Bundled Up, Volume 1:
Quintains, Pentastichs, Tankas
Cinquains, Quintets, Quintillas
Gogyohkas, Limericks, Wakas
Five Line Poems and Apricots
Turning Left on Quintain Lane
By Mike Garofalo
1,000 Quintains, Pentastichs,
Tankas, and Apricots
(5 Line Poems)
1.
Eskimos have many words
for snow—
falling from my lips,
many words for electricity.
Places dictate vocabulary.
2.
my zazen was writing
pencil in hand—
sitting still for minutes
no special breathing
just moving my hand
3.
Yes, I wish Milton's Heavenly Muse
would dictate beautiful poetry to me.
But, unfortunately,
She never appeared, you see,
leaving me, seriously, with
the only Muse I hear—Me!
4.
Opened the Gateless Gate,
the creaking hinges sang,
a narrow passage opened;
I saw a iron Temple Bell
rarely ever rung.
Quintain Poetry Sections on this Webpage
Bundled Up, Volume 1
Poems 1 - 99
Poems 100 - 199
Poems 200 - 299
Poems 300 - 399
Poems 400 - 499
Poems 500 - 599
Poems 600 - 699
Poems 700 - 799
Poems 800 - 899
Poems 900-1,000
Quintains Research
Bundled Up, Volume 2
Poems 1,000 - 1,099
Poems 1,100 - 1,199
Poems 1,200 - 1,299
Poems 1,300 - 1,399
Poems 1,400 - 1,499
5.
I'm a poet
of a body, not
a poet
of a soul, yes
I sing solo.
6.
One Picture of Me
This bony skull of mine
electrified
pictured onscreen for me.
Doctor recommends
some oral surgery.
The brain disappeared,
an empty space
sliced from
X Ray images retraced.
Eyeless in inner space.
Monkey nose holes,
bony eye glasses,
teeth glowing in the dark.
Inner spaces never seen
underneath my very being.
Skinless, noseless, earless,
a shape, a form—
the images informed.
Stripping away the unneeded,
revealing my inner core.
7.
in-breath
out-breath
unconsciously
enables me
to Consciously Be
8.
Emily D. said she Knew Poetry
when her sober "head top
was suddenly taken off."
Wow! Complex tight Poetry
from the Topless Emily D.
Emily Dickinson (1830-1886)
American poet.
9.
Under the Water
of my mind
an unconscious Sea
of Memories
guide me through time
Keep me on a course line
send me some signs
become conscious at times...
freedom may a fiction be
controlled by unknown destinies.
Bring the Unconscious,
Sub-Conscious, ego, and Id,
Collective Unconscious figured in—
Over the waves of Consciousness
the flotsam of Unknowns are adrift.
10.
Hegel touted secular spirituality
Carlyle cheered rising unbelief
Neo-Pagan myths and rites appeared
Christian motifs shook and swayed
Later, Buddhists answered with the
No Mind Way.
Thomas Carlyle (1795-1881),
author, historian, essayist, poet;
Sartor Resartus.
11.
The Dalai Lama opened the door
making Love, Helpfulness, Decency
the Essence of the Religious Core;
Not beliefs, not creeds, not lore
not arguments; show Kindness.
Dalai Lama (1935-)
author, Tibetan Buddhist
leader,
world renowned spiritual guide.
12.
my tired eyes
closed—
memories slowed
dreams flowed
time dozed
13.
Apricots sweet.
Onions savory.
Quintains served.
Readers savored.
The taste?
14.
Broken Down
My great nephew,
Joshua Loya his name,
a troubled, sick, tired man;
We tried to help him and failed.
A soul free of conventionality.
He was a homeboy styler
a skinny fellow
dressed in
baggy pants.
Hanging out with cholos
for a fine machismo time.
His mom died when he was 10
he never recovered!
From auto accidents and hepatitis
and fun drug usage most days;
he slowly slipped from us away.
He lived with us for a year
a lazy fellow
straight F's in high school,
some thieves and stoners for friends.
Still, we wished him well to the end.
My son and we tried to help
Joshua when down
and others did contribute,
to bring him better around
but his failures ground him down.
He phoned every so often
babbling and rude
wandering in a broken brain;
His long letters, indecipherable,
but with artistic Tagger displays.
He lived in County jails
for petty crimes
and old half-way houses
time after time after time.
In garages of friends sometimes.
He called his Aunt Blanche.
He was homeless again
hoping for help from friends.
Sadly, he was sick again.
He wished her well at the end.
Yesterday, Josh's sister said,
a sheriff told her:
Josh was shot dead!
They found his slumped body
on bloody asphalt
in a City of Industry
vacant parking lot.
Bullets through his broken heart!
(Josh Loya: 6/1980-10/6/2024)
15.
Pruning bonsai with keen eyes
carefully cutting
for structure and size;
Visions in the artist's mind
Coaxing beauty by his design.
16.
The day dribbled to buzzer's end
but ties are forbidden
so overtime dramas begin;
Or, just drop lose or win
Letting wu wei begin.
Ripening Peaches
Taoist Studies and Practices
17.
Life is a problem
without One solution;
not a theorem, not a catechism.
A challenge, not The Answer!
A restitution of creative innovations.
Pragmatism: American Philosophy
18.
Making your poetry:
Make it New, Make it Strange,
Make it Now, Make it Yours,
Make it Better, Make it True.
Make it Reveal, Make it Change.
19.
The silence of decades dead
echo endlessly
in every muscle and vein...
Her kisses are remembered
by my tender love lips.
20.
My vein is the literal
not the symbolic,
fantastic, abstract, free;
Lost in meaninglessness,
too clever for me.
21.
Liminal spheres
between Selves—
opening up
closing bad habits
redesigning oneself.
22.
Bookstore Dilemma
Barnes and Noble
bookstore browsed—
the smell of new books
and coffee brewed,
tasty poetry books to peruse.
Poetry books
on fifteen shelves:
which one? which one?
My wallet wants to force a choice:
just one! just one!
Louise Glück or Sylvia Plath
which one? which one?
Hungry to meet and hear them speak;
[ignoring my wallet]
I Bought them Both!
Books are alive and talk repeatedly.
23.
She shouted and honked
Road Rage beyond reason
Loosing control, pissed off
Cussing, fuming, Over the top;
Then God told her to stop.
24.
"What do you Love?" he asked
"Waking up today!"
she said with gusto keen.
Gave herself an insulin
shot,
nursed her sugary wounds.
25. Old Age
Being 79 is fine
but still running out of time;
so I cope lest
I read less and slower
or think past nowhere.
Reaching 80 soon
four good seasons slowly loom
passing quietly too;
"Don't waste one minute now"
Uranium can't buy any time.
26.
December fogs—
among the rotting brown leaves
a squashed dead frog;
Winter is a Brutal King
freezing beings one by one.
27.
Keep it short, concise, precise
Don't be wordy, verbose, to wide
Keep it focused, on target, aimed
Don't wander, delay, no silly play...
Sadly, a poem imprisoned by Brevity.
28.
to my harmonica:
every color is silver
every note is sharp
every lip is luscious
every player a lark
29.
I meditated often
hour by hour—
watching tiny juncos
listening to firs swaying
waiting at Nothing's Door.
30.
Comfortable outside my skin
While embracing a world within
Both In and Out are One
Undivided as seasons and sun...
Illusions of separateness done.
31.
my dog, Bruno, lifted my spirits
living with me
We were Buddies, Dog and man.
Bruno got cancer and He died,
i walked alone and i sighed.
32.
At dusk the winds picked up
shaking the tent,
snow fell from dark cold skies;
we bundled up warm inside
and played chess passing time.
33.
I will be gone someday
never returning
to walk or play.
Signed my Last Will to say
to whom my possessions are given away.
Coming in
let me nourish
like rain on a garden.
Going out
let me disappear
like geese going south.
34.
Listening to Change
I listened to another say
what I resisted to hear
what was alien to me
what outlined my ire
what I wanted to fight
But then I settled down
loosened my blockhead mind
Thought things over patiently,
listened more carefully,
saw matters from other sides,
respected the integrity
and sincerity of other kinds
Of thinking outside my closed boxes
Of my habits of opinions needing overhaul.
- Mike Garofalo
35.
Lamenting his obscure lines,
lack of specificity—
feeling stupid, locked out;
can't fault the reader,
the poet is a mediocre mouse.
36.
Junior Varsity soccer game
22 boys hustling at play
sweating this April day
perfect passes on the way...
Referee's whistle— Stop!
37.
crawling under the house
sewer pipe broke
puddles of stinking crap...
fixing, reconnecting, glued;
spreading sand on the smell.
38.
Longing
for learning
to make others
surprised
by my words
Trying
to find
the perfect rhyme
and symbolic metaphors
offered in lines
Seeking
the insightful words
and clarity;
that is the goal
ahead for me.
39.
He was there
at first-hand;
hiding inferences
resisting interpretations—
not being second-hand.
40.
Q = Quintain Rhyme Scheme
End of line rhyme
Sorted by Rhyme Pattern
AABBA Limerick Q #927
AABBB Eureka Q #7
AABBC Astoria Q
AACBB Envelope Pepperwood Q #1213
ABABA Sicilian Q
ABABB English Q # 1197, 1496
ABBAA Spanish Q #1464, 1485
ABBCB Ventura Q # 1000
ABCBA Envelope Q # 288
ABCCA Brookings Q #1113
ABCCC Fortuna Q #1460
ABCDA Crapsey Q # 214, 280, 170, 1191
ABCDE Concrete Q # 1203, 1441, 1473
ABCDE Free Verse Q
ABCDE Gogyohkas Tanka Q
ABCDE Minimalist Tanka Q # 5, 7, 141, 222
ABCDE Pentastich Q
ABCDE Surrealist Quintalla Q # 597, 767
ABCDE Tankas Traditional Q
ABCDE Wakas Q
X$&eG Typographical Q #189, 1472
!@ #@! Shape/Concrete Q
Q= Quintain Rhyme Scheme
End of line rhyme
Sorted by Scheme Title
Astoria Q = AABBC
Brookings Q = ABCCA
Concrete Q = !@ B @!
Crapsey Q = ABCDA
English Q = ABABB
Envelope Q = ABCBA
Envelope Pepperwood Q = AACBB
Eureka Q = AABBB
Fortuna Q = ABCCC
Free Verse Q = ABCDE
Gogyohkas Tanka Q = ABCDE
Limerick Q = AABBA
Minimalist Tanka Q = ABCDE
Pentastich Q = ABCDE
Shape/Concrete Q = !@ #@!
Sicilian Q = ABABA
Spanish Q = ABBAA
Surrealist Quintalla Q = ABCDE
Tankas Traditional Q = ABCDE
Typographical Q = X$&eG
Ventura Q = ABBCB
Wakas Q = ABCDE
41.
Blinded by the obvious
he often forgot
to sink heavy anchors;
ideas swaying to songs
floating aimlessly along.
42.
His conclusions were dignified,
and elaborate, but wrong in the end,
aimed well but missing the mark,
his answers did not light up the dark,
not even well-said, said Professor Rend.
43.
Roethke in Seattle
Uplifted and impressed
reading Roethke's
Northwest sketches fine.
Birds flew off the page.
Lizards sunned in his lines.
U-Dub students studied
Roethke's methods
for years closely aligned
walking together the Far Fields
with many creative minds.
Roethke's soaked in hot tubs
his sweat refined
lulled into organic bliss—
laughing in the fog
languishing like a dog.
He lingered by the rivers
topping Puget Sound
listening to beauty;
stepping into forests
around Seattle Town.
[Theodore Roethke (1908-1963)
poet, teacher.]
44.
Leafless Trees of February
February sculptures
of leafless trees—
emptiness on display.
Gray-brown branches and twigs
embraced in Winter's Arms.
fog crawled into branches
of leafless trees—
invisible leaves.
A sweet gum murmured low
a soft lullaby to the snow.
The trunks and branches
of shrubs and trees—
unabashed exhibitionists.
Buff nude bodies exposed,
careless, free, willingly.
Morning opened in sunshine
brilliant crisp blue.
Twisted branches knew
Spring is coming soon.
Leafing, leaves, renewed.
45.
He kept his secret like a shark his fins,
close to his heart like a pacemaker's wires;
proud of his reticence, not showing his hand,
keeping it close to his vest like Charlie Chan
not spilling the beans until the final scene.
46.
Tried to build my Muscles
of Intentions
to strengthen my Will;
tear the muscles a little
if you want to build.
47.
Planted a climbing rose
to tie to a fence—
optimistic gardeners
endlessly puttering
sworn to thinking ahead.
48.
His walker wobbled looser
the sick man fell—
cancer is serious hell.
I helped him stand and walk,
thinking of myself in his lot.
49.
Hiding in the Junipers
Three ladybugs sit so
cozy together—
the junipers don't really care
who sits here or who sits there
just clean the mites off their hairs.
Shiny orange shimmering shells
black etched eyes—
crawling silently
hiding from enemies
ladybugs jump and fly
Ladybugs by another crisp name
Coccinella novemnotata—
five thousand species of Coccinella
mostly farmer's friends
who live just two short years.
Ladybugs can't all be Ladies—
otherwise
there would be fewer surprises
sans some randy
Guybug's pickup lines
50.
Drifting to My Mind's Edge
The drifting pebbles
slid on the sandy shore
up to me;
my thoughts drifted
outside my mind.
Boy's flying stunt kites
in flying dives and figure 8's
wind at their backs;
our sand castle
remodeled by in-coming waves.
Hot sun and sand burnt
bare fee walking
away from the sea;
grabbing my shoes
touching my toes tenderly.
Black mussels cling to stones
eating in high tide zones
hundreds huddling;
I stumbled hungry
in surf up to my knees.
Only beach grasses
uncontrollable
can live on the dunes;
my thoughts zoomed
hypo-mania loomed.
Bundled Up:
Quintains and Tanka Poems
By Mike Garofalo
51.
subtle hints
of availability—
Tempting me
to taste
her skin
52.
Daylight drifting in time
absorbing like a damp sponge
all our intentions, our
workday efforts to become
somebody, someone, some way.
53.
A whole Billy Collins poem
equal to the sum of its parts.
A whole John Ashbery poem
greater than the sum of its parts.
And both their parts
have become part of me.
Only the ‘parts’ really matter.
54.
Is it a poem or a telephone call?
A 'phrasemakers panache'
or shouts down the hall?
A profound insight or song at a bar?
Ask Frank O'Hara about the Blue Guitar.
55.
Tired but not sleeping
awake—
stretched out on the floor
wearing worries weighing me down
into the depths of Insomnia's Sea.
56.
Time waits patiently for all.
Tiger hiding
in a blind, eying Us—
Our clocks ticktocked,
The Tiger of Death Leapt.
Pulling Onions:
Over 1,043 One-Liners
Quips, Epigrams, Jokes
57.
alone
on the trail
steep switchbacks
ahead—
my autobiography
58.
they bashed in her windows
with a bat:
vandals chose her car
for no reason whatsoever
but delight in destruction
59.
On the Vernal Equinox,
staring at the calm sea;
Mallard ducks,
peck the grassy ground.
Drizzle coming down.
60.
wasting away
cancer's curse—
can't stand now
wobbly legs
pain cried today
61.
Woman: making dinner stew
Man: working hard
Children: playing games in yard
Family: growing older further
Life: Uncertain At Large
62.
Arts of Colored Lights
Paso Robles nights—
"A Sensorio Field of Lights"
filling the dark with colored lights
mazes of colors subtle
dazzled by a flipped switch.
Shore Acres Park
Christmas art—
garden lights
flashing empty flower beds
dispelling darker thoughts
Monterey's hip shops
decorated—
Santa Claus is back
colored bulbs bright
gifts galore in sight
Cape Kiwanda dunes
July 4th—
fireworks flared
colors galore
my eyeballs gorged
Skagit Valley tulips
springtime blooms—
tourists flock
like bees to flowers
sweet treats for hours.
At the Edges of the West
Highway 101 and 1
63.
Larger than the longest
short by seconds—
can't measure Infinity
slipped into a Black Hole
the speed of light is too slow.
64.
Befuddled by
a poet's words—
repeating rereads
increased the blur.
No pearl in the oyster.
65.
Tilted head
floppy arm—
longstanding guards
in fields and farms;
scarecrow alarmed.
66.
Rising expectations undercut
friendships faltering;
disagreed to agree
end clearly seen
no future for you and me.
67.
Turned Off the TV
empty screen;
lost time remained
stuck in my brain
wasted days, hours decayed.
68.
Shirofugen cherry trees blossoming,
Clark College campus colors
whites and pinks astound!
Sakura Festival music
in the April sunshine.
69.
Is Mu Dark Matter?
Is Light Speed Time?
Is Gravity a Ball of Strings?
Is a Mind a Body-Brain?
Questioning, wondering, ideas rain.
70.
The oak tree in the courtyard
sheltered many a thought.
Better than hissing "Mu";
Nothingness shouted.
Profound silences of Emptiness.
71.
The Wind swept East away
West was cleared of Gray
The Sun split Skies to Blue
Bright gleaming green Yews
Hard Cold! Smell of Firs...
72.
The noun asked the adjective,
"Why do you speak of superficialities?"
The adjective replied,
"Because your not very interesting
as a mere noun, unqualified."
73.
another life on paper
words aligned;
crossing metaphors
images sketched so fine,
tidbits spilling onto lines
74.
Two different views—
contradictory ideas
clashing tastes;
cooked in an artful balance,
steeped in irony.
75.
Hammering roofers
step gingerly ...
dusty boots
slippery slant—
Two stories to the ground.
76.
Streaming energies
from the expanding
infinite edges
beyond billions
of galaxies. Beauty
Driven dusts of Time
Essence of our DNA, Yes
Of star dust we are made.
Hydrogen-oxygen our blood,
Our gods are understood.
77.
Listening to Jazz
Dave Brubeck Quartet—
Carnegie Hall
Blue Rondo a la Turk,
Take Five with four guys.
78.
washer spinning dry:
pants and shirts
socks and skirts—
electricity at work
chores not shirked
79.
"Not a second to waste"
was a lie—
workaholics disagreed
trapped by a pernicious OCD.
Mystics use seconds otherwise.
80.
fewer painful
confessionals to share—
secretive
closed
unpacked dirty underwear
81.
Crawling on my knees:
pulling weeds
planting bulbs
pruning stems...
Wives like such deeds!
82.
The tangled hair of Akiko,
the sad toys of Takuboku,
the penny world of Sanford—
Japanese poets succeed
sowing clever seeds of imagery.
83.
my young son visits us
for a few weeks—
boxes of medicines
piled high
failed kidney dialysis time
84.
Father Priest
and I
standing seriously at
my dying father's bedside.
Last Rites Sacrament time!
85.
David Attenborough's words
Al Gore's lines
we did not listen—
plasticizing our dying world
denying Ozone Holes in the sky.
86.
Homophobes and racists
sadly multiply—
underlying hostilities,
inner repulsions unjustified.
Wasted energies and lies.
87.
Covered in clothes and throws,
Coldest night in February.
Shivering in Shore Acres,
a canvas yurt in which to hide.
Bitter cold seldom lies.
88.
First time talking to psychologist,
[revealing some .. hiding some]
seeking something not known;
but optimistic nonetheless
I won't regress from being my best.
89.
