Sonnet To Myself

‘Twas my own heart that led my mind astray
‘Twas blindness and desire to see the best
In one whose smile recalled a better day
And seemed to shine more brightly than the rest

But lo, my eyes were lying to my heart
And made a fool of me once and again
I do not blame the smile that did depart
For it was not from Hell, but Heaven sent

For I had lost all thoughts of love and such
And given up on matters of the heart
This revelation may not seem like much
But, for me, ‘twas another world apart.

From the place where my heart lived
With neither love nor hate to give.

April 13, 2021


Something I like to do on Twitter (actually pretty much all I did on there for quite a while) is to take a picture of something with my phone, upload it to Twitter, and compose a “haiku” about it.

Twitter is where I got the title of this blog post, incidentally. “#フォト俳句” is a popular hashtag there, I just found out. I will make note of that for future use. 🙂

In case you can’t read Japanese (I can only read bits and pieces here and there, for the record), “フォト俳句” means “photo haiku.” The katakana “フォト” is pronounced, roughly, “fu oh toh” (which if you say it all together sounds like “photo”) and the kanji “俳句” is pronounced (and means) “haiku.”

I used quotation marks there because my “Haikus” aren’t always strictly Haikus. I.e. I don’t always follow the subject matter guidelines, I don’t always attempt to eliminate “ego” from them, and so on. Go here to find out more.

But anyways, I got to looking back through my Twitter feed the other day, and I have done quite a few of them. Here they are, take ’em or leave ’em.


October 21, 2015

Chemicals that burn
The sky while making it so
Gosh darn beautiful



April 15, 2016

A cup of coffee
With 2% milk in a
Decorative cup.



April 19, 2016

The mostly flat wall
Of trees along the highway
That the mowers cut.



April 20, 2016

Everything, nothing,
The same thing, the opposite,
The bird is quite fat.



May 17, 2016

The feast is over.
The people have all gone home.
You should go home, too.



June 15, 2016

Butterfly on the
Ceiling of the front porch. Is
The pic upside down?



June 22, 2016

“Kitties, you say? I
Don’t see any around here…
I chased them all off.”



July 9, 2016

Lawnmower cat says:
“Lawnmower without mowing
Deck cannot mow much.”



July 11, 2016

Noosa Aussie Style
Blueberry yoghurt, where have
You been all my life?



August 6, 2016

At the ripe old age
of 36, I still can’t
grow a (bleep bleep) beard.



August 12, 2016

Fat guy weed-eating
Without a shirt on, and a
Molting cicada.



August 18, 2016

The worst enemy
He ever faced, really, was
Himself, not the cigs.



August 19, 2016

Spiny orb weaver?
Not native to Arkansas,
least I don’t think so…



August 23, 2016

Man with double chin
Tries to figure out Facebook
Live. “Is there an app?”



August 27, 2016

Looking at old and
Forgotten phone pics: many
Pictures of the sky.



August 28, 2016

Where was that kitty?
There he was. That kitty was.
Been there the whole time.



August 30, 2016

“I’m just here for the
Mosquitoes,” the spider said.
“I am on your side.”



September 3, 2016

“The camp” used to be
Part of my grandparents’ house;
So I have been told.



September 7, 2016

It is possible
To be allergic only
To specific cats.



September 7, 2016

I’m not gonna tell
You I’m a good cook, but I
Am not a bad cook.



September 10, 2016

After getting his
Phone back online, M. sees that
Offline is better.



September 13, 2016

rainwater collects
on the country road, reflects
the fast clearing sky.



September 13, 2016

shiny black beetle
crouched underneath some clover
hopes he is hidden.



September 16, 2016

Bright red Lycoris
Radiata, reaching up
Through severed tree limbs.



September 25, 2016

Sorry there isn’t
A haiku. I did not have
Time to make one up.



October 7, 2016

Light and darkness, air
And water, trees and sunlight.
A pleasant walk home.



October 16, 2016

La Flama Blanca,
before and after he rolled
Off the 2 X 12.



October 19, 2016

There… that’s better. (So
I’m a compulsive copy
editor. So what?)



October 19, 2016

The sky is blue ’cause
sunlight looks different from
different angles.



October 23, 2016

“Look,” the toilet said,
“I just need a little more
space. That’s all, OK?”



November 2, 2016

Every moment
Is a work of art painted
By you and your brain.



December 19, 2016

Numb fingers, dripping
nose, wind cuts through my jacket…
A beautiful day.



January 7, 2017

Plain white rice and green
Olives actually taste
Quite good together



January 20, 2017

Stagnant pond water
Only moves when the wind blows
Or the pond’s too full.



January 24, 2017

The adage “shit runs downhill”
Ain’t quite cuttin’ it.



Febuary 2, 2017 (written the previous Christmas)

The Israeli girl
At the kiosk in the mall
Is good at her job.



February 2, 2017

Time heals all your wounds
And coats all your memories
With a glossy sheen.



