Published: 11 August 2026

Pun-aphors

A pigeon flew at me and made me duck.
I was excited by the bow and arrow, but I no longer get that quiver.
I wanted to write an alphabet in a boat, but I floundered at sea.
I got a dog and wanted us to have pet Latin names — he was going to be Canus, but my friend said “You can’t be Sirius.”
I like eating hot food in winter — last time, I thought it was chili.
They told us they were bison but I think we were buffaloed.
I asked the baker where the sun rose — he said “Look yeast.”
He built his novel from the ground up, and then missed a story.
I trapped a skunk in my house but he got me – it was instinct.
I like to read the comics at breakfast — they’re serial.
I can never get away from cats — they keep dogging me.
I wanted to play solo water polo but the pool was teeming.
My bird dog wanted to go hunting — I quailed.
My friend is so good at billiards he wears a fin — he’s a shark.
The spy told me about the growth on his face—I said, you’ve got a problem, that’s a mole.
He told me it was a good spot to sit and fish so I perched.
I helped the fisherman load his catch into his cart. When it got stuck, he said, “Put more mussel into it.”
When I asked the raptor expert which bird was the biggest, he replied, ”Well, all things being eagle …”
When the inventor was asked what was the heart of his paper engine, he replied, the manifold.
The door is ajar.

More Poetry:

gravity mocks me

with flying pies in the face
rakes meant for Sideshow Bob
new frost on concrete stairs
ladders not properly secured

everything is a lie, what is love?

everything is a lie; what is a lie?
what can be excused; what must be forgotten?
when the blood is on your hands
the moment you say you’re innocent

poetry is more than a hole

1
you can go to bed and plan
to get up in the morning and dig a hole
and by noon, you can be done
this is not a good recipe for writing a poem

Confession, for Michael Dennis

I’m reading Raymond Carver and thinking of my friend Michael –
not because he recommended Carver, but because
when he’s in his stride, Michael writes like Carver. I call it ‘me
poetry’. I wrote lots of it. Until I got tired of seeing “me” all the time.
Nonetheless, there’s something in the delicacy of Carver’s/ Michael’s ruminations,

two ways to make friends

there are two ways to make friends
you sing together or
you dance together
the only exception are
children

they do both at once

There’s Nothing Like Banana Bread

You may talk about the beauty of Venice,
or you can visit the glories of Rome, but
for me there is nothing better on Earth,
than banana bread made at home.

Related

0 Comments

Submit a Comment

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *