Submitted by joshua mertz on September 16, 2015
Curtains move in the morning
Sun and moving air from
The fan that has kept me
Windswept all night
Random curtains
Linear fan
Wind of uncertain mind
Moving together
Wordless speech
Uncertain whether or not
To be random
Submitted by joshua mertz on September 14, 2015
Funny thing about humor
It makes us feel less grumpy
I sure hope it works on this tumor
And makes it feel less lumpy
Humor is a funny thing
Sometimes evoking laughter
We celebrate its subtle sting
And think about it after
Funny thing, this humor stuff
It hides inside perception
Its sometimes subtle, sometimes gruff
And practiced at deception
Absurd absurd thing humor funny
Fraught with wacky rhymes
It isn't always bright and sunny
A yo-yo out of time
Funny thing about humor
It doesn't always last
You want to rhyme the word with "tumor"
But then the moment's passed
Submitted by joshua mertz on September 8, 2015
Funny thing about humor
Much of it is sad
Or fraught with pain
Sometimes Humor is taunted
By it's cousin Cruelty
In callous masquerade of amusement
Humor can be logical
Or not
The best is when ideas are
Slapped together until they
Jangle
Irony is not Humor
Although they are related
Through their father, Absurdity
Humor is a bundle of bubbles
A puff of wind
The dance of Attitude and Agility
It cannot be measured or dissected
Humor is Schroediger's cat
Grinning at us from
Outside the box
Funny thing about Humor
It cannot exist
Yet I love to laugh
Submitted by joshua mertz on August 29, 2015
Leaves fallen
Dry memories
Crisp with the autumnal scent
Of the good times
Lost in the debris
Of discarded days
Lost leaves
Blowing into lost corners
That we might hear the crunch
And smell the scent
Of that time when there was love
And we did not argue
Because we did not speak
The tree is bare
The leaves have fallen
The crunch and pungency of lost
Memories rise up
And we see that
We, too, must leave
Submitted by Neil McKay on August 13, 2015
The grass refuses to grow in that corner,
No matter, I have plans for it.
I had said last year, a gooseberry bush
Needed to grow there
To honor my fallen soldier,
My comrade in arms, the cat
Who held off four masked bandits
Until I came clattering into the side yard
With an aluminum ladder, the only
sidearm I could find at 3 a.m. in blackness
With no glasses nor shoes
Nor even pants it seems
I rescued him from the insurgents but
Sepsis took him 3 days later
And I buried him in that corner
Where no grass will grow.
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