day poems

Edited to add: I hadn’t heard of the school shooting on this day when I posted this or I wouldn’t have been so cavalier about things.

These don’t really count towards my weekly total, but I’m on a roll and having fun. I adapted this first one from an older short poem (I was calling these day poems at the time) so it’s a rehab rather than new:

roads, the world unwinds,
my sighs release the chains that bind
my heart.

The second cinquain is by Adelaide Crapsey (an unfortunate name for a poet if ever there was one). Ms. Crapsey “invented” the American Cinquain back at the turn of the 20th century.  I really love this one:

November Wind

With faint dry sound,
Like steps of passing ghosts,
The leaves, frost-crisp’d, break from the trees
And fall.



*For a definition of what constitutes haiku, tanka, and cinquains, and for an explanation of this poetry project, go here.

*To see all the poems in one place go here.

1. They are selling Halloween cookies in the cafeteria. I got a black cat one but felt somewhat like a cannibal when I ate it last night.

2. As if Min agreed it was an abominable thing to do, at about four this morning she started having a loud game on the hardwood floors in my bedroom. I threw the covers over my head, but it sounded like she was batting something around or chasing something. I assumed it was one of her catnip toys and she was telling me, “Eat a black cat, will ya? I’ll show you!”

3. This morning when the alarm went off and I swung my legs over the side of the bed, I heard Min give her little, “I’m here!” meow. I turned on the light and saw her tail sticking out from under the bed. “What are you doing under there?” I asked and reached under to give her a pet. She disappeared all the way under the bed. I shrugged and went about my business, but when she still hadn’t come out for breakfast, I knew something was seriously strange.

4. I peaked under the bed as best I could, but with my bad knees there was no way I was kneeling on the floor. Min had moved to the other side of the bed by then. I got the broom and gently swept the handle under the bed. Min came out and started a dodge and weave game at the end of the bed as if chasing something that had been dislodged along with her. I still got no visual on the Whatever, but by then I had strong suspicions that Min had brought me a present during the night and turned it loose under the bed. I’m afraid I grabbed her and went into the other room for about ten minutes to give the Whatever time to escape.

5. Min was not pleased. When I released her she went right back in there, but came sauntering out a short time later as if the Whatever was no longer there to fascinate and compel. Either it did escape or it’s dead and will start stinking shortly. The exterminators will be coming out soon.

And now, two more day poems:


warm purrs, silky fur, shining eyes
head rubs on bare feet:
you are my joy.

bleeding trophies, hawked up hair,
loud games at four a.m.:
you’re still my joy.



shadow-dappled roads,
Lauridsen’s rose songs in the air:
the world unwinds, sighs release chains
binding my head, the sun shines
once more.



I thought I understood
but it was yet another posture
something not truly comprehended
until your skin ripples on your bones,
and your toes curl walking the walk.

This ain’t much, but it’s all the creative output I’ve got these days. And I’m glad even for that. I call them day poems for no particular reason except that they crop up during the day while I’m dealing with other stuff. They are roughly haiku in form, though I wouldn’t call them haiku.


between love and
aching responsibility
there’s no room for me.



My skin is tinder:
one tiny scratch brings a
conflagration of itching.



will burst you wide open
though the locks on your soul
would frustrate Raffles.