On reading one of Christopher Hitchens's
books on an unknown man's recommendation

All clowns

Clowns clean faces
front the world
with its own idosyncrasies.

American senryu

feeble foible
2. amendment
kills - right?

Hopeful haiku

Little white snowdrop
hearty herald from brown dirt
spikes imminent spring.

A comment on the world!

Mundane mutants
of regrettable sorts
fall over each other
to properly comport.

A funeral

tomorrow will be white
then brown,
fertile dirt, dark,
full of worms and life
the coffin with the body
will mingle well
mors ultima linea rerum est

Icerain

How very germane
that the weather
adheres to
my mood.
Icerain.

A choice for a woman

In her cape lined with bear fur
the Volva Vigga wandered aimlesely
in the woodsland she used to feel
safe and secure and stable in.
This had been six weeks since
her vicious vitriolic violation.
The healer she had sought healed
her beaten, bombarded body so-so.
Her sister Sophia who had come
soon after sat with her for seven
despairing days and seven sad nights
talking and reading to her from
their grandmother's old diaries.
These leatherbound parchments
bore witness. A child's rape.
Gruesome reading it was
and somehow their granny got through -
but only when Grosswolf was knifed.
The steel from Toledo well sharpened
had sheared the perpetrator's neck.
The woodsland fey had made sure
that the hushed hut was enchanted,
so Vigga the Volva could rest
and get her bearings, alas not brought.
She would remember till her dying day
the victimization of her true self
and the total helplessness towards
the power of the cruelest brutality.

Vividly she replayed the rape in raw visuals.
Not being able to stop the pounding
hit her womanhood with such frustration.
She was perfectly and purely powerless.
How could she live on? Facing real reality
she wringed her slender white hands.

Her bosom had started to swell
Her nausea nipped her in the early dawn
Her missing monthly female flux -
Vigga the Volva wanted to weigh
the various ways of her crucial choices
something that any woman would do
in her strenuous and sticky situation.

She was not as young as she pretended.
In her womanly prime she would weigh
the prime possibility of ever carrry a child
or elect to bear the vicious rapist's copy.
Her delicate dilemma was not easy.
She came to the little brook she so
often had gathered healing herbs for fey.
Staring at her self - an image of healthy woman
in the water she was asking herself,
could she truly come to love the child?
In truth - she sighed - she could not.
She would always both see her perpetrator
that face was engraved with a rage so bound
in hatred and think of her own helplessness.
One thing she wanted for a child of the earth
was happiness from within, and she could not....

Having mulled over the rippling waters
she sighed and started to warily walk
towards the healing woman's hut.

Vigga the Volva had made her choice.

My brother

The chain is broken -
a link to a past gone,
vividly remembered
for his humor and joy
his politcalized talk
inspiring his friends.
No doubt about it -
a wonderful husband
and a great father
and a fun grandad.
Wanting the world
in his own special way
and he designed it so.
Alas, memento mori.

Common Cold

the common cold
turns and twists
in nasal cavities;
can doctors find
a cure for these
vulgar calamities?

Thoughts on Super Tuesday

American woman
to vote for a woman president
is to embrace herstory.

If this is gender bias -
then this is the time
to change hisstory.

Woman to vote
for a smart woman
is a vote for herself

Why?

Why, she asks,
did he leave?
Why, she asks,
did he leave me?
Why, she asks,
did he leave me and the children?
We had a family.
Why, she asks,
did he change?
Why, she asks,
did he change after 30 years?
Why, she asks,
did he change to have a new mistress?
We were a family.
Why, she asks,
couldn't he talk?
Why, she asks,
couldn't he talk to me?
Why, she asks,
couldn't he talk to his children?
We would have been there for him.
Why, she asks,
did he buy the house?
Why, she asks,
did he say he wanted the house too?
Why, she asks,
did he all of a sudden change and we did not see it?
We could have worked it out.
Why, she asks,
do I still love him?
Why, she asks,
do the kids still love him?
Why, she asks,
does he destroy our family after 30 years?
Why? she asks.

wild haiku

Wildebeast - wombat
in the noisy savannah
willingly abide.

mask for peace?

tired mask
of civil conduct
rips rationale
for mortals.
in short:
no civility
no ability
for peace.

