Posts tagged ‘Poem’

July 18, 2012


What could be important as a sweet intake of breath after summer’s rain? What cup of tea refreshes like a sudden thunderbolt? The strength of oaks recedes as mighty clouds descend. Upon the mercy of old thunder do the trees depend.

But here, I sit in idle modern comfort. Here, I listen to the whirr my deskfan makes, and only notice passingly, the sound a treebranch breaks.

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July 17, 2012

The king of limericks

The Manic Magician of Notre Dame

A poem by JoseLuis

It may be so plain, but never is simple, the thoughts I now deign to write own. For must I forgo all the things I’ve been told, abandon my pencils and pens? How right you so are, who’ve set high the bar, but please understand if I smile. I can’t go a mile, and meet not a pile of garbage ‘been smeared with dog ****. So ‘scuse my faux paux if I drop my big jaw and ask, really, is all this what’s it?

Now I’ve begun, I’ve forgotten the sun, that thing which does give us all life. I’m filled with such strife, as I’m under the knife, and nothing is real any more. I’m callous and sore, and my guts I’ve outpoured, under the blackness of rain. They call out my name, throughout Notre Dame, as he who has fallen insane. They whisper my name, throughout Notre Dame, as he who was driven Insane.

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June 10, 2012

The Flound’ring Fish

The Flound’ring Fish

A poem by Joseluis Nunez, utilizing Iambic Trimeter

Exists a flound’ring fish
upon the ocean shores.
With skin so filled of sores,
it knows of nothing more.

I wish the twitching tail
would stop it’s frantic flail.
So I fetch a water pail.

I scoop the sucking fish
into a rusty bucket.
then I turn and chuck it
off of my front door.

June 10, 2012

A Howl not Heard


A Howl Not Heard

A poem written by Joseluis Nunez.

The streets are empty
and the wind is silent.
The oak tree searches
for that brave pioneer
to choose her shade
over the thermostat.

A dog barks on occasion,
amid the constant flutter
of blue jays, pigeons
and magma cardinals.

Somewhere sounds
a train horn, howling
as drizzle wets the gravel

near the tracks.

June 10, 2012

The Picture

I hold a picture of a gun
pointed to the temple of a child.
He is smiling, “Cheese!”

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