More cinquains

Waking
after his rest
the grizzly bear stretches
sniffs the air for honey and writes
new poems.

---

The coarse
bristles; his beard
itched me when I kissed him,
I could smell the scotch on his breath:
Father.

---

Grenades
would be so much
easier to handle
if they came with pins that didn’t
pull out.

---

Pull out
all of the stops!!
It’s my birthday today
(really yesterday but I’m still
part’ing)!

Ringing of the Bards VII

The brand new Ringing of the Bards is online and hosted at Erin’s Poetic Acceptance.

Weep, Like a Cedar in Lebanon is featured in the Carnival.  Thanks, Erin, for your kind words!

Are you part of the Ringing of the Bards?  If not, next week’s will be hosted by Daniel of Naked and Ashamed.  Look there for more info!

Thoughts on Turning Thirty-Seven

When you turn thirty-seven:

you shouldn’t be surprised
when people call you sir.

you start to realize that
the body you have now
is probably the one you
are going to be stuck with
the rest of your life.

forty isn’t as far away
as it used to be.

you are now as old
as your parents were
when they were
thirty-seven years old.

you’ll never be cool again
to anyone under eighteen
(not that you ever were).

MTV is younger than you.

if you double your age
you would be older than
that Beatles’ song about
old people who need to be
taken care of.

the poetry you wrote
as a teenager starts
to look pretty good
again (well, some of it
does; the rest looks
like pretentious crap).

retirement is only
thirty-seven years
away!

---

My thirty-seventh birthday was yesterday (if you want to sing, go right ahead), so this seemed apropos.