The rhymers

I have a problem with the rhymers, it

is something in their prose;

it’s a thing to which they won’t admit,

but I think it’s on the nose.

The metric of the meter provides

a rigid cage for them

to push and shove and fit inside

the words to match their whim.

These rules once set and locked

lay out the path ahead

but I see it as creatively blocked

as the rhyme by the nose they are led.

So free verse truly appeals to me,

my own path I must cut and make,

the rhymers say it lacks discipline, see

I think more discipline it takes.


Dessert, desert… whichever one matches

I drove across the mountains,

not for the first time,

but for the first time in a long time. 

As I watched 

the landscape changed 

with the altitude,

then I descended 

back down 

to the other side.

I watched 

as the surroundings 


to wilderness;

it seemed both familiar 

and foreign. 

I once haunted 

this half of the state…


Now I was coming back,

just for my own entertainment. 

Still, I had to pause 

at a trailer-park

where once lived,


“How was it,  I ever sustained myself 

in this miserable little corner 

of the world?”

Children were playing 

where once I worried 

about money, 



and the day-to-day.

Then I continued

to the hotel I had booked, 

and the concert

that had brought me


I would go on to have

an awesome night…

but for those kids

(back at the trailer park)


would just be tomorrow,

but I 

would return 


How is this