Category Archives: Poems

Badge of Honor

Posted on August 4, 2015 by jimcoleman3rd

I am like Eeeyore, Mulish, despondent, proud. My badge of honor.

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Interrogation

Posted on June 23, 2014 by jimcoleman3rd

Who do you think you are? What in the world are you doing? How did you ever even think that? Why do you think you’re so special? Why am I standing here listening to you? Who else should I care … Continue reading →

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Tired

Posted on April 11, 2014 by jimcoleman3rd

“The shits are killing us …” (Norman Mailer, Songs for Myself) Inspired By Wolf Biermann’s Die hab’ ich satt!* I’m tired of those shits You know who I mean They fluster and bluster And think themselves keen And the smartest … Continue reading →

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(Self) Control

Posted on January 31, 2014 by jimcoleman3rd

You need to see a shrink, she said. Rage consumes you, eats you up. You may be right, but rage is all I have, it keeps me up. All you have? What utter rot. No, drama, that you have in spades. … Continue reading →

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The End of Time

Posted on December 27, 2013 by jimcoleman3rd

Two thirteen: done, kaputt, Almost. A year of  bad days, Yet on the heart beats.

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COPD

Posted on December 13, 2013 by jimcoleman3rd

At the edge of breath Lungs barely in- or exhale Ragged coughs and then

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Your Teeth

Posted on November 12, 2013 by jimcoleman3rd

I love you, dear, For this I know: That when you smile, Your teeth don’t show. Past many years, Our love will grow Your lovely smile And teeth don’t show. Yes, children, too May life bestow Just please be sure … Continue reading →

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Oyster

Posted on November 7, 2013 by jimcoleman3rd

Craggy, rough-hewn shell. The knife twists with a pivot, Flesh, juice, briny, sweet.

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Hard Work

Posted on October 31, 2013 by jimcoleman3rd

Writing a poem – that’s hard work. The dactyl is tricky, hard the iamb. The line has its rhythms and quirks, The stanza demands its pound. I am Seated quiet at my desk. The line does test The mind. The … Continue reading →

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My Cat

Posted on October 24, 2013 by jimcoleman3rd

(Apologies to Christian Morgenstern) My cat sits on the mat. That’s where he’s at. Yet why does he do that? He could be on the sill, but still, he’s on the mat. So why he just does that? A refined … Continue reading →

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