Loser

Things have a way of abandoning me.
My wallet didn't even say goodbye
when it departed from the train station
posthaste in some philandering hand.
That first cheap cellphone
I'd been reluctant to buy
sped away in a taxicab
leaving me clueless at the curb.
And somewhere there must be
an island resort where all
the umbrellas I've ever owned
come to toast the chump
they dumped in a church pew.
Let's not even mention the  keys,
credit cards and watches
numberless, nameless
one night-stands
that think they're doing you a favor
by just showing up.

Confessions of a Poetry Fool

There's poetry leaking from all my pores,
My skin is slick with metaphors.
In double -dactyls my heart skips
As  dizzy quatrains drip from my lips.

I'm not quite sure how I got this way,
Just a simple Joe with not much to say,
Till the fever hits and for a time
I can't suppress this urge to rhyme.

Should anyone ask who shaped my views

On works poetic, I'd say Dr. Seuss

And that matriarch on a white gander mounted 

Whose influence litteraire just can't be discounted.

Versification is just so addictive
Even when the results are afflictive.
Such bliss they don't ever teach you in school
And yet here I am -- a poetry fool.

Blessing or curse? Who can say?
Perhaps this is my metiér
Good verse, bad verse, to me it's all one
At least I can say I'm having fun.

Haiku # 22 Hey Up There

Hey! Come down to earth.

Up there the rarefied air

can give you nosebleeds.

The intellect is a nice place to visit, but you wouldn't want to live there.