Ode to a puzzle piece shuffled under the rug

Ode to a puzzle piece shuffled under the rug

They say ignorance is bliss

Brother, you should try it.

I’d rather savor the taste of loathing

Seeped in spicy Hatred, tangy Loathing

Ah, savoring that revolting reminder

Sour sensation

Seared in another’s thought

as the inky center

of a pastel landscape;

the oil-paint reproduction

by David Winter

with the crack in time and space.

Instead of fading into obscurity

Rotting in the dust-flavored dark.

Time and fragile memory hastens

my end

No, my one satisfaction

is that I must not be seen

Forced imprisonment

under shaggy wool

promises the fragment

of memory

that one day I may be remembered

as a wonderful failure

when the picture is complete.

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Willy willy pumpkin-nilly

I was working late one afternoon at the lab years ago, when this poem popped into my head. The day had grown long; five hours can drag waiting to harvest protein. Boredom, acetone, and smell of fresh bacterial broth can have a strange effect on the mind, particularly one driven to childish rhyme. Like a true Seuss-stanza, dislodging the simple echoed rhythm from my ears proved nigh near impossible. Drugs, flames, liquid nitrogen all proved futile. Thus rather than ignore more safety restrictions, I decided to write the poem down and share it with others instead . . .

Willy willy pumpkin-nilly
What a great fool you are
Willy willy pumpkin-nilly
What a total fool you are

You dance on your hands
And eat with your feet
You bray just like a dog
And mew for your treat.

Willy willy pumpkin-nilly
What an honest fool you are

You bathe in the sink
Throwin’ money away
Like a child, a wee child
Sleeping, smiling, at play.

Willy willy pumpkin-nilly
What a good fool you are.

You mix with the sick
And converse with the cursed
Always wishin’ on stars
Always putting others first.

Willy willy pumpkin-nilly
What a good man you are.

You never speak rude
Foolish simpleton I see.
Yet kind, loyal and true
Knowing just who you can be

Willy willy pumpkin-nilly
What a great man you are.

A winter poem

Blankets form of powder down
Tuffs of cloud swirl and shake
Coating limb, air and ground
Silent army of hueless flake.

Boots scrunch with ev’ry pass
My arms aloft to embrace
Darkness blott’d with chilling ash
Ice drops nuzzle ‘gainst my face.

Fire crackles somewhere near
Blankets smolder tempest cries
Yet snow and wind bring cheer
Storms swell, to break is to rise.