The Honey [Three Line Lunch]
a fugitive diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers
The Honey
Brain iz buzzing
With words this morning–
Worker bees in the hive.
a fugitive diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers
The Honey
Brain iz buzzing
With words this morning–
Worker bees in the hive.
a fitfully sporadic diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers Talking to Myself in Public Here I am Talking to myselfIn public again.
This is a special Three Line Lunch crossover edition of Hippie Squared. It’s a first edition. Save this, it could be a collector’s item. (Do I date myself? Very well then, I date myself! I am large, I contain decades.) TLL graciously offered to step in when it became clear that HS was going to [...]
a fitful and unpredictable diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers Over the Line of Midnight at the Bargaining Table 50 union members behind witness. She sits erect, back muscles cross-hatched, voice unsheathed.Lawyer across table’s managers spread like wings. Papers rolled, choked in fist, pogos to his feet, Barks. How must the ancient gladiators have felt down in the bowl of the [...]
a fitful and unpredictable diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers You Never Know You just never know. You try to guess, But you never know.
a fitful and unpredictable diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers And Then I Ask “A statement is always a lie,” I say, And then I ask, “Is a question always the truth?”
a fitful and unpredictable diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers Head Under Pages I take a deep breath and plunge my head in the book, open my eyes On a world that wavers…real and unreal, beauty, strange, dread and attendant courage, And though I long to stay down, I know, I can only stay down for so [...]
a sporadic diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers Where the Rhyme Takes You Sometimes you just have to go Where the rhyme Takes you.
a spotty diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers In the Domed Chamber of Bone From within and below the echoes I peer up through slanted sun-striped shadows Under the arching dome of bone in the chamber of my skull, and try to decipher The scratchings, the paintings, the figures and letters of strange and ancient origin.
a spotty diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers Planning Mindfulness There I was in the shower this morning, rinsing my face under hot water, and planning Moments in the future When I would live in the present.