Friday, September 26, 2014

Linda's Shasta Daisy

Burbank's creation
Pick—he loves me, he loves me not. 

Shasta Daisy - Fibonacci form

Wednesday, September 24, 2014

Bill GROGAN (re-observed)

Bill Grogan's goat,
was feeling fine.
Ate three red shirts,
right off the line.

Bill took a stick,
gave him three whacks,
And tied him to,
the railroad tracks.

The whistle blew,
the train grew nigh;
Bill Grogan's goat,
was doomed to die.

He gave three moans,
of mortal pain,
Coughed up those shirts,
and flagged that train.

A Boy Scout campfire song that is square in syllables, lines and verses—4x4x4. A cubic poem?

Monday, September 22, 2014

Nau•til•us: an Approximate Creature

Nautilus, chambered. 
Mathematics? Not really. 
By nature only. 

Smells more like…
Ah…normal distribution
(Of golden spirals). 

You could look it up. 
FIBONACCI? Not really. 
Logarithmic coil?

Not exactly. Else
One or the other would fit. 
Only nature fits. 

The Found Boat—A Précis

Spring rain; river overflows, shallow lake fills. 
Riding a log, two girls explore the flotsam, 

Find boat; old, damaged, half sunk, ruined, mostly.

They shout out, show teasing boys, schoolmates the wreck.

Delighted boys drag the hulk home, repair, seal. 

Girls watch the project day by day; at last done. 

Boys and girls launch, try it out by twos, threes, more. 

Success. No leaks. Make lunch and sail down river. 

An abandoned house appears.  Going ashore—

They explore, eat lunch, play games, dare each other—

To strip. They all do. They dance, sun shines...time stops. 

Married Love



she wears

college girl's

skirts and sweaters with

a barrette in her shoulder length

hair—just like the college girls of fifteen years ago—

and hasn't kept up with the times the way others have and she has a low-pitched, well-bred

voice that many people think is subtly insulting—

her confidence and homeliness

not often seen—met


in one—



Thursday, September 11, 2014



When we drink, we get drunk. 

When we get drunk, we fall—

Asleep. When we fall a—

Sleep, we commit no sin—

When we commit no sin,

We go to heaven. So—

Adapted from

George Bernard Shaw

Mathematical Shaw– 

6x6 square

Dry time

Saturday, September 6, 2014

Bergman Numbers

... there are no uninterest—
ing positive whole numbers—
“because if there were, there would—
be a smallest one, and the—
property of being the—
smallest uninteresting
number would be…be? You see?”

Thanks to Prof. 
--- George Bergman
 Emer. Prof. Math. 
        UC Berkeley
*Poetry&Mathematics—A square: the number of syllables in a line equals the number of lines.


Where - are we going?
When - are we going?
Why - are we going?
We - are going - soon
I'm ready - at noon*

*Poetry&Mathematics—A square: the number of syllables in a line equals the number of lines.

Thursday, September 4, 2014


Reason: It saves austere
and transparent phrases 
from the filthy discord
of tortured words—opens 
congealed fists of the past. 
All is new—the bright sun 

Mathematically square. Adapted from
Poet Czeslaw Milosz

The Carrion Crow (Haibun poetry)

The Carrion Crow

Crows abound in the 
neighborhood and around the 
yard. Often in early morning a 
great, noisy caw-fest occurs. 

A carrion crow
sat on an oak, fol de rid-
dle, lol de riddle…

Only tiny oaks sprout here and 
there, as planted by industrious 
blue jays. Crows sit in the 
neighbors' incense cedar, 
redwoods and other 
miscellaneous, unlooked-after 

Watching a taylor 
Shape his cloak; Sing heigh-ho 
carrion crow, fol…

Crows are very smart, it's 
known. They can pick latches, 
love to collect small shiny 
objects and are good thieves. 

Wife bring me my old, 
bent bow, fol de riddle, lol
De riddle, hi ding…

Crows in this neighborhood are 
urban crows. It may be  this 
makes them smarter than their 
country cousins. Nevertheless 
they are well nourished and 
sleek for living on the city 

That I may shoot
Yon carrion crow; sing heigh-
Ho, the carrion…

Crows often crack a walnut by 
dropping it repeatedly from a 
street light standard. There's 
an instance in town where a 
house down-spout was clogged 
with too many shells. A crow or 
crows opened nuts while on the 

The Taylor he shot
And missed his mark, fol de 
dle, lol de riddle…

A crow across town enjoyed a 
left-over, smashed-flat-in-a-
parking lot, bag of French-fry 
and hamburger leavings; held 
the paper down with a foot and 
picked it clean. 

And shot his old sow 
Quite through the heart; sing 
The carrion crow,

Fol-de-riddle, lol de riddle, hi 
ding do.

Wife bring brandy—in
A spoon for our old sow is
In a swoon! Heigh-ho…