"When does God sleep?"
asked the child;
Jesus answered
with a smile:
"Nunca oí a Dios roncar."
90.
The Zen archer's bow becomes
One with the Universe.
Despite aiming carefully,
breathing properly,
he missed the target anyway.
91.
Why am I Here
Rather than Elsewhere?
Stop questioning
this or that.
Be Here, take off your hat.
92.
The bloodless sea—
painted red tides
gathered triple toxins
spewed wavy purple streaks
on bays and beaches we see
The bloodless sea—
picturing crashing white waves
bulldozing the thick brown sand
reshaping the shorelines destiny
relentlessly, impulsively, creatively
The bloodless sea—
written about by poets for centuries
rudely calling my bluff
challenging me aggressively
pushing me past my petty me
93.
Walking
sand in my shoes
beachcomber blues.
Low tide flotsam line
shattered clam shells my Finds.
94.
Spiritually, the skeptic in me,
Is not very religious, conventionally;
But the ebullience of nature mystics
Is often very inspiring to me.
Silence, poetry,
and music
are Forms of Spirituality.
95.
quite dogmatically gray
these rain clouds arrayed
these last days of March
heavy rains today
on the first Spring day
96.
Fell asleep on the floor.
She covered me as I snored:
turned off the lights
closed all the doors
while I just snored and snored.
97.
She was quite talented
I will agree.
She managed to win
prizes and trophies.
Yet, when losses came
she remained unchanged
using her clever coping brain.
98.
Living on the edge of destiny
precariously. What can I be?
Answering: What do I want to be?
What must I Give Up
to really be me?
99.
three
men
cleaning a Indiana
power plant smokestack.
All Suffocated!
100.
The Self sometimes lost,
ego-less disconnected eye-balls;
lost individualities, hidden me,
immersed in Nature's neutrality
silent awe of Beauty Being.
Quintain Poetry Sections on this Webpage
Bundled Up, Volume 1
Poems 1 - 99
Poems 100 - 199
Poems 200 - 299
Poems 300 - 399
Poems 400 - 499
Poems 500 - 599
Poems 600 - 699
Poems 700 - 799
Poems 800 - 899
Poems 900 - 1,000
Quintains Research
101.
my mom died
one April day—
before her hospice end
she brushed her teeth
in a satisfied way
102.
Life's not a bowl of cherries,
Nor a bed of roses.
Nor a dream within a Dream
of a tired black butterfly
Sleeping on a laurel's leaves.
103.
The sea made clouds,
Clouds birthed rain.
Falling on the sea again
recycling itself—
an Endless Chain.
104.
I returned to the Bandon cliffs
year after year.
To savor art works
Carved into the sands
then Erased by the Surf.
105.
The elderly man
hustled fast, but
pissed in his pants—
his damn zipper stuck,
he laughed.
106.
Why is there nothing
rather than something?
The hungry sage pondered—
his rice bowl empty,
weak tea in his cup.
107.
At dawn the birds began to
chirp, hoot, tweet, schreek,
Crows squaked, a dove cooed—
the splashing surf droned on and on,
I slurped some coffee down.
108.
Thunderbirds born before the Dawn
of lost human history—
Knew the Orcas in the Puget Sound,
Knew the Chelais River Salmon,
Nested on Mt. Tacoma-Ranier's
steep white glacial slopes.
Native American Myths and Lore
109.
The stories told, perhaps centuries old,
Crawled up my skin, rather fairness thin,
Called revenge justified, against a killer's lies,
Skinwalker's son smiled; his father feared.
The Avenging Angel,
Cuts lives at an angle,
Appears then disappears,
Settling accounts in arrears,
Knocks on the door,
Of the rich and the poor,
Shows the Warrant
No matter how abhorrent.
Settles the score,
Escorts you out the door
to stand before
Judge Skinwalker's Court.
110.
gathering
fishing gear—
worms in the street
after the rain
free bait
111.
Palestinian terrorists
attacked viciously.
Israel then responded
viciously—
Revenge Insanities.
112.
Boring lecture
far too long—
Doodling abstract
pencil art; thankfully,
the ending bell sounds
113.
limping lady
laughs
heartily—
listening
to radio jokes
114.
she did not
speak
did not cry
closed her eyes
quietly died
115.
Jacaranda seeds
brown and hard—
Toys for boys
in our front home's
Cout's Avenue yard.
116.
I turned around,
heard a bang!
Bullet missed
by an inch!
Hole in the wall.
117.
Kitchen Circa 1951
no freezer
no frozen food—
bland canned
corn and beans
no ice cream
118.
Whittier Blvd.
butcher shop—
axed turkeys
flopping about
sawdust floors
119.
Wet pier boards
clomped under our boots
docked boats shined
we forgot what we left behind
fishing consumed our minds.
120.
Big Sagebrush
twisted limbs—
scabbard lands
basalt cliffs
rain on the wind
121.
I ran the mile in track
sweated and struggled
often finished dead last;
Cantwell High School track
still in my legs today.
122.
Bodhisattva Jizo or
Saint Christopher both
protect travelers from harm;
if travelers recite Sutras
or wear metal charms.
123.
Tomorrow means
nothing to some
living now, for Today;
but the Past is Present,
seldom unhitched or ignored.
124.
Contemplate-investigate
the Here-in-Now—
voices of trees
shadows of bees
incense burned down
125.
Blessings of being
Alive—
Intensity of Beauty,
Clarity of Truth,
Precious Time!
126.
Things birth ideas
Ideas discover things—
Is Spring an idea?
Are atoms things?
Poet's ponder such "Things."
127.
Watering dry flower beds
chilly April morn—
maple leafing
red Rhododendrons blooming
my fingers stiff and cold
128.
Stuck
in a poetry rut—
spinning ideas
muddy words...
Louise Glück gave me a tow.
129.
beer
guzzled
down—
chatty
clown
130.
"good morning
hello
have a good day"—
walkers
nod and say
131.
Opening her letter
again—
creative sketches
subtle words...
Why did she lie?
132.
Koan answers?
Three pounds of cannabis
Plum trees in the courtyard
Sounds of four hands clapping—
Shape the bonsai, carry the sake.
133.
"My daily activities are not unusual,
I'm just naturally in harmony with them.
Grasping nothing, discarding nothing...
Supernatural power and marvelous activity
Drawing water and carrying firewood.
Layman Pang (740-808)
134.
Nemesis Club Soccer Team
2025
Girls soccer game
rough today—
two Red Cards
four injuries
parents Scream...
Playing soccer
in the rain—
spectators insane...
Referee
stops the game!
Slippery grass
cold rain—
away game
Salem's way
umbrellas sway
135.
My grand daughters
17th birthday
today—
17th of April.
Auspicious coincidences?
136.
A best friend,
her cousin,
died today—
total surprise,
healthy till 55.
137.
Two roads
crossed—
four way stop!
My engine died
travel stopped!
138.
Played the game
placed the wager
tossed the dice
won the bet—
left Vegas lucky sane
139.
Symbols shine
in metaphor time
aligning the mind—
The Flowers of Evil
in Baudelaire's lines.
140.
homely boy
worries—
unpopular
shunned
ugliness sucks
141.
Green olives stuffed with garlic
tasted fine
blended with fresh French bread—
we watched the boats in the river
while slowly sipping fine Pinot Noir.
142.
Hohner
harmonica
Low C—
blow-suck
sonorous melodies
143.
Alan Watts
made me laugh—
philosophical humor
bundled
Insights
144.
geese formations
flying by
cacophony of honking
moving
sky
145.
cut my hand
cutting wood
can't see so well
can't be as strong—
lost youth
146.
In Gushen Grove
the Valley Spirit
never dies—
Lao Tzu
opened his eyes.
147.
homeless beggar
handed $20—
he held
a cardboard sign:
Matthew 5-7
148.
the bathroom mirror
fogged—
I could not
recognize
my wet face
149.
The School buses loading
stop and go.
Red stop lights flashing,
yellow caution lights blinking slow.
I stop, wait, and watch the show.
150.
Winter killed, spring revives,
ferns recover, tulips rise,
dogs bark, crows skwack-cawk;
I read a Gioia poem out loud.
151.
my coffee cup
receiving
falling
wisteria blooms—
lavender creamer
152.
sitting on sand
gazing at the
Cannon Beach scene—
sneezing into
my sandy hand
Highway 101 and 1: A Docu-Poem
153.
eating a bowl
of steaming rice—
pure white
pleasures
bite by bite
Bundled Up:
Quintains and Tanka Poems
By Mike Garofalo
154.
Departing, step by step;
step by step, arriving.
Sitting down
boots off
feet sore.
155.
The best things in life are more expensive than you think.
Artists rearrange new objects and intellectuals rearrange old words.
To put a bigger hat on an idea: Capitalize its Key Words.
Sitting in a garden and doing nothing is high art everywhere.
Maybe it is a Bright (blue, green, yellow) Enigma
rather that a Dark (black, brown, red) Enigma?
Metaphors are a delightful, tricky, clever, ingenious ways of
pumping iron with words.
Pulling Onions:
Over 1,043 One-Liners
Quips, Epigrams, Jokes
156.
We pulled up a crab cage
from the old Toke dock
filled with five small crabs;
no keepers in this fifth pull,
a stingy bay here today.
157.
I turned right onto old
Highway 101
headed south to Olympia.
Sashaying along the Hood Canal
Oysters at every curve.
158.
Feeling my age these April days
From work in our bursting garden;
Clean up chores so long delayed
During Winter's lazy indoor pardon.
Took a nap. Dreamt about dahlias.
159.
morning walk
alone—
rehearsing
a memorized
poem
160.
Since
my friend
is gone—
life
goes on
161.
Plum flowers
in the sky—
sensory
actualities;
Noumenon left unspecified.
Flowers in the Sky
By Mike Garofalo
Reference: Master Dogen's Kuge
I really appreciate positive feedback,
reviews, kudos, and encouragement
about the value
of
my free webpages.
Send your comments to:
Text Press Email
162.
skinned shins
bleed—
kneeling
pulling
weeds
163.
Climbing in the rain
up a sand dune slope
in quiet Nehalem Bay—
reaching the Top
of Beauty at the Sea.
164.
slanted sun rays
strike
pink cherry blossoms—
parking lot
cars shine
165.
closed down
not open now
nobody within our sight
glass door locked tight till
later tonight
166.
Bach's cello
compositions on
my cellphone MP3s,
complexities of pleasures fill
my ears.
167.
brown leaves
dead trees
damn drought—
helpless ground in
San Joaquin
168.
I wrote these poems
myself—
not stolen
by machine AI
selling semi-plagiarized lies
169.
There are no ads on these pages.
Are you surprised?
Makes my webpages more dignified.
Don't need AI to sell for me.
Just offering some so-so poetry.
170.
we were
off the same page
so we stopped and talked
strategized and calmly agreed
with her
171.
move on
from garden chores
double digging more and more
hour after hours dry dust overturned
work done
172.
The still lake was green
from cyanotoxins algae,
scum floating to the shore,
harmful filth to the core;
everyone leaves the ugly scene.
The Wreck Ahead Comes Into View
173.
the basalt cliff rocks tattooed
red with graffiti
of forgotten first names enshrined
placards of insignificance
faded colors of little minds
174.
my money
root of hustling
common source of pride
only good for something nice for
my honey
175.
Three beer cans tossed in the gutter
epitome of the virtue of selfishness
shining examples of ugly clutter
clones of lazy boozer's discontents
symbols of careless abandonment.
I really appreciate positive feedback,
reviews, kudos, and encouragement
about the value
of
my free webpages.
Send your comments to:
Text Press Email
176.
hours of reading
into midnight—
cold study room
bright lights
sleepy eyes
177.
blood drips
from plastic tubes
replacing her lost fluids
from the Cuts from the Crash...
she drifts
178.
protest marchers
walk today
rejecting
King Trump's
dictatorial way
179.
Bible belt
buckled up for Trump.
Nazi belt emblem
Gott mit uns.
White worship.
180.
tears of pride
yells of joy
champions cheer—
loosing team
silently goes
181.
He died
then revived—
tunnels of light
stigmatic hands
Shaman's plan
182.
Standing meditation
bores me—
I'm prone to ADD
easily distracted
wobbly Roots under me
183.
telltale signs
of miseries—
cold homeless camp
stale scraps of chips
begging in the rain
184.
Patiently
waiting in line
for my appointed time,
along with other old men in
urology.
185.
Of night, or moon, or naught
of shadows tangled in knots
of dull dreams remembered not
of a sad song sung a lot...
rambling rhythms sway and rock.
186.
Five T-shirts all said in red
"Trump is God"—
The five enjoyed the Disneyland rides
pleased that Pope Francis had just died.
Lucifer's faithful on parade.
187.
Emily D. loved the em dash—
—not a macron or en dash—
to signal shifts of her mind—
—to highlight a verse's charm—
to strengthen or stop a line—
"First—Chill—then Stupor—
—then things letting go—" ED
188.
he ran
as fast as he can—
finished last in the race
proving his manly tenacity,
nobody clapped
189.
e.
e.
cummings
Typ0
Graph Ical
Obsc
UR
Ities
190.
spiders weave webs
we weave words
skylarks sing
poets pen odes—
meanings unfold
191.
fashion power
restrain power—
a balancing act
to create great art
controlled and smart
192.
He had the courage
to say:
I'm not going to be
the center of the rest
of my life."
193.
time has a rhythm
beyond ticktock—
a string quartet waltz
a dying walker's walk
a stewing pot
194.
sleepless in pajamas
awake with worries—
mind buzzing
ideas racing...
moonless night
195.
Thoughts as
real as rocks—
piled up stones
ideas stocked:
quartz and fools-gold.
196.
Not Forcing
going with the flow
finding the groove
being Cool—
Taoist roles.
197.
Where are the bees?
Why have they died?
Without Them
plant life will disappear
and animals/humans will die.
Pesticides increase production
for awhile while
profits for corporations rise;
imported grapes and avocados
out of season
this worlds awry.
198.
thinking about thinking
can be useful
as a rule—
too much just thinking
creates clever lazy fools
199.
The world has sadly been
Americanized—
leaving junk
piled high
polluting the earth and sky.
The Wreck Ahead Comes Into View
200.
This world projects me
emanates, creates, grows me
births me, radiates me, plays me—
yet needs me to see,
It is Not about illusions of me.
Bundled Up:
Quintains, Pentastichs, Tanka Poems
By Mike Garofalo
Quintain Poetry Sections on this Webpage
Bundled Up, Volume 1
Poems 1-99
Poems 100-199
Poems 200-299
Poems 300-399
Poems 400-499
Poems 500-599
Poems 600-699
Poems 700-799
Poems 800-899
Poems 900-1,000
Quintains Research
Bundled Up:
Volume 2
Poems 1000 - 1500
201.
There is no Boss of Nature
No King of the Universe
No Ruler over all—
Just Happenings of Itself,
just so, it is just so.
202.
My body is not
a horse I ride;
not a Brother Ass
I work till it dies.
St. Francis lied.
203.
Learning how
to let go—
participate,
don't dominate,
enjoy life's show.
204.
religions mostly
define sex as sin,
immorality,
a pest—
Nature laughs
205.
Your mind can be
like a mirror—
keeping you distant
from intimacy...
touchless unreality.
206.
fat radishes
red and round
seasonal shifts
vegetable prices
coming down
207.
My balance unravels
if I turn to quick;
my age is 80,
what the shit;
I'm amazed
that I still exist.
208.
poet's confess—
loneliness
loss of love
distress
words of regrets
209.
She passed
the pipe—
cannabis
fine,
I declined.
210.
walked
an hour—
dogs barked
birds fled
azaleas red
211.
tired
sleepy—
gas
tank
empty
212.
dead bird
in the gutter—
street sweeper
coming
distant roar
213.
thinking
about thinking's themes;
Not thinking about Not-Thinking
[what can that really mean?]
"thinking"
214.
only
a cloud of gnats
circling the dirty birdbath
inviting the midges who are
lonely
215.
napped
three times today
aching body led the way
fatigued from stress and overwork
zapped
216.
"The pattern seemed to be different now.
Sebastian finished the astringent tea.
"Like myself," he said, "this is getting
Nowhere," and went back to the house
To a book he had turned down."
[Kenneth Rexroth, The Homestead
Called Damascus, 1925.]
217.
Contesting Poets
She entered a poetry Contest
for a $3,500 prize,
600+ other poets
also tried and applied,
sending their two best poems via online.
Judging poetry
is hardly any fun
while reading
1,200+ poems
piled one on one.
To be
The One of 600+
who got the coveted prize—
Lady Luck was
clearly on her side.
But don't be discouraged
by the ridiculous odds;
pay the $15.00
entrance fee
and toss the dice of poetry.
If you don't gamble
you can't win; or,
just keep your fifteen bucks
to spend
on some other sin.
The American poet
with the most prizes,
awards, grants, citations:
John Ashbery!
[A very fine poet to me.
Only lacking a Nobel Prize.]
Or, consider, Anthologies:
Editors/Judges read 18,000 Tankas
for Take Five, Volume 4,
to select 400
"of the very best"...
[The Master's Opinions! Yes?]
A poet's
introduction—
[where he was published]...
far longer than
the one sonnet
he read.
Poetry contest winner
reading his long poems—
listener's yawned,
then clapped.
Nobody laughed.
[My preferred publishing style]
218.
Becoming colder
I move to the corner
where it was always 90 degrees—
laughing loudly
the riddle sneezed.
727 Riddles, Jokes, Brain Teasers
219.
aches
and pains today
reminded me—
buck up buddy
fight life's dis-ease
220.
brushing my teeth
water running
gargling; suddenly
like a Pavlovian dog,
the urge to pee
221.
In general, be more specific.
Absolutes squirm beneath realities.
Dogmatists are less useful than dogs.
Roundness is the Holy Shape.
The real "miracle" is cause and effect.
Pulling Onions
Over 1,000 Quips
One Liners, Epigrams
222.
unseen
unknown
unspecified
unconnected
unborn
223.
I watched the old woman
trip and then fall in her yard.
Bashed her lips, bloodied her arm,
laid still for awhile,
cussing, pissed off, assessing her harm.
224.
The stupidest President
elected twice—
defeating two women,
easy prey,
to be kept in the kitchen
out of real men's way
he spit words at me,
tipped his red cap,
a bitter MAGA devotee,
unwilling to tolerate
anyone but he
listening to myself
complain about Trump—
Am I a glutton
swallowing
self-punishment?
225.
the waves
sang
incessantly—
a mournful dirge
about the dying sea
226.
a cool breeze
caressed
my skin—
sunbath
this day in May
a single fir needle
fell on my skin—
I brushed it off,
gently it seemed,
barely a tiny thing
227.
silence might heal
silence might reveal
silence might conceal—
hidden mysteries
drowned by sounds
228.
can't touch silence
can't hear colors
can't see sounds—
my speaking me
let's words conjure up
possibilities
229.
warm day
sun conspired—
getting me
to walk outside
despite my lazy mind
230.
Poetry contest winner
reading his long poems—
listener's yawned,
then clapped.
Nobody laughed.
231.
My mother
used to say
"mind your own business";
so, I try to be focused and stay
busy my way.
232.
I once thought
life is a riddle,
Death is a riddle—
but after wise experiences,
the riddle does not exist.
233.