A bough

West wind
winding street
a branch
ripped off -
a Mensch
look-alike,
head, arms
body, legs -
dead
yet its torn
corpse
had done
its duty -
it bloomed
in Spring -
it carried
seeds
in Summer -
dropped
its leaves
in Fall -
and
a few years
later
was felled
by the
West Wind.

Futuristic fantasy?

From Edison's talking
via vinyls walking
bits and knots
Blackberry - I phones
Windows - Vista
via floppies to Zunes
blips and blops.
Will future bring
relief to mankind
by being connected
at all times?
Will war finally
be totally erased
by connecting the dots
or you just fire up
your brain - crazed?

Mixed metabolism

Immortal divinities
of human creation
do the animals believe
in animistic amalgamation?

Immoral deities
of hellbent credos
augur the aurochs
of Herculean libidos?

Imposing Darwinism
of happenstance crescence
will not salvage one
from dusty tumescence.

Death wins - every time

Anger revisited
peppers memories
of the one I trusted
in childhood,
but betrayed by
in adulthood.
Yet as death
agonizingly
approaches -
wrath dissolves
into silver sadness.
Mellowing Mnemosyne
erases everything.

T o r n

Torn
between
two
worlds ;
a new
an old
where
is
my
poor
wreathing
and

split

soul ?

Paradise revisited.

Paradise revisited
in January
a garden not remote
but beauty in bare twigs
add a bouquet of mimosas
harbinger of Spring.
Yes, there are tides in Paradise
as well as people
ah, it was a precious moment in time
wishing for all to have a memory
like that to cherish.
To the people of Paradise
a heartfelt thanks.

Once upon ...

In this little village
where people flow
where children grow
where folks die
where poops lie
where life takes
where it wakes
in this little village.

Eggs and meat

In the little village
a lady of mature years
walking with a tote
heavily filled,
but sticking up
the indespensable
a baguette.
A man walking a dog
with a stick
saying to the lady,
"Bonjour madame".
Living in the same
village for more than
30 years -
they still vousvoyez.
Thrice weekly market
is on today -
all the vendors are here,
the man with the horse meat
the egg man with fresh eggs
the eternal bag vendor
various and sundries
clothes offerings -
some practical - some not so
all in front of the town hall
a square where people gather
for about 2 thousand years
except this village is not quite
as old in view but in spirit.
Yet the time of the ages
flows along and generation
upon generation runs through
the veins and the alley ways.
There have been folks
for ... ages and we are all
part of the meat chain.

Et tu Brute?

Walking the dog as usual -
trash can day in the neighborhood
glimpsed a proud container
with the name BRUTE.
Philosophized over the name -
everything is now mega
or giga or monster in the US
not nano, minute, BRUTE.
Do the namers of this can
knows where it comes from
murder, treason, hate, con, hon,
glorifying the raw Brutal power.
What an ungentle way to start
a trash can day's walk with the dog.
Instead of naming it BRUTE
how about MOTHER?

