SENRYU #13

My door is silent
only shadows in windows
Memento mori.

©TPuma/MMXII

OCTOBER

I've been drinking Pinot Noir
all this dull afternoon.
Right now I cannot see too far,
writing a poem, "what rhymes with moon?"

OK, OK, I'm in-the-bag
tho’ my poetic skills still shine.
Now, I'm not one to brag,
but, my poems are "dressed to the nines."

Happily (?), I look to October days
and bid adieu to 3 quarters past.
Shorts and flops all put away
apparel takes on a new cast.

No, no, do not leave,
stay in my poetic high.
I write this crap, because I grieve,
my summer love has said good-bye.

(c)Tpuma/MMXII

COP-CROC

Like a Crocodile
sunning on the shore.
He waits, probing for the
unwary and inattentive.
Spotted/
he slithers onto the roadway.
Flashing/
Croc smiles?
Wailing/
Croc tears?

©TPuma/MMXII

SCENT MEMORY

A candle burns
slowly
its scent permeates
the room
I lie in my bed ready
for sleep
I must douse the
candle out.

But my thoughts revolve around a
scent memory
I do not want to lose that
memory/image
I close my eyes and
dream
as scent memory drifts
into my sub conscious.

I awaken alive
to a candle that
has died.

©TPuma/MMXII

COHWOLD

I caught a cold
I know not where.

If truth be told
I kissed a sneezing Bear.

VINTAGE BASEBALL

A baseball flies from your palm.
I see you pirouette,
with graceful motions.

Mixing Balanchine and Baseball
and memories of Ballantine.

White, red and black colors
swirl in your movements.

The ball goes I know not where.
No matter.
The matter is in the act,
the performance,
the “Ballet of Baseball.”

This, this sport, this thing,
this Baseball.

©TPuma/MMXII

10th AVENUE ON A WET AFTERNOON

Onyx streets refract light
and reverberate city sounds,
to reveal in emotional thought
that dream of Oz urbanized.