Ethics is not transcended,
no matter what Wittgenstein said—
ethics is feeling
friendship, compassion, helpfulness,
even dread.
234.
One person
heard the notes.
Another person
listened to the pauses.
Another the music.
235.
Endiku said
"Gilgamesh is given
Powers and Kingship, and
the Courage to Face
Zarathushtra Incarnate."
236.
I hiked to the Top:
Mount Whitney and Mt. Lassen,
Mount San Gorgonio and more—
but only imagined seeing
the idea of Mount Analogue.
- René Daumal, Mount Analogue.
237.
Can't see God
in every
nook and cranny
everywhere;
like Meister Eckhart's mind.
238.
planted
cream white
Rhododendron
inside a blue pot—
Watering
239.
I imagined two haiku—
pencil lead broke
finished none.
Sharpened my pencil;
forgot what to write.
240.
Walking
alone in the dim
twilight zone—
wild driver coming,
I jumped off the road.
241.
sweet candies
tempting me
remembering
me...
—diabetes
242.
lichens:
on rocks
on trees
in the sun
in the sea
243.
Calling
an old friend
to tell her bad news;
a fine colleague of ours
had died—we sighed.
244.
The very little boy
at the soccer game fence,
with his back to the crowd,
unzipped his pants
and peed.
[everyone smiled]
245.
Jetty Stones, rocky levees,
embrace the River
Columbia to the Sea;
Seagulls and noisy geese
shit on the dirt levees.
246.
lichens on trees
lichens on rocks
lichens on shrubs
lichens on docks...
humans everywhere
247.
Home again home again
crows in the firs:
squak squak squak squak squak squak
signals-messages by air
Stellar Jays aware.
248.
Petals
open by day
closed by night.
Cafe open at 7
closed at 2.
249.
Frosted Flakes
soaked in milk
floating food
sugarfied
spoonfuls-GREAT!
250.
Repeating
patterns multiplied
multi-layered synthesized—
Metamorphosis by Philip Glass.
Overlapped...
Bundled Up:
Quintains and Tanka Poems
By Mike Garofalo
251.
Squirrels running
past my chair—
hummingbird
hovering
above my head
252.
reading
post-modern poetry—
sexually explicit
free verse randomness
pulsing crazy
253.
washing
my hand
germs
soaked
away
254.
Cinco de Mayo
celebration—
nimble dancers
strut and stride
colorful time
255.
Laying on the floor
pillowed by my arm
covered by a quilt
pajamas soft and clean—
awake for hours it seemed.
256.
Pretending to be me;
such a boring chore.
Clowning around with
dull masquerades of me.
Misplaced my fragile identity.
257.
old age
"creeps in its petty pace"
day by day—
slowly dying
going away
258.
I did that
I did this;
He showed me that
She showed me this—
chosen or given makes minds.
259.
No Guru talking
to me;
No Master over
me.
Free to invent me.
260.
"For though my rhyme be ragged,
Tattered and jagged,
Rudely rain-beaten,
Rusty and moth-eaten,
If ye take well therewith,
It hath in it some pith."
- John Skelton
261.
Commercials tease,
fake you out,
trick your brain,
sneak and fib—
your money their aim.
262.
COVID days—
staying at home everyday,
quarantined like everyone,
hoping to avoid the flu's
morbid way.
263.
sore shin
red and inflamed spots
stinging raw
not healing—
remedies saught
264.
Wonder:
buds in Spring
wedding ring
vivid dreams
bread and beans
265.
going
coming
leaving
entering—
long walk home
266.
stuttered
stopped
lawn mower—
so pissed
off
267.
easily
distressed and
pissed off by little mishaps
that my work plans stop
frequently
268.
cell phone
turned off—
missed
sales calls
no loss
269.
May Day:
rhododendrons
multi-colored
vibrant displays—
tints of sunshine
270.
bird
shit
drops on rocks—
lichens
thrive
271.
my tire
blew out—
Interstate 5
roadside
ROAR
272.
Bandon
in June:
cranberry
shops
stocked.
273.
One dreary winter day,
I spotted Big Foot drinking coffee
with Paul Bunyan and Vampire Vlad
in a cozy Tillamook Starbucks Cafe.
Nobody was fazed;
figuring,
just Hollywoody Cos-Play.
274.
We can't deny Fukushima's tsunami demise,
Our West Coast shares that Ring of Fire Alive.
We shudder and shake in earthquakes strong.
Yes, it can suddenly become horribly wrong.
Where will the tens of millions go?
When Florida's Turkey Point melts down
during a horrendous hurricane blow.
The Wreck Ahead Comes Into View
275.
wet grass
a robin hops
digging worms
grubs and such—
"Call of the Wild"
277.
Thrice beautiful
are Beauty's Eyes—
crying over melodies,
opening wide, seeing bliss,
closing at midnight time.
278.
Took a shower
my garden chores done
dressed in sweatpants and T shirt—
read John Ashbery's poetry,
fell asleep between the stanzas.
279.
Are my Quintains
worth reading?
I thought—
Not as tasty
as her enchiladas.
280.
Then
it became clear—
as my vivid dream ends
and my waking mind gently asks,
"When?"
Then
one morning in May
the kitchen sink leaked—
not the best way a Saturday
Began
Then—
Mother's Day
cards opened and read
a flower bouquet beside her bed a
Trend
Then
wondering, on edge,
would the expensive gift given
communicate the message I wanted to
Send
Then,
We drove to the sea—
Found a cozy motel by the shore,
Made acrobatic love for hours with
Bends
Then—
the End!
281.
Packing my bags
for another camping trip—
medicine bag, wood cane,
box of food, coat for rain,
clothes for cold, books for my brain.
282.
Maps studied
for my guides—
new places
new finds,
unknowns uncovered.
283.
President Carter
died today—
a Decent man
All the way.
I ate some peanuts today.
284.
NBA games
every day,
NBA TV
all the games—
boredom delayed.
285.
She grabbed my hand
as the airplane bucked
in a Palm Springs takeoff—
we both feared
a plane crash was near.
286.
Sitting stopped
in traffic between
Olympia and Tacoma—
bad accident on I5,
overturned tanker burning.
287.
A subtle message
somewhere hidden away:
obscure metaphors
striking images
Obscenities!
288.
Envelope Quintain Rhyme Prosody:
A Always keep an apple
B By your bed
C Granny Smith apples green
B Best for your lazy head
A As tasty as a Fuji Frapple
289.
4 am
wakening,
staring at the fireplace—
coffee
steaming
290.
dulled black
2HB pencil
sharp blue
ink pen
words on white paper
291.
Our adopted grandsons,
Nerdy Men,
Science Project Winners:
Growing plants on Mars research,
Complex programmed video games.
292.
cup slowly again
of drank a
tea a cup tea
warm of cup
hand tea empty
empty
tea
cup
washed
again
clean
tea
cup
shelved
again
Tea
Cup
Empty
in the
End.
293.
She’s the Empress of Beans.
He’s the Emperor of Sour Cream.
Their daughter’s the Princess of handmade dreams.
Their son’s the Prince of clever memes.
Or, so Imagination portrays Royalty.
294.
My hands felt the salty sea
my fingers ran
across the sand...
she hummed a melody,
held her cup of ginger tea.
295.
I tossed the bait
into the surf
fishing for a silver perch—
my fingers stiff and cold,
reeling-reeling in a naked hook.
296.
My hand held an agate jewel
carved slick by the tumbler Sea
polished by a million grains of sand—
rock-smooth in my caressing hand,
amazed I was by rocky headlands.
297.
I splashed words on the page
like Jackson Pollack's random sprays;
I laughed and played—
streams of consciousness went dry.
I tossed the scribbles in the trash.
298.
garbage trucks
backing up
beep, beep, beep, beep, beep...
Wednesday morning
ritual dump
299.
A quatrain with
an extra line
is not a Tanka;
rather 3+2 brief lines,
without the rhyme.
300.
liking this world
as it is
not easy, occasionally wise
changes yourself
by little lies
Bundled Up:
Quintains, Pentastichs, Tanka Poems
By Mike Garofalo
Quintain Poetry Sections on this Webpage
Bundled Up, Volume 1
Poems 1-99
Poems 100-199
Poems 200-299
Poems 300-399
Poems 400-499
Poems 500-599
Poems 600-699
Poems 700-799
Poems 800-899
Poems 900-1,000
Quintains Research
Bundled Up:
Volume 2
Poems 1000 - 1500
301.
Exterminate diversity:
kill the elephants
for piano keys, or slaughter
all rhinos for aphrodisiac greed.
Deny diversity and we will die.
302.
RUN fast, slow Down,
SHOUT out, be Quiet,
Spinning CENTERED Ideas—
Reading Michael McClure's
Whirlpool POETICS wash.
["LIFE IS A CURTAIN
draw across the past.
- Michael McClure]
303.
Intricate memories
of traveling—
Ayahuasca brew in Costa Rica,
in a circle of seekers,
wholly holy transformed.
[Morgan Paige, Blue Morpho]
304.
The Littlest Things:
old, worn,
impermanent,
imperfect—
wabi-sabi style.
305.
Lone Ranch Beach black rocks
covered in lichens and seaweed locks
faced the splash of the surf—
a Sea Scooter crushed
a mussel in his gizzard.
306.
Or, consider, anthologies:
Editors/Judges read 18,000 Tankas
for Take Five, Volume 4,
to select 400
"of the very best"...
307.
hand-still-unmoving Death
grabbed his failing breath
shook his ego till it expired
handed him oblivion
took from him all desire
308.
Ribbons of trickling streams
colorless shards of fog and rain
guided down by the hands of gravity
to disappear into
the Mouth of the Sea.
309.
the telling weight
of the yellow stone
held in my fist—
memories of riverbanks
left unmined
310.
splitting wood
this campfire needs
to light the dawn—
she read sad poetry,
he stirred the fire
311.
my fantasies
meant much to me—
never confessed
embarrassing,
hidden between my legs
312.
I buried my dog
big Rowdy the Rottweiler
under a blanket—
shoveled dirt
respectfully
313.
the wet dog
smelled of grass;
my damp sweatshirt
soaked from work
smelled of me
314.
my pants
slipped down
my skinny ass—
fallen suspenders
a broken clasp
315.
the homeless old man
bent and down
without a smile
said "God Bless"
and passed me by
316.
Trump flags
in trailer town—
don't need no Harvard nerds,
don't like Queers or foreign breeds,
favor American beers and Fox TV.
Trump improvements:
nobody eats dogs
or cats anymore; instead,
the poor eat canned
dog food from the store.
317.
reading the thick
Tanka Anthology—
between the lines
of brevity, many seeds
were planted in me
318.
white bird shit
on my bonsai pot—
a patina of elegant
naturalness,
I did not wipe it off
319.
A fluorescent bulb
fell and bounced—
then broken glass
spewed smoky
argon, xenon, neon,
mercury and
krypton out.
320.
Blossoms gone
from cherry trees—
flying bugs
bounce off the screen;
Spring a faded memory.
321.
my high school
basketball coach
had no right hand—
an Anzio grenade
blew it away and
killed another man
322.
little lady
thin and prim
beautiful blouse
hair perfectly trimmed—
I want to kiss her ear
323.
Darkness brewed:
unsettled thoughts
crowded anxieties
helter-skelter memories
all dispelled by sleep.
324.
walking home
in the dark—
moonlit path
spooky
sounds
325.
saying
the rosary,
world peace
sought—
childish thoughts
326.
two plus two
equals six—
she failed
the math quiz
four times
327.
blocked shot
rebound sought
put back in—
popcorn dropped
cheering stopped
328.
summertime
swimmers
towel off—
children grin
in umbrella shade
329.
sunny angles
bright and shadows
half-lit leaves—
obscure memories
half-hidden dreams
330.
In the Port Orford
rain and wind—
myrtlewood shop
carved souvenirs
dry indoors.
331.
Logging trucks
on Hwy 101—
passing me
speeding
to the Aberdeen mills.
332.
fast wind
shaking everything—
reading indoors
don't hear or feel
cold air streams
333.
rat race
ain't bad,
snails pace
ain't bad—
any pace please
334.
a keepsake
an ornate shell—
remembering
my childhood's
prosaic home
335.
my daughter
a grandmother
will be—
my grand daughter
a mother...
decades flew by
336.
A poet's
introduction—
longer than
the one tanka
he read.
337.
Halloween:
she set
an extra
dinner plate
for hungry
dead friends
338.
My grandmother's
Family Bible—
a big heavy tome
unopened for years
a dusty history.
339.
Talked with
a Two Spirit man
on a beach in Chinook lands
we laughed and said goodbye,
did not kiss.
340.
Nonna
once
making sauce—
decades lost
empty pot.
341.
memories
of mom—
playing canasta
on the beach
blanket hot
342.
For 50 years
we laughed
we cried—
and still
happily alive.
343.
pasta
sauce
bubbling—
my dead dad's
recipe
344.
the family
we choose
and the
ones
we inherit
345.
dancing
in the dark—
embracing
silent
remarks
346.
old hurts
can get in the way
of new beginnings—
my mother
used to say
347.
The cold dead heart
of practicality—
kept me away
from someone
I wished to be.
348.
gopher snake
crawls to his hole—
my growling dog
snarling craves
snake sushi
349.
smiling
bidding goodbye—
carried her
carry on
out of sight
350.
No Rock of Ages
under which to hide
from rain and snow—
the forest cut down
for clapboard homes
Bundled Up:
Quintains and Tanka Poems
By Mike Garofalo
351.
The day began
with a BANG—
Mt. Saint Helen's erupted
45 years ago,
melted all the snow.
352.
Digging wild carrots
"Yampah, s-luk'um"
Little Fingers—
Oreille River
Spring greens.
353.
plucking huckleberries
sucking juice
fingers in our mouth—
humming
"numanumanumanuma"
354.
holding tightly
to the ladder's sides
stepping carefully—
unsteady lately
my 80th birthday
355.
sand sculptures
in Saint Helens
sit on the shore—
river will rise
erasing the art
356.
shot in the arm
a bullet of vaccine—
working on trust
she takes a chance
on a little bit of the disease
357.
The store detective
shuts off the alarm—
offender escorted,
paperwork prepared,
elderly thief sits on a chair.
358.
Called by the School Principal,
my son in a fight—
defending or offending
the issue at hand,
we wrestle with "facts."
359.
evening walk
around my block—
dogs bark
squirrels dart
children talk
360.
heartwarming
film
ended—
we were both
teary-eyed
I really appreciate positive feedback,
reviews, kudos, and encouragement
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Send your comments to:
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361.
opening
the book
adjusting
the lamp—
wiping my glasses
362.
"Effigies of Indifference"
Idle scarecrows goofing off
Full bellied Rich sleeping it off
Freeway racers cutting people off
Drunken homeboys steal and scoff
Burn them all, buy them off
Deny them any energy
Toss them off the Thomas Bridge
Cheering as they screaming fall
Relics of Responsibility
Hung on sacred olive trees
Cheered by people good and free
363.
Streams of incoherence
Rivers of incomprehensibility
Oceans of meaninglessness—
Occasional glimpses
of fools-gold in the poems.
[Reading Ashbery-Verlaine]
"The idea is to reach the unknown
by the derangement of all the
senses."
- Arthur Rimbaud (1854-1891)
"Let your verse be
aimless chance."
- Paul Verlaine (1844-1896)
364.
muddling
my way—
not understanding
hardly coping
crippled by ignorance
365.
touching
her hand
gently—
wedding
vows
366.
tired
sleepy—
tossing
turning...
Insomnia
367.
old computer
screen
flickering—
elderly sick
pixels
368.
Winter yurt camping
at Nehalem Bay
my favorite—
annoying crowds
stay far away.
369.
Many mosquitoes
on Memorial Day
biting and stinging—
kept unsafely away
by poisonous spray.
370.
fallen
faded
rhododendron blooms—
hot days in
June
371.
Driving by my
old Bandini home—
it is 80 years old
as I am today.
Both a bit worn and frayed.
372.
moonbeams
brighten
meadow foam
Flowers—
Willamette night
373.
the bird
Crashed
into the window glass—
flapped for moments
then died
374.
Morning...
Arch Rocks,
Spruce trees on the top—
I sit dazed...
Amazed!
Highway 101 and 1: A Docu-Poem
375.
That I will become
the roots of a tree
bothers me—
preferring to be
a sweet cherry
376.
fatigue
leaves me drifting
half-asleep
in my sinking body
motionless
377.
Barber's
Adagio for Strings
transports me—
to the rolling green
Palouse Hills.
378.
These hands
shaking
unintentionally—
telling me
unpleasant things.
379.
Old age:
black bananas
moldy cheese
broken toys
rusted dreams
380.
Tempted
to cut my wrists
to end the pain—
worn out body
mind mislaid
381.
moonbeams
make visible
shaking leaves
of willow trees—
June breeze
382.
these hands
write on
blue lines—
Notebook
guidelines
383.
My blue notebook's blue lines
Guide my pencil's trajectory
Space out my words
March them straight in line.
Mysterious marks on white wood.
384.
two squirrels
spinning around the
tree, up and down—
rituals of
romance
385.
I Don't own a Moleskine Notebook;
Sleek, black, hip design, $25.00.
I Own a Top Flight Wired Notebook;
Pack of three for $15.00, good utility.
Filled mine up with thoughts from me.
Traveler's carry their Moleskines
to China, where its made, a
handsome accessory in their hands—
jotting down the names, addresses,
and costs of places they crave to see.
Some folks fill their Moleskines
with drawings and sketches fine,
with diaries from their daily lives,
with notes and lists to organize,
to document their moments lost in time.
- Roland Allen, The Notebook: A
History of Thinking on Paper
386.
Buckets of piss
cured hides for parchment
and pulp rags for paper in 1568—
from 1568 to 1968
writers All needed this: Paper!
387.
holding an axe
heavy and sharp—
showing my
young son
how to chop
388.
conspicuous consumption
parked at the curb—
toys for the rich,
RVs and trailers
gathering dust
389.
obscure metaphors
random adjectives
pointless words
askew verbs—
post-modern gibberish
[Verlaine-Rimbaud,
delighted
would be.]
390.
worm in my hand
Wiggling—
returned to the earth
where It wants to be
Living...
391.
A picture of treason
hung on the wall—
my father tore up
the picture of Buddha,
not allowed.
392.
Catholics and Baptists
new ecumenical friends:
conspiring to defy
secular trends—
Christian Nationalism.
393.
I've never done
LSD, cocaine, or ludes,
not my mug of tea—
ordinary me
is quite satisfactory.
394.
green steel
blue sun
orange plums
red seals—
color-blind nun
395.
Piers of silence
sway in the fog
shaking their legs
in salt-water taffy.
Fishermen smoked stogies.
396.
The birds saw
hiker's parading
down the dusty trails—
geese flew south
by invisible trails.
397.
Invisible particles
of atomic mass
infinitesimal weight
holding immense energy
spinning space
398.
Time handed itself
Diaries from the past—
It remembered, read,
It recollected, reviewed
It spit out stale old news.
399.
Her arithmetic
was faulty,
but it did
not matter—
her kisses counted
400.
