Everyone in town knows
Philmon is a mad scientist
It's not his little hunchback buddy
Or the crazy smocks in which he's always dressed

It's not the lighting clouds over his house
Or the strange sounds from which his basement grew
No, it's not any of those things
That gives the town it's clue

It's not all of the darkened birds
That hang out on his fence
Or his subscription to weird science weekly
And on what it is his time is spent

Not even when things always turn up missing
Down at the local graveyard
No, it's the "HONK" if you love Mad Scientists sticker
On the bumper of his car

Prose            in a mirror,         words     in a trap.
Reflecting,      and refracting            as in a war.
Oh                                                          ­          no!
Stanzas                appear                  backwards,
Eve­n though     their meanings are     the same.

I gaze                  upon                        my graffiti
Not aware                of the irony               within.

All at once,           as if        I had            dyslexia,

My mind                  began                       to hum.
In the mirror,           my poem                    and I
Right was left                    and left was the other.
Reading aloud was difficult, yet made me hear,
Of the meaning                           in my scenario.
Reflecting,                    one can see in the mirror.


*Double Acrostic: Starting and ending each line with the letters that spell the title of the poem.

How do I know you're a poet
By the very words you sow
From the highest high of all the highs
To the deepest depths below
The way you pour out your heart
In every syllable as they flow
That is how I know you hold to
The poet in your soul

How do I know you're a poet
Because you take the simple facts
That life's ups and downs have thrown your way
By the way you throw them back
The way you upset the apple cart
With the words that you display
How do I know you're a poet
Your soul it does betray

How do I know you're a poet
By the way it is I'm moved
From the first line to the end of time
In the words that you let loose
No need to really ask
How it is I know
Everything I read and see
Points to the poet in your soul

I’m a living tomb

my baby has died in my womb

I have to let nature take its course

Can’t bear this, what could be worse?

I’m still getting many a smile

people don’t know my turmoil

My baby has died

I still haven’t cried

the sadness buried inside