Poem A Day: Love Acrostic

Looking into your eyes as we talk about the future, the
Only thing I can think about is how
Very fortunate I am that we met and fell for each other.
Everybody envies me for having you in my life.


Poem A Day: Can You Figure It Out?

Just to piss some people off, I am going

To insert random

line breaks in this poem and tell

You that there


No reason to explain why

They appear as they

Do. But the truth is that there is

A very good reason and that you are just

Not smart

Enough to figure it out for your-

Self. Go ahead, genius! (I always pronounce

It ge-nee-us with a hard g just to

Make people wonder)

(Oh hey, wow, was

That a clue? I’ll never tell, no I never will.) Can you figure it out? What if I include a super long line that has to use the text-wrap to fit it on

The page? Is

That a clue?

What if I brea

K a word where it makes no sense to b

Reak it?

Have you figured it out, oh genius poetry analy


Hey, don’t hurt your brain. Like I said, there is no

Reason why

These line breaks appear.


There i


or there’s not. Do you

Care? Does it



Poem A Day: Not Quite a Nonet



that I have

no idea

how to write nonets.

Oh wait, you mean to say

that I was to start out with

nine syllables in the first line

and end up with just one? Oops – backwards!


So let me try again – hey, why not?

This is poetry month, you know,

the perfect time to practice

new modes of expression.

So start with nine and

work backwards ‘til

I end up

with just


Poem A Day: It Hurts

It hurts that I know so many people

Who have often praised my writing

And who cannot be bothered to

Read the poems I am trying to share.


I am sure that these same people,

Were I to somehow become famous,

Would come to me to shake my hand

And say that they always believed in me.


That’s hard to believe when all I ask

Is for a friendly eye to read my poems

And offer a word or two of feedback –

Even negative feedback can be good.

Poem A Day: The Problem With Poetry

The problem with poetry is

That it never leaves you alone.

Once you open yourself up to it

Suddenly it’s everywhere you look,

Everyone you know, everything you think.

You used to be fine experiencing something,

Shrugging your shoulders, letting it roll off your back.

But when poetry gets a hold of you,

Everything is a literary crisis!

It must be captured in verse,

Controlled in meter and rhyme,

Beat into submission by metaphor.

And life will sit all around you

Throwing ninja stars at your psyche

Mocking your weakness

And refusing to stop until you write.

The problem with poetry is that

It will either kill you or save you

And you’ll never know which.

Poem A Day: How Many Words

How many words have I written

In the 17,521 days of my life?

Half-finished novels

Poems shared and forgotten

Almost-completed screenplays

Unrevised short stories

Blog entries

Facebook updates and comments

Text messages and IMs

School essays and research papers

Comments on student papers

Notes passed back and forth in class

Handwritten love letters

Grocery lists and to-do lists

Rambling rants in journals

Reviews and requests and remembrances


How many? How many words?


And how many words have I spoken

In the 17,521 days of my life?


From goo goo and mama and papa

To complaints about an apathetic universe

Inspirational speeches

Nursery rhymes and songs

Didactic pedantic lectures

Oral reports and presentations

Poetry slams and read-alouds

Words of encouragement and support

I love you’s and I’m sorry’s

Late-night long-distance telephone calls

Pizza orders and doctor appointments

Prayers appealing to God

Philosophical discussions on the nature of reality

Stories and lies and dirty jokes


How many? How many words?


But how many words rest unspoken,

Unwritten, in however many days I have left?

When I die, what will I have not said

And to whom should I have said it?

How many songs and speeches cower

In the cobwebs of my mind, refusing

To let themselves be exposed to the world?

How many thoughts die each day, unformulated?

How many wishes might come true

If I just knew the words with which to speak them?


How many? How many words?