Everybody
wants Love—
Loneliness
can Crush
one's Soul
Bundled Up:
Quintains, Pentastichs, Tanka Poems
By Mike Garofalo
Quintain Poetry Sections on this Webpage
Bundled Up, Volume 1
Poems 1-99
Poems 100-199
Poems 200-299
Poems 300-399
Poems 400-499
Poems 500-599
Poems 600-699
Poems 700-799
Poems 800-899
Poems 900-1,000
Quintains Research
Bundled Up: Volume 2
Quintains 1,000 - 1,500
401.
Earthquake rubble
Bodies buried
Wails of mourners
City destroyed—
Even Titan's Shocked!
402.
dead bodies
rotting
in the rubble—
earthquake sirens
silent
403.
grief
holds all—
gutting
our guts
—stalled
404.
The Columbine killers
in trench coats black—
asked victims
"Do you believe in God?"
then shot themselves.
405.
Timothy McVeigh
killed 168 people
to set an example
of Right Wing Pride;
then tried to hide.
406.
He blew up a
Planned Parenthood Clinic—
to stop STD prevention,
to stop birth control,
to control women more.
407.
Nagasaki
flash of flames
flattened city—
burning omen
of Cold War
408.
He killed his wife
with a kitchen knife:
jury returns,
judge pounded his gavel,
killer's children cry.
409.
Hate
motivates,
greed
gravitates—
the ruthless congregate.
410.
I tried to tolerate
his many hates.
But, he polluted my mind,
wasted my time;
so I never talked to him again.
411.
mushy oatmeal
milk and sugar
stirred gently
tasty treat
breakfast treat
412.
Doing nothing
erases time—
sleeping mind
413.
"an inexhaustible wardrobe
has been placed
at the disposal
of each new
occurrence."
- John Ashbery, Scheherazade
414.
slowly becoming
someone new
instead of me—
transformed
intentionally
415.
Can't
turn off my brain
thoughts blowing like rain.
Midnight! Just can't turn off the
Rant.
416.
Another fine book devoured:
[schifanora, a boredom buster,]
swilled down, eaten up,
digested whole, feeding my mind,
for hour after hour.
"Of fingers on a book
suddenly snapped shut.
- John Ashbery, A Man of Words
417.
The future bounced off
my fingers while too tightly
holding the past.
The past slipped through
my fingers while readily
reaching to the future.
My fingers touched my fingers
praying in the Now.
418.
My middle finger says "up yours."
Fate might give us the finger,
and, as a rule of thumb, we
must accept the bad some.
I thank my middle finger
for sticking up for me.
Fist Up, Fuck You Racist America.
419.
Powered by my fingers my
cellphone works for me
pressing, sliding, scrolling,
from screen to screen;
the main App is my hand.
420.
I've always been
just a little
out of hand
out of touch
with Reality.
421.
"One primary color can make me feel mellow
when warm like honey heated up or like rays of a golden sun.
It’s flax, saffron, blond, and canary yellow,
cheerful like a daffodil and bumblebee fun.
It’s bananas too and a well-buttered bun!
- Adrea Dietrich
"Never paint except
with the three primary colors
[red, blue, and yellow]
and their derivatives."
-
Camille Pissarro
422.
= Hands Down =
= their real =
= their true =
= their here =
= their new =
423.
Memorial Day
end of May—
remembering
dead soldiers who
lost all their days.
424.
He sure Fooled me
as I could see—
to late
to unbuckle
my Stupidity.
425.
Ten o'clock
time for bed
just a habit
in my body's head—
to close another day.
426.
The marvelous minuscule
Has Magic for its Curse
Taking it away from itself
Not great, just common place,
Tricked out of its rightful state.
427.
The Supreme Being thing
a theological dream
compared to Billions of Things—
Taking a bite of Reality
spitting out the seeds.
428.
aching hips
skinned shin
hurting shoulder
stupid grin—
wishing I was 50 again
429.
Driving up to Siskiyou Summit
on Interstate 5:
trucks lumbering up,
cars slowing down, then
everyone speeding fast
Down the steep Mountain side.
430.
University of California
at Santa Barbara
at Santa Cruz—
seaside campus life
shaping student's minds.
431.
When my mother died
we all cried;
When my father died
sadly
hardly anyone cried.
432.
To-ing and Fro-ing
Com-ing and Go-ing
Tip toeing through
Time Zones—
Seeking Unknowns
433.
Listening to teachers speak
and reading what they wrote—
actor or writer,
performer or author;
significantly different insights.
434.
Asked my Voyager Tarot deck,
"What will inspire me today?"
It said: "Steer the Chariot with Strength,
Learn, Aspire to be a Hierophant"
Vague, but somehow wise.
The Hierophant respects the Past
but wisely adapts
to the present tasks—
teaching others how to be
peaceful, good and wise.
"Poets are the Hierophants of an unapprehended inspiration; the mirrors of the gigantic shadows which futurity casts upon the present; the words which express what they understand not."
- Percy Bysshe Shelley, A Defense of Poetry, 1820
435.
ACE hardware store
Spring Plant Sale:
veggies and roses
flags and hoses—
Memorial Day
436.
Walking today
so slow—
a snail
slimed
on the go
437.
Tulips
erect
red & cream—
gentle breeze
fans my dreams
438.
watering
parched plants
dutifully—
June sunshine
sucking energy
[June in the Garden Anthology]
439.
birds in the bird bath
flapping their wings
drinking and bathing—
eying each other sexually
seeking a fling
440.
she quoted her poem
held in her hand—
some poets in line
ready to rant
at Open Mic time...
some bitter minds
441.
June is her name
June is a month
June is for weddings
June is when school's out
June is before July
June is ...
[June in the Garden Anthology]
442.
downtown Vancouver
at dusk—
homeless men
hitting their heads
mumble and shout
443.
San Andreas Fault
below Tomales Bay—
experts warning
seaside folks
move away
444.
hung up our flag
in our front yard—
not to proclaim MAGA
not to tout freedom...
just Memorial Day
445.
tired of everything
nothing interesting
bored and bitter
deepening funk
can't laugh
446.
family dinner
Memorial Day—
nobody mentioned
what dead soldiers
Gave
447.
External validation:
a printed book of your poems,
a positive review
a prize in a poetry contest
people actually buying your book.
If not, internal satisfaction.
Reviews of Mike Garofalo's Websites
448.
one
day she
said to me,
"your going to hell
before you die in 2035"
Definitions: Quintains and Tanka
Cuttings: Haiku, Tercets, Quintains
25 Steps and Beyond: Collected Works
449.
"Einstein, the frizzy-haired,
proved E equals MC squared.
Thus, all mass decreases
as activity ceases?
Not my mass, my ass declared!"
"If God is good
half the Bible
is libel."
- Michael R. Birch
450.
Shapely as a
pile of dung.
Shapeless as a
pile of crap.
Which one?
Bundled Up:
Quintains and Tanka Poems
By Mike Garofalo
451.
Slept well
all night.
Refreshed!
Nobody cares.
Morning light.
452.
She heard
his engine start
and rumble—
he leaves for work
at 3am alone
453.
The "New York School" of poets,
a brand, a moniker,
an ad man's ploy:
O'Hara, Koch, Schuyler, Ashbery, Guest ...
Sustained a new movement's lively arc
of the post 1950's avant-garde.
454.
'To sustain a language that is both mucky and perfumed, to bring us face to face with the Now in which everything must happen, to have the reader speak the poem, to communicate something unknown to the reader,
to write the poem fit for the occasion."
- Paraphrase of David Herd, JA&AP, p.7 and John Ashbery
455.
You can smoke some shit,
drink until your shit faced,
buy some more shit,
feel like shit,
and find yourself in a boat load of shit.
456.
Knock! Knock!
the door was locked.
Richard Braudigan was dead on the floor,
shot himself and left a note:
"Sorry for the mess."
457.
convoluted
contorted
confusing
Prose—
delighted me
458.
mowed the lawn
pulled some weeds
watered plants—
an old gardener's
ritual deeds
459.
the hostess with the mostess
hosted another party fine
poured the wine
told jokes
dined
460.
showering
warm water
comforting my body
tired from working today
toweling off, ready to lay
461.
Stopped watching TV
all week
eliminated—
900 commercials
polluting my brain.
462.
waiting for sunset
late May day—
listening to cello
playing softly
time away
463.
Holding a eucalyptus seed
gnarly little balls
round and hard—
fragrant memories
of Tomales Bay
The Eucalyptus Trees in Tomales Bay
464.
Confessional poets expose:
their mental illnesses
their drug addictions
their failed love affairs—
Please, more privacy.
465.
Friday afternoon
suburban silence
accompanies walkers—
dogs bark
under trees
466.
back muscles
cramping up—
old age
creeping up
unfortunately
467.
Mourning
her death
yesterday—
passing
images of graves
468.
drugstore shelves
full and neat—
clerks working
overtime shifts
for birthday gifts
469.
commotion in
the check out line—
no ID
for a bottle
of wine
470.
tempted to buy
a cannabis joint—
reminded myself
of the slippery path
to Excess
471.
A penny saved
a worthless act.
A million dollars
saved—
unnecessary
472.
Little boats float down
the Cowlitz River
scooping up Eulachon smelt.
Oily slimy skinny fishlets
flopping wildly into nets.
473.
reading e.e.'s poems
in the campus shade
students walk by silently;
somewhere in a library
hangs another painting by e.e.
[e.e.cummings (1894-1962),
American painter, author, poet.]
474.
being baffled
spurs a fight
to find
solutions
to the bind
475.
"Our novels get longa and longa
Their language gets stronga and stronga
There’s much to be said
For a life that is led
In illiterate places like Bonga"
- H. G. Wells
476.
The plot opens a non-distinct door
into a room as bland as a broom
where four people who never met before
face each other for evermore entombed
a No Exit sign on every locked door.
477.
Different voices counseled his listening mind
Poised like a sprinter at the white chalk line
Ready for the pistol's blank Pop-Shot
Carrying the baton of rapt ears and mind
To philosophically fly towards the finish line.
478.
comatose in Room 421
fourth floor of hospital—
family gathered
waiting patiently
for me to die
479.
"The tide rises, the tide falls,
The twilight darkens, the curlew calls;
Along the sea-sands damp and brown
The traveler hastens toward the town,
And the tide rises, the tide falls."
-
William Wadsworth Longfellow,
The Tide Rises the Tide Falls
480.
corn on the cob
cooked and buttered—
where did it
come from
in cold May
481.
Neighborhood fat-men
talking outside—
every fourth word "Fuck"
every sixth work "Shit"
"God damn" for emphasis.
[Current American Eloquence]
482.
Legs like cement bags
heavy to lift
sluggish to stride—
nodded and smiled
at other old passersby
483.
"Earth raised up her head,
From the darkness dread & drear.
Her light fled:
Stony dread!
And her locks covered with grey despair."
- William Blake, Earth's Answer
484.
Reading John Ashbery
at 11:05 under a night light
despite tired eyes—
puzzled by ironic asides
surprised by metaphorical twists
485.
I was under his thumb:
disgraced, put down, numb.
I was under her thumb:
loved, uplifted, fun.
Utterly Different Thumbs.
486.
"A triangle of light against the wall,
as though a lizard—no, a lizard’s dream
luxuriated there, pleased with itself.
With time it shifts, though imperceptibly:
an arrowhead of aimless, seamless stealth."
- Humphrey Astley, The Quintains
487.
Up at 5 am
still dark outside—
water steaming
coffee brewing;
later sunrise.
488.
"Helen, thy beauty is to me
Like those Nicaean boats of yore,
That gently, o’er a perfumed sea,
The weary, way-worn wanderer bore
To his own native shore."
- Edgar Allen Poe, To Helen
488.
The Flashing Lights of Destiny
grabbed his wallet
and his keys and
drove home—
could not remember
where he lived
Dreaming
he could not
remember
important things—
a Nightmare!
light bulb
burned out—
sat in the dark
alone
for hours
Forgot his
ATM password;
Misplaced
his cellphone—
baffled and alone.
forgot to
take his medicine—
slowly digging
his own
grave
489.
"In everyone there sleeps
A sense of life lived according to love.
To some it means the difference they could make
By loving others, but across most it sweeps
As all they might have done had they been loved."
- Philip Larkin, Whitsun Weddings
490.
The garden glowed red rain
His mental state was insane
He stumbled and fell in his sleep
Walked backward in the street
Crushed bananas with his cleats
491.
She wanted to be adored
bought lingerie
at the Fredrick's store—
for an hour
his interest flared
492.
"Some primal termite knocked on wood
And tasted it, and found it good!
And that is why your Cousin May
Fell through the parlor floor today."
- Ogden Nash
493.
"Life is an immobile, locked,
Three-handed struggle between
Your wants, the world's for you, and (worse)
The unbeatable slow machine
That brings what you'll get.
- Philip Larkin, Life with a Hole in It
494.
The Tower in Astoria
high on the hill
a monument to one history—
selective rendition art homage
to past portside pioneers.
495.
twisted mind
denies his crimes—
jury must decide
separating truth
out from lies
496.
colored fantasies
vivid dreams
shades of insights
scraps of epiphanies
boundless sensuality
497.
He spied a sea shell at his feet
gleaming gris azul shimmering
sat in bubbles on salty sand—
much younger than he
dead already, flipped by the sea.
498.
It took him hours and hours
To figure a proper solution
Out. Quitting was not
Optional. Not right.
Thinking bites!
499.
Too Hot!
Sweat
Dripping
Down
Now
500.
Spots of Time shined
clear in Wordsworth's Mind;
Still Points stalled in lines
for Eliot's visions of Signs;
Reminders of Specificity Underlined.
Coming-Going, slipping on by.
Happenings come and go
Undoubtedly a grand fine Show
Grabbing our wandering Attentions
Fixing a scene well Framed
Then drifting down in Oblivion.
Bundled Up:
Quintains, Pentastichs, Tanka Poems
By Mike Garofalo
Quintain Poetry Sections on this Webpage
Bundled Up, Volume 1
Poems 1-99
Poems 100-199
Poems 200-299
Poems 300-399
Poems 400-499
Poems 500-599
Poems 600-699
Poems 700-799
Poems 800-899
Poems 900-1,000
Quintains Research
501.
Taste?
A matter of opinion?
No.
A matter of will, of choice,
of a moral and social voice.
502.
No Trumps in my Hand
I find Trump tasteless:
no music, no literature,
no dogs, no joy ...
just angry Twitters from a
rich, bitter, petty, lonely boy.
Blue suit, blue tie,
a red hat on his orange head.
Mumbling nothings disconnected,
bragging, criticizing,
bouncing golf balls off our heads.
Even the First Lady dislikes
this phony fellow,
staying away from the White House,
to avoid this lying felon,
a goofball red hat devil.
Mao devotees had their Red Book,
Trump devotees their Red Hat.
Dictators both full of wrath.
Destroyers of the culture of history.
False prophets of our solipsist destinies.
503.
Turned the pages one by one
reading slowly in the shade
stopped at the start of Chapter 5—
went inside
sipped a beer, then slept.
504.
"Over the river, and through the wood,
To grandfather's house we go;
The horse knows the way
To carry the sleigh
Through the white and drifted snow."
- Lydia Maria Child, Thanksgiving Day
505.
“If it
Were lighter touch
Than petal of flower resting
On grass, oh still too heavy it were,
Too heavy!”
- Adelaine Crapsey, The Guarded Wound
506.
"Moments come and moments go
as time keeps marching on;
hold me now and kiss me slow
‘fore sunlight breaks with morning dawn,
and wills this precious moment gone."
- John Dondolf, A Moment Frozen in Time
507.
"Love built a stately house, where Fortune came,
And spinning fancies, she was heard to say
That her fine cobwebs did support the frame,
Whereas they were supported by the same;
But Wisdom quickly swept them all away."
- George Herbert, The World
508.
Three Post-Modern Poetry Rules
The poem
Stands for Itself;
Not for something
Outside of
Itself.
Allow chance
to procreate—
open doors
for randomness
to integrate
Play with your work
work more with play;
Creating words a game
the game here is to play—
write poetry this way
[Fairfield Porter's 'Three Rules'
for avant-garde poetry, 1959]
509.
Smells tantalized his tongue
Bells rung in his soul
Visions of ripening plums
Lifted his fork to his mouth
Tasted the pulse of paradise.
510.
watermelon juice
dripping from my mouth
down my shirt—
juicy June
fond memories
[June in the Garden Anthology]
511.
"A flea and a fly in a flue
Were imprisoned, so what could they do?
Said the fly, "let us flee!"
"Let us fly!" said the flea.
So they flew through a flaw in the flue."
- Ogden Nash
512.
DON'T YOU BELIEVE?
In what? I asked.
IN JESUS CHRIST?
Not really. Don't shout.
I prefer a Buddha's doubts.
513.
"Eternity in an hour"
billions born from a dime
kilowatts from nuclear power
millions of sperm working overtime—
Blows my Mind!
514.
"At least I have the flowers of myself
and my thoughts, no god
can take that;
I have the fervour of myself for a presence
and my own spirit for light."
-Hilda Doolittle, Eurydice
515.
Happy
Perhaps
Sometimes ...
| [engaged romance] |
{surprised chance} |
!thoughtless dance! |
| =pleasures enhanced= |
#warm pants# |
@spurious rants@ |
| $wallet fat$ |
&enthusiastic claps& |
....... |
516.
Seriousness not happiness
Intensity not flippancy
Playing not winning
Something not nothing;
One or the Other, or Both.
517.
I tried to make, to paint
the Pacific sea Moon tonight,
but ran out of paint, brushes to,
a glueless collage waved apart,
the canvas burned in the dark
the Sea in a thimble would not fit
now on the burnt canvas tossed away,
brushes floating in grating surf
a hundred Lowe's paint cans unleashed
to color the kites at Klitsan Beach
the collage reassembled, laughed and cooed
showering implications on our shoes
skipping by condos at Ocean Shores
painters all wept, locked their doors,
painted starfish on concrete floors
I gave up unhandy tasks for me
wording and naming better pants a fit,
the painter's lot is not my thing;
gave away my painter's smock,
took up a notebook, walked to the dock.
518.
Dead house plant
withered and brown—
Old glasses now,
frame bent and broken;
need visit optometrist now.
519.
Some family and friends
homosexuals, not queer,
ordinary folks of good cheer,
hardworking, smart, nice;
no reason to fear.
520.
A nonce word, a cryptic term,
specified to a specific occasion
fixed for only one case:
D-Day, Overlord, OOD:
June 6, 1944, Normandy
521.
"There was a young belle of old Natchez
Whose garments were always in patchez.
When comments arose
On the state of her clothes,
She replied, "When Ah itchez, Ah scratchez."
- Ogden Nash
522.
"There was an Old Man with a beard,
Who said, "It is just as I feared!
Two Owls and a Hen,
Four Larks and a Wren,
Have all built their nests in my beard!"
- Edward Lear
523.
Pismo Beach trailer park
packed full of old folks
huddling in their metal box
from dawn to dark;
never going beachcombing.
524.
Body like the valley.
Blood like the river.
Mind like the sunshine.
—ideas shaped by words
similes like analogies
525.
tip tap
raindrops
on my vest—
a morning walk in
June
526.
Nataraja, Nataraja,
Shiva Nataraja—
yoga hymns a
floating chorus over
our solemn mats
527.
cold winds
Netarts Bay—
on Three Arch Rocks
tuffed puffins
fly and play
528.
