One day I made a pizza pie
By spreading out some cheese.
Not wanting it to be too dry,
I poured tomatoes on like seas
And capped it with a ball of dough,
Which then I rolled from side to side,
With every pass my mess would grow,
Incompetence was mine to hide…
Like 11, two towers,
1s reached for the sky,
Their tops scraping heaven,
One-quarter mile high.
Much taller than trees,
But still built the same,
To sway with each breeze
On tubular frames.
For years they’d host workers,
And tourists on top,
But all we’d remember—
The day they would drop…
A little box stands on the stand,
I talk to it most every day,
And yet I do not understand
Just what that box is trying to say.
Inside remains of someone dear,
I wonder where they’ve gone off to,
Now far away, no longer here,
And yet I feel they’re still here…
Simple Simon was a pieman
serving pies, but never rhymes.
Had a son, dough-hater, Lyman,
committing poems like they were crimes.
“What’s wrong, Lyman, why so forlorn,”
asked Simon, “would you like a slice?”
“No thanks, my poem in shreds was torn,
the editors said, ‘Won’t suffice!’”
“So here I…
I hear the sounds of Ecuador,
They’re ringing in one ear,
It’s Saturday in Queens, New York,
Where ethnic stew is served all year.
Beyond the wall, a diff’rent tongue,
From China’s shores lands in my ear,
Leaves me, a Balt, to live among
These folks and wonder why I’m here…
A ball of light crossed galaxies,
Destined for the White House lawn,
Once on the ground, security
Was mobilized, their weapons drawn.
No sooner had the cosmic ship
Arrived in our reality,
We argued what to do with it,
Thus separating you and me.
“Let’s ‘git them with our military!
It seems they’re still in search of truth,
That we’re not made of only flesh.
We have a mind and spirit, too,
With which our body is enmeshed.
They fill us with new chemicals,
In hopes they will have found a cure,
Post-15 years of clinicals,
Long-term effects — not always sure…
Angelica, my first guitar,
With her, I didn’t get too far,
A classical with nylon strings,
She lacked the b-lls rock guitars bring.
Les Paul came next, a male Gibson,
With stainless strings and low action,
Electric sound, it was my first,
Its color rare, called Silverburst.
The Les I…
The path I chose felt magical, leading past a maple tree,
Where there, three clumps, unusual, circled ‘round and greeted me.
They drew my view up to their tops, wond’ring now what I would find,
When suddenly my gazing stopped — crowning of a diff’rent kind.
My eyes slid down…