In which the poet makes protest against his Restless Legs

Oh restless legs why must you ache
When all I wish to do is sleep
Eight hours I could stand to take
But from my bed I’ve had to creep
Tomorrow is a busy day
I’ll have no chance to slumber late
Oh restlessness please go away
(Come if you must some other date)
My knees and ankles crackle snap
And like Rice Krispies also pop
I know I’ll need to take a nap
I wish this achiness would stop!
I’m tired and I need my Zzz’s
Oh restless legs stop aching please!

When I was young

When I was young the adults knew
So many things that I did not
The words they spoke were always true
When I was young the adults knew
“Perhaps one day I’ll know things too
When I am old I’ll know a lot”
But now I’m old – my children know
So many things that I do not.

On a scale of 1 to 10, I give scales of 1 to ten a …

Of scales that rate from one to ten
The merits of some given thing
Such as the value of a book
Or of the wisdom of a king
I have to say that I approve
For ranking helps me when I buy
To purchase something that I’ll like
(Not something that will make me cry)
But sometimes scales are not so great
“That dude’s a three, that gal’s a nine”
That’s superficiality
And that is never ever fine
Some things I think are fine to rate
But sometimes scales are far too cruel
Perhaps a class on “what to judge”
Should be a class that’s taught in school
So on a scale of one to ten
I guess that even scales must score
If I’m the judge to rank such things
I give such scales a three point four.

Upon a time once long ago

Upon a time once long ago
A man was born but now he’s old
His joints that ache and often creak
Once worked quite well (or so I’m told)
He’s past his prime that much is clear
His head once had a lot of hair
But now when he grabs for a comb
He finds his head is mostly bare
His birthday’s coming pretty soon
And so far there have been no tears
But they will likely be here soon
‘Cause Tuesday I turn 50 years.

Boy in post-apocalyptic world finds a toaster

It’s been a thousand winters since The Fire
When dieties in anger burned the land
what Ancients did to earn this divine ire
Is best left buried under rock and sand

There’s no such thing as science anymore
And what the Ancients knew is best forgot
And yet young Jotha likes to go explore
Where village elders said that he should not

When Jotha found an Ancient metal box
With dials on the side and holes on top
He should have left it hidden in the rocks
And yet he took it out…he could not stop

“Look what I have” he called the village chief
“What do you think about this thing I found?
If we should look quite close, it’s my belief
the Ancient’s had great knowledge without bound!

Without a word the chief walked from his tent
Then said the village elders were to meet
He told them all about the days events
Young Jotha was then bound up hands and feet

The villagers were told to build a pyre
Young Jotha learned his lesson far too late
Like Ancients he would meet his end in fire
The gods were angry once, why tempt their fate?

When things go bump

When things go bump in darkest night
The bravest soul will still face fright
When shadows chill you to the bone
And in the dark you hear a moan
What lies in wait just out of sight?

You try to think of some delight
To chase away the haunting wight
Oh how you hate to be alone
When things go bump

There is no rescue from your plight
For you have not the strength to fight
You’ve heard an otherworldly groan
And it’s as though you’ve always known
Never more will you see light
When things go bump


A Rondeau written for NaPoWhttp://napowrimo.netriMo. This is a bit darker than what I normally write.

Things a book can’t do

There’s lots of things a book can’t do
Like cook a meal or clean my room
A book can’t ride a dinosaur
Or make a cannon go KABOOM
It cannot dance it cannot sing
Nor can it play an instrument
It can’t saw boards or build a house
It’s useless mixing wet cement
I’ve never seen one shave a whale
(But do sea mammals need to shave?)
And if a king should come to town
I doubt one single book would wave
I think I might have failed to say
That this is only partially true
A book can’t do things on its own
It needs a reader. It needs YOU


The first time I participated in NaPoWriMo was in 2015. The prompt on April 1 of that year was to write a poem of negation (describe something by saying what it’s not). Today’s prompt is (once again) to write a poem of negation… So in some ways, writing another negation poem seems like “coming home”. If you’d like to read my original negation poem, you can find it here