Poem #19

What is the value of a poem
compared to the tender touch
of my lips on your slumbering cheek?
1/31/02010

The haiku variation:

what worth is a verse
compared to the tender touch
of lips to your cheek?

I like the haiku variation more than the original.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

The Bell Ringer Joke Revisited

or: If I'm Destined to Get a Pulitzer Prize for 02008, This is the Line of Thought That Will Earn It For Me I'm pretty sure that it's been at least two decades since the idea of The Bell Ringer Joke started knocking around in my head. (I've mentioned the joke in a previous blog post .) There has been hope and despair, laughter and great disappointment, spread out over more than half my lifetime! On Thursday morning, out of the blue, I had a few epiphanies regarding the joke for all of these years. Epiphany #1: The first and second parts of the joke are spectacular, and if I had not been told at the time that I first heard them that there was a mysterious third part floating about in the ether, those two known parts would have been deeply satisfying. There would have been no disappointment associated with The Bell Ringer Joke whatsoever. The two parts stand together as a complete and brilliant story, riotously funny. Which is to say that the third part is only relevant...
Read more

Avalanche

Image
This blog has been untouched for a great many months. In case anyone out there is subscribed, I'm posting this here. I've spent the last several months working in my too-rare spare moments on a video project that I consider to be the most important thing I've ever worked on in my life. But it only matters if people actually see it. It's scheduled to debut on YouTube at noon Eastern time this coming Wednesday (August 26). Please consider taking six minutes of your valuable time to watch it and then please, please, please consider sharing it as far and wide as you possibly can. Thank you. -L.
Read more

In Memoriam, Mark Cassorla

We just got back home last night from another vacation, this one to Texas. This vacation was interrupted by a side trip I had to make to bury my cousin Mark, who decided that he needed to kill himself on Monday morning. It's hard to express all of the feelings this has drudged up. But I feel as if it's somehow my responsibility to try to say something appropriately solemn. I always thought of Mark as "Marco". I'm not really sure whether this is because I grew up hearing other people calling him Marco or not. As I've mentioned before, I'm cursed with a horrible memory. So I honestly can't say whether anyone else ever called him Marco, although in my mind's ear, I can pretty clearly hear it rolling off his father's tongue. I'm also not sure whether I ever called him "Marco" to his face or whether the nickname resided strictly in my head. What I can say is that in some sense I always felt closer to Mark than I ever felt to any other ...
Read more