February 3, 2017

“It’s windy today,”
the cow said. “I am gonna
get behind something.”



February 4, 2017

So a new kitty
Ate with the barn cats–hold on!
That’s not a kitty!



February 11, 2017

Not bad for 8 bucks…
Especially looking
Forward to “Flatland.”



February 16, 2017

Chilly morning fog
Rising up from the water
And disappearing.



February 18, 2017

This is the best kind
Of Gatorade, even though
It sounds kinda gross.



February 21, 2017

“Nom nom, nom nom nom,
(Gulp) nom nom nom, nom nom nom
Nom, (gulp), nom, nom nom…”



February 22, 2017

Nelson Kitty, on
A reconnaissance mission
Looking for trouble.



March 1, 2017

Nom… (gulp). [“You want some
hay, man? It’s pretty good stuff…”]
Nom Nom nom, (gulp), nom…



March 16, 2017

Yellow pine pollen
Falls upon a damp brown leaf
And dries in the sun.



March 21, 2017

What you see here is
Not a butterfly. It’s just
A picture of one.



April 3, 2017

Describe what you see
Without describing yourself.
Clouds, water, and stuff.



May 7, 2017

I think I need a
bigger umbrella. This one
ain’t quite cuttin’ it.



June 3, 2017

When you realize
You’re spending way too much time
Staring at your phone.



June 3, 2017

A cardboard box that
once contained Roma ketchup
packets, now empty.



June 11, 2017

Mosquito larvae
in a Heineken bottle
cap. That one’s squirmin’.



July 10, 2017

“This is way better
than cat food,” the kitty cat
said. “Get back, it’s mine.”



July 20, 2017

Bird 1: “What is the
meaning of life?” Bird 2: “(Sigh.)
Not this shit again.”



July 22, 2017

“Meow,” said the cat
to her kitten. “Meow,” the
kitten said to her.



September 27, 2017

The sky looks blue to
My eye; looks grey through my phone.
Does this mean something?




To #DeleteFacebook, or not to #DeleteFacebook: that is the question.
Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous targeted ads,
Or to take arms against a sea of trolls,
And by deleting end them? To logout: to delete;
No more; and by delete to say we end
The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks
That Facebook is heir to, ’tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish’d. To logout, to delete;
To delete: perchance to Google: ay, there’s the rub;
For in that algorithm of Google what targeted ads may come
When we have shuffled off this social media platform,
Must give us pause: there’s the respect
That makes calamity of online life;
For who would bear the popups and surveys of bots,
The bandwagoneer’s wrong, the propagandist’s contumely,
The pangs of despised hate speech, the moderator’s delay,
The insolence of spambots and the spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy takes,
When she herself might her quietus make
With a bare search engine? who would narcissism bear,
To click and scroll under weary online life,
But that the dread of something after deletion,
The undiscover’d webspace from whose bourn
No deleted user returns, puzzles the will
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus Facebook does make cowards of us all;
And thus the native hue of Instagram
Is sicklied o’er with the pale cast of Twitter,
And hashtags of great pith and moment
With this regard their currents turn awry,
And lose the name of action.—Soft you now!
The homely Zuckerberg! Trickster, in thy website
Be all my sins remember’d.


Here are some limericks. They’re a bit easier to write than Shakespearean sonnets, and probably more fun to read for most people.

So anyways, I’ll add to this page over time, also. To kick things off, here’s a limerick I wrote a couple years ago about myself, after arguing on Facebook with people who genuinely believed that “political correctness” was a bad thing.

I am not sure what date this was written on, but I am reasonably sure it was written in 2016. Like my sonnets page (and like the Haiku page that is coming soon), I will make note of the date each limerick was written. Anyways, here goes:


There once was a fellow from Lawson
Who chose all his words with great caution
Having learned as a kid
That whatever he did
Was not by default super awesome.



There once was a man very rich
Who ate only Filet-O-Fish
Tartar sauce on his paws
As he broke all the laws
And lied like a son-of-a-bish.

He was fat and was losing his hair
So he cried in the mirror and stared
Couldn’t get an erection
So he bought an election
Now the whole entire world has to care.

His fat finger placed on the button
As he chooses Big Macs over mutton
His toupee flying wild
As he rants like a child
And Tweets that he isn’t a glutton.

Never once had to worry or strive
Never cared very much for his wives
But the working-class Christians
Declared it their mission
To trust with this devil their lives.

And not only theirs, but the nation’s
To a spoiled-rotten child with no patience
He’d as soon blow us up
As pour Diet Coke in his cup
For that, he’s got federal agents.

It truly does boggle the mind
What Jung or what Sigmund might find
In a collective unconscious
Far beyond the preposterous
With no sense of hist’ry or time.

But burgers! Yes! Burgers and fries!
Candy bar ice cream! Fried pies!
The fish sandwich (hiccup)
Is better with catsup
I’ll stuff my face as democracy dies!

