Thursday, March 31, 2011


When poets perplex me,and
it seems to be happening
more and more lately.

I am reminded of the Umpire,
who called the batter 'Out'
on the,'Infield fly rule'.



Oh, I see the reflection
of the world i am in.
It is surreal, a mirage.
Not an image.

I want to be in that world,
with soft contours and gilded light.

Not beyond the panes
and the reality of beyond,
but a sub-rosa emotion
that I only experience
in dreams.

Puma/MMXI ©


They died in yore and prayed to God,
to take them Home to Him.

They had no hope of a cure,
just faith and a spirit with-in.
God answered their call and bid
His children Home once again.

With torment gone they gathered round,
and ’Rest in Peace’ they did sing.
No respite from pain did Man bring to them,
but faith in God: peace everlasting.

Yet now we dismiss that olde-time faith,
and die in bits and bytes.
And so we know now, from this mortal coil,
souls do not fly off as kites.

Death is wrapped in pastels, and lets us
die in stainless steel, clean as could be.
Are there still some left who do believe:
That God will summon thee?

Puma/MMXI ©


You see, I have a painting on my wall,
in an elaborate frame.
Every other day,
I set the painting right.

It must be the building’s vibration
that move it off-center.

Now, I can remedy that,
(I think)
by taping the bottom
of the frame to the wall.

I thought about this the other day.
What if I remedied the ‘problem’?

Part of my waking routine
would be thrown off- kilter.

Maybe, I am condemned to perform
this silly function by the gods
for some grievous trespass.

Am I like Sisyphus,
condemned to push a boulder
up hill, eternally.

Camus thought Sisyphus
cheated the gods,
by being mortal.
That self esteem
is a work-related ethos.

Maybe I am also cheating the gods.
I enjoy the work.

Puma/MMXI ©

Monday, March 28, 2011


Sun goddess’ children/
laid low by Earth’s elements/
Nippon unbowed.


Tuesday, March 22, 2011

3/22/11 (HAIKU)

Single lens reflex/
focus on absurdity/
minds-eye distorted.


Friday, March 18, 2011


Oh what webs we spin,
not as Humans caught in lies.
The Natural world we live in,
we spin only to catch flies.


Thursday, March 17, 2011

3/11/11 (HAIKU)

The Earth cries havoc/
Goddess of strife unchained/
Chrysanthemum blooms.


MARCH 17th

I hope to kiss
the Blarney Stone,
my Irish friends
have urged me to.

They say the gift
of gab I’ll get,
with a honey
dipped Irish hue.

Me-thinks I should
partake of same,
and kiss the Stone
in that craggy nook.

To tell my friends
that I’m
an Irishman,
via Facebook.

Saint Patrick’s Day
I will proclaim,
in green apparel

that an Irishman
is in your midst,
roll-out the barrel.

We’ll drink the day
and through the night,
toasting all in
our company.

Don’t worry the
morrow, a day off
to ponder,
one drink too many.

On the 18th
I revert to norm,
and to my roots

As my grand-parents
look down on me,
and do a slow

An Irishman
for a day,
good fellowship
and its mem’ries.

And now I have
many Irish friends,
as many as
I can see.

So in my fine
tenor voice,
I’ll sing again:

Happy Saint Patrick’s Day,
to all you Irishmen.

Copyright 2011/T.Puma
(Voices in my head, verses to be read)

Wednesday, March 9, 2011


I see the spot
on my forehead
through the
looking glass.

I am again
reminded of
my mortality.

After half-century
of Ashes,
it is more symbolic than ever:
as I really don't need
any more reminders.
(or do i?).