Un-Rhyming Poems

Snowman

How does one not be kind to oneself

When he is a snowman?

Ironically

     It is when the sun comes

That he dies,

As opposed to other ‘life’ forms.

Imagine him walking, flakes falling,

A single carrot

That drops, eventually,

And is eaten

By a rabbit

Or crafted by a child.

This is called: Reincarnation.

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Entertainment

I sit and watch plants

By candlelight,

The room filled with memories,

Books, magazines,

Reminders of things.

A small wooden stool.

A water bottle.

An old certificate.

A room is a museum.

     A body a moving event.

A man lives inescapably for himself

Yet cannot help but be loved by others.

I lay on the carpet, face down,

Staring at the ground

…this is my kind of Entertainment.

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To Die 

Is to live beautifully

As if one’s body is a curled brown leaf

Hiding itself from the pain of once having had to be green.

Finally, when it falls,

It can speak authentically…

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