Tuffed Puffins—
bright orange beaks
long yellow head tuffs;
congregate and breed
near Netarts Bay.
529.
Puce bustier
not for the shy—
elegant cleavage
caught his eyes
aroused his mind
530.
"Hickory dickory dock,
the mouse ran up the clock;
the clock struck one
and down he run;
hickory dickory dock."
- Mother Goose
531.
I Do This I Do That:
Like O'Hara's rat race
from cafe to subway
gallery to Queer Baths;
from here to there, Fast.
- James Lehman,
The Last Avant-Garde
532.
"I hear the sewage singing
underneath my bright white seat and know
the somewhere sometimes it will reach the sea
gulls and swordfishes will find it richer that a river."
- Frank O'Hara
533.
It is just the thing
this thing in my hand,
unlike other things—
something to hold
a brown rubber band.
534.
She was a hot tamale
He a cool dude
Together a Love Couple
Hip and real rude
Young with fast moves
535.
control freak
pushy boss
loud mouth
rants and raves
pain in the ass
536.
Poetry reading
cool night,
audience clapping
from delight—
Ghost Town crowd.
- Vancouver, WA
Ghost Town Open Mic
537.
"Sumer is ycomen in,
Loude sing cuckoo!
Groweth seed and bloweth meed.
And springth the wode now.
Sing cuckoo!
Ewe bleteth after lamb,
Loweth after calve cow,
Bullock sterteth, bucke, verteth,
Merye sing, cuckoo!
Cuckou, cuckoo"
- Anonymous, 1250
538.
trimming my beard
shaving my face
my bald head—
needs little attention
but for some cream
538.
I learned Roger died today.
We lifted weights at the gym
four days a week in Red Bluff
for three years together;
His legs were stronger than 50 men.
539.
Reading Billy Collins:
ordinary, direct,
down to earth, lived,
relateable, complex—
Readers are so fortunate.
540.
Midnight in Mendocino
Dawn in Eureka
Noon in Port Orford
Dusk in Coos Bay—
Highway 101 was slow today.
541.
"But all they want to do
is tie the poem to a chair with rope
and torture a confession out of it.
They begin by beating it with a hose
to find out what it really means."
- Billy Collins,
Introduction to Poetry
542.
this uninterrupted
series of fads—
flashing by
like advertising ads;
flashes of fools-gold
in a bottomless bucket
543.
"From a small vase, sparking blue, lift
a yellow pencil, the sharpest of the bouquet,
and cover pages with tiny sentences
like long rows of devoted ants
that followed you in from the woods."
- Billy Collins,
Advice to Writers
544.
Not lonely when I am alone
Content with busy invisibility
A movement of One, not avant-garde
Not steered by a crowd
By agendas other than my own.
545.
"So you read 'Billy Collins'"
she bandied with a smirk;
preferring The Beats,
not a homespun bourgeois teacher.
He bristled around this poetry snob.
546.
She laughed at his innocence:
he frowned,
too much diplomacy
and faked charms
to bring her around.
547.
"When, beside a window, one feels evening prevail
Who is there who can receive its slanting veil
And not regret day that bore it on its stream
Whether day was joy or under evil's regime
Drawing us to the one and deploring the other
Regretting the departure of all our brothers
And all that made the day, including its strains."
- John Ashbery, Some Words
548.
My poems often collapse
into bad art, boring stanzas,
ho-hum themes, empty memes,
trite things, wasted moonbeams.
But, every so often a good one.
549.
Reading interviews
with haiku poets—
doctors, dancers, managers,
publishers, artists, teachers...
fine kind souls.
550.
they came
they wrote
they lived
they died
planted words for us
551.
summer surf
so cold—
surfers in Westport
float near jetty rocks
in wet suits from neck to toe
552.
cold hearted killers
In Cold Blood—
chain sawing up enemies
for a drug lord's rule
heartlessly for cash
553.
Up at 3 am
Sleepless in Red Bluff—
listening to a string quartet
playing Philip Glass
into my green silent room.
554.
At 80 years Old:
still walking on flat ground,
still gardening on the land,
still doing yoga on the floor...
staying grounded, hoping for more.
555.
For Krishna
Black is Beautiful—
Shyam (blue-black)
he is colored by kids
in India's religious coloring books.
Mysterious Dark,
Mystical Blue,
as bright as midnight—
Wisdom, Compassion,
Singing, and Righteousness
are his true hue.
556.
"These two spring from the same source
but different in name;
This appears as darkness,
Darkness within Darkness,
The Gate to All Mysteries."
- Gia-Fu Feng and Jane English
Dao De Jing, Chapter 1
[Dao De Jing,
Concordance and Anthology,
by Mike Garofalo.]
557.
"Life is disjointed, repetitions,
and a meaningless wicket"
said Samuel Becket;
a dog-eat-dog world,
a rat-race Theater of the Absurd.
558.
His poem didn't depict one thing
Or paint a photographic scene
Or tell a good story to me—
It just was, on it's own
Just, actually, just Something.
559.
my mind retreated
hid today
refusing to speak—
incognito
unrecognized
560.
the poetry reader's
soft voice
slow pace—
became unheard
lost in space
561.
sunny day
end of May—
mocking bird
changing pitches
stretching sounds
562.
she called
to say
he left
her today—
they both cried
563.
The green of Spring
lawns mowed down
glowing at dawn
bordered by trees—
ignoring me.
564.
We did the same things
Almost nothing!
Sipped coffee and cream.
Watched walkers walk by.
Day-dreamed.
565.
Maybe the syntax is haywire
wrong the yes spelling maybe
maybe the semantics wavers
down upside negatives tripling
clearly obscurity unintended.
566 to 593
Hood Canal
Dosewallips State Park
Washington State
566.
Highway 101
winds past
Brinnon to Potlach—
from forests to the edge of the seas,
the Hood sea flapping endlessly.
567.
O! Amazed! The pale blue sea—
The Hood Canal’s little waves
slapping the rocky shore.
Happy oysters settling—
Oh! Took my breath away.
568.
The buzz of aircraft
over the red cedars
fading...
a big black ant
crawled over me
569.
No ancient ruins
no famous folks
no documented histories
no great battle scenes—
just fish in the Hood Canal.
570.
Seal Rock campground
concrete picnic bench—
slight breeze
dappled shade
nobody here but me
571.
Heartburn’s heavy
painful stab—
pharmacy had
what I need
Rolaids' Tabs
572.
Occasional red
Pacific Madrone trunk—
roadside decoration
sprinkled amongst
spruce and cedar trees
573.
A couple walking
the Seal Rock path—
he very tall
she very short
hand in hand
574.
Not a single boat
of blue or gray
speeding by
anywhere today—
Monday workday!
575.
Keyboard singing
from the French Suite
or Well Tempered Clavier—
J.S. Bach by Argerich
in the dark woods on MP3s.
576.
Surprisingly,
the campground was empty
these final days
of Spring—
Twilight Zone scene.
577.
The cafe was empty
except for me
eating fried Hamma Hamma oysters—
the perky young waitress
told me her stories
578.
One blooming rhododendron
on a slope dressed in spiky ferns;
one girl and four boys
waiting for the school bus
coexisting amicably.
579.
emptiness hums
a solemn tune
clothed invisibly
hiding in
branches of hanging skies
580.
Rainbow View Falls trail
steep and long
for an 80 year old—
my knees and thighs
ached for two days on.
581.
Mt. Walker flanked
deep Rainbow Falls—
salmon hatchery
on the tiny Quilcene stream,
returning hatchlings to the sea.
582.
The Hood waterways
blurred in hazy mist
dull gray obscured today—
flashes of sunlight
cut through the trees.
583.
From Chimacum
to Quilcene, picturesque
rolling hills of farms—
faster cars
Speed around me!
584.
“DosEwallips” they say
not “Doswallips” like me,
spelled “Dosewallips” correctly—
Saying “pOtato” or “poTato,”
tastes so good either way.
585.
In heated afternoons
I sit in the shade;
reading dead poets
still alive
in printed words on paper trees.
586.
Many see them in clouds
faces and animals
appearing and disappearing.
I see them in photographs
as if captured alive.
587.
She told me
“look for the Strawberry Moon”
tonight; above the Hood sea.
I did. The Man in the Moon
was munching plump strawberries.
588.
The road through Sequim—
four lanes fast pass
flat fields of lavender and grass
in the rain shadow of Mt. Olympus,
sunnier, drier, less overcast.
589.
The tourists nod as they pass
from Port Townsend to Port Angeles
on a straight stretch of Hwy 101—
sipping a cafe mocha
on the run.
590.
I’m not in Beijing, Rome,
or Buenos Aries—
just in the Geoduck cafe (in Brinnon),
eating clams, drinking beer,
listening to locals I can understand.
591.
Strawberry Moon
hung low
orange glow
midnight rose
over Lilliwaup Cove
592.
Elk heads stuffed
on the Geoduck Cafe wall.
Still life taxidermy. Hair
bristling. Comatose,
heard the elk's stifled moan.
593.
Codfish battered
and fried. French fries
stale and crisp.
Ketchup and Tartar
sauce for dips. Cold beer.
566 to 593
Hood Canal
Dosewallips State Park
Washington State
594.
The tail of the snake
is not in his mouth—
his skin sheds off
a mouse fills
his wide open mouth
595.
The Nineteenth Century
ended that day
we sang Auld Lang Syne
at a B&B parlor
in Ashland, Oregon, that Key day.
596.
Om Mani Padme Hum
Om Mani Padme Hum...
Ooooommmmmm.
Jeweled lotus in pond scum.
Chanting devotees hum till done.
597.
Snow on Mt. Saint Helens
Chocolate on a vanilla ice cream cone.
A brown hat on her blonde head.
Green lottery tickets on a white table.
Waitress wiping the counter clean.
598.
The box cars steadily passed
graffiti tagged billboard blaque
colored border impeccable to claim
residuals from the BSNF Railway
chugging to Expressionist destinies.
599.
Sloshing water
splashing waves
rocky identity—
smoldering campfires
blowing paper trash.
600.
playing gods
Accomplish the Impossible?
Play God? Make The Normal passé?
Cure cancer? Make solar panels?
Create new arts. Know the Future.
Ready, Go, Let’s Start! Soon!
Appropriate the Everything
passing quickly by—
a candle burning at both ends
machines that mimic the mind
mankind walking on the moon
Lazers opening up an eye
a skyscraper a half-mile high
a nuclear reactor making electricity
wine from California in Dubai
vaccine stalling a Black Death Doom
Computers held in your hand
English speakers in every land
millions napalmed in Vietnam
MRI slicing up your brain
new seeds bio-engineered in labs
Twelve tone music in your head
an orthopedic mattress making your bed
transforming sand into computer chips
air frying frozen bagels for your lips
new, New, New, even before this afternoon
Televisions in every room
Radios in every ear worldwide
Around the world jet airplanes fly
Cargo ships shipping timber to Tokyo
Basketball teams in Cameroon
Music playing from CDs
Oil pumped up from underseas
Satellites filling up the sky
Internet smarter with AI
Cruise ships docking in Cancun
Wonders upon Wonders—New!
Faster than a speeding bullet train
Leaping to Mars in a single bound
Yet, seeing the deadly arrows in flight
Pollution our Kryptonite.
Bundled Up:
Quintains, Pentastichs, Tanka Poems
By Mike Garofalo
Quintain Poetry Sections on this Webpage
Bundled Up, Volume 1
Poems 1-99
Poems 100-199
Poems 200-299
Poems 300-399
Poems 400-499
Poems 500-599
Poems 600-699
Poems 700-799
Poems 800-899
Poems 900-1,000
Quintains Research
601.
"Your poems."
a clunkhead said, "have grown
more open." I don't want to be open,
merely to say, to see and say, things
as they are."
- James Schuyler
602.
Let things be as they are,
that is, as we, truly,
encounter them, from
near or from afar;
elusive as they are.
603.
"If only I had
Merely watched as they fell...
The plum blossoms!
But, alas, their fragrance
Lingers still on my sleeve."
- Sosei, Japan
604.
"I shut my eyes
But nothing whatsoever
Surfaces in my mind...
In my utter loneliness
I open them up again"
-
Takuboku, Japan
605.
sun finally
arrived—
high clouds
blew away
clearing the sky
606.
The Past, Present, and Future
agreed to meet in Times Square
on New Year's Eve.
At first, words were tense,
as they all had disagreed
on when to meet for
the Big Apple festivities.
The Future said 'come early,'
the Past said 'not late,'
the Present said
'just be there' fellow time travelers,
to sip from a silver flask
whiskey from a Kentucky distillery,
and with gusto sing
"Auld Lang Syne" to celebrate.
Sombody asked the three
"Are you drunk?"
The Past said "I forgot."
the Future said "tomorrow I'll know,"
the Present sat on the ground plastered
singing Scottish melodies:
"we’ll tak’ a cup o’ kindness yet,
frae morning sun till dine;"
But we’ve wander’d mony a weary fit,
sin’ auld lang syne."
607.
1234567
12345
1234567
1234567
1234567
7-5-7-7-7
7 5 4 1 2 5 7 3
5 7 6 5 3 7 7 3
7 5 4 5 6 7 5 7
7 7 5 5 6 7 7 5
7 7 5 5 6 7 5 7
[Explain]
fenced in by five lines,
boxed in by seven sounds—
still, meaning flows out
a fixed playing field for words,
a frame for our honest doubts.
608.
Flying flies
jumping butterflies
busy bees—
a million movements
between blooming shrubs.
609.
Bonsai pot empty
twisted tree died—
judging nursery plants
for appropriateness
for a new bonsai.
610.
Packing the car:
camping gear
close and tight;
extra blankets
for colder nights.
611.
Slipped and fell
to my knees.
Knocked my head
into the door.
Luckily, I’m still me.
612.
Taking up fallen limbs
scattered randomly—
my back ached
bending down
no stopping now
613.
the soccer pitch
slick from dew—
players wore cleated shoes
but they knew
falling hard could be bad news
614.
It was raining
on the day I was born:
January 23, 1946 in Los Angeles.
I’ve been quite cold and wet
ever since.
615.
I was wobbly
legs unsteady
balance marginal
a little light-headed—
Hung Over unpleasantly!
616.
More bombing in the
Ukraine and Palestine—
civilian casualties climb
Terror reigns
criminal politicians lie.
617.
Counting the millions
killed in the Great Wars—
uncounted corpses
in the rubble of war
uncountable horror.
618.
Don’t dream very much
never did!
Or, I can’t remember
the dreams I did
have but lost.
619.
Consciousness
like a knock-knock joke:
Who’s there? Me!
Who? A Basket of Impressions
passing through...
620.
Dogs eat chicken
dogs - don’t eat - dogs;
men eat beans and corn
unless starving
then eat their dogs.
621.
I watched my
mother and father
Die!
Unconscious before me,
drifting away so peacefully.
622.
Beauty, indeed,
is a bit unendurable—
a little goes a long way
a lot leaves us empty handed
when it’s gone, we stay.
623.
lulls, breaks, stops:
pauses in doing,
lunchtime on the job,
night closing days
dying at dawn
624.
Reading Robert Hass:
standing at Inverness
picking huckleberries
staring at an egret eating;
from the corner of his eye.
625.
Woe to him
whose wasteland is within.
Woe to them
whose wasteland is without.
Wastelands are not prose!
626.
He’s been dead
for forty years:
he’s dead now
dead tomorrow
unclocked forever anyhow.
627.
I saw him renege
playing with Tarot cards:
riffed the Hanged Man,
misplayed the Fallen Tower,
miscounted the Judgment card.
628.
bookstores glazed
in memories—
decades of bookshelves
becoming me
I listen as I read
629.
The Tarot spread
before my teller’s eyes
speaks optimistically—
the Hierophant
never dies.
630.
“I write poems
for a stranger
born in some distant country
a hundred years
from now.”
- Mary Oliver
631.
I’m not a real poet,
just faking, actually,
pretending to be
a word-smithing hacker,
too often unsuccessfully.
632.
Father Priest
scolded me:
hell was my destiny
unless I Believed.
How incorrect was he?
633.
It requires just
one poem, really,
one really fine poem...
To keep you as a footnote
in the poetry history books.
634.
cordiality:
nice to you
you nice to me,
not a rarity
most places
635.
Opening the door for
a charming elderly lady with white-grey
perfectly coiffed hair—
we smile, flirt a pinch,
pass on by, don’t touch.
636.
Chanting melodies
In German—
Hildegard Von Bingen
ethereal beauty
in pure sound
637.
Others know us
as we behave
as we say
as we reveal
till our final day.
638.
Vulgarity disdained
Ambiguity proclaimed
elegance praised
collegiate framed—
New Criticism (1950) Ruled the Game
Elegies to dead animals
multiplied like odes to joylessness
lacking spontaneity and frivolity
formal, polite, mythical, contrite
lacking vernacular bouncing delight.
639.
Sailing around the room
with Billy Collins at the helm—
the fan clicks above my head
the words bounce off the walls
ideas splash off the bow of brains.
640.
I left my childhood behind
at some unspecified time
between 13 and 19—
my loyal dog
seemed suddenly old.
641.
Drowsy afternoon
upward bound,
dinner done,
crows squawk loud,
cellphone buzzes randomly.
642.
Bottles of glue creamy
neon. Papers untidy.
Rubber knives in steel
suitcases. Unlocked.
A license to kill.
643.
Covered with wind:
a tornado. Broken roof.
Cars tossed like loaded dice.
Windows sliced by 2 by 4s.
The crying silence after the storm.
644.
See it again?
Pointless expanse,
wanderlust compulsions,
unreasonable geographic obsessions—
frogs in a boiling pot.
645.
Thoughtless in Port Angeles.
As imprecise as moonlight.
As old as the St. Helens blast.
As sad as an empty whiskey bottle.
As painful as my sunburnt back.
646.
Noisy neighbors!
Boys bounce a basketball,
Mamma talks too loud,
baby cries. Children
scream in my dream.
647.
coffee cold
black bitter
ugly mug
souvenir
Stolen
648.
I once remembered
a better version of myself
figuratively. Clear
to the horizon of Being
crossing the edge of emptiness.
649.
Indifference a place,
faceless effigies of fate,
quitting this shallow job,
roaming to another State,
eating stale peanuts from a can.
650.
Trees together
silent speech—
fungi chatting underneath,
coordinating
October leaves.
651.
The painting slept in the truck
of her Ford unlike a log. Paint
puddled. Smeared in the heat.
Buckled the frame. Finally, died!
A muddled self-portrait without a name.
652.
His door was once always open
so mosquitoes flew in
his generosity faltered
his mood chagrin, so he
closed the door and locked within.
653,
Outside the cafe doors
bulletin boards with
pinned on business cards...
Inside, locals gather
sitting, eating pancakes, talking.
654.
Eight Billion humans growing wilder
a Christened Cancer—
impending suicidal
millions more on the Edges
crawling to the gallows end.
655.
The desire to smoke cannabis
in my deep blood brain
soaked from habits
unrestrained;
the urges slowly leave in weeks
but guilt still leaves a scar.
656.
'The No Kings Day' Protests
Against Fascist King Trump—
He's at a big military parade
to celebrate his birthday
mumbling nonsense to empty stands.
657.
"Get Down On It!
What you gonna do?
Wanna get in a groove.
Get your back off the wall.
Get Down On It!"
