Always and everywhere,
world without end,
it comes again
out of nowhere,
on a Sunday evening,
the anxious gloom,
feeling of doom,
a kind of grieving
for opportunities lost,
lovers never found;
by neurosis bound,
overthinking the cost.
Analysis,
paralysis,
mere
fear.
Copyright 2023
T. Allen Culpepper
“Nobody died,” you’ll say,
trivializing your secret vice
after exercising it again,
rationalizing that the unseen
can do no harm, a possible lie,
one you yourself don’t believe.
What if a bit of good expires,
some little part of you each time,
if somewhere in the multiverse
the wings don’t flap on a butterfly
and the resulting calm
invokes the pending curse
that finally ends the world,
and it’s your hidden shame,
that little sin you keep well wrapped,
that we have to blame?
Copyright 2023
T. Allen Culpepper
No, I do not want to sell my house.
No, I do not want to sell my house.
If I did, I’d ask my agent to list it.
If I did, I’d ask my agent to list it.
If want ask list agent house my did,
I to it want sell do I know not I’d.
You are stalking me and it scares me.
You are stalking me and it scares me.
No is a word you do not understand.
No is a word you do not understand.
Word, you you! A stalking me scares,
and understand it don’t it is/are no!
I want to invite you over and burn it down.
I want to invite you over and burn it down.
With you alone inside, my evil nemesis.
With you alone inside, my evil nemesis.
And want you, nemesis, over inside
with my evil invite you down to burn it I.
Agent, you scares me, I do stalking my you to.
If it to sell want I not, nemesis,
I’d to invite, to you ask
did with evil want inside house alone, understand.
My, my! I do list it not.
My no is a word! Over!
Copyright 2023
T. Allen Culpepper
In one day I’ve said a hundred prayers
that bitterness would cease and love prevail,
that peace would come despite life’s many cares;
in one day I’ve said a hundred prayers
for blessings multiplied like breeding hares,
that evil thoughts might not us assail.
In one day I’ve said a hundred prayers
that bitterness would cease and love prevail.
Copyright 2023
T. Allen Culpepper
High up on the Andes peaks
rodents soft and dense of fur,
socializing in their herds,
conversing with their pips and squeaks;
from their burrows they leap and scurry.
Copyright 2023
T. Allen Culpepper
There once was a saint called Gertrude,
who liked cats and beatitudes.
a beating heart
gave her a start
and a reverent attitude.
Copyright 2023
T. Allen Culpepper
Human, un-heroic,
hunkered against what comes,
like a dead-days stoic;
desk-warrior, numb
from digital doings;
drifted far from Odin,
no rigor for rowing
rightly toward new growth.
Copyright 2023
T. Allen Culpepper
Note: This is my attempt at the Old Norse drottkvætt form; even allowing myself some rule-bending, it is difficult!
St. Paddy to Eire had not been
for a while, so he thought he’d drop in.
Asked after his health,
he said, “Grand, yourself?
but this ale’s gone off, it’s green.“
Copyright 2023
T. Allen Culpepper
There once was a man in Skagen
who wouldn’t slice cheese on a plane:
He’d cut off a chunk
and leave a crude hunk—
and now he’s no longer a Dane.
Copyright 2023
T. Allen Culpepper
There once was a bloke from Spitalfields
whose job was to broker tax deals,
but after work,
he’d rip off his shirt
and go dancing in makeup and heels.
Copyright 2023
T. Allen Culpepper
Poetry When It Comes 