Here are some of my poems. I love jokes, rhymes, and wordplay, and I savor the challenge of fitting ideas into metric verse.
My milkshake is a peanut-butter treat With chocolate, too, appearing in the mix A glass so large, so sickeningly sweet, That I need less than half to get my fix I'm in a diner with a weighty tome Great English Poems, edited by Briggs Across the table, Adam looks at home With Murakami, and with coffee swigs There comes a sudden motion from below As Adam lays a tickle on my knee I jesterize, responding, "Nandato!" And Adam laughs at that most heartily It's Wednesday. We have nothing much to do. This morning we had rain; now we have blue.
Poems for Friendship Villagers
Half a dozen friends of mine live in a group house called Friendship Village. The first time I hung out with them as a group, I wrote a Chinese poem for them all to express my gratitude at meeting such lovely new friends (I’ll add that poem at some point).
About a year later, after a joyous night of homemade pizza at Friendship Village, I decided to write poems for each of them. A week later my project was complete. I hand-wrote the poems on cards, and delivered them at Ian’s going-away party on 2019-06-13.
Sneaking round the house at night The prankster man comes giggling Laughing to himself with all Ten fingers splayed and wiggling Reaching into every cranny (Not a man for strictures) You won't see him come or go But you will find his pictures
Guaranteed to brighten up my day-J Hugs me when I go off on my way-J Emits every color except gray-J Friendship Village saint? I vote for AJ
To me you come off as the coolest housemate Can it be true that you're the illest villager? Skate on home, then rouse up that guitar rumpus "Cool" is too weak: from now on you're a chillager
Hand-painted Wholesome winter scenes on Christmas cards. How? How does Someone come to wield such Skill at arts? Long, hard work And a smile for all the "Not-quite-rights." No other Way to learn to paint such Winter sights.
A cottage on a hill A flower patch A tree of fruit A mound of herbs A bunch of beans A pile of plerp A bag of blegg A tin of twomp A sack of snoob And a sign out front, big-lettered: WITCHY WONDERS "CHAOS, MADE TO ORDER"
I tried and tried, but couldn’t come up with a poem for Fedora. Instead, I made for her a bite-size videogame called Fedoradventure, which you can play online.
A parody of William Blake’s “The Tyger”.
Bunghole! Bunghole! Clenching tight On the toilet, in the night Curse you, bowels! Set me free! Has my poo no place to be? In a distant land of glee Somewhere constipation-free Man may poo most joyfully He knows not of agony He knows not the price we pay Pants round ankles, there to stay As we grunt and swear and pray Pooing in a toilsome way For what reason, in God's grace, Did He make man squat in place? Wasting time without his say On a poo's extended stay? What immortal hand on high Moved to make our poo so dry? Whither Bunghole and his fee? Whither constipationry? Bunghole! Bunghole! Clenching tight On the toilet, in the night Curse you, bowels! I don't see What I've ever done to thee!
A Gift for Gadi
While traveling with a group, our guide was an amicable man named Gadi. When the group played Secret Santa and I received his name as my beneficiary, I decided to write him a poem.
Please excuse any awkwardness in the pseudo-literary Chinese. The gift was completed in a hurry, for a non-Chinese-speaking audience, so I judged rhyming more important than phrase construction.
Gift for Gadi, Original
Gadi Gadi Gadi 我队队长 样子很帅 哥们超爽 人才之峰 留一大胡 教人何为 天天为酷
Gift for Gadi, Rough English Translation
Gadi Gadi Gadi Captain of our team. His style is way fresh, This Chiller Supreme. Of eminent talents And big-bearded too, He teaches all people His everyday cool.
Poems for Hayley
Hayley, AKA “Blue” or “Bloo,” was my roommate (or “shmoom-mate”) from September 2018 to September 2019. I started composing poems shortly before I moved in with her, and soon found that life in close quarters provided many poetic inspirations.
The Goodbye Poem
I was delighted that you called me mellow I'm certain that you count as mellow too I testify to you that this Max fellow Will just as certainly be missing Bloo Our shmoomery is done but not forgotten When thinking of me please don't hang your head We shan't forget each other 'til we're rotten No need to eulogize before we're dead If by some chance to SoCal comes a Hayley In Snoop's hometown you know you have a pal Transmitting good cheer to you on the daily What's left to say? You rule! Go get 'em, gal!
Hayley and her boy toy In the night they giggle Fingers go exploring Interlocked they wiggle Fingertip on her hip Tracing out a squiggle This is love, no doubting Not even a niggle
Ryan Quest Win Poem
Those who win at Ryan Quest get to see a special poem! What are you waiting for?
Two Thirds of a Sonnet for Chance
Written in response to something nice that Chance, a new friend, said to me. This is “two thirds” of a sonnet because a real sonnet needs a third ABAB verse.
Has it occurred to you that you deserve To be called not just chill, but chill supreme? I have a softness in my heart for those Who follow through - who realize the dream Of living in a world where effort's fruits Are by most sincere comments justly met Much thanks, for 'tis upon my horn you toot Exchanging digits was a winning bet A sonnet, or two thirds of one, for thee With gratitude from You-Know-Who and me
Poem for Cameron and Felix
Written late at night on 2019-10-11, after getting to know these two fellows at a meetup. If you join the second and third lines in each stanza, the meter becomes iambic quadrameter (save for the line beginning “Knowledge”, which must be read as a trochaic substitution.)
Tonight I've met a pair of men Whom I hope I may Call new friends Two buds, pointed at PhDs Knowledge sets both their Means and ends Two dudes, united by one car Stick-shift - they're off! in Homeward flight Let's meet again, cognition crew To pass another Pleasant night
After The Farewell Lunch
Shortly before moving away from Portland, I got the chance to have a farewell lunch with Professor Hyong Rhew, one of just three or four people whom I call “my most beloved teachers.” Also present was my long-time friend Chris Stasse, whom I similarly call one of “my most beloved friends.”
This poem commemorates the mischievious post-prandial activities of that day, 2019-08-20. I believe this is the first poem I’ve written for Chris; it probably won’t be the last.
最后一杯 干了之后 老师告别 哥俩要走 笑着回家 大麻便抽 疯狂假想 做双朋友
Island Vacation Poem
With step-fam'ly And Sis and Dad A week on an Island was had From the main house By gravel road Ten seconds' walk Reached my abode This hermitage Was now to be For one week my Dormitory I dreamt I would Accomplish much While living in This monkish hutch By day there'd be Activity And on each night A writing spree But I fell ill Just one day in I could not hike Nor could I swim Though I was sick I could still write I dripped out words Most every night Healthy at last My poetry Will fix this week In memory