I Did Not Write This Poem

6/1/11

I Did Not Write This Poem

I did not write this poem

While walking by a river,

Observing the myriad wavelets spinning

Curving, and rubbing their watery selves

Against shore

Or in the forest, hidden

In the sanctuary of trees,

Safe,

Listening to birds chatting

With the trees

And the air.

No, I wrote this poem

Sitting in my basement,

Drinking Pepsi from a dull red can

While the walls slept.

On Chess

5/31/11

On Chess

Tiny pawns storm forth

To the center

With flat boots

And armor white,

The black knight jumps overhead,

Rushing to the opposition,

His hooves stomping flat

Across the board,

The bishop weaves his path between the pawns,

Eyeing the prey from a distance –

 Sly, sly bishop,

Sliding like a snake through the lines.

 The war begins,

And the pawn’s muffled scream

Is not heard in the game,

But in our minds,

The rooks swing their aim left and right,

Protectors of the King,

The sacred King,

And the Queen dominates the field

With her lance.

A slight mistake,

And the chain breaks,

The rook is forked,

The castle falls,

And crumbles,

And none of this is heard.

Flames of Nature

5/30/11

Flames of Nature

I saw my cat standing there,

Orange fur blazing fire,

Yellow sparks shining in the light.

The sun reflected

His herculean radiance

As he stood in the gleaming grass

Shimmering yellow,

Burning below his paws.

He stood there in flawless figure,

The form of a god,

And held, in his steel-shine teeth,

The wriggling captive

Of a chipmunk.

It dropped from his teeth,

Stood,

And flailed its paws

Desperately –

One last stand

Before the black eyes

Were eaten by the flame.

I looked at my friend’s face

And noticed that his eyes were still tender,

Only his eyes did not burn,

And innocent

His eyes seemed to ask me

For a certain forgiveness

For the inevitable

He could not extinguish.