Purple's Platitudes

nothing but words …

I’m reading modern poetry

11 July 2005


I’m reading modern poetry

and much to my surprise,

the naked truth I’d hoped to see

lies hidden and disguised.


It looks impressive now and then

to play with empty space,

add a few obscure allusions

to make a poem great.


personal subjectivity –

each standard that is raised,

declares meaning is meaningless

I’m impressed by such praise!


It’s true, the harder that I try,

the less I understand,

poetic anarchy aside,

I judge for just one man.

8 October, 2009 Posted by | Poetry | | Leave a comment

Rules & Regulations

05 July 2005

Rules & Regulations (a found poem)


          children must be –

remove shoes before

no jumping!

     no climbing!

children should not

children must be

          under four feet

over three years

                   into the playplace

in the ball pit

       on the equipment

to play

8 October, 2009 Posted by | Poetry | , | Leave a comment

Room 111A

03 July 2005

Room 111A


In a windowless room,

dawn waits fluorescently,

distant conversations

mimic remembered birdsong …


a second hand ticks,

in time with silent tears

as alone she sits

and remembers –


shape-shifting clouds,

sunsets …

         Azaleas in bloom …

     fresh cut summer grass …

harvest time …

oven fresh bread,

         strolling hand in hand through December snow,

   her first kiss, before saying “I do”

motherhood …

the sound of laughter …

         two weddings …

seven grandchildren …

         hugs and smiles …

strawberry shortcake with whipped cream

one funeral …


looking out through downcast eyes,

a lifetime of memories

slowly fades,


and as the lights are dimmed,

graciously, sleep comes

one last time.

8 October, 2009 Posted by | Poetry | | Leave a comment


03 July 2005



I zig and zag, deceived by the rudder’s control,

needing to believe I am captain of my soul.


each twist and turn increases desperation’s hold,

vanity driven by lust – lead into gold.


if the disparity of choice was ever disclosed,

then each journey’s end would be a meaningless goal,


a distant vanishing point to be bought or sold.

bewildered, inner voices never agree in full.


losing purpose and perspective, dreams grow cold,

existence defined by merely doing what I am told.

8 October, 2009 Posted by | Poetry | | Leave a comment