Sappy/Crappy Poetry Blog

whiskey song; thursday edition

kgb — Fri, 20 Jan 2012 04:38:58 +0000

whiskey makes my lips sing
much like the tune one might hear
while listening to a fire crackle
much like the noise one might hear
while adjusting the knob on the radio
much like the touch one might feel
while dancing with the boy
who wears white socks with his black trousers
just the way his mother arranged for him on his bed

hot cereal morning vista

kgb — Tue, 23 Aug 2011 18:21:53 +0000

at half past the hour
on a mid-late summer day
there is hot cereal in my bowl

out across the rooftops
a stone behemoth stabs
its great spires toward the silent blue

I look back to the bowl
then again to the giant
one instant, and the bandit spoon takes it all

Cellular poetry

kgb — Tue, 05 Jul 2011 22:29:01 +0000

A small device which
Marks the switch
To all things perfectly swell

Quick, at hand
Don’t stop the band
Convenience casts its spell

Japanese Fashion Haiku

kgb — Tue, 12 Apr 2011 12:45:33 +0000

walking in short pants
how refreshing it must feel
sunlight on ankles

keitai tanka

kgb — Sat, 12 Feb 2011 16:36:02 +0000

北海道
雪が集まり
毎日は、
寒く寒くて
ふとんで眠る

Cats in the street

kgb — Sat, 11 Dec 2010 03:27:24 +0000

They usually come out in the morning.
I think they assume no one is watching,
but I get up pretty early these days.
They skirt along the stone wall with
typical feline grace, even the ones
with short and stubby tails.

I’m not sure where they live,
or if they have a home at all.
Knowing cats, they simply wander
from one house to the next,
collecting countless names from
us sentimental humans.

too much at once

kgb — Sat, 11 Dec 2010 03:22:48 +0000

This evening I ate too much at once. It was purely accidental, and nothing to do with the company who were all lovely beyond compare.

It was my impatience that did me in. If I had waited a few minutes more, my insides would have settled better for certain.

Next time we should have a dance break in between courses.

windowsill

kgb — Sun, 03 Oct 2010 15:26:44 +0000

There, perched in defiance of gravity,
upside down: a Praying Mantis,
large and fearsome even to
my singular vision.

Agitated by my presence,
I’ll carry on silently
with cigarette in hand, cautiously
avoiding its razor grip.

Chapel Crow

kgb — Sun, 03 Oct 2010 15:22:27 +0000

Stoic and regal,
he ruffles his inky black wings.
Above, watching down on
many passing strangers’ faces
he must wonder how odd
these creatures who
have no beaks or feathers.

a poem for lovers

kgb — Wed, 21 Jul 2010 03:00:22 +0000

i like your hair
even if you look elsewhere
i can’t help but be happy
because when we catch the other’s gaze
my heart begins to race
at an abnormal pace

two tables away
i’m slurping the soup of the day
i didn’t wait to let it cool
so it burns the buds of my tongue
rosy red like my blushing face
as i watch your subtle grace

if we starred opposite
in an 80s era film composite
by the end of the reel
you’d fall head over heel
in love too