A Trump Clerihew


Donald J. Trump
You make me feel all humph
Draining the swamp means booting career-ies
Not those who don’t kiss your rear-y

I’m kind of doubting the given reasons for our president’s firing of James Comey.

I’m working my way through A Kick in the Head for a second time. Today’s poem: the clerihew.

A clerihew is a biographical poem that pokes fun at a celebrity. The poem consists of two rhyming couplets of unequal length, and the first line is always the subject’s name.


My Rational Fear


sleeping peacefully
on my chair
danger lurks in blackness
— ticks

I know this is temporary. Tick season will end and I’ll stop rationally (or irrationally) imagining ticks crawling up my leg or walking across the back of my neck all the time.

Until then, because I know that the little black buggers hitch rides on my cat, I won’t sit in my chair while she sleeps across the chair back.

Working my way through A Kick in the Head. Today’s poetic form is the Cinquain. I chose to construct my 5 line poem like this: one word, two words, three words, four words, one word

Travel Plans


Dvije kave, molim
That means, two coffees please
But now I’m not so sure, my friend –
I think you’d rather tea

(Chorus) Jednu kavu, jedan čaj
Sipping drinks ‘neath Croat sky
Two months from now
My friend and I

Have I mentioned I’m excited
To travel ’round the world?
To open up my heart and mind?
New cultures be unfurled!

Will Turkish coffee taste
Like the Kona that I brew?
Will the mountains look like Rockies
When they come into view?

Will I love the beaches
On the Dalmatian Coast?
Will I love the people?
Will I love them most?

(Chorus) Jednu kavu, jedan čaj
Sipping drinks ‘neath Croat sky
Two months from now
How time will fly!

The swirl of my excitement
Leading up to when I’ll roam
Is great, but even better
Will be when I get back home.

(Chorus) Jednu kavu, jedan čaj
Sipping drinks ‘neath Croat sky
The days will pass too fast
Then we’ll have to say good-bye

Jednu kavu, jedan čaj
Sipping drinks ‘neath Croat sky

Preparing for a summer trip to Croatia and Bosnia with a friend.

I’m calling this my ballad for round two of A Kick in the Head, because I can hear it as a song. Not quite a ballad…. but a song.

Family History


Priscilla was the oldest, she died at 82
Guilford died much younger, the uncle I never knew
Warren lived ’til 90, the last surviving son
But when my mother passed away, then there were none

To try to get back to writing poetry, I’m doing a second round with “A Kick in the Head” — a book I picked up at a thrift store that gave examples of 29 different poetic forms.

Today’s poem is a quatrain.