The Rape's progress

Brushing off her tattered cape
from the snowy wintry day
the Völva Vigga looked forlorn
on the stark barren meadow
just outside her naked forest
she shivered - it was a chill.
Inside her bear-lined coat
with beaver boots on her feet
she melted and felt comfortable.
Her morning perambulations
took her out in her faraway world,
from Yggdrasil slowly growing
to the tinselled town close by
she looked at the two worlds
musing melodiously that they
would never really to become one.
The town with its timbered roofs
and its glorified glowing shops
the streets lined with green laces
in form of garlands and light bulbs
compared to the quiescent quietude
of her wide forest filled with morass
moss, ditches, depressions, brooks,
only the hinterland animals to be heard.
Her world shone beautifully ,
chillingly and she willingly admitted
that unless you were fay
or of the animal kingdom
it would be hard to survive - but
humans had been done so for millennial
they survived surely -
she emphatically surmised,
they progressed fantastically.
In spite of their hateful,
warmongering ways
she willingly admitted
that they had evolved.
It was just that Nature - needs to be
nurtured and natured much more
than humans seemed to grasp
- only the few seers, the vital visualists
should be given the power
to roadmap the preservation
of ...... her hands were grabbed
she was thrown down -
on the hard soil unceremoniously.
Her hood covered her face,
and she barely could breathe.
Listening for signs of what was to come
was a white noise, her brains
her ears registered naught and all.
The male, for th'is was a human male
was strong and told her that he
was going to take her by force.
He lifted up her coat and her skirt
ripped off her bottoms spun by the
finest cotton and sewn by elfish hands
not protecting her now.
He fumbled at his breaches and she could
hear him swearing and saying bitch
you bloody bickering bitch
you are nothing to me - but a hole.
He started entering her, tearing her
brutally - pumping up and down,
she finally found her voice and screamed,
only to hear the forest noises so far away
she was in his power and he forced himself
vigorously and victoriously on her.
He kept at it pinning her down only
by sheer will force she tried to fight him off.
He hit her on the side of her head
yelled, you will lie still, you vixen.
He came suddenly - the humping stopped.
He hit her again, you did not cooperate, slut.
I want you to work with me, you are powerless.
You will make me hard again. He stuck his manhood
in her mouth, and started to work at it.
She gagged and threw up. Nothing helped,
nobody came to her rescue, no human, no fay.
The Völva Vigga felt absolutely alone.
He grew big in her mouth
and he came in her mouth,
She threw up again.
He turned her around, twisting her arms,
so that she had to cooperate. He lifted her skirt
so that her bottom stood out - bare - freezing,
she could feel him look at her, she tried not to give
him the satisfaction of showing her utter fear, but
showed no sign of life. He harrumphed
and started pushing his penis in from behind.
She felt herself bleeding even more
but did he care - no.... he just kept at his task.
This time it took so long for him to come and
her insides bled profusely and hurt so.
Finishing for the third time he finally released her
wrists and got up, drew up his breeches, looked
at her and just said nothing. She huddled
herself in her cape, blood running down her thighs
- she finally looked at him with such
hatred - he jumped away, because she had dug out
the knife she always carried with her.
Lithe she jumped as best as she could,
but fell over a stone,
because she could barely stand,
he laughed and grabbed
the knife from her, looked curiously at it,
because it had a unique design
on its silvery shaft and on the blade
he smiled and said,
"Th's payment for my labors."
He turned and left as fast as he could.

Völva Vigga slumped down on the forest floor,
weeping silently, the knife was a symbol of fay
she had inherited it from her great grandmother
who had been raped when she was just a girl,
thereafter swore she would always carry a knife.
Her granny's assailant was one of the elves
of the faraway land of Tintangel,
and her great great grandmother had procured
the knife for her daughter dear to her.
It had killed, that knife, because a child's rape
enraged the völvae so much and
the elf had to pay with his life.
The elf was half human. His name inscribed
on the tip caught the eye of the volva's rapist.
The knife was made in Valencia,
iron blade, silver shaft, enchiseled
in ancient script on the shaft
"Protect the bearer, never hurt unjustly."
"Grosswolf" - the elf's name was on it's tip.
Vigga swore she would trace the knife,
and get it back somehow, someday.

Screaming her anguish and anger away
her throat scratched terribly
and she knew she needed to
go and have herself taken care of.
Willow bark and St John's worth as
well as calming soothing creams for the
scratches and her inner pathways
so she embarked on the rambling road
to the healing woman of the woodland's spring.
Tumbling fast along the woodsy ways
caring naught for the ways of the world,
but only concentrating on survival, the völva
finally arrived at the healing woman's place.
Knocking on the door the wise woman peeked
out and nodded to Vigga, "Come in my child,
you are hurt and need healing hands."
Vigga gratefully accepted, but explained
that she had nothing to pay the wise woman with.
Your healing, my Völva, will be my reward.
Vigga the Völva had begun her purification.

To lose

Player plays
parlaying
with great elan
player loses
finagling
with sad splinter.

Playing around

Player plays
parlaying
with great elan
player lays
role playing
with counterplan.

Missing vitamin-d?

Protracted the weeping
willows of dying cells
of mental capacities -
bleak mushy outlook
losing teeth - bent back -
only if memories serves us
will we smile on a dark day.

Expatriates

Ever-seeking the left known
the initial memories crown'd
a feeling lost in the new world.
Our kids adapt easily swirl'd
in their own childhood theatre
elders by nature are opiniatre.
For ego defense into escapism
expatriates lacks cradle prism.

Habitual u?

Habits of recognition
bents towards the known
confirms coziness.
Routines of remembrance
slants towards the norm
fortifies familiar.
Break out - burst away
from the bland, bleak blob
called everyday essence.
Be unique once, then ...
become addicted to being
.... uniquely you.