-
Kool and the Gang
658.
white lilies in bloom
halfway through June—
Such a sexy smile,
I'm beguiled,
but no chance to bloom
659.
Blind Milton
feared execution
for advocating the death
of King Charles the First.
God Save the King mobs at his door.
660.
Grasping my heart
as the poet cries—
holding her pain
embracing her sadness
sharing her despair
661.
"Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds
Or bends with the remover to remove
Oh, no, it is an ever-fixed mark ..."
- William Shakespeare, Sonnet 116
662.
"May I kiss you?"
he asked. Sweetly.
A gentle shy man
kissing her hand
seeking her plush lips.
663.
It's 10 O'Clock
on the spot;
time for bed
she said—
"workday ahead."
664.
Music makes us Do
what It wants us to Do—
the rhythms the grooves
makes us tap our shoes
sing the chorus in tune.
665.
I sat shivering
in June—
put on a jacket
gloves and hat
to fool the chill
666.
Mountains are moving
Seas are rising
Universals are unraveling.
Shrubs are dying,
Particulars are crying.
667.
She loved him.
He no longer cared—
he left abruptly
never to return.
Left his three kids in a lurch.
—Deadbeat Non-Dad!
668.
"Winter coming. Like the last heroic soldier
Of a defeated army, you'll stay at your post,
Head bared to the first snowflake.
Till a neighbor comes to yell at you,
'You're crazier that the weather, Charlie.'"
- Charles Simic, Against Winter
666.
"My activity is random as the wind
Why should I insist
The visitor is free to go
Or to stay, as he chooses:
I think you shd make yr decision."
- John Ashbery
The Double Dream of Spring
667.
I will have composed over 2,000
Quintains by July of 2025.
Many more 5 Liners to come,
even some from the past.
Savory Quintain Snacks.
668.
After twenty years
they sold their home—
escrow closed
the house was empty,
last time to close that door.
669.
He built bookshelves
from smooth clean pine—
she sanded and stained
till they looked fine,
then filled with books in line.
670.
tight pants
tight shirt—
fat man
realizes he
needs new clothes
671.
Breakfast at Karen's Cafe:
complex omelets divine,
fruit compote delights,
fresh biscuits buttered warm,
coffee creamed with a smile.
672.
the poet
played with sounds—
a perfect pitch of ideas
melodic intimacies
rhythm of rhyming phrases
673.
can't sleep
mind manic
body panic
all anxiety—
unglued sanity
674.
two dogs
on leashes
in a man's hand—
Sunday morning
gallivant
675.
A Trump supporter
started the Orangeman's parade
by shooting four Democrats
(Killing Two)
in Minnesota that day—
Orange Hate Power Plays.
[June 14, 2025, Saturday]
676.
cold June day
overcast grey—
chilly walk
around the blocks
comely lilies yellow
677.
Reading anthologies
of English poetry—
poets now living
and poets dead
words marching through time.
[Poetry Anthologies I study.]
678.
Closer inspection
quickly revealed—
my sock had holes,
my shoe was split,
my feet were cold and wet.
679.
party coming:
moving chairs
cleaning tables
washing fruit
combing hair
680.
I felt crappy today,
nobody gives a shit anyway.
We all have too much crap to do,
plus pick up all the shit
from the human zoo.
681.
flooding river
bends willow trees—
bird's nests
fall down
on muddy ground
682.
At Seal Rock camp:
no seals
no campers
no silence;
closed in Winter
683.
Never darkest
before the dawn—
a little light
very dim
always creeps in.
684.
The knife's edge
was dull blunt—
could not
carve faces in the
the sides of cups
685.
worried more
every day—
grandchildren
loosing good jobs,
economy in disarray.
686.
The occasion was not a birthday
or a parade of graduates in tasseled hats
or soldiers marching on Veterans Day
or lovers cutting a wedding cake;
just a poet scribbling words today.
687.
I was the occasion
involved in the occasions
that occasionally occurred
for me amongst others
in places familiar every day.
688.
hidden in the ordinary
explicitly occasional fare—
inspired by dinnertime
spilled wine on ash trays
imaginary smoke rises
689.
While leaning on a dirty wall
on Santa Monica Boulevard
the rough trade leather master
blows smoke from a spliff
while talking with a john
who wants to be whipped.
689.
Waiting for Godot
a waste of time—
weeks later he stumbles by,
stoned on amphetamines.
never apologized.
690.
No Roman Roads in Oregon
No Sistine Chapel in Washington
No Parthenon in Idaho—
but a concrete Stonehenge
in the hills above Maryhill.
691.
Don't sweat
the Small Stuff!
Rather shiver in the bliss
of ignoring
the Big Stuff.
692.
What I had and
what I lost
along this road of life—
generosity of largesse,
empty wallet in my pocket.
693.
Stuck between cars rocked
in a hot road place,
behind a gruesome accident—
crushed bloody bodies
bleeding lives away.
694.
The willows whispered
the stream sang
the birds all chirped—
all round my peaceful perch
hidden in my listening.
695.
microwave oven
reheating pizza
popping popcorn—
micro eating electricity
from Bonneville Dam
696.
Shake it down
mighty woman
real Amazon
big and beautiful—
'Brick House!'
697.
my soapy soul
washed down the drain—
by steaming water
over my head
cleaning off my brains
698.
my divided mind:
a fraction of itself
half forward—half back
a third part ordinary delights
a fifth part
flimsy insights
699.
Ezra Pound
steeped in Grecian Heroes
sailing seas on bloody conquests.
Once pandering to Mussolini,
Singing praises for Nazi hates.
700.
Simplest Common Sense
Common Sense
often not so common
and makes no sense—
the least common denominator
of stupidity simplified
Used to justify
magically the dumbest
meanest cruelest acts
useless false opinions
selfish stupidity and lies
Worshiped by self-righteous
solipsists bereft of any sense
of a real world bigger than 'I'.
Full of 'truths' empty of facts,
willing to Kill to keep
their Fictions alive.
Bundled Up:
Quintains, Pentastichs, Tanka Poems
By Mike Garofalo
Quintain Poetry Sections on this Webpage
Bundled Up, Volume 1
Poems 1-99
Poems 100-199
Poems 200-299
Poems 300-399
Poems 400-499
Poems 500-599
Poems 600-699
Poems 700-799
Poems 800-899
Poems 900-1,000
Quintains Research
701.
Waking from a nap
groggy mind intact
brushing cobwebs aside
rubbing tired eyes, surprised
one hour had passed.
702.
"Who says that fictions only and false hair
Become a verse? Is there in truth no beauty?
Is all good structure in a winding stair?
May no lines pass, except they do their duty
Not to a true, but painted chair."
- George Herbert, Jordan(I)
703.
walking out
running back—
jogger traces
familiar paths
on a rubber track
704.
Full moon
morning sky—
a white silhouette
faintly traced
for uplifted eyes.
705.
My thoughts are Me:
no god can take away
no devil bury in ashes
no others bother to read,
unimportant to all but Me.
706.
"Poets who wrote great poems, one by one,
And spaced by many years, each line an act
through which few labor, which no men retract,
This passion is the scholar's heritage,
The imposition of a busy age
The passion to condense from book to book,
Unbroken wisdom in a single look,
Though we know well when this fix the head
The mind's immortal,
but the man is dead."
- Yvor Winters, Time and the Garden
707.
Parting was not sweet
or a bit sorrowful—
jubilant instead
our friendship's dead,
free tomorrows.
708.
Walking alone
chewing my bones
of discontents—
wasted my time,
sickened my mind.
709.
"for no reason
hearing no voice
with no promise
praying to myself
be clear"
- W. S. Merwin
As Though I Was Waiting for That
710.
dead bird
in a pot—
odd place
to stop breathing
shrivel and rot
711.
rustling leaves
maple trees
Japanese garden
raked sand
quiet rocks
712.
Buddha statue
in a corner—
sprig of cherry
blooming now
Old unglazed
vase.
713.
Sunny location
corner spot—
two ferns bursting
three feet wide
three feet tall
714.
blood pressure
higher...
cuff around hand
sitting taller—
fearing the measure
715.
crisp clean grass
spread before my feet—
four inches high
green filled my eyes—
summertime mind.
716.
bought a lottery ticket
and lost again—
hoping Santa Claus
will help me win
before Winter begins
717.
Finding your real identity
in the external existentials—
of your creative hands
your work, your children,
your daily humdrum.
718.
robins chatter
jubilantly—
sounds of love
sounds of hope
I imagine I hear
719.
In the sunshine
of old words
from poets before us
we heard
something unsayable.
720.
"This little black
Circle, with its tawny silk grass, babies hair.
There is a green in the air
Soft, delectable.
It cushions me lovingly."
- Sylvia Plath
721.
collaborated
with the Reader—
echoes of understanding
between the lines
inventive sharing minds
722.
First day of summer
right on time
every time—
caroling Solstice songs
under June moons
723.
"Now cease, my lute, this is the last
Labour that thou and I shall waste,
And ended is that we begun.
Now is this song both sung and past,
My lute, be still, for I have done."
- Sir Thomas Wyatt, 1557
724.
Eureka mansion
Victorian clean-prim—
home of a Timber Baron's
well-dressed talkative twins;
Chinamen sweat in the kitchen.
725.
"As Eliza stood twanging her zither
She beheld a vast sea serpent slither,
Oozing slime, up the beach
Till it came within reach
And she disappeared, no one knows whither."
726.
Colored flashes in the window pane
Christmas lights glowing red and green.
The homeless man has no name,
Sits in cold dark tent unseen,
Wearing a sock cap of red and green.
727.
"What is important Now
is to recover our senses.
We must learn to see more,
to hear more,
to feel more.
In place of hermeneutics
we need an erotics of art."
- Susan Sontag, 1964,
Against Interpretation
728.
Sagebrush landscapes
of Eastern Oregon's dry lands;
broken by the Alford Desert
with swirling twisters of sand
splitting the sky randomly.
729.
Some verses stretched the mind
Baffled the understanding
Confused the senses
Upset one's peace.
Discomfort can rejuvenate.
730.
"Here is my faith, my vision, my burning bush.
It will burn on and never be consumed.
It will be here long after I have gone,
Long after the last farmer sleeps. And since
I speak for it, its silence speaks for me."
- Robert Francis, Juniper
731.
Paper for notebooks was a revolution,
Typewriters gave us another way to read,
Personal computers changed our minds,
Internet brought information to our finger tips...
What's Next?
AI robots composing/singing songs we all like?
732.
alone in my home
writing some poems
willing to share;
at noon I stare
going nowhere
733.
Right-Wrong Wings Flapping
Some people stumbling
into Right Wing flights:
of fabricated fears—
of wild masses marching
to Black Lives Matter
or Queers in incorrect bathroom toilets
or immigrant criminals at distant doors
or hungry children at free school lunches
or Wokes leaving their Church's pews in droves
or foreign inclusions in Sesame Street PBS
and renaming military bases after Yankees
and showing mixed marriages on TV ads
and threats to buying more machine guns
and worries over two many Chinese Dolls
and fearing that good women might lead
these advocates of inequality
these devotees of Fox New celebrities
these worshipers of a fat man's drivel
these desperate poor folks wanting to be rich
these flag wavers buying autographed Bibles
Cheering Loudly: 'Amerika, Gott mit uns!"
white power Jesus freak frauds
voting for convicted criminals.
Citicizing Relentlessly Ruthlessly
all believers in saving Trees
even Joe Biden dying of cancer in bed
even women seeking medical care
even popular singers incurring their ire
even all previous Presidents
even Social Security paying their rent.
Bizarre American Behaviors
now favor rich white Dictators.
Who will raise the Confederate Flag again
Over Capitols of rural Red States
Down with Old Glory, Up with Hate.
734.
"The Great Genius is
A man who can do the
Ordinary thing
When everybody
Else is going crazy."
- Ted Berrigan
735.
Cloud Castles on the sea
home to dreamy reveries—
seen by Poetry's
fancy transparent filigrees
of charming fragrant memories.
736.
Snapshots of war on TV
snippets of car crashes
latest news about rich celebrities
more commercials to sell you more things
leading to ten sporting events: Again.
Splashes of information keep us hypnotized.
In the New School of the Trivial
we are Sophomores in stride
flip-flopping in flash editing
swamped Dummies in Data Tsunamis.
737.
Rain ing IMAGES roll
a r o u n d on the Words.
NOthing Special:
Listening to lectures.
Picturing the Page.
738.
The wallpaper of our lives
is faded and grease stained
marked by our crayons of banality
smeared with bourgeois kitsch crap.
Needing Repainting Fast!
739.
Asked for his comments,
He paused, looked within,
Strategized,
Responded dryly:
"No comment at this time."
740.
Read Ted Berrigan's Sonnets
from 1964— a brainy Bore.
Muddled random tiny thoughts
absent of meaningfulness
scattered around on clumsy round floors.
Ideas popping like green popcorn
on the twisted streets of hip New York
pointless lines on pills of speed
running round dead orange olive trees
bizarre concoctions of decoying imagery.
In some ways silly FUN, like listening
to the confused chatter of a drugged insane
Prophet of impossible dry rain
mumbling inanities before the Cisco Kid.
Berrigan clearly not a clear Billy Collins.
741.
Sleepless in Sunset Suburbs
my mind working overtime:
a speeding bike without brakes
a rolling rock tumbling down
a super-alert consciousness drained
a can't-quit-motor speeding on
742.
Iran Bombed into Itself
Listening to the News
about the war in Iran:
Israel demolished the
Shi'a Regime's military, the
USA bombed it's nuclear sites.
I'm not upset to see Iranian
proxies and the Iranian Shi'a
Regime undermined. Proxy
terrorists like Hamas, Hezbollah,
Levant, Baathists, [Sunni-Isis-Al-Qaeda]
Have openly stated their aims
to terrorize and destroy
Israel, the USA, and other Nations.
Good Riddance!
Nevertheless, since Iran posed
no immediate existential threat
to the USA; King Tump's actions,
without Congressional approval,
is further evidence of his
incompetence and ignorance.
Likewise, our own Christian Nationalists
Seek to Rule us Secular Woke Folks.
But we don't need or want
More religious zealots In Charge;
Favoring a Separation of Church and State.
Religions are sometimes a violent disgrace.
743.
It is hard
to think poetically
with war destroying lives
and civilian property—
malevolence alive
744.
buzzing screeching chipper
clawing branches into chyme
for digesting compost piles—
Sunday morning
Screaming Sounds Slam!
745.
We were ashamed
of piles of plastic
Keurg' cups waste—
returned to using
Mr. Coffee maker: No Cups!
746.
Hometown poets
at Ghost Town Open Mic—
sharing insights about their life
and living together in space and time
our environs shape connected minds.
747.
Mill Plain Boulevard
a business bonanza
of stores galore—
money in my wallet
but I did not shop.
748.
Downtown Vancouver
few places to park
expensive parking fees
for slices of space—
so I walked farther.
749.
Chunky spicy salsa
fresh warm chips
gorging on carbohydrates—
then adding beer, rice,
beans and tacos...
Getting High!
750.
Along the Newport docks
tourists gather in restaurants
shop in kitschy seaside shops—
for Oregon summer memories
draw them back, temporarily.
751.
Poets I've never met
except in books out of print—
Readers reach back in time
Capturing other places and times,
Mindful of our different kinds.
752.
fast moving clouds...
she passes him by!
he wonders why?
lightening in the skies...
she knows he's a spy
753.
Message from her eyes,
gun in her hands—
Pounding on her door
she hides on the floor,
cocks her pistol, ready for war.
754.
Stopping his yelling
realizing his harm—
his children crying
his wife scared,
his angry outbursts a sharp knife.
755.
cutting up Smooth Cat's Ears:
pulling them out
from the drying lawn—
bend down
hard ground
756.
We speak about Somethings,
Choose not to point instead.
Tracing the arc of ugly innuendos
And standing on subtle inflections read;
To find by saying what went unsaid.
757.
Come, my friend,
take my poem,
out to play. Say
what you think,
yea or nay.
758.
A Baby is not a Teenager
You can flash-freeze fertilized human embryos
and keep them in a liquid nitrogen tank
for 20 years at -255C and keep them "viable."
But, any real Baby will quickly die at -55C.
Embryos are not a Baby.
759.
The Universe is not round or square
more like spilled water spraying willy-nilly;
God's plan is thus more lie Jackson Pollock's
drip-dropping semi-randomly;
not like Edward Weston photographing Peppers.
760.
round and round
the clock hands
move so slow, and yet
we all know how
fast time flows
761.
Understandably, clearly at times, Reality
a doomed project, almost unimaginable,
beyond our beyonds, senseless,
no rhyme or reason or resolution,
bleeding all meaning from our brains.
762.
Thailand foods for lunch,
Tom Ka chicken soup,
salad with peanut dressing—
Good conversations with my wife,
we are so fortunate in our life.
Sleepy after a large lunch meal;
Perfect Tai cuisine a Pure Tai Cafe—
Gloomy overcast summer day
No sunshine, few shadows,
Plenty for us to do later that day.
763.
Rolling Over plucking sound waves
Of pulsing Escalay (Waterwheel)
By Kronos String Quartet on CD MP3s.
Melting into Bach on piano.
Edging on Glass to Mishima
764.
Mountains in Voyager Cards:
Two of Cups: Equilibrium
Two of Crystals: Equanimity
Two of Worlds: Reflection
Priestess II
765.
Treat Tarot Cards like ritual, magical,
spiritual, Integrative, Hands-On!,
Valued Self-World Exploration Tools.
Learn the Five Fold Way
Random Images Can be Organized
766.
"How Do I Love Thee?"
Let Us count the Ways!
We express our love and respect
Via everyday Ways:
List of 101 Ways:________
767.
I heard trees in bloom
I listened to a big rock talk
I saw an echo shout
I grabbed an invisible ghost
I arrived late, too soon
768.
Much ado about Something
happening next door. Mr. Shull,
he died today! Their taking his
body away now. His funeral...
probably next week. Are you going?
769.
The clone of the Red Moon
on that Japanese wood-block art scroll:
a drawing of smoke over a campfire
showing a pot of boiling water, and
people drinking hot tea
on a scroll.
770.
I must work harder than a hummingbird
who vigorously flaps his wings, while,
delicately, sticking his tiny tongue
into the snatch scented sweets of a
female flower of Nasturtium.
771.
Boxes of insects for sale
on Lowe's garden shelves:
ladybugs, praying-mantis.
Guards to eat our enemies,
Guards to preserve our leaves.
772.
hit a dry spell
in my daily writing
due to being stoned
on Columbia Gold
sativa cannabis
773.
sneezing
summer tickle
in sensitive nose
blowing nose
runny nose
774.
A Sunny Spot
I find comfort in Quiet
in beauty unvieled
in a book of photographs
in a poet's thoughts
in a sunny spot
I find comfort in a cool day,
being too hot turns me off.
I relish a cool breeze,
sipping coffee and cream,
in a sunny spot
My back yard
enclosed
hedged in
vertical gardens
a sunny spot
Reflecting
no adversity
suburban banality
ho hum neutrality
a sunny spot
A private porch
comfy lawn chairs
Japanese fir garden
fuchsia's all blooming
a sunny spot
buttered bread
blended cheese
cooked to perfection.
Lunching outdoors
a sunny spot
The hard shadows
of early afternoon.
