083020c

 

grazing the fir

to splintered stubble 

Babe belches bark

111419

Rip van Winkle on Mars



I'd dreamed a Martian tundra:
tussocks, tiny flowers--
I guess I overslept
Dome open to the thin cold sky,
rooms agape, no thing left behind,
a burn mark where the lander crouched
is their goodbye
out back a midden: wrappers, boxes;
hunkering, I see a bit of gray-green mold
inside a plastic wrap,
company is good, but for companionship
I'll need to wait a few billion years.
I could use a nap.



If you like this poem, check out my recent collection, Metastable Systems. This and many other recent SF, fantasy, & horror poems are found therein.

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/760901

101519d

Legend

Yellow square. Eastern kingdom

Blue square. Western kingdom

White square. Wall of ice

Black triangle. Mount of fire

Orange square. Land of the Centaurs

Green square. Where the hill trolls dwell

Pink stars. Portals to Faerie

Black circles. Goblin caves

Red square. Here there be dragons

042119

On Arbor Day
the Bunny brings bright eggs
smooth and warm
to expectant agriculturalists
bunnies don't grow on trees, you know
like birds do

030219b

a cave full

of hungry bears and sheep bones

no dragon

091918b

As the planet expanded
The innermost moon dipped lower and lower
Eventually, it grazed the surface
Mountains shattered
High plateaus were grooved
There came a time when it dived below the surface
Leaving mole-like ridges above its course
After a certain depth
No surface expression could be seen
Soon the people forgot
There had ever been a moon
It became a thing of legend, folktale, imagination
Until The next one was overtaken
By the planet in its turn

His last wish was a doozy

His last wish was a doozy

At first excitement filled him like a child,

He ran with digit blazing all he met,

In truth his eyes became a trifle wild,

His garments weren't a heavy burden yet.

His humor lasted till his faithful dog,

Returning from a happy garden run,

Leaped to his arms and suddenly, Oh God!

Was cold, and seemed to weigh at least a ton.

Realization came to him at last,

He knew half of his deadly error now,

The rest he learned when he would take repast,

He wished most grievously to eat, but how?

Tears flooded from his eyes, he wailed, he moaned,

No angel, god, or devil came to call,

He feared the godlike power he'd been loaned,

For he was only mortal, after all.

He blindly crawled an endless bed of gold,

Transforming all into a precious death,

They found him, brought him things to hold,

Until his body drew its final breath.

I wrote a new poem "about" Medusa

Medusa Permutations


the head of a cockroach surmounts her neck
would-be lovers and killers alike
are turned to spam at the sight
she eats well, adventurers being what they are

he terminates with a rodent's head
his other end is long & scaled
all who look upon him putrefy
before he consents to touch
a cult has grown around him
he doesn't get out much

her anterior is eyes and noses
she smells like clove and vinegar
none visit now; her grove bears such fruit
as begs for its dehiscion
and smells so sweet

never yet described, his head
must be most foul
none have returned from him
his lovers and his progeny
maraud an undiscovered country
we trow, and scream with open mouths





Thanks to Jane Yolen's daily poem for the inspiration. Following that spark, the result emerged from I know not where.