Candy Choices

hard choices at the movie store -
hard core action films
tear jerking dramas from sundance,
foreign Tasmanian dervishes,
romantic dramas or serious life stories,
how about a romantic comedy?
or a vivid computerized vision -
a magnificent reality check!
soon we will be able to have
Kermit the Frog as James Bond
a young Sean Connery as Heathcliff
and Julia Roberts as Marguerite.
icons changed as we want them
computer candy for everyone
brave new bit world

Streaks

the sky had blue hair
with grayish/white streaks
elegantly blended by planes
the lady had dark hair
with golden/white streaks
stunningly blended by a bottle
mother earth had black hair
with brownish/yellow streaks
sadly blended by ignorance

Crazy verse

Read somewhere,
"an attitude
with gratitude,"
think right here;
is latitude
to occlude.

No nothing

No inspiration
is forthcoming
nil - zip - nada
that in itself
is inspiring, or not?

No interpretation
is flinching about
nil - zip - nada
that in itself
is inconsequent, or not!

No invalidation
is foreseen
nil - zip- nada
that in itself
is intimidating or not?!

Far-away fables

A picture of an ancient palace
I got from a travelling friend
a dream place I will never see
my mother told me stories.
One emperor stood emphatically out
from that faraway fantasy land
a dreamt up fantastic man
whose world did not resemble mine.
My mother's morality mindful tales
were enthroned and encouraging,
yet I knew they were fairy fables
to germinate in me a zest for life.

Running water

I hear the running water
the shower of my daughter
and I smile -
I do not hear my son
too far away - in body - in spirit.
Yet inside my wired brain cells
a very vivid picture
of him cuddling his own son
robustly remains.
My other son floats in and out
like a catterpillar readying
to fly, where will he go?
Good thoughts pouring out
intercepted by the drumming.

Healthy body?

Slovenly with health
not building stealth
muscles and wealth
signify sadly dire signs
slobbingly weird minds
of an infantile kind.
Wake up, smell the decay
of gravestones on the day
before to rest you stay.
Sound body, sound smarts
take care of your parts -
fair warning - for starts.

On seeing "La vie en Rose" realizing
Piaf's cracked-up body, osteoporosis big time.
My mother had the disease.

Mozart's grave encounter

one a shadowy
December
day at dusk

hark his invincible
songs -

the stone figure's
invisible pride
composed -
burst of beautiful
talent silenced
2 centuries ago -

a pauper's grave
necrologically positioned
never found
postulated for posterity
somewhere oddly
off in vibrant Wien -
yet this immortal
melodious
miraculous mass
of Mozart's magic
imaginatively spins
around this
false funeral
separated sepulchre
on this wintry

dark day in December

Mozart's muse's gift:
pax vobiscum.

November warmth

Staring at the November rain
from inside a cosy warm house
intoxicates my rattling insides.
Ice ages come and go.
Evolution miracles from dry caves
mild savanna springs
earthly abundance
rich soils, fresh clean waters for
millions of years.
Industrial revolution
pollutes the lodestar.
We did not know
at the time.
Now we do.
Would I be willing to give up
the warm shelter of this abode?
If solar and wind energy
would take over - yes.
The November day is lightening up.

Seussical verse

Can you rhyme
and mime
at the same time?
Can you sign
and flip a dime
a rock climb?
Can you bolt
with a dolt
riding a colt?
Can you molt
with a jolt
to a fault?
Alas my verse
ends just terse
in a hearse.

Knock - Knock - who's there?

I did not disturb your peace -
yet you think you
have the right to preach
what you believe
on my quiet Sunday morning.

May your God be with you
and leave me to mine.

Leaf's pirouette

fouetté follows
the winds stark
demands
pirouette
pas de chat
a leaf's dying dance

Will-o'-the-wisp

Red liquid simmering
in the candlelit room
bewitches thoughts
of a summer's illusion.
Sights dances frenziedly,
alas - only the fool's joke.
Let my poor mind drown
my soul's narcissistic desires
in blushing burgundy claret.

Halloween hello

Hail Halloween
hear how
Hecate's hellbent
hillbillies
haunt horses and hounds.
Hell's Angels highbrow
hunting halos
hit hustlers hard.
Half-bred hairy heads
heave hemlock
haltingly.
Heinous heavenly
hallucinations.

F& H

Feet and hands
similarities
families
and
strangers
differences
hands and feet.

