How
© 2009 Mark Pearce

How can you enjoy birds singing
from an airline terminal?

How does plenty
rob us of pleasure?

How can we taste truth

Discarded Smile
© 2009 Mark Pearce

Fear has gripped the proud,
torn the smile off the poster
and left it naked on the ground,
where it has been stepped on three times.

Oh, it’s okay
© 2009 Mark Pearce

It’s okay to write about the sun.

Oh, I know it’s been done before.
More than a few times.
But it’s risen more than a few times too,

A Prehistoric Nursery Rhyme
© 2009 Mark Pearce

Ohhh—

Stinky pterodactyl
In the land of Goo
Going all protractile
Licking on a shoe

Tearing lice from bedsprings

My
© 2009 Mark Pearce

My – how this mountain has grown.

I turned my back
but for a moment,
and there it is
in all of its majesty.

It was once a swamp.

Upright
© 2009 Mark Pearce

Come, little biped.
Crawl unto me.
Your hands blaze the path
For your shuttling knees.

Pull up, little biped.
What do you see

Haiku Breakfast
© 2007 Mark Pearce

I dream in Haiku.
But when the monsters come
I am awakened.

Peanut Butter is
Best when licked off the fingers

There’s A Pango Rib In My Berfulator
(c) 2007 Mark Pearce

I left my whirlen nuget
In a bisko pandy store
I returned to fibulate it,
But the triscomb wanted more.

James Paul
By Mark Pearce © 2007

A prima Donna at times,
Head strong.
Particular.
Dedicated to the craft
As a workman upon the temple.

Soft and hard with a
Left-handed, artful mind.

The Old Weathervane
Mark Pearce (c) 2007

The weathervane’s broke
So the wind has refused to blow.
The weathervane’s broke
So the wind has refused to blow.

And So It Flows
© 2007 Mark Pearce

I wrote a little boat
Into existence.
It floated down the stream
At my insistence.

As it lurched and leaped and bobbed

Haiku Brunch
© 2008 Mark Pearce

The human race won,
but we learn that fast, fast, fast
is not fast enough.

The heat of youth fades.
The wizened heart delivers

A Lesson in Pantry Care
© 2008 Mark Pearce

Shelve ‘em tight –
The pickles, peanut butter and the crackers.

Squeeze ‘em in –

He was forty-five when I showed up,
His breaths pre-dating the great depression.

He was a marked man, my Dad.
Marked by an indomitable good nature
And by a vertical scar

Love Flies On
© 2008 Mark Pearce

My love flies on
To Chicago.

I remember the first day
On a flight from Houston.
She was efficient and proper
With wonderful eyes.