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Sylvia Plath and so many other suicides

Hi readers.  Someone female sitting in the lobby late one night tossed The Bell Jar aside and groaned a curse.  Headed for the wagon yard, I reckons.  So I picked up Plath’s tome and read enough to...

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Hell, since I’m posting poems I wrote about depression

Written sometime between 11pm and 7am at the what?  Roadway Inn? motel, anyway, Grants, New Mexico.    Probably 2002, 2003.  Hell, it wasn’t me who was depressed.  Can’t recall what inspired this: The...

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Where desert mountain waits

Sun dried jerky of your past Lies heavy on the stomach-heart Grumbles, protests, lingers Long, long after cactus Arid faith Uprooted by a desert mountain Cloudburst flood Has withered, blunted tines No...

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Something time forgot

Hi readers.  Thanks for coming by for a read. Back in the 1960s browsing around book stores a person used to find 33 1/3 LP records of poets reading their own poetry.  I bought several and always...

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The Bivouac of the Dead – [Thank you for your service wasn’t enough]

  Hi readers.  Thanks for coming by for a read. I’ve visited a lot of National Cemeteries over the years, along with a lot of private and State cemeteries where the remains of military personnel and...

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Higamus Hogamus

There’s been a lot of water under the bridge since Dorothy Parker wrote that poem. And there’s been a lot even since I posted it on this blog the first time. But that just goes to prove Parker captured...

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The Genius MBA – Philosophy by Limerick

Made his money the hard way, inherited. Went to Yale where he struggled and merited Every cent that he earned With his MBA; spurned Do-nothings with slogans he parroted. Old Jules – July 31, 2012 blog...

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Nobody said it would be – Philosophy by limerick

Locomotive Rock located on the Laguna Rez a few miles north of Acoma. Stopping a train just ain’t easy The methods are bloody and sleazy But changing direction Requires a correction More solid than...

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The thorny ethics of silence – Philosophy by limerick

This is Stormy. Her reputation was ruined when the president broke their non-disclosure agreement and gabbed to all his evangelist buddies. Now her phone rings day and night and she can’t get a moment...

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The Ballad of the Corncob and the Lie, Archibald MacLeish circa 1960

Will Faulkner, Will Faulkner, You are to blame my friend Telling of a maiden Brought to no good end, Raped but with a corn-cob, Raped but with a lie: They’ve learned to rape the country With a corn-cob...

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