Four Poems

Hello friends,

Four poems this week, beginning with this true-story palindrome:


PALINDROME COMPOSED ON A PHONE, AT NIGHT

Laid an ode, drowsy.
Eked one poem:
O, some open ode!
Keys worded on a dial.


Next, two triolets, the second of which is composed of anagrammed lines:


MURDER OF CROWS (Triolet)

A murder, from a garden, rose
and left us in the dying light.
The sky is red now—no one knows
a murder from a garden rose.
It’s rare to see so many crows,
and now they’ve gone to gather night.
A murder from a garden rose
and left us in the dying light.


ASTROLABE (Anagram-Triolet)

Log sure: Beneath a star atilt,
the astrolabe triangulates.
So, target here an atlas, built,
log sure, beneath a star atilt.
True reason has a tablet gilt,
a stable rule a night rotates....
Log sure! Beneath a star, atilt,
the astrolabe triangulates.


And to end, another palindrome:


IDLE HILL (Palindrome)

A mar on a past, idle hill....
It’s a still I held.
It’s a panorama.