Monthly Archives: April 2011

Poets Already Know It

An old fool’s love for words and poems
Bears his lost soul as his thoughts roam
Caught in love’s hope circling the drain
Telling her now not lost or gained

She’s not surprised knew all along
Reading this poem hearing his song
Knowing the cost, gain hard to see
Her smile and tears answered for me

© 2011 Michael Yost

Senryu Twenty Six

The doubt my tears shed
When she left I could have said.
Of what my heart pledged.



© 2011 Michael Yost


The lead broke with the least pressure

Ink ran dry starting the letter

Each key stuck fast with each enter

No Dear Jane now should have known better


© 2011 Michael Yost

You Can Do It

A non-smoker since Easter.
No voodoo, pills or patches for I.
Four days ago cold turkey.
Going to make it this time or die.

No alternatives given.
The arteries are choking.
I’d rather not die Today.
So I’m no longer smoking!

© 2011 Michael Yost

Intoxicating Scent

Under my fingertips your lips were moist.
I was certain I heard your pleasure voiced
Those goose bumps were real, I felt at your door.
That brief stolen kiss whispering one more

My feet in the door, one more kiss to gain
Hands slid down your frame I knew you’d abstain
Intoxicating scent left on my hands
I left rather quickly fearing quicksand

© 2011 Michael Yost

Senryu Twenty Five

I wept for weeping
And plied for that sigh’s release
To be let go free

© 2011 Michael Yost

Senryu Twenty Four

Lines white and fine
Tiny bridges to the shrine
Big head or dead line

© 2011 Michael Yost

Kilroy’s Wailing Walls

Thought Barb was never the wiser I ditched
Brought her back home early as I feigned sick
Went back to the dance to find some romance
And found Barb dancing with some dog named Dick

© 2011 Michael Yost

Tanka Schoen*

Nuggets and nuances
Cleverly hidden in words
Speak in low volume

Under the songs of the birds
Who sings to anyone I heard

© 2011 Michael Yost

*Playful title based on Wayne Newton’s
rendition of Danke Schoen

Devil’s Delight

No drama today, the curtains drawn tight
Comedy gone too, no time for the light
Our troupe ran away, don’t need fruit tonight
The war’s come to town, different troop’s plight

© 2011 Michael Yost

Titter Tattered Tall Tales

Pass on the lore of yesteryear
Of the follies loved near and dear
Tales intriguing and sublime
Capturing men who did the crime

All the stories should ring the truth
Not so much as to require proof
If they seem too good to be true
They’ll lose their interest in you

© 2011 Michael Yost

Now a Burden

When you smile now I die a little inside
Knowing because it’s him and I subside
You once gave the gift only loving me
Were only there ways setting this curse free

© 2011 Michael Yost

Silent Partner

The feelings are real and unspoken true
Fearing what I do have, will be lost too
Words aren’t important as showing is
I’ll let the angels sing the choruses

Your last love abused before I knew you
Causing you caution I understand too
Standing over here not too far away
To fill whatever role I need to play

© 2011 Michael Yost


Senryu Twenty Three

Just touch with whispers
Your warming breathe sends cold chills
To my very core

© 2011 Michael Yost

How Often the Glen Echoes

How often the glen echoes
Depends on the single voice pure
Calling her love through the snow
Testing how love endures

Words between them short and terse
He said things he ought not said
What things she said were much worse
All over the unmade bed

No children heard two years now
Not for not trying, passion flared
Sweat intermingled on their brows
Blaming self, unanswered prayer

How often the glen echoes
Depends on the heart’s love pure
Finds her love one in the snow
Too much too long to endure

© 2011 Michael Yost


Just Kidding?

The cinders had sharp edges, to the light touch
But feeling them too hard, they turned to black dust.
Too close to the fire, brought on by the long drought.
Blackened and bone dry, the life had all dried out

As we grow older, more sharp edges appear
We chase others away, so not to get near.
Hearts turn to small figs old bones dry out too
Heat from a different source we become blue

When you pass old grumpy people throughout your day
Push them aside, warn them, “Get out of the way!”
Hose them down, tell them, “I’ve got a life too!”
“I’ll give you a reason, reasons to turn blue!”