Stars' Walk

Hollywood Boulevard
with stars galore
resembles my street
with fallen leaves
gingerly spread out
symbolizing the ones
that lives and lived.
Mayhap the stars' walk
is more gorgeous,
but a fall morning's mist
glistering foliage
provides infinite
more divine colors
just right in front of me.

Tinnitus :(

Inner ears buzzing sounds
White noises will them drown.
Monotones of stentorian strength
sufferers go to great length
of quieting the buzzing zing
which will forevermore ring.

Readaholic

Reading everyday
keeps me from decay
I often put my life on hold
to turn that page untold.
My hubby understands
my hobby's grand demands.
I live my life in books
My life becomes unhook'd.
So I am just an addict
afflicted - in the attic.

Hobson's Choice

Hobson's choice
a dilemma
with outcome
only what
the postulator
premeditated.
We are our own.

Stone and Dog

I met a stone on my walk
this morning in the sun
he told me stop and gaze.
I did - he said: You see ...
The dog sniffed and tugged
we bounced so fast away.

The stone man I shall visit
again and again and again
for he wanted me to see
what I never noticed or saw.
Made of feldspar, glimmer -
a granite unformed we.

Was I wrong never to hold
his glance for unmitigated fear
of facing his solemn reality?
Or was I right to pounce upon
the dog's way sauntering
along the trail of tears happily?

On my morning's dog walk
sometimes eternity glimpses
more often a minute stands
I wait for the dog to do her thing
sniffing a stone - remarking
life is just a basic day's span.

Frog dreams

Frog queen
is green
and happy
where shabby
leaves on pond
weave beyond
those dreams
which creamed
her thoughts
for naught.

A felled fall tree

a fall tree
falls in three
the crown
the stem
the root
falls in three
a fall tree
but not a felled tree.

To Emily's mom!

Emily's mom is searching for answers
from the doctors, specialists and all-
yet, nobody has yet found what's wrong.

Orthopedics look at bones.
Endocrinologists scrutinize the endocrine system.
Neurologists examine nerves.

Another opinion - another doctor
yet the problem is not solved.
Observing her daughter's pain is heart breaking.

So Emily's mom has been digging -
trying to find out what is ailing her child.
Emily is lucky she has somebody who is fighting.

Why not?

Insignificant irony
prancing poetically
signifies satire.

Cogito ergo sum?

Pains in my hands
come from using the mouse too much
should I stop writing?

My mind reels the pains
knowing that this could be my last day
- yet I feel alive.

I can no more stop writing
than I can stop living or talking or...
I am what I think.

Nobel Haiku

Nobel oblige
Al Gore plus won the Peace Price
Geopolitics

Top haiku

Politicians
who is on top, who is not.
Election year.

Sir Zipper

Grandson's sleeper
with a zipper -
a grand past
Churchill wore them.

Thanks to Granddad

http://www.worldwar2exraf.co.uk/Online%20Museum/Museum%20Large%20pictures/siren-suit-small.jpg

http://www.newstatesman.com/200304280020

Blond senryu

Blond jokes
bimbos assumptions
fooling men!

Tumbling willow haiku?

I tumble over
a wondrous wayward willow
it's a new nightmare.

Pill for everything??

Autumnal sleep
Body needs
Would a pill help?

Seven deadly sins

Vølva Vigga looked at a painted picture
Hieronymus Borsch from anno 1485
wishing she could contemplate it
where it hangs: in the Prado museum.
By now Vigga knew she had committed
one deadly sin: invidia or
envy.

Sitting at her twisted old tree Vigga Vølva
suddenly felt hunger and she tumbled
over her own feet trying to gather nectar
from the busy bees and drinking it devouringly
with a straw. She then thought a terrible thought
She had committed another sin : Gula
Gluttony.

Shaking her head she become irate
why should she not drink this nectar.
Granted it was destined for healing
the sad souls of her little village, but
she had worked so hard in the night
that she needed it. Irate is
wrath.

Calming down she then stretched her
long limbs and thought of her past night
she had been in the arms of Odin
strong, handsome and sensual guy,
old and warn, but knew the femina.
Another sin called luxuria or
lust.

Vigga Vølva with her long auburn hair
then took it upon her self to shake
away the thoughts of sin and walked
in her autumnal wood and came upon
the little brook where she often mirrored
herself. She smiled! Beautiful. Vanitas
Pride.

