Written By Arial Calibri


Fonts are a form of Haiku.

Bold, Italics, underline

Are metaphors for emphasis.

Saving, printing are symbolists

An accidental delete can anger me…I

Can be caught digging in the trash

For a bottle deposit kind-of-file

That inspires the next Ghazal of text.

But the amount of the deposit return

Depends upon which state I’m in.

Writing is full of clicks and drags.

I’ve experienced all

The ups of uploading

The downs of downloading

Every now and then

I need to reboot my operating system.

Sometimes a poem is like

An Adobe Flash Player,

A message in images.

I swear HTML is free verse,

PDFs are doggerels.

Poetry is like opening

A new window


Meeting The Family


I meet your family.

The toothless, the fairy

The hobbit, and the biker.

And I don’t know why

I feel at home

While needing to escape

To the library


You meet my family.

The munchkin, the brain

The witch, and the calculator.

And you don’t know why

You feel at home.

We meet at the library.


(You are allowed to fill in the underlined with your own version.)

Immortal Bricks


Underneath the bridge

Old bricks still hold the street

Together, as they did

Inside a younger city.

They’re unaffected by wind

Weather fronts, the rolling

Of heavy tires, the burn

Of the city’s pangs

We had walked

On them as others had… where

Train tracks sliced through

These oldest parts of the city…there

We gazed at the high grass

Growing through the gravel,

The warmer days

Further up

Where numbered streets

Take on more than one digit,

The bricks have given way

To multi-layered streets.

You moved closer,

a few blocks away

As if our bodies’ nearness….

A simple result of city sections

Today, I try not to trip

On potholes, where rain

Seeks the original bricks

Below the higher layers.

I can’t help but feel porous

The emotional bonding element

Passing through me,

Built of abandonment,

I can only blame myself for

That I have always blamed myself for

How long will it be, before

The rain takes me?

I hustle in rain gear just to eat

Back under the bridge

Permeable others have gathered

Like a congregation

Burning wood pallets, collecting

Makeshift tents, car parts

Bike parts…………….part-human

They once lived in the higher numbers

It seems, when their streets

washed away, they were drawn

To the immortal bricks

I am frightened to search

For my face among them

Still the grass grows high

Through the gravel, but

Only upon the last of the hottest days.

The New App


Would you look where you’re going?

Dig that head out of your device.

Take a sure step ahead

Or a car will end your streak

Of cute emojis  

Just wait a minute

Put the Me Phone in your pocket

And stop acting like an Android

You don’t need to find out

If Suzy wants to go out on a date

Within seconds of you asking her

You don’t need to ask your wife

If she wants one ply or two ply

Her ass if fine

No, you didn’t find something collectable.

Get off of E-bay!

If you knew anything about collectables

You wouldn’t need the phone!

We don’t need another photo

Of the Taj Mahal on Instagram

No, the filters won’t help

It’s not shaded sizzling blue or

Hot-to-trot California fuchsia  

And we don’t need to see your smiling

Fat head in front of it, either

Instead of a meaningless game

That you must reach

The next level to

Try making it to the next

Chapter of a fucking book!

Stories should not be six words long

Quotes are cute

But on Twitter, they’re

Usually sappy or plagiarized

Sometimes it takes a little communication

To be smart about things

Try talking to people

Just consider it the new app


Ask Me by William Stafford

Frozen Columbia River: 1929
Frozen Columbia River: 1929

Some time when the river is ice ask me
mistakes I have made.  Ask me whether
what I have done is my life.  Others
have come in their slow way into
my thought, and some have tried to help
or to hurt: ask me what difference
their strongest love or hate has made.

I will listen to what you say.
You and I can turn and look
at the silent river and wait.  We know
the current is there, hidden; and there
are comings and goings from miles away
that hold the stillness exactly before us.
What the river says, that is what I say.