A Big Robin hopped
out of view.
a sunny spot
775.
He mulled long on "Mu"
with every pore of his mind-being.
The Buddha Nature of the dog
growled at the intruder.
The dog barked at the temple door.
776.
Nothing superfluous
Nothing extra
Nothing lacking—
the big puzzle
remained half-done
777.
daybreak somewhere
in July—
raspberries ripen
slowly
sweeter
[July in the Garden Anthology]
778.
Moment to Moment
non-stop rain storm—
quickly the canyon river
rises and rages
Destruction.
779.
Body and mind
dropped away—
as he jumped
from the tenth floor
open window.
780.
Not high, writing, not drunk,
writing, not stoned, writing.
My sober mind, my sober brain,
more productive, more aware...
Writing!
781.
humidity hampers
my enthusiasm...
dragged down
into lethargy;
sweat on my face
782.
July Concerts in the Park,
at the pier,
in restaurants;
people dancing
drinkers watch.
783.
The reasons are weak,
The justifications faulty,
The liar is stumbling.
The suspect should shut up;
Get a lawyer, plead the 5th.
784.
Drowned in a Texas flood
hundreds dead in the mud,
houses and cars washed
down river. Can't they
predict a flood?
785.
hills, valleys, wind
summer, sun, Bright
dusty trails, Shade
sipping water
delighted by wildflowers
786.
with my wife
side by side
centered in our world
we walk and talk
covered in fog
787.
Father Priest once
counseled me—
while on my knees
in the dim confessional box.
Stopped kneeling for sanity!
788.
Outdoor market crowd
at Esther Short Park—
boy plays
electric piano
on Sundays, for tips.
Esther Short Park
Vancouver, WA
789.
Old Feral Heathen
downtown Vancouver Pub
sold and closed—
people seeking
new jobs.
790.
Listening to poets
read their creations
at the Open Mic—
inspired and humbled
double delight
791.
rain on the road
on my windshield
on my mind—
hawk eyed
slowing down
792.
Punched in the face
he flopped to the ground
dazed and stunned—
I walked away
ashamed of my cruelty
793.
"What language does God Speak?"
asked the girl.
Jesus ansered,
politely,
"Yo solo hablaba con Dios en Español."
794.
shirtless, dusk, Buck Moon
emerging, Huge, Over the Cascades,
mule deer antlers sprouting
dogs barking, campers talking,
sitting on the warm ground
795.
On the threshold of Nothing:
he groaned, sat up,
pointed his hand up,
shook a little, mumbled,
then died in his hospital bed.
796.
Birthday party for two.
One turned 15 the other 62.
They blew out the candles,
Said goodbye to the years,
that brought them here.
797.
hot dry wind
shook the windows
dried the leaves
flung pine branches
a deadly breeze
798.
graduating:
saying goodbye
walking away
gathering memories
nothings the same
799.
Change
your surroundings, place,
circumstances, friends,
beliefs, ideas;
unfolding a new self-brain.
800.
Voices from California
was this...
Robinson Jeffers in Carmel
Henry Miller in Big Sur
Alan Ginsberg in Berkeley
Thomas Mann in Pacific Palisades
Charles Bukowski in Hollywood
was he...
Mark Twain in Virginia City
Jack London in Oakland
Langston Hughes in Carmel
Robert Hass in Oakland
Thomas Cleary in San Fran
Was she...
Diane Di Palma from San Fran
Jane Hirshfield from San Fran
Ina Coolbrith from Independence
Marjorie Perloff from Palo Alto
Joan Didion from Hollywood
was that...
Snoop Dog from Compton
Raymond Chandler from Los Angeles
John Steinbeck from Salinas
Van Morrison from Fairfax
Carlos Castaneda in the Mohave
Was that...
Maya Angelou in San Fran
Tracy Kay Smith in Fairfield
Kim Dower in Los Angeles
Adrienne Rich in Santa Cruz
Kate Braverman in Los Angeles
Was he...
Deng Ming Dao from Oakland
Lawrence Ferlinghetti from San Fran
William Randolf Hearst from San Simeon
Gary Snyder from the Sierra Hills
John Muir from Martinez
Was that...
Alan Watts in Druid Heights
Czeslaw Milosz in Berkeley
William Soroyan in
Fresno
Walt Disney in Hollywood
Yvor Winters in Palo Alto
Was he...
David Meltzer in Oakland
Dana Gioia in Los Angeles
Isaac Bonewits in Berkeley
Bret Harte in Arcata
Kenneth Rexroth in San Fran
Was she...
Ursula K. Le Guin from Berkeley
Addie Lucia Ballou from San Fran
Was he...
William Everson from Selma
Lew Welch from San Francisco
Robert Duncan from SanFran
Juan Filipe Hererra from San Diego
Philip Levine from Fresno
Was that...
Gary Soto from Fresno
And, who have I missed?
Send to me, and I'll include herewith.
Text Press Email
Bundled Up:
Quintains, Pentastichs, Tanka Poems
By Mike Garofalo
Quintain Poetry Sections on this Webpage
Bundled Up, Volume 1
Poems 1-99
Poems 100-199
Poems 200-299
Poems 300-399
Poems 400-499
Poems 500-599
Poems 600-699
Poems 700-799
Poems 800-899
Poems 900-1,000
Quintains Research
801.
preferring clarity
over cocktails—
I vividly remember
headache and hangover
vomiting
802.
white moth
fluttering
down and up...
breezes in leaves
of dogwood trees
803.
slept 13 hours
till Sunday noon—
yesterday's heat
and humidity
exhausted me
804.
July sunbath Sweat
drowsy Lazy noon
beer cool Sip—
reading Naked Lunch
nearly naked myself
805.
Cherries bowl Seeds
Stems Compost can
Sweet juicy Succulent—
one by one
seeds extracted tongue
806.
"How many toes does God have?"
asked Allen Ginsberg.
Jesus did not know
and replied:
"Nunca lavé los pies de Dios."
[Allen Ginsberg, Diamond Bells,
1996. Jesus washing his disciples
feet; John 13.]
807.
Hands down
he's the best.
The GOAT
of his generation.
Who? Why?
808.
Rivers meeting
Willamette-Columbia
in Portland south—
cargo ships load
grain in Kalama
809.
The temperature climbed
to 99.
Sweating in the shade
sipping lemonade—
Bill Evans on piano.
810.
The Dao exists in sparrows
in the grapevines
where the path narrows
on to pavers and bricks
spotted with white bird shit.
811.
The sacred surfaced
through the profane.
The Sacred steered
the Profane
into profound silence.
812.
Raise the blinds
See the world!
Asked for a sign:
Chokei lifted his hossu and
whacked the window.
813.
Crape myrtle, brilliant red, bursting forth;
Hiding the garden.
Some days, only the Garden, entire, serene;
Yet, hiding from sight, shy, single plants.
Seeing Both, seldom, but as One.
Sweat poured from my startled brow,
Dripping on the dry earth;
And all became Sunshine
And shadows of surprise unraveling.
Blessed Be!
814.
spiders crawling
in nooks and crannies
sheltered from the sun—
webs hanging
between some shrubs
815.
shoveling compost
between bins
manure added
raked in...
covered with straw
816.
cool morning
mid-July...
birds silent
dogs sleeping
pale blue skies
817.
"Nothing stops for us"
Blaise Pascal pondered
between a limitless past and future
our finite foundationless lives
slip by, forgotten, unblessed.
[Blaise Pascal, Pensées, #38,
A. J. Krailsheimer's translation,
1996.]
818.
What are daily happenings
to people near or far
as the stuff of their lives
as the hum of their occasions
disappear as Autumn falls.
819.
I seldom think about:
relics of Jesus in Cathedral vaults,
his bloody face traced on a robe,
his wife and kids left behind, or
how much money his Brand rolls in.
820.
The smoke of old
incense devotions
cleansing the nose
opening the mind to
a Heart of Jasmine.
821.
not a hermit
not a monk
not a loner stuck
in a hut and rut
trying to do too much
alone
822.
March rain on the bus stop roof,
cars splash gutter puddles.
Will I ever see King Tides again?
Raincoat, rubber boots, who knows.
Colder Winters will come and go.
823.
I often found
the truths of Zen
while walking, while gardening,
while sitting, while listening,
while not reading or talking.
824.
Approaching noon
on a Bandon dune, in June,
my Seydel harmonica in tune,
my melodious sounds
carried by the winds away.
825.
On transience I reflect;
but such thoughts pass
like leaves in the river
like sounds in the dark
like snow melting on grass.
826.
"For him I sing,
I raise the present on the past,
(As some perennial tree out of its roots, the present on the past.)
With time and space I him dilate and fuse the immortal laws,
To make himself by them the law unto himself."
- Walt Whitman, For Him I Sing
827.
Lonely hours alone
on this hot July day
blinds drawn down
fans humming along...
family 2,000 miles away.
828.
Vanishing decades
apparitions past;
or a flash of fireworks
gone in a blast...
myself, a lot like that.
829.
all my previous
lives and selves
evolving me
are gone, ended, placeless,
faded realities
830.
The Floating World
beyond my reach
Words flew by
like lines of geese...
I could not think.
831.
I noticed the shadows
of yesterday's shade
appearing tomorrow
unwanted, troubling,
escaped renegades.
832.
The Turner Diaries with
hard core Nazi ideology for
alienated white guys loving guns...
Timothy McVeight and Terry Nichols
on the OKC truck bomber run.
[Oklahoma City, Murrah Building,
Bombing, April 19, 1995.]
833.
a bit jittery
uneasy
feeling jumbled
something off
shaky self
834.
"Make America Plaid Again"
his cap said.
Two skinny geezers
on a daybreak walk
talked and talked.
835.
Blaise Pascal's Wager
insufficient
to keep the Catholic Church
from placing his Pensées on
the banned books list.
836.
Either? at Death...
"Eternal annihilation
or eternal misery."
Pascal's limited Options?
How about reincarnation?
[Pascal's Pensées, #84.]
837.
I'll stick with
"the giddier collective gallop"
dancing on the mirrors of the seas—
just here and now
crowned by cherished memories.
[W. H. Auden, Sea and the Mirror]
838.
in every moment
today is created anew—
pristine possibilities
changing opportunities
depending on you
839.
what to keep in
what to keep out
crucial for communication—
yet very difficult
to explain without doubts
840.
he was famous
for being famous—
but good looks fade,
few successes remain.
He lost his 15 minutes of fame.
841.
Using others, in others,
through others...
I became myself,
an amplified identity;
a newly emerging me.
842.
Yes, life can be,
Yes, yes, true; and
No, no, false; and
tainted remains of failures
bitterness, death, and loss.
843.
In the hurly burly
of real life—
perplexities intertwined
with reason's intensity
sharpening a dull knife.
844.
sham and drab
realities of the everyday
ordinary trivialities
smothering me...
hoping for novel happenings
845.
The great Painting exists
because
we see it,
we think about it,
we don't hear it, we frame it,
it hangs on a museum's wall.
846.
"My propositions are elucidatory in this way:
he who understands me finally recognizes
them as senseless, when he has climbed out
through them, on them, over them. (He must
throw away the ladder after climbing in.)"
- James Laughlin, Wittgenstein's Ladder,
A Commonplace Book
of Pentastichs."
847.
Lao Tzu crossed the checkpoint
at the top of the ridge,
after he left his manuscript
of the Daodejing in the hands
of the illiterate border guard men.
He headed down the road
into mountain valleys
covered in snow—
disappeared into eternity
were everyone someday goes.
848.
That campfire that night
cracked and sparked,
erasing a bit of the dark.
Sending smoke signals
to warn the sentries on stars.
849
coming into view
something new
so I suddenly stopped
stood still as a rock
stunned, amazed, shocked
850.
my generation
Boomers born—
Dying away
everyday
in 2025 July
851.
Quuiich totem pole
Umpqua River
Discovery Center Museum
Hello
Dai-Niishanax
[Reedsport, Oregon]
852.
Westport surfers
watching the swells
maneuvering tactically—
rocky jetty
guiding fishing boats
853.
book unopened
hidden potential
covered insights
closed ideas
Waiting...
854.
Scores of steep staircases
from Lincoln City down to the sea—
yes, perhaps,
the subtle truths,
revealed on a walk in the surf.
855.
ready for walking
around ten blocks
without any talk...
silently I stalked
footsteps once crossed
856.
Calm and withdrawn
hidden in Hartford offices,
the invisible poet's secret life,
eschewing poetic notoriety locally—
Wallace Stevens certifiying bonds.
857.
sorrows multiply
like flies on dead flesh—
the young warriors died
for a homeland's pride
below artillery fire
858.
Yes, I must choose
who to read, who to study,
whom not to read, whom to ignore..
based on my limited time
to explore a pinch of the Canon.
[Harold Bloom, The Western Canon]
859.
Parties by the river
at sunset in July—
Latin Band percussion
synchronized on time;
people smiling, drinking wine.
860.
Religious obscurities
one tiny candle in the dark
our indifference to knowing it.
Hidden Somethings in the night,
few truths in Reason's light.
[Pascal, Pensées, #439]
862.
Words on a pixeled screens
puzzling me—
sidebar boxes selling things
alluring images marketing
things unmatched to my real needs.
863.
Noticed a long black bug
crawling up my shirt—
accidental tourist
on for the ride.
I brushed it aside.
864.
All the Angels
on the tip of a pin
dancing wildly
side by side celebrating
Angels in the Architecture.
865.
The Ordinary
amplified by Imagination
bloomed occasionally
colored creatively
oddities in full flower.
866.
I never spoke with Aliens,
never saw their silver saucers,
never was violated by them,
never transported by magic beams...
Thankfully, they did not notice me.
867.
carefully crafted
lines created
by a poet's mind;
her feelings, her doings,
her place in time
868.
asphalt Road dry
—Cold Breeze daybreak
Shoes step-by-step Slow
Empty streets Alone
—Dogs bark hello
869.
Stopped reading the Bible
before I was twenty.
Heard all the old Jewish lore before;
repetition unnecessary.
Better wisdom from other shores.
870.
keeping warm
—on this cool morn;
reading Daoist lore,
sipping tea..
Moments of Yin...
871.
aching back
stiff and sore
slowly moving—
counting my blessings
walked out the door
872.
I'm seldom anxious,
seldom bored,
deal with inconsistency,
benefit from Reason...
Pascal's life was harder than mine.
[Pascal, Pensées, #24]
873.
I'd like to know—
have you ever tasted the sea
swallowed some surf
spit out some sand
felt rain at the misty shore?
874.
hoping the worms
will multiply
eat up garbage
aerate the soil—
expense justified
875.
he handed me
a handsome Buck
pocket knife—
a birthday gift
for an 80 year life
876.
we watched two dogs
for ten days:
endless chasing
tossed
tennis balls
877.
As I watered rows of beans
what I heard reminded me of
what quiet streams said to trees
what music softly lifted me
what sounds were noticed by me.
878.
"Now that he's old and foolish
his hands smell of mortality.
Wash it as he may, he can't regain
the scent of the time when lovely
hands longed to touch and caress it."
- James Laughlin, His Hand,
A Commonplace Book of Pentastichs.
879.
her whispering lovingly
encouraged me
to enjoy intimacies
of bodies pulsing
beneath tall trees
880.
In July 2025,
I read "On the Road"
by Jack Kerouac circa 1957.
I've also crossed America,
many times, in my own way.
881.
Cities rise. Suburbs grow.
People come. Old folks go.
The river shrinks, the flow slows.
Trees removed, concrete poured,
Orchards gone, history ignored.
882.
Rose of Sharon in bloom
white circles of color
in green leaves at noon
backyard artistry
in dry July.
883.
The unfenced world
of pines and berries
along the back roads
by a Chehalis River Fork
behind empty Pe Ell streets.
884.
Images shine:
crystal glasses
filled with wine;
her lipstick pinkish,
licking her lips.
885.
the sun is gone
so cold and dark
stars emerge
owls talk
we walk
886.
Weeds in a field
Pressed flowers in a box
Wisteria in a Huáng Quán scroll
Camillas in an Anne Pratt illustration
Flowers
in the artist's wet brush
887.
from the Seeds
Roots, stems, leaves
Flowers emerge
staccato Origins timed
by the angles of the Sun
888.
They sent Tammy home
for hospice care:
Hypokalemia, Rhabdomyolysis,
Elevated d-dimer, Elevated troponin...
weakness, bleeding, fading: Can't Last!
889.
We kissed hard lustfully
(lips, mouth, tongue, intimacies)
like starving dogs devouring
bowls of juicy meat;
we loved with fingers eagerly
890.
Father, Son, and Holy Ghost
are not enough
for a Spiritual Family.
Where are Mother, Daughter,
and Legions of Wee Folk?
891.
I'm too old
for any real Destiny
except for Death
creeping up to me, tagging Me:
"Your It!"
892.
Sitting somewhat aimlessly
reading Shoptaw's commentary
on John Ashbery's poetry
as a summer's Friday eve
slippped quietly over me.
- John Shoptaw, On the Outside
Looking In: John Ashbery's Poetry
893.
"secular lines of high
sonic resonance"
baffled me, embarrased
my sophomoric sensibility
stretched my cluelessness
- John Stoptaw
894.
As clear as misrepresentation
can be
floating vocabulary
clever asides for the Hip and Gay
allusions jumping ship
895.
Doomed to repeat
like footsteps from feet
themes familiar, ideas fixed,
fixed forms fenced in,
same old, same old, petty sins.
896.
Tell the truth straight
with a Dickersonian Slant
angled implications
sliding slippery clarifications
before the the Court of Poetry.
897.
Did not want it to happen
but pushed along reluctantly
pulling back hard angrily;
wrenched free finally,
ran free from misery.
898.
The experience of experiences:
levels above, levels below.
How felt, how seen, how known.
What happened when
my Karate kick broke my toe.
899.
Most of the "Lakes"
in the Northwest are
just large reservoirs, that
concrete dams do store,
for spinning turbines more.
Bonneville, Dalles, John Day
Dams alive and humming
Kilowatt Gargantuans
powering Oregon cities
running every day and night.
900.
Dogen knew:
mountains became sages
rivers became teachers
monks became Buddhas
dogs barked at strangers
Bundled Up:
Quintains, Pentastichs, Tanka Poems
By Mike Garofalo
Quintain Poetry Sections on this Webpage
Bundled Up, Volume 1
Poems 1-99
Poems 100-199
Poems 200-299
Poems 300-399
Poems 400-499
Poems 500-599
Poems 600-699
Poems 700-799
Poems 800-899
Poems 900-1,000
Quintains Research
901.
I consulted the Tarot
"how can I write
better poetry?"
The Answer
was encouraging:
Mastery: The Sage of Wands
Aspiration: The Star, #17
Balancing: Control, #8
Rejoice: Woman of Cups
Reward: Ten of Worlds
902.
"When the water-freezing
Winter arrives
The floating reeds look rooted,
As if stillness
Was their own desire."
- Onono Komachi, Ink Dark Moon
903.
Jesus walks in San Francisco,
Reborn Again!
He looks like Walt Whitman
Singing songs to his many Selves
Helping homeless Sleepers on Skid Row.
The Gods are distorted mirrors of men;
The Goddess the Mother of All that Is.
Born and reborn in every land
With Prophets like Walt Whitman, or Brother Everson,
Or Joseph Smith, or Chang San-Feng.