She sat down, mulled over the fact
that within minute minutes she had committed
deadly sins galore - does a human do
that every day, Vølva Vigga's mind questioned?
It was so magnificent here that she languished
along the bank, even though work called.
Sloth.

Vigga Vølva got up and wandered wondering
about - thinking again avidly several minutes
about the Bosch world picture of humanity
and its feeble follies of committing the sins
taught so carefully to keep folks in somewhat
a harness - wishing eagerly she could do it too.
Greed!

Vølva Vigga took a deep breath and exhaled
the wood ventured to try and humor her humor
its brilliant colors of the month of October
was the only way she could look at the sins
all within herself - satisfied she would never be.
And the others? Each individual decides
individually.

For those interested in seeing the picture here is the address
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Image:Boschsevendeadlysins.jpg

Rires

Cirque du soleil
c'est une epiphanie
rires fous

Car haiku

Young person relax
old car makes noises and stop
no personal feud.

Frustated fruit

Bitter autumn
enjoys frustrations
fruit picker

First senryu

Summer's end
Poetic strike
Tragic word play.

Auguring Autumn

another fifth season
crisp - morning
brisk- evening
moon waning
September sings
its last days
the praying mantis
is dead -
leaves are dropping
and coloring
the days of glorious
auguring autumn

More on Bel-Ami

Bel-Ami is getting hitched
to-day
many girls will sigh and cry
but it is time
Bel-Ami is getting hitched

Bel-Ami is gaining a friend
for life
many girls will cry foul
but it is time
Bel-Ami is gaining a friend

Bel-Ami is an inamorato
for life
his wife will applaud
and it is time
Bel-Ami is an inamorato

Bel-Ami is a lucky guy
to-day
This will be good
time is changing
Bel-Ami to Beau-Mari

Yet when I think of him
he will be always my Ken-Ami

Old versus new

A thing of the past
a cursive hand
smoothly written -
reflection demands.

To-day emails fired
quickly, lethal,
without a thought.
We - neanderthal?

Our fast connections
promptly are sent.
Convenient - yes!
Brains often absent.

However, it's nice -
to hear from old friends
in any way
this lament must end.

So poet - get off
your high horse so thin!
When was last time
you sat with a pen??

To Elincalime

19 minutes, Bel-Ami

Bel-Ami had an accident today

if he had not had that big fat
heavy car he would have been

smashed
flattened
squished

like the kid this summer
who is no longer
as old as my youngest

It told me one thing
that I keep forgetting

Live in the now
Walk the dog
Hug the world

19 minutes and then you might be -
on the landfill/
in the grave/
over the rainbow

Bel-Ami had an accident today

A mother's why?

Sadness fills my evening
a friend is in severe pain
telling me about her son
who is her only one.
So high hopes she had
but she was both father
and mother to the lad -
the dad so into his own
just similar to his offspring
again - a dance of anger
threesome tangled rings.
The son brilliantly bright
could do anything - yet
failed to live up to his own.
Sadness has invaded his mom
she cannot reach him
bailing him out almost always
and the kid smart as he is
if not one - then he taps
his father for needed dole.
He is working, living,
drinking, and whatever.
He lost his driver's license,
he lost his car, his old friends
threw him out -
living with new friends
until .... whenever.
Is he self-medicating?
Who knows - does anyone
realize what's going on
inside a human soul?
Is it just a sordid role
he is playing to get back
at the people who loves him most?
Is he depressed - can he boast
of waddling in self-pity
or doesn't he care to use that mind
he once so brilliantly had?
He cuts his mom off for months
and only when he needs money
or shelter he will appear.
This mother refuses to give up -
is trying to get a grasp of why?
She does not want to see him
in prison or worse - on the streets.
How can she reach him, she asks?
I really don't know - there are
several ways - some will work
for some - others will work for others
I tried to listen and give my 5 cents,
alas, my 5 were not satisfying enough
neither to the giver nor to the seeker.
Wishing I could have been more helpful,
what a sad waste of a wonder
an unreachable enclosed child
a sleeping beauty - never to wake
before it may be way too late, - yet -
his mother's heart is about to break.

Not now - not then - not ever

The commoner screams alert
the elected waddles in kickbacks.
Solon was so on the ball -
no honest politician will be found.
Not now - not then - not ever.
The nature of politics is beastly -
dog bites dog - man fights man -
true democracy holds this fallacy,
but we can all dream of illusions.

