Haiku

Tattered on the pole --
That flag has seen better days,
much like our country. - Jeff Barnes

Haiku

This hazardous street! Squirrel on a power line crosses it safely. - Jeff Barnes

Haiku

House where that dog lived -- realtor sign by the old tree, tulips by the walk. - Jeff Barnes

To Hymen (A poem for National Pencil Day)

It was on the 30th of March, 1858 that a stationer named Hymen Lipman made the pencil great by patenting a model with an eraser attached so that errors could be rubbed out instead of merely scratched.

So let us all give thanks to dear Hymen

for making writing more facile.

It's because of him that correcting errors

is no longer such a hassle. - Jeff Barnes

Haiku

Late February --
Crow walks the newly thawed street,
drinks from a puddle. - Jeff Barnes

The Death of Death (With apologies to Emily Dickinson)

Because I would not stop for Death he chased me down the street. Clackety-clack-clack went the sound of his bony feet.

People stopped and stared at us as we passed them by. A jazz musician waved his hat which looked like a pork pie.

Death raised his scythe up high,

intending to strike me down,

but a passing dog tripped him up

and he fell hard upon the ground.

He broke apart on impact. His bones scattered every which way. Every dog in the neighborhood enjoyed a treat that day. -- Jeff Barnes

Haiku

Ghosts hang from branches,
dance and wave like real spirits --
late October wind.  - Jeff Barnes

Swanwick House

Come visit us at Swanwick House
where everybody is dead.
Lady Marceline will greet you
in her flowing dress of deep red.

You'll find she has a most charming smile

if you can break through her reserve.

She passed away two hundred years ago

but as you can see, she is well preserved.

Come join us at our table.

Please don't mind that we are dead.

We put evaporated milk in our tea

and spread blackberry jam on stale bread.

Come sit down and feast with us

and join us in conversation.

We think you will enjoy our stories.

They span hundreds of generations.

We are quite mirthful at Swanwick House

even though we are all dead.

Uncle Leopold makes us all laugh

every time he removes his head.

Ghosts fly in and out of our windows.

They frolic each night with the bats.

in bed we always feel the kneading

of the paws of all our deceased cats.

We don't belong to the world of the living,

but don't think of ourselves in the past tense.

Our closets are full of skeletons,

and I mean that in a literal sense.

We offer you shelter and company.

We bid you come in out of the rain.

We will welcome you into our family.

We invite you to come in and remain. - Jeff Barnes

Philpotts the Not So Silly Goose

Philpotts is not a silly goose. 
He actually is quite serious. 
The other geese don't care much for him.
They think he's snobby and imperious.

Philpotts considers it beneath him to honk.

He speaks the King's English instead.

He dresses in a long-tailed black coat

and wears a top hat on his head.

He doesn't mingle with other geese,

finding their noisiness much too trying.

He has a brass-handled walking stick

and can't be bothered with flying.

Philpotts strolls the streets and city park

when he wants to take the air.

He spends evenings in his apartment,

reading a book in his easy chair.

Philpotts doesn't sleep in a marsh or a field,

preferring his comfortable bed.

He wakes up at a reasonable hour

and enjoys tea with jam and bread. - Jeff Barnes

Haiku

These last days of spring
we are aging together,
this old cat and I. - Jeff Barnes

Haiku

Don't delude yourself.
It would carry you away.
Cat watches a hawk. - Jeff Barnes

Instructions for My Funeral

I want my funeral to be a celebration of my life.
I absolutely forbid anybody to mourn.
Don't show up with sorrowful faces.
It should be a happier day than the day I was born.

Don't play lugubrious, funereal music

and don't fill the room with the sounds of your sobs.

I want plastic skeletons to dangle from the ceiling,

merrily dancing to Saint-Saenz's "Danse Macabre."

I couldn't stand to be in a suit and tie

with everybody standing around my coffin staring.

Dress me in jeans and a Grim Reaper t-shirt.

That's what I would like to be wearing.

Laugh and tell each other grim jokes.

Don't stand around all teary-eyed.

I want you to dance to Terry Teene's "Curse of the Hearse"

as they come to load me in for my last ride. - Jeff Barnes

Mr. Green

I knew a man named Mr. Green
who was crusty, irksome, and downright mean.
He was always venting his spleen
about how he hated the color green.

