Warm sun on red leaves
Brown leaves on the wet green lawn
Black mountains don't care
黒い山々は赤い葉と緑の草に動かされていません黑山不为红叶绿草所动Pillow on my chair
The back digs into my spine
I hate passive voice
椅子的靠背很硬，座椅要了我的屁股，我讨厌语法A can of black beans
A cup of cold tap water
The poet's tiffin
一罐黑豆
一杯冷自来水
诗人的午餐(thanks to Alex Horton)
In the Air Force insurrection/comes with much vaccine rejection/Pilots and their ground crews spurn/orders, growing taciturn/Generals get apoplectic/Are their troops now all dyslectic?/When the rank and file reject/orders there is disrespect/What is worse, no jail can hold/all these mutineers so bold/A soldier who won't take a poke/is pretty much a useless joke/Send them back to basic training/until their minds of mush are draining!
I don't drink coffee --
puddled mornings with quicksand --
vitamin pills rock!
朝はコーヒーを飲まず、ビタミン剤だけ。Follow the cursor --
it will lead you to nothing --
buy a fishing rod.
カーソルを何もしないか、釣り竿を購入します
All those happy clams --rolling along the sea floor --I've never seen them.幸せなハマグリや不幸なハマグリを見たことがない
(thanks to David Lazarus)
Bill collectors at your door/on your phone -- and what is more/down the chimney they will come/if you owe a thumping sum/You may shoot them or pretend/you are just the debtor's friend/O, these hounds of dark finance/can benumb you with a glance/If to debt you must succumb/go and be a coarse beach bum/Then let four years pass away/and come back to have your day/Creditors will have to eat/all your debt -- now ain't that sweet?
Sunlight through the blinds
on the faceless black keyboard
reminds me of prunes.
顔のない黒いキーボードのブラインドからの日光は、プルーンを思い出させます。
scrolling down the screen --fingers jumping like kittens --ginger tea all gone.画面を散歩すると、子猫のように指がジャンプし、ジンジャーティーがなくなります。Bug in the pen drawer --musty tea bags in the sink --another rewrite . . .ペンの引き出しのバグとシンクの古いティーバッグ-別の書き直し！
Her face in profile --
a strand of languid white hair --
autumn in her eyes.
だらしない白い髪の毛と彼女の目に輝く秋の髪の輪郭の彼女の顔
The curve of her ear --tinged with the red of long sleep --drawn close to my lips.私の唇が近づくと、彼女の耳はその上で寝ていると赤くなります。
A bump in her noseand indecently warm lips --her breath like warm milk.彼女の鼻には隆起があり、唇は暖かすぎますが、息はミルクのようなにおいがします
(THanks to CHristian Davenport)
(Thanks to Christian Davenport.)
The magnates have decided that the heavens are the place/for stations that will make 'em richer than French bouillabaisse/A space station for Bezos, and a couple for Bill Gates/will naturally be charging stratospheric bizness rates/Any ship that docks in one of their posh ports of call/will find their crew and passengers escorted to the Mall/I suppose casinos and a cocktail lounge or two/will also be on offer for the passengers and crew/So many new space stations will be built these next few years/comets that are passing by will clip their frozen ears/And sneaky Martian conscripts that are trying to invade/will stop instead to purchase Warren Buffet's tapenade/NASA will be crowded out and astronauts downsized/as automation and AI become more standardized!
(Thanks to Paulina Firozi.)
A world without a butterfly
would cause a mountain troll to cry.
Their parchment wings that skim the air;
their gorgeous beauty without blare --
such creatures are a great distinction,
which we are pushing to extinction.
Painted ladies or Essex skipper,
and Mourning cloak don't feel too chipper.
Perhaps the angels intervening
can stop this upset most demeaning.
They'll use their seraph wings to shelter
their flitting cousins from the welter
of black smokestacks, deforestation,
and other dark abomination.
O butterfly, don't be so passive;
gather strength and courage massive!
In unity you'll march and rise
to make "Planet of the Butterflies."
(Thanks to Taylor Telford)
Santa held a meeting with his top elves just this week;
the forum was long-winded and chock-full of doublespeak.
Suppliers for his toy shop were unable to keep pace;
it looked like Santy would default and lose a lot of face.
Purple paint was lacking and green stickum was depleted;
and tragically all children's dreams of loot would be defeated!
The elfish boss told Santa Claus supply chains were all busted;
container ships were hollow and most warehouses quite rusted.
Unless the truckers hit the road and wholesale prices tumbled
peace on earth, goodwill to men would certainly be jumbled!
"I'll send my reindeer out right now" said Santa with a snort.
"They'll bring supplies from ev'ry depot, factory, and port!"
Presto chango! Santa's deer brought string and sealing wax,
clock springs, flywheels, oakum, and bright silver carpet tacks.
Nisse, pixies, brownies, and a host of elvish kin
went to work with horsehair, dowels, and hand-picked twaddled tin.
Soon the shelves were teeming with toy soldiers and the like;
dollies, baseballs, checker games for ev'ry little tyke . . .
I wish my tattered quill could end this saga with a smile;
to say that good Saint Nicholas delivered with great style.
But after all the foofaraw, these hand-made artifacts
were refused by children like a box of stale borax.
Because the kiddies think of Santa as a mastodon --
they only want the newest apps that come from Amazon!