Posted tagged ‘55 word poem’

Trappist-1 (I Won’t Even Look Across the River)

April 2, 2017

Trappist-1 (I Won’t Even Look Across the River)

No ship will be big enough
to take us all.

As for me, if I’m in the vicinity
of Washington, D.C.
I’ll lie face down
upon the ground at Arlington,
among blades worn
by those whose wars
are done,

just listening
to that grass grow.



55 for Kerry O’Connor’s prompt on Real Toads.

Process Note – Trappist-1 is a new planetary system recently discovered by NASA astronomers, with planets that may be inhabitable by humans.  (Rendering above, such as it is, is mine.)

Arlington is the U.S. national military cemetery, located just across the Potomac from the national mall in Washington, D.C., a place where U.S. veterans and spouses have been buried since the Civil War.

Brain Hurts

May 1, 2016
Updated Brain in Bed (With Dog)

Brain Hurts

My brain hurts
from inhaled pain,
swollen now
to not quite sane.
Nought it knows
will be the same,
nor answer to
its (or my) name.

My heart hurts
with built-in stain;
it’s been set
by drenching rain;
what washes it
might have a name,
but I don’t know it
just the same.

Very much a draft ditty for May 1 and Kerry O’Connor’s 55 word prompt on Real Toads.  I’m just doing recycled drawings at the moment; this of a brain in bed, with canine companion.

Depressed Poet, Winter Field

February 6, 2016


Depressed Poet, Winter Field

Wraith stalks would loom
over the field
like widows’ weeds
if last year’s hay
were earth’s spouse, and “widows’ weeds”
did not mean rough cloth, but whatever stands up
in loss.

That none of these “ifs’ are true,
yet also are,
is what keeps someone shaped like me
walking this field,
this earth, this rebirth.


55 words (plus title) for Kerry O’ Connor’s prompt on With Real Toads.  Kerry’s prompt talks of using words without direct translations–I wasn’t consciously thinking of that when writing this poem, but perhaps it sort of fits.  Sorry if I owe people comments–a very busy time, but will get to you. 

Pic is mine (as well, of course, as poem).  All rights reserved. k. 


January 3, 2016



The browns of the grasses brown
as the peaches of the sky peach, in patches,
as if the morning had decided to mix it up
in order to help some Dutch landscape painter,
only this land more
the neverlands (like all land),
not outstretched to fit frames,
color schemes;
colder today,
fresh snow.



A little 55 for Kerry’s prompt on Real Toads.  This one to my own photo of the beautiful Catskill Mountains, upstate New York.