But with or without good digestion
He’s shown us all, without a question
That a man with great riches
Does whatever he wishes
And gains from his victims affection.



Hello all. All three of you. 🙂

I have decided to add a new category to my blog called “Poimes.” I have had a lifelong habit of writing poimes — sorry, “poems” — and never sharing them with anyone. For various reasons I would rather not talk about, I have gone through stages where I don’t write poetry at all; nonetheless, poetry is something I tend to come back to as a means of emotional release, if not creative expression. It isn’t really “expression” if I don’t share them with anyone, I mean.

So anyways, I am gonna write some poimes. Sonnets, specifically. The first one will be a Shakespearean sonnet, but I reserve the right to use other sonnet forms later.

I prefer to use accepted forms for my own poetry, simply because doing so requires a little more thought on my part. As a lifelong fan of not only poetry but also hip-hop and rap music, it’s not difficult for me to rhyme words in my native language of English. It is, however, a good bit more difficult to put rhyming words into a specific form.

“Ridin’ in a Stutz Bearcat, Jim…
You know, those were different times.
All the poets, they studied rules of verse,
And those ladies, they rolled their eyes.”

…and as anyone who has ever read my blog knows already, when writing prose, I have a tendency to just yammer on and on and on. So instead of doing that here, I will just go ahead and get on with it.

One more thing: like my M*A*S*H blog post, I will add to this post (and possibly others like it devoted to different poetic forms) over time. I guess for posterity’s sake (or whatever), I will add the date at the end of each sonnet.

These sonnets will be numbered, but the reader should realize that “Sonnet 1” does not mean “the first sonnet I ever wrote” or “the most important sonnet on this page” or anything like that. “Sonnet 1” simply means “the first sonnet I wrote after deciding to devote a blog page to sonnets.”

I have no clue how many sonnets will end up being here; if and when they are ever organized (and/or collated with existing sonnets) I reserve the right to order them (and edit them) however I see fit.

Blah blah blah, yadda yadda yadda.



A lovely woman: red hair and eyes of green,
(Or blue?) Her stare conveyed some dark emotion,
Bejeweled daggers aimed at me, it seemed;
Who she was, I’ve not the foggiest notion.

I stood there wanting just to order coffee.
There in the line behind her piercing eyes;
I met her gaze, but couldn’t shake it off me
She seemed to know me, somehow, and despise.

Perhaps I misinterpreted her meaning.
Perhaps she simply didn’t like my shirt.
There wasn’t much to use by way of gleaning;
But her lovely eyes seemed aimed at me to hurt.

Perhaps it was opinions writ online
That set her iron conscience against mine.



I haven’t shown her the love she deserves, ’tis true,
Nor learned as much from her as I should know.
I often ignore her needs when I’m not blue;
Yet she’s been with me too long to let her go.

I keep her in her place, when I don’t feel
The selfish whim to hear her prattling tones.
They remind me of the fact that I am real,
A thing not hard to forget when one’s alone.

Once, a fit of drunken rage did nearly wreck
The humble affection she so selflessly gave.
I slung her ‘cross the room and cracked her neck
And nearly sent her early to the grave.

But all that’s in the past, behind us far:
My Yamaha, she’s been a great guitar.



Music soothes the savage beast, ’tis said.
‘Tis so: often have I sought succor in sound
Drowning sorrow’s weight upon my head
With tunes my listening ears have sought and found.

And too, I have been known to make my own
With cheap guitars, fake drums, as well as keys;
Over the years, much progress has been shown
I know much more than just the chord of G.

But lately my own body doth protest
My limbered fingers’ reach for chords to make.
The tendons in my elbow are a mess;
I cannot play a song without an ache.

For now I’ll listen, rest and maybe sing,
And for my elbow, maybe yoga is the thing.



An existential dread doth plague my soul.
Uncertainty’s feeble digit stabs my chest,
Taunting me and claiming I’m not whole.
Prithee, I beg, canst thou let me rest?

“No,” saith the poet and prophet of literary fame
(the Bard of Democracy, whose name you surely know);
“Soul is body, body and soul the same,
You fear because you’ve let your body go.”

“Get up and work,” the poet’s ghost did say,
“At what, it matters not especially much.
Make your body strong through work (and play)
And thereby quell uncertainty’s frigid touch.”

And thus the lesson learned from Leaves of Grass:
There comes a time to get up off one’s ass.



‘Tis not a thing requiring that much effort:
To dash off lines conforming to some scheme
Invented by some long-dead poet, tethered
To love’s undying death and money’s green.

A poet’s just a cobbler of sweet phrases
Meaningless in any concrete sense.
Behold: “the maiden’s breath like wine’s impatience,”
Does this mean one should hand the girl a mint?

Or does it speak to some unspoken feeling?
One often felt but seldom e’er expressed?
So difficult to say, it sets us reeling,
And often leaves us lonesome and depressed.

And so the poet spends his precious time
Forcing these absurdities to rhyme.