Short Poems: six lines or less
It Does Not Matter Where You Look
A big blue bend in an endless sky
A yellow fire clinging deep in a dry well
It is all the same
A cloud of stars
Grains of rice in a black bowl
Simple
A Song Without a Beat
I move in dreams
frantically arranging pictures
in their places
painting faces
timing the spaces
missing the beat of my own heart’s thump
The Way I Came
Searching for beginnings, I write days
From suburban boxes, I moved moments
I was incrementally replaced by another
Singing loud we filled the night
Through summer days, we tumbled blindly
alone, together, alone together, together alone
a note on a toy elephant
Israel
Can play with
this
after Wednesday.
He threw it in
the bushes on Tuesday.
Kendo Class
The tiny woman pushes the large dry mop
with precise grace
bare feet patting
like a fox on the snow
The Last Summer Train
A train moans and roars through the valley distance
down the hill in the cooling last summer night
Carry away despair
Carry away my weary worries
and leave all silent shining in the morning sun
Winter shell
huddled in ice
a white cocoon
I drink warmth from earth
ready to rise
with the coming dawn
The Ferry Dock
In the delicate
Shadows of the pier
Waves break
around wooden posts
Progressive Painting
If that’s gonna be hills
then that’s gotta be blue
Spring
Yellow lilies in a crystal creamer
Perfume the air
Books lay open on a table
Time is not here
Wind Tides
The rush of wind bends trees almost in half
Soon they will bend over backwards
Flying their furious heads to the sky
Staff Meeting Prayer
My heart is impressed, experienced
broken and healed strong
fused with the world
through the fire of passion
connected to my mind
through my dreams
Just Passing Through
Light travels through light
air through air
Sometimes we travel through each other
as if we weren’t there
Larger Infinities
The bars of falling life
the prison of the hermit
Inside
all this garden
outside in the rain
green behind the bars
A Silent Dream Movie
Hitler with a teaspoon
burying plastic animals
in a sandbox
The mumbling of tired old men
who can’t kill anymore.
A jangle of bones
tangled in flesh,
trying to push shape
into a cloud
Lake Walk
Sunlight falls in stripes on the path
“The water is high today,”
she points.
“Look, this is where the children usually stand
and play with their dogs.”
Our Part of the Meal
We will carry
the bag of red and yellow cherries
up the hill from the ferry
with the watermelon
and beer.
Flower Islands
White dots, blue spots, bright yellow stars
Pink globes the size of hamster eggs
float in tangled rafts
on the calm surface of the newly cut lawn.
The Rhyme of Me?
Tension, wire, bloody ram
Maybe this is not the way I feel,
but the way I am.
A Place Outside Of Experience
It all had to do with
the center of a cat’s smile
and empty parking spaces
on top of a tall building.
Dream on an October Night
Ghost rides that whip
sprung from the blood of day
onto the back
of a long thin howl.
Through a Winter Window
As I procrastinate
the moon is swallowed in the rising day’s
rosy haze.
Walking to the End of the World
Dragons, new leaf green, the size of small dogs,
chomp in the mud beside the road.
Further on,
A man with a giant skillet,
standing next to an egg 2 feet taller than himself,
tells the history of the world.
Laundromat
The clothes and towels are spinning.
I am losing and finding things.
Nothing has dropped out completely,
Yet.
Clover Blossom Sunset
On the window sill,
a clover blossom,
picked a week ago
now fading to brown
in a cup,
dark against the sunset.
To Do List
Desire toward fulfillment
and purple dye
Drop all pretense
Make obsessions that work
Dump Run
Summer Storm
All night the storm grumbled around
Lightning flickered through my eyelids
With one tremendous crack-rumble
ripping me out of loose sleep
into dripping dark
Fall Poem #1
I sit in the midday sun
Minding my own merry
How the shine does simmer in
Like a sudden cherry.

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Why is there no pics or why is there no ways to know who wrote these poems??
I, the mysterious and weird poet who haunts these particular digital halls, am responsible for all of these little poems. There are no pics because I was hoping that the words would help the reader supply their own mental pics.
I like the imagistic strength in most of these short works. Shortness forces the poet to condense lines into meaning, and you’ve done that also. Another notable point is that the ending of all these poems leaves the reader with a feeling of completion, of hearing something that has been said, and this is also good. You’ve worked hard at these.
Thank you for the kind critique. They come from many different periods in my life, and I continue to adjust them every now and then. Unlike children, they tend to grow shorter as they age. Some of these must be almost middle aged by now, and have finally been whittled down to their proper shape.