Repetition: Emu Blues — a Poem


San Diego Zoo (slightly modified image)


Gotta back spasm
pinched nerve, it’s true!
Can’t bend or move my arm,
what can I do?

C’mon, c’mon, c’mon!
Rub it till it seeps through —
I need the emu-mu-mu-mu
the emu-mu-mu-mu that’s blue!

Wake up mornings
and it hurts like… well!
Wanna call in sick
can’t think about the tardy bell.

C’mon, c’mon, c’mon!
Rub it till it seeps through —
I need the emu-mu-mu-mu
the emu-mu-mu-mu that’s blue!

Getting home in pain
after a long day at work.
You’re doing the cooking;
I don’t mean to be a jerk.

C’mon, c’mon, c’mon!
Rub it till it seeps through —
I need the emu-mu-mu-mu
the emu-mu-mu-mu that’s blue!

Climbing into bed
like ascending Everest.
Cuddle me up, honey,
like I’m safely in the nest.

C’mon, c’mon, c’mon!
Rub it till it seeps through —
I need the emu-mu-mu-mu
the emu-mu-mu-mu that’s blue!

Ah, thank you!


* * *


Jilly is hosting Meeting the Bar at dVerse Poets Pub this week.  She challenged us to write a poem with repetition.  One never knows when… or how… the muse will strike.




Repetition: Djembe Talk — a Poem


My Djembe — first birthday present from my wife.


Deee-jembe tok!  Deee-jembe-jembe!  Deee-jembe boum!

This is one of my other voices;
the salamander is silent, still.
I have a pit, a stone that calls
out to the rhythms of the dark.

Deee-jembe tok!  Deee-jembe-jembe!  Deee-jembe boum!
Deee-jembe tok!  Deee-jembe-jembe!  Deee-jembe boum!

My hands’ hearts beating cry
when music is playing near.
No music is needed for tattoo
the door, the desk, the floor.

Deee-jembe tok!  Deee-jembe-jembe!  Deee-jembe boum!
Deee-jembe tok!  Deee-jembe-jembe!  Deee-jembe boum!

Still it is my djembe that talks
of long ago in the darkness.
When my djembe to me calls
out of darkness of my funk.

Deee-jembe tok!  Deee-jembe-jembe!  Deee-jembe boum!
Deee-jembe-jembe!  Deee-jembe-jembe!  Deee-jembe-jembe!
Deee-jembe-jembe!  Deee-jembe-jembe! Deee-jembe boum!

* * *

Jilly is hosting Meeting the Bar at dVerse Poets Pub.  The literary device she points us toward tonight is repetition.  Repetition, the music that words become in the hands of poet.  For me it brings out the rhythmic aspect of poetry… and from there it’s an easy drive to my Djembe; no GPS required.

Yes, I have drums.  Yes, my wife and my dog are okay with that.  In fact, they both really enjoy it when I play… which isn’t often right now.

Meter: Aye, Ambic, the Five-Footed Cat! — a Poem


A brindled mouser scampered up the drive

In search of mousies to keep her alive

O when a mouser is out and about

the mousies stay a-hiding without doubt


* * *


Okay, it’s not my forte!  Frank at dVerse is just plain mean-spirited, asking us to do Iambic Pentameter (cue the Vincent Price background organ music)!  But I think I did it.  It’s not pretty, but there it is.



Quadrille: The Truly Horrible Tale of Yuck — a Poem


Peter Sellers as Dr. FuManchu as Elvis


Who among you

recall the legend of Yuck Fu?

His real name,

Slavisla (Bud) Crescu,

he was a Norwegian Hindu.

A trickster, true –

sported Fu Manchu,

mustaches, a braid or two,

charmed, bilked a hapless few.

caught by Syn Dee Lu

undercover detective – true!


* * *

Okay, De is hosting Quadrilles at dVerse Poets Pub, and she gave us the poetically-charged prompt, “Yuck.”  How could I not go lyrical with a prompt like that?


Should the image offend — remember he was a British actor in a British movie.  If my remark about Yuck being a Norwegian — I am a quarter Norwegian, and am allowed to laugh at my own people (in fact, I think it’s mandatory in Scandinavian countries… or at least it is in Minnesota and North Dakota.  I’ll have to research the statutes in Florida.)  My remarks about mustaches and braided ponytails stand as written.  Any resemblance between the drummer and this blogger are purely coincidental — although Paul may be contacted for possible identification of the bugger.



My Autumn Self — a Poem



I am an autumn leaf in freefall.

My swing is suspended
from a nexus





as I descend.

by winds that gust,


before the rush.

from the now – riding
a madcap playground.

Will you pick me
up from where I land;
treasure what I’ve become….

or crush me
underfoot on your way
to tomorrow?

One Among


When the church purchased the building that shared the back wall of the education wing, I had visions of it becoming either a youth activity center or the new home of our food pantry.  The day the keys were handed over to me, I went into this obviously limited but amazingly cool space. Long and narrow – barely twenty feet wide and ninety feet of open floor with a cast iron spiral staircase in the very back – it drew me in.

What held me was the wall of exposed brick, a hundred years or older, with slap-dab mortar slopping out between the rough red masonry.  The bricks all were stamped with an eight-pointed star, a logo, and the name of the defunct and forgotten company. Every brick of a piece; uniform red, uniform shape.  But for the one with the fatal flaw.

One brick among the many had obviously been handled roughly.  A corner of the brick, about a quarter of its length, was broken away.  The mason had simply tapped the brick into place, slapped on extra mortar and kept moving.

I considered that one brick for a long time.  I don’t know how long.

In it I found my own failure.


a rock covered beach
ocean waves lift and drop them
every stone a voice


* * *


Haibuning at dVerse Poets Pub with guest artist… host, qbit (Randall).  The prompt is One Self, En Masse.  Come along and see what all that entails!