Poetry

Cultural Appropriation

/ JRLonas / 1 Comment

“Write what you know,” wisdom conventional,
Threatens to morph into ironclad law.
Fearing aggressions unintentional;
The best lack all conviction in its claw.
Sympathy is nice; empathy divine,
But you’d better think twice (or more), you cad,
If you think your words can ever touch mine;
If you, you WASP, you geezer robed in plaid,
Dare deign to make artist’s gestures this way!
What you know (not much!), keep it over there,
While I sit here and type, to my dismay
Using all your best English words with care.
Forsooth! Never could I more clearly see
That your culture appropriated me.

Photo: Feeding Time, Tracy Aviary, Salt Lake City, Utah, October 2016.

King of Zion*

/ JRLonas / 2 Comments

I was a traveller in an ancient land
Who saw two vast and tow’ring walls of stone
Rise from the river. Unpropped, they stand
Halfway to heaven, by sunset’s light shown
Redder even than each iron-laced band,
Telling of a sculptor from whose great head
Flow designs magnificent; o’er all things
Must He reign. Of Him was it truly said:
“Out of Zion, the perfection of beauty,
God hath shined.” Back to His vast throne-room rings
The praise of all, rendered not from duty.
“The heavens shall declare his righteousness,”
Cry these hills, shouting beyond dispute. He,
O His people, whose wonders we confess.

*Brought to you by Psalm 50, with assistance pilfered from P.B. Shelly.

Epigrammar

/ JRLonas / Leave a comment

A comma belongs between each of your great thoughts;
Otherwise folks might confuse your “is” with their “oughts.”

Verbs make the world go ’round, ’tis true,
But for their acts, nouns are the glue.

To end a sentence, a preposition is more
Apropos than something else you could use it for.

“Every day” is an everyday phrase,
But using it rightly earns you great praise.

The rain in Spain stays mainly in the plain.
Why that matters is just too hard to ‘splain.

“If Ogden Nash could see me now,” I said,
“He’d tell me, ‘Write about a cow instead!”

Metered verse constrains the form of these words,
If only we could trim these thoughts by thirds.

About a Drought

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As I survey my lawn so brown,
Thunder gurgles across our town,
Lightning blisters my rods and cones,
Promising rain soon to come down.

‘Tis not to be. Oh! life’s unknowns.
The storm rolls on to moister zones.
We want it so. That’s the kicker.
But we cannot drink from these stones.

In the distance fades the flicker,
I can almost hear the snicker
Of the crickets humming dryly,
Thankful as a parched picnicker.

Water tempts with hope so wryly.
Imagining rain so nighly,
That the sound of droplets shyly
Dancing in clouds gets me smiley.

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Photo Credit: Jaepil Cho. CC BY 2.0