Tanka I

Life is like a book
A choose your own adventure
Someone writes my tale
But the twists and turns are mine
My choices make the middle

Nonsense I

Kings in cabinets

with shoes that shine

Pandas drinking turpentine

Whales in wagons

with spindly spears

Flowers growing out your ears

Hogs on horses

with loaded dice

Crabs and lobsters stealing rice

Bats in Boston

with credit cards

Dancing carrots taunting guards

All the While

You wend your way down the winding road

Wandering all the while

Towards wishes that whisper on the wind

Wondering all the while

Why roads tend to bend and never end

Why there's no getting where you're going

My Beard

My beard is very strange

It's rough and coarse and itchy

With roots

Deep inside my face

I can feel it

Deep inside my face!

Washing doesn't help it

No shampoo, nor conditioner

No soap, nor body wash

Can soften this wiry wood

Growing

On my face

It's growing

On my face!

Shaving doesn't stop it

It grows back before the dawn

Ruthless barbs

Tearing through my face

Needles and knives

Tearing through my face!

There is one brief moment

Clean-shaven

Smooth of face

Not rough and scratching

Nor an agony of growth

It is the worst of all

For, in this one brief moment

I feel my hair

Hiding

Deep inside my face

My beard

Coiled, living

Deep inside my face!

Potato Chips

Golden fried, thin yet wide

Crunchy to the core

Potato soul, eat 'em whole

Flavoured to perfection

In silvered sacs, cause heart-attacks

Yet loved by nearly all

O potato chips, with or without the dips

The food of kings and beggars

O potato chips, passing through our lips

What would we not do for you

Metapoem 1.1

This poem is pretty comic

You will like it just fine

Only problem is though

The poem isn't mine

I made Kerwin write it

He's doing it right now

I don't know what it's about

Perhaps a purple cow

He has finished it completely

Just passed it on to me

This is the second last line

We both have iced tea