© 2011 Michael Yost


Works Differently

Sometimes the muse sings blues
Others times it knocks and strolls
Rockets lift igniting the fuse
Or asking for whom the bell tolls

Just tune in and it will christen
Words will come that strikes the chord
Calm your mind still, do not listen
Soon it comes like the mouse that roared

© 2011 Michael Yost

Periwinkle Preston

Periwinkle Preston glanced over the dance floor
Finding the ideal woman, the one who soared
Not the easiest of task seeing the perfect score
A one eyed beastly man being of ill report

The heart of a champion the soul of a saint
Oh but what a picture that God had painted
Periwinkle Preston tried to make an acquaint
Alas the beautiful girl could not, just fainted

Tears flowed from his one eye on down to her face
She looked up startled seeing something out of place
Something in his eye before not noticed
Her barren soul protruding with prejudice

And they live happily ever after with beautiful one eyed babies

© 2011 Michael Yost

Purgatories Purse Strings*


Casings hallowed by the fire, zip through the clip

Scorching little forearm hairs as they skipped and flipped

Sending souls to purgatory whipped and stripped

No marker or stone left, just an open scrip

© 2011 Michael Yost

*3.75 APR

Sarah Jakle and Creative Writing

Sarah Jakle

I lose myself in words and try to gain the voice of the poet. My hope is to keep those things around me that are important alive and in front of other people’s eyes. To revitalize the world’s interests in less observed profundities and minutiae; while soothing my soul with these observations. More often I find it torments my soul; the disregard and loathing it has for others – myself included.

Poetry is a lot of things to a lot of people, but it’s definitely not for wimps.

Thank you Sarah Jakle, If not for you in helping me to open my eyes, I would still be floating alone and mentally isolated on the seas of depression; without a voice to shout with.

Michael Yost

Past the Man Crying

Pass through the door past the man who cry’s
For the understanding of life’s cycle
And why all must go through life and die
Some others wish it to be actual

While hold outs live to be perpetual
Fangs in your throat sucking you dryly
Leaving you love notes with smiley’s
RSVPeeing over their daisy purr petuals

Again beyond original intent

Pass through the door past the man who’s crying
Looking for enlightenment’s ending
Doubtful its lack of control pending
Yet hold outs live while love ones are dying

© 2011 Michael Yost

*Sometimes you leave it as it was.


The Perfect Poet Award 4 Poets Rally Week 41


My thanks to Jingle

Hai Ku to you and to yours

Honored by Award

© 2011 Michael Yost

Thursday Poet Rally

Twubbling Theme

The p on the last gasp punctuated
Then the roaring crowds stood abate
Hearing beer cups roll down the stands
Damned the last hope of your teams fate

Flashing light bulbs captured moments
Finally the crowd starts to grunt
Twubbled tweets testify tragedy
Based on a team members last stunt

He tried to take it all with three
The coach said two, is what they needed
To tie the game for overtime
He took a chance, he should have heeded

© 2011 Michael Yost

From His Part He Looks Left Handed

It’s a reverse mirror showing the real you.
Are you outside looking in or inside looking out?
Your nose is turned in the opposite direction.
Your forehead wrinkles slant the other way.

Speaking, the words seem to have a new control over your lips.
You listen differently too, the words sound recorded.
Everything you are used to is suddenly, Used Too;
Which one now is really the evil twin?

©2011 Michael Yost

Thursday Poet Rally  Week 42

Isolation’s Idiosyncrasy

It knows how to build your very own prison.
Pale, with absolutely no passion.
Being chained to the steel wall, of inaction;
Not forgiving self or show compassion.

You have no one else, to blame but yourself.
Others didn’t put you there only you delved.
Critically separating thyself
Standing alone like one staid bookend, shelved.

© 2011 Michael Yost