Reinventing Divine Sons and Daughters
Given by the Dao to hopeful souls;
Desirous of health and rest,
Hoping for happiness in our life of toil.
Yes, Jesus sings in San Francisco.
Mayor Moscone asked the Jesus in Jeans,
"Do you enjoy Frisco Bay?"
Jesus answered,
'Julio es demasiado frío y brumoso;
Prefiero los días más cálidos de Alcapulco."
- Walt Whitman, Leaves of Grass,
Song to Myself
904.
He was a hot head.
She was cold as ice.
It was the end of the line.
We are armies of the night.
They were hard pressed.
Consciousness rises as language grows,
Metaphors expand the dimensions of the Known.
Cars are gas guzzlers.
Forests were enchanting ghosts.
Men were oxen on yokes.
Maps were essential Keys
Rivers were twisting snakes.
This was that, figuratively.
That was this, comparatively.
Metaphors are unceasingly born
Growing like leaves in February
From Imaginative fecund roots
Connecting disconnected images
of That and This, figuratively.
905.
Subjects multiply...
topics of discussion,
the Self at the Center,
the slave let free,
the theme of the poem.
906.
flaws in things
speak perfections
stimulate reflections...
she shredded
holes in her jeans
907.
About the Greeks and Chinese
I eagerly read
their writings from 550 BCE;
nothing interesting for me in
the falling walls of Jericho.
908.
the fallen flowers
from the fuchsia pot
lie as withering
red-white fragments
on porch spots
909.
whether or not
to embrace her now
and press my case
for sudden pleasures
and juicy tastes
910.
Keep going!
Never give Up!
Carry your own Goals!
Carry your own luggage...
Carry On!
911.
"I do not remember the number
of our kisses
but I cannot forget the green
blur of a falling star
upon your trembling eyelids."
[Kenneth Rexroth, I Do Not
Remember the Number]
912.
empty
page of blue lines...
notebook silent
wordless sonnet
underlined
913.
I've read thousands of
haiku poems;
thankfully, they all were
only three lines long.
Concise, direct, earthy, plain,
a Ringing Gong!!!
914.
I was educated in
East Los Angeles Catholic Schools:
Saint Alphonsus Elementary School, and
Cantwell High School.
Language, Math, Physical Science,
Religion, Manners, and Rituals ruled.
Strangely, little or no Biology,
Art, Music, or Philosophy.
A rather elitist, a uniformed Tribe,
Taking Catholic sensibilities in stride.
915.
Nearly all the poets
I have read (since 1962)
Are All now Dead (circa 2025).
I'm 80 myself now, Yes!
Close myself to becoming Dead.
916.
What does today offer?
Bees and birds and a dog's tongue.
Clouds and winds and a white sun.
Peaches and bread and a coffee mug.
Familiar rituals on a prayer rug.
917.
Hey! I've been thinking about you!
African dancers
lip-syncing a London Beat tune
on a Facebook reel;
really stone cool.
918.
Samsara is Nirvana?
10,000 Things are Nothing?
Past and future are gone (Empty?).
The Present is gone in a Flash.
What's left? Samsara won't last.
919.
Your next best move
matters much more
than you last mistake.
Push forward with Resolve:
Move on, Move On!
920.
"First thought, best thought"
was one of Trungpa's dictums,
e.g., Kerouac's work flowed unfettered.
However, for most eager poets,
Second thoughts may sound better.
921.
Write down the poem,
type it out, share on
a webpage or chapbook Out.
Speak out your poem, Shout!
Be an entertainer, perform live Out.
922.
The edge of dissatisfactions
cut into my restless feelings;
stinging like a spider bite,
aching like a heartburn's vice...
Damn! Another sleepless night!
923.
The jetty smelled like kelp
Lichens on rocks and docks
Fishermen smoking musky pot
Catching colorful ling cod
Pleased ... thanking the gods
924.
His white shirt and pale blue tie
inside his herringbone gray coat
was my professor's sartorial style.
He expounded on Existentialism,
being quite careful about Being.
925.
Poetry is a poor business
and the rewards are quite scanty,
books don't sell, few paid readings...
Better off financially working Christmas
part-time for a Big Box Store.
926.
He spit on the ground,
sneezed in a Kleenex,
coughed in his palm,
lost his breath a little...
August head cold.
927.
Crawling out the hole
dug by the busy mole;
he looked around, frowned,
then burrowed back down
into his cozy tunnels below.
928.
She said "maybe."
He said "please."
She said "yes."
He said "let's go."
They headed out to Cape Arago.
929.
Editors say "Thanks,
but No." Tenth rejection!
The cold shoulder, indeed,
is discouraging, but
I just keep writing poetry.
930.
"There is a pleasure in the pathless woods,
There is a rapture on the lonely shore,
There is society, where none intrudes,
By the deep sea, and music is its roar:
I love not man the less, but Nature more."
- Lord Byron, Childe Harold's Pilgrimage
931.
Asking myself "Why?"
Which software to master?
What better poems to write?
Why Not! Is a good answer.
As long as there's time.
932.
The Pleasures of Masochistic Conundrums
the fact is that some philosophers enjoy
the rush of mental masochism,
the bondage to fashionable ideas,
the titillations of traditions,
the painful flagellation with
the keen, clear, sharp cutting words,
the bowing to Mistress Logic,
the humiliation of utter confusion,
the euphoria of the games,
the illusions of obsessions,
the charms of the fantastic
the theaters of thought alluring,
the submission to
the non-experiential concepts,
the fetishes of errors and illusions.
- Mike Garofalo
933.
Double Visions
An eager face staring into the Rich silence
Of mirrored space devoid of mind;
Not projecting or connecting, but reflecting.
Supreme non-fictions, Things
Naked as they are, as they are.
Inevitably, as sunshine blares on stones,
Green erupts from Brown.
Curiosity Swings across the Mind
past junkyards of ideas, peeling metaphors,
rusting rhymes, and concrete cliches,
Into the Center of Imagination City!
We are as we are:
Twofolds, Fourfolds, Eightfolds of
Realities and Possibilities.
Pushing on. Pushing on!
934.
Money in my wallet
Photos in my cellphone
Fish in the freezer
Water in a reservoir
Words in a dictionary
935.
Most often
I play my harmonica
at home, alone,
in a fun zone, free,
listening, exploring creatively.
936.
August means
Watering
Picking beans
Sipping iced tea
Pulling weeds
937.
PlumCots:
a bit of sour
a bit of sweet
plump, firm, juicy.
A UC Davis invention?
938.
sand scoured
small stones and shells
smooth and soft...
smelly seaweed was
snatched in by the surf
939.
*= Totally Awake :
4 am - 10 am !
Results Shown =
What's Known ?
Actual Cost Code $
*= On a Saturday .
I left a footnote *
Left Path Slanted /
Pragmatically Bracketed [
Fill in the blanks ______
*= Making notes —
revealing, appealing, shared ...
Weighty Subjects #
Rising Higher ^
Here and Now @
940.
NFL Football in August
Preseason TV games on weekly
From all around the USA
colorful competition
between 2nd and 3rd String
players.
941.
I put
my thoughts
in order
by
fantasies
942.
hard-wired to day-light
flowing watery blood
energized by every breath...
eating peaches—
summertime
943.
'All dharmas are beyond appearances;
All dharmas are beyond disappearance.'
A koan for those beyond and Not
Attending the 90 day Summer Retreat.
Somewhere, beyond the sea...
Master Dogen,Shobogenzo,
#79, Anjo, Sec: 160]
944.
The beans grow by themselves
I water by drip irrigation
Summertime dry heat stays—
Teahouse seat in willow's shade
I rest quietly, sip tea
945.
Sneezed sixteen times
— Fifteen ants on my books
White moths fluttered fourteen times
— Thirteen times reminded me
To count twelve recent benefits
946.
We ate doughnuts from Tonallis.
I smoked pot from the Herbery.
We drank hot mocha coffees.
I watered pots on the porch—
Wednesday, mid-August, in the Couve.
[Couve = City of Vancouver,
Washington. My home town.]
[August in the Garden Anthology]
947.
cool wind
August morning ...
smiling, sipping coffee,
smoking Lemon Amnesia
stoned in
948.
Pentastich Footnotes
A quintain restrains my mind
To a field of five lines.
Communications challenged
by brevity.
It's over after it begins.
How can I make
five line shine,
stick in readers' minds,
focus consciousness,
bring a bit of delight.
Turn right
on Pentastich Lane
proceed South
for 1 Mile
to Quintain Cafe.
949.
biscuits and butter
tortillas and cheese
coffee and cream—
cows graze the green fields
of iconic Tillamook.
950.
Blackberry Stained Hands
Bullards Beach State Park
Bandon Marsh NWR
Bandon, Oregon
August 2025
Blackberry vines
lined the edge
of the dry Bandon Marsh;
not one single cloud
flying in the sky
Picking wild blackberries
along the Bandon Marsh;
seagulls splash dive
in and out of the Coquille River;
east of the 101 bridge.
Families picking
wild blackberries
for fresh pies;
slight breeze
across Bandon Marsh.
hand picked
fresh ripe berries
hand-fulls of black round morsels
chugged down
sweet tart summer sun
plucking blackberries
sucking juice
fingers in my mouth—
humming
"numanumanumanuma"
blackberry juice
dripping from my mouth
down my shirt—
sweet memories
on the Tongue of the Mind
951.
Ate beer-battered cod,
coleslaw, fries, and
shrimp salad as a side;
at Tony's Crab Shack,
Old Town Bandon, dockside.
952.
older couples
fill the booths
eating slowly;
hash browns and ham,
coffee, toast and jam
953.
Coquille River
flows to the sea
past the jetties;
tides in then out,
river rises then falls.
954.
"On dying:
Quickly is better than slowly.
Warm is better than cold. Of course,
Never is better than dead, but don't hold your
breath.
No use in trying."
- Michael Napoliello, 5 Lines in the Quiet Hour, 36.
955.
a bit lightheaded
a wobbly walk
a stiff hip...
watering the garden
wilting plants
956.
Bookshelves of memories:
traces of wise people met,
wisdom in pages of text,
once friends for a day or two,
intimate mentors I once knew.
957.
the small branches sagged
the wilting leaves drooped
by 4 pm it was 100°F;
end of August
Heat Wave!!!
958.
My paternal ancestors from Sicily
my maternal ancestors from Germany;
my brothers and I from Los Angeles
California Boys and Men
like our parents: Angelenos.
959.
"TGIF!"
I once Yelled.
Camped that night
at San Clemente State Park.
Chester and I fished in the dark.
960.
sharp knife
skilled hands
peeling apples
oranges and potatoes,
slicing up ham
961.
My Buck Knife
is still missing,
somewhere unknown;
for weeks apples ripening,
birds flying south.
962.
many months of my times
missing from my mind
tossed tidbits from the Once Me
vague meandering memories
pages of facts often blank
963.
Stellar Jay swaying
on a feeder pole
pecking corn kernels;
I bite cornbread:
warm and soft.
964.
Am I using it?
Or, is it using me?
Questioning it's utility.
Tired of its grip on me.
Will I quit using it?
965.
low on energy
steady fatigue
tired relaxed
afternoon nap
gardener's dreams
966.
Karen's sinus pain,
daily suffering
headaches...
the Curse of August:
Allergy Hell.
967.
getting closer
goal in sight
got a little to go
grabbed what I wanted
gosh darn I'm good
968.
Prior Questions for the Tarot
Picked: August 27, 2026, 3:22 pm:
The Hierophant, X
Seer, Sage of Wands
Growth, Ten of Wands
Actor, Man of Wands
Tower, Transformation XVI
What could this mean?
Depends upon the prior question
it would seem.
The prior Question of the Querrant
sets the context
for their understandings gained.
The Reader of the Tarot spread
Does not know the
Question by the Querrant;
the writer of a poem
does not know the Reader's:
questions, intentions, expectations...
The card spread
gives the Tarot Reader
Clues as to stories, characters,
ideas, themes, patterns, and lore.
What questions could these Clues answer?
969.
ripe cherries
white moon
August brown
Queen Anne's Lace
ripe black berries
[August in the Garden Anthology]
970.
Bandon by the Sea, Bordering:
Coquille River to the North,
Pacific Ocean to the West,
Cranberry bogs to the South,
Forested hills to the East.
971.
Forlorn mood
incessant surf
howling winds
thunderous booms...
Bandon sea stacks in sunshine.
972.
Senior Year
first day
Skyview High School;
new classes, friends,
varsity soccer tryouts.
973.
write three quintains
every day,
and in that way
by paying attention
fine tuning my reflections
974.
"What's new?" she asked.
"Plenty" he said.
"What?" she asked.
"Tell you later" he said.
Didn't see him again for five years.
975.
Watered all the plants
in our home garden.
Autumn tints in August leaves,
colorful peppers plentiful,
peaches ripen on many trees.
976.
"Moonlight on stubbleshining
hills
whirls down upon me finer than geometry
and at my very
eyes it blurs and softens like a dream..."
- Yvor Winters, Nocturne
977.
On Mt. Adam's foothills
this bright July day;
glaciers gleaming gray.
Not a daydream fantasy
real rocks under melting snow.
978.
between
two eternities
my brief life
is stretched
tight
979.
sometimes
stumped
befuddled
fooled—
seldom so
980.
"We think too much and feel to little
More than machinery
we need humanity.
More than cleverness
we need kindness and gentleness."
- Charlie Chaplin
981.
we fail
being honest
with ourselves—
we prefer
overestimating
982.
No ideas but in things 1
No ideas but in beings 2
No ideas but in words
No ideas without consciousness
No ideas ... Nothing to say
[1. William Carlos Williams.
2. Lawrence Ferlinghetti]
983.
Be Here Now 1
Be Somewhere Else Now 2
Whatever you'll Be, you'll Be,
Here or There, Now not Later,
Emerging identity
[1. Ram Dass 2. L. Ferlinghetti]
984.
doctor's office:
computer screen
spic and span
tools of the trade...
Waiting in Silence
985.
sore lungs
sore throat
too much
cannabis smoke—
coughing regrets
986.
let go
or be dragged
to where
you don't
want to go
987.
two eyes
cloudy night
one sniff
moon flowers—
soft breeze
988.
Robert's Bookshop and
Bob's Beach Books,
both open today as rain
welcomes readers
in Lincoln City.
989.
MLK Day
January
America...
memories of
shared dreams
[January in the Garden Anthology]
990.
Picking up
brown pine cones
scattered around
fallen down—
Douglas Fir offspring.
991.
A wee bit intoxicated:
wasted my time
shirked my chores
lost part of my mind.
Why?
992.
The end of the garden
is at the end of the hose,
is at the end of the gardener's
energy and resolve to go.
At the end is the beginning.
993.
"Meanwhile the first Being got its Non-Being
Opposite which never had to be there before
This calamity, this accident, this Goof
this Imperceptible Sneak of Dimension,
Some Move-Push tickle, Aleph or Aum
swallowed before uttered,
one-eyed sparkle, giant glint, any tiny fart
Thought Impossible
filled every corner of Emptiness with Symmetries of
Impossible Universe with no idea
How Come, & Opposite Possible
Kosmoses assembled Doubtless—
One Makes two, symmetry's infinite touch
makes Sound bounce, light sees—
waves reproduce oceans...
[Allen Ginsberg, The Fall of America,
A Methedrine Vision of Hollywood]
994.
One night I awoke to the sounds
of rain in the wind.
The clanking of backyard gongs
till I took them down.
Wiped raindrops off my head.
Opened my fly, pissed on the ground.
Headed back into my bed.
995.
Aging provides
more opportunities
for becoming the person
you should
have been.
996.
sunburnt face:
stinging
painful
raw
mad about my carelessness
997.
"Happiness
not in another place;
not for another hour
but
This Hour."
- Walt Whitman
998.
closing the book
at the Chapter's end
bookmarking the place
so when I return
I'll know where to begin
999.
Celebrate!
8/31/2025:
1,ooo Quintains
Poublished Online by
Mike Garofalo.
1000.
Bundled Up: Volume 2
Quintains 1,000 - 1,500
25 Steps and Beyond: Collected Works
At the Edges of the West
Highway 101 and Hwy 1
Quintains, Pentastichs, Tankas
Cuttings: Haiku, Senryu, Brief Poems
At the Edges of the Fertile West
Highway 99 and Interstate 5
Texts Press Publications
Free Online Poetry and Studies
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Quintain Poetry Research
By Mike Garofalo
Quintains, Pentastichs, Tankas
Cinquains, Quintets, Quintillas
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25 Steps and Beyond:
The Collected Works of Mike Garofalo
Texts Press Publications
Free Online Poetry and Studies
By Mike Garofalo
Vancouver, Washington
Text Press Email
Michael Peter Garofalo (1946-) grew up in East Los Angeles, raised well by June and Big Mike, was educated in Catholic Schools, lived with two other brothers, graduated (B.A., M.S.) from local universities, married Blanche Karen Eubanks, served in the US Air Force, worked in and managed many City and Los Angeles County Public Libraries, raised two children, socialized, traveled, and learned. Retired as the Regional Administrator, East Region, Los Angeles County Public Library in 1998. We moved to a rural 5 acre property in Red Bluff, in the North Sacramento Valley, CA. Webmaster since 1999. Worked part-time for the Corning School District (Technology and Media Services Manager, District Librarian, Grant Writer, and Webmaster); and as a Yoga, Taijiquan, and fitness club instructor until 2016. Traveled extensively in Northern California, Oregon, and Washington. We both retired, and we moved to Vancouver, WA, in 2017. Currently in 2025: reading, writing, gardening, harmonica playing, home chores, yurt camping, exercise, traveling in the Northwest, web publishing, family events, poetry research, photography, Northwest research, Nature mysticism, Buddhist and Taoist literature, walking, sports events, etc.
25 Steps and Beyond; Collected Works
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Mirrors: Pentastichs, Tankas, Cinquains
Bundled Up:
Quintains, Pentastichs, Tanka Poems
By Mike Garofalo
Bundled Up, Volume 1
Poems 1 - 99
Poems 100 - 199
Poems 200 - 299
Poems 300 - 399
Poems 400 - 499
Poems 500 - 599
Poems 600 - 699
Poems 700 - 799
Poems 800 - 899
Poems 900 - 1,000
Bundled Up: Volume 2
Poems 1,000 - 1,099
Poems 1,100 - 1,199
Poems 1,200 - 1,299
Poems 1,300 - 1,399
Poems 1,400 - 1,499
Bundled Up: Volume 3
Poems 1,500 -
Bundled Up:
Quintains, Tercets,
One-Liners and Onions
Poetry By Michael P. Garofalo
Pulling Onions
1,000 Quips, Opinions, and One-Liners
A Basket of Ideas from the Backyard
Cuttings:
Tercets, Haiku, Senryu, and Onions
Arranged by Months
Bundled Up, Volume 1
Quintain Poems 1 - 1,000
Onion Seedlings
Bundled Up, Volume 2
Quintain Poems 1,000 - 1,499
Bundled Up, Volume 3
Quintain Poems 1,500 - 2,oo0
At the Edges of the West
A Docu-Poem
This document was last edited, revised,
reformatted, added to, relinked,
changed, improved, or modified
by Mike Garofalo
on November 4, 2025.