Daily comment

Flying high: a rocket away from the earth

flying low: a stealth stealing to bomb dirt

lying high: a man dressed in a fancy shirt

lying low: a rumormonger on the alert

spying high: a warrior seemingly overt

spying low: a congress saying: subvert

Empty haiku

A post was empty
the poet deleted it
obviously bad.

Bel-Ami Encore

he is a dreamchild
he is what a man should be
he is my BelAmi

he is a male child
he is what a friend should be
he is my BelAmi

he is a sad child
he is what a man is when lost
he is a BelAmi

he is a fun child
he is what a lover should be
alas, he is not for me
yet
he is my BelAmi

he is a groom
he is what a husband should become
wishing him luck -

Bel-Ami.

'Ness

youthfulness
middleageness
oldageness
other kinds of 'ness

somethingness
anythingness
nothingness
more kinds of 'ness

sadness
stillness
quietness
all kinds of 'ness

Erato errata

Völva Vigga shook her mane
today it was stark black
vicarious ways to change a name
of who started what.

War of a president now tagged
for a war of a general
would not fool the big brass -
only the public ephemeral.

How dare the people in power
try to throw scraps of cake
instead of standing up and glower
admitting their defeats of late.

Völva Vigga perused a figurine
standing erect, looking faraway -
ebullient Erato made of citrine -
frowning fiercely forever a day.

Vigga swore under her breath
the victors have history rewritten
the researchers routinely conquest',
but this time truth intermittent.

Mighty misnomers - miserable -
for this president - not a first -
ingenious invention of ignobles
the trail of truth traversed by thirst.

The Völva Vigga wondered wearily
how common man held at bay
would grasp that Erato figurally
instantaneously is erratum today.

Birthday Haiku

Mom of my grandson
you are one fabulous gal
Lady in Aussie.

La vie a trois

La jeunesse embrasse la naïveté
l'âge moyen encombre la vivacité
L'âge avance embrume la ménagerie.

Why?

Midlife is a scary time
Hormones flying not so bright
the last fling before old age!

Sheer "I cannot help it"
coup de foudre - never felt
this way before/ever.

I evolved - he/she didn't
Changing persona or
challenges from within.

A gifted man

this timbre of his craft
to many he was a titan
to others a true traitor
a generous man with a gift
he performed - he sang
his voice - a superb tenor
we have his vocalizations
on records for our storage
forever until another idol....

On Luciano Pavarotti's death.

Faust und frei

Ohne Faust und seinen Teufel
konnte man nicht begreifen
warum die faule Menschbeutel
ein strebend Abenteuer antreiben.
Leider wissen wir niemals
ob Belzebub zufrieden sei -
denn das Objekt war jedenfalls -
das Mensch wird nimmer frei.

A "romantic" sonnet

Of Shakespeare's romantic sonnets
came thousands of couplets and bonnets
couplets were thoughts and wild verses
bonnets covered beloveds' mild tresses.
One thought was repeatedly heard,
"I can't live without my blue bird".
Wild yearnings of poets endowed
doubts of dear darlings enshroud'.
Yet writers and dreamers of love
tell tales to dwellers of the earth -
ars amandis and behavior so courtly.
Whereas reality is not a dream dove -
power and sex - death and birth
paints better this petite life portly.

Thoughts over a day

It was a quiet day
in the writing lab
not much going on
yet.
It was a quiet night
in the fire station
not much going on
yet.
It was a quiet day
in the wide desert
not much going on ...
war.
It was a quiet day
in the hospital
not much going on ...
death.

Continue ad nauseam
yet...
In the writing lab
words and thoughts
were created.
In the fire station
alarms responded to
and lives saved.
In the desert
the animals awaited
and procreated.
In the hospital
a Cesarean birth
was celebrated.

Down to earth

The scope of the globe
stands to lose all hope
the earth is warming
- heed her fair warning.
Alas, fools remain
this poem is in vain.

Notes sur la memoire

La nature de la mémoire
est telle comme des oiseaux
volant vers le sud a l'automne,
des notes de la symphonie
nous quittent immédiatement
et ceux qui restent pâlent.
Maintes fois leurs vagues
me trouvent épatantes
et je deviendrai vivante.

Power haiku

Abuse of power
signifies lack of respect
for the common man.