In search of story


January 15.18

In frosted loft

a burning eye —

Cassius bides

with hungry look,

warring with winter


in hoary vigil.




Connections: November 4.17

If I were a bug

with multiple arms

would it add on to

my considerable charms?

Would my hands and brain

be more in sync

when I scratched my head

and tried to think?

Or would I confuse

my arms with legs

and kick myself

in zigs and zags

and as grande finale

clumsily obnoxious

fall all twisted

on my bug proboscis?



More thanks to the S.W. Berg Photo Archives

and to the D.J. Berg store of whimsy.






Connections: October 28.17

The hen with the turquoise tail

and watchful ruby eye

busily bustles about

in no way subtle or shy.

Incredulous, unbelieving,

clucking at all she sees

hustling up and down stairs

with never an if-you-please,

she gathers each mote of gossip

slack-jawed, open-beaked,

around and about the condos

astonished and endlessly piqued.



More thanks to the S.W. Berg photo archives,

and to the D.J. Berg store of whimsy.





Leave a comment

Connections: September 30.17

In the center of this twiggy heap

you’ll spy a dot of red

it’s the littlest tiniest bug

yes, a bug is what I said!

The littlest tiniest busiest

scurrying as if crazed

HOLD STILL! I ordered grandly

but he raced about, unfazed.

I couldn’t count his legs

they were just a blur

I couldn’t see a wing

scale, feather or fur

so I think it was a bug

bright as cinnamon heart

harrumphing at out-sized humans

who seem not to be all that smart.