The Encounter

What I am now
is all thanks to
A silly cow
roaming the fields
beneath the sun.
I approached him
and asked him
how he could be
so, so silly.
With a small gleam
in his cow eye
he told me that
I should murder
my parents, chop-up their limbs
and bury the remains in different locations and then flee
to Mexico with enough money to bribe the authorities and anyone else.

While he spoke
I realized that
dinnertime neared,
so I went back
home, and never


Written for Right2Write Prompt#7: Flowers and Cattle

Image courtesy of Under the Skies of Arkansas.

The Dangers of Writing

I worry about the husky gentleman
that shot Lennon, not because I fear
he’ll come after me, but because he might
be reading this poem. Some bad ideas
are planted by words–their meanings
irrelevant to a brain saturated
by mania and lust. Yet, I still worry
that my innocent verse might form the fuel
for some catastrophic force.

But what if
nothing occurs? This poem could enter
for a moment and leave forever, only imparting
a few more minutes filled, or it could be fuel
for a warmer Wednesday evening, leaving
the body more content and the mind
unaltered. . . Somehow, the husky gentleman
has gotten smaller.


Written for We Write Poems Prompt #169: Dangerous Poems.

Also shared this on IGWRT’s Open Link Monday.

Monday Poetry Prompt #15: Triolet

I’m still dicking around these parts
’cause I’ve failed to go anywhere,
each day filled by the super-mart.

I’m still dicking around these parts
still stuck, and dying to depart
from this city’s nest of despair.

I’m still dicking around these parts
’cause I’ve failed to go anywhere.

A simple attempt at a Triolet, inspired by We Drink’s Monday Prompt. I don’t think I did a great job but it’s always nice to do something different. I may try using this form later on.