He paved his yard with concrete

to avoid having grass.

He thought Kermit the frog

was nauseating and crass.

Every year on March 17th

he hid himself away.

He couldn't stand the sight of people

dressing for St. Patrick's Day.

The very sight of broccoli

gave him a sense of dread.

He always shunned green apples

and only ate the red.

Even when he was a child

he would pout and sulk

if anyone gave him a comic book

featuring the Incredible Hulk

He said he'd rather starve than eat asparagus,

broccoli, or avocado toast.

He thought of changing his name until he realized

it was himself that he hated most. - Jeff Barnes

Haiku

Driving down the road
remembering gone places --
April afternoon. - Jeff Barnes

Word Salad Villanelle

This poem is nothing but word salad.
Don't expect it to make any sense.
This is by no means a coherent ballad.

I question whether any logic is valid.

Mmm! Take a whiff of that frankincense!

This poem is nothing but word salad.

That bust of Pallas looks rather pallid.

It has a fly on its head, like Mike Pence.

This is by no means a coherent ballad.

My years have taught me to be utterly callid.

I find my neighbors to be extremely dense.

This poem is nothing but word salad.

This is my pet myogalid.

I decided to name her Hortense.

This is not a coherent ballad.

The moth flying overhead is a pyralid.

I'm just a fool sitting on a fence.

This poem is nothing but word salad.

This is by no means a coherent ballad. - Jeff Barnes

Pope George Ringo I

We need to have a pope named George Ringo.
We've already had two named John Paul.
So say the old ladies playing church bingo.

We want someone colorful, like a pink flamingo

and well-rounded, like a rubber ball.

We need to have a pope named George Ringo.

He can be Asian, African, Mexican or Gringo.

Nationality does not matter at all.

So say the old ladies playing church bingo.

He could be an Australian living among dingoes,

all alone in the outback sprawl.

We need to have a pope named George Ringo.

He could be the bishop of Santo Domingo.

Perhaps he would answer the call.

So say the old ladies playing church bingo.

This is what we need, by gosh, by gum, by jingo!

It doesn't matter if he's thin, fat, short, or tall.

We need to have a pope named George Ringo.

So say the old ladies playing church bingo. - Jeff Barnes

A Star is Not Born

I thought we could be a duo,
her screech accompanying my guitar.
That was my naive teenage dream
of becoming an avant-garde rock star.

I learned every chord I could,

majors, minors, sharps, and flats.

She shrieked along while I played.

She was like the Yoko Ono of cats.

Eventually the harsh truth hit me.

It became all too clear

that she was not singing along.

My playing was painful to her ears.

I gave up the guitar and she was happy.

She spent her days purring on my bed

While I sat quietly at my desk

writing poetry instead. - Jeff Barnes

Contrast

It's less impressive
than how the cannons
in the 1812 Overture
added a cadence of destruction

The songs of the birds

flow through the backyard

punctuated by sounds

of the neighbors' construction. - Jeff Barnes

Dad

I never lived my life
the way you wanted me to.
I was determined to be myself
and not at all like you.

I was never the son

you wanted me to be.

now you are a box of ashes

forever unclaimed by me. - Jeff Barnes

Caleb Cabotage

Caleb Cabotage's head is made of cabbage
and he has a big strawberry for a nose.
He has a taco shell for a mouth
and he wears flour tortillas as clothes.

He has pierogis for ears

and spaghetti for his hair.

He rubs tomato sauce in it

when he wants to look debonair.

His hands are fingered citron

and he loves to play the cello.

His eyes are two big lemon slices.

He sees the world in shades of yellow.

He's got licorice sticks for his arms and legs,

so he is quite agile and wiry.

Onions and peppers are his favorite foods,

hence his breath tends to be rather fiery.

He has slices of pizza for his feet

and a giant pumpkin for a torso.

He's not quite sure of his weight

but estimates it at 200 pounds or so.

He has a top hat and walking stick.

On strolls he is quite jaunty looking.

But when he stays in the sun too long

it smells like the whole neighborhood is cooking. - Jeff Barnes