a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 273 Living in the Past Tense Again  Even as it’s happening I’m looking back on it, describing it As if it’s in the...

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 272 Ghosts of the Living  I’m seldom truly alone When these ghosts of the living Haunt my waking dreams.

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 271 Moment to Moment Tenderness  From moment to moment I’m in love with life. Then my gaze is pulled back into a face of regret. It snaps forward into a face of dread. When life with all her tenderness for me is right here standing in this moment that I...

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 270 Stop Flopping and Breathe  My mind flops around like a fish out of water. But this fish breathes oxygen. I just have to remind it to stop flopping and...

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 269 A Feel Good Poem  Makes you feel good When I do that to you. I like that.

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 268 Living in the Past Tense  My mom, creative and adventurous, used excitement to manage us unruly kids. Going somewhere she’d rile us up with all her talk about how much fun we would have. By destination I already looked forward to looking back on all the fun we were...

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 267 Whiskey Watch  Watch how multi-faceted shotglass refracts light through palomino liquid, like sunlight On a clear stream. Watch inside the glide over tongue, back-of-the-mouth internal burn. Watch gentle relentless soft-focus begin to stuff brain, blur walk words and...

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 266 The Quiet Rumble (Striker on My Lap)  Little black paws curl over my arm. Little black head fur-padded pushes up against my chin. The quiet rumble...

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 261 Top Step Ritual Vinnie cat eats outside. But I have to guard her from Striker. So I sit on top step, Steep concrete staircase; look down in bird music through leaf curtain at sparse cars, Parents walking kids schoolward, distant train, 5 freeway banding hills. Precious...

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 260 Driving the Corridor of Trees Driving the corridor of trees at night Canopy over solid darkness Headlights bore me a tunnel.

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 259 Grip Sometimes it’s a struggle just to stay in the now. I grip my coffee cup For dear life.

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 254 Room “There’s a lot of love between us,” I said last night, “And there’s room for a lot...

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 240 Comfort Welcome Come home to Elise on top step, wine in hand, waiting. I don new MSU sweatshirt, Warm and soft; sit a step below, bury my head against her neck, scarf soft on my cheek. Her words know; she rubs my back and shoulders. Chill night air and the ways to be...

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 239 Panelology (Reading Hadley’s Marvel Masterworks: Amazing Spider-Man Volume 2) Sequential art—simplicity of pictures strung together with words to tell a story—kinetic But frozen: action—suspended. Age 10 from Dad’s Kalamazoo apartment I’d cross Busy W. Main to drugstore spinny comic book rack, crouch there reading, safe...

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 238 Hadley Bat Mitzvah Morning-After Gaggle of girls runs down hotel hallway yelling and laughing, leaping to touch the ceiling. We take Gaku & Aki for typical American breakfast: eggs, sausage, potatoes, pancakes, Mammoth portions. They snap Japanese iPhone shots of all the plates ranged on...

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 237 Hadley Bat Mitzvah After-Party Downtown East Lansing Marriott, klezmer band, cream of Haslett Middle School jostles for Snow globe photos with Hadley. Adult side: Maya recalls Detroit’s years-gone great days, Ice cream downtown — though in nearby Dearborn, to be black after dark meant...

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 236 Her Voice (Hadley in Her Bat Mitzvah) The notes in her high sweet voice, light and feathery, Singing torah and haftorah, blessings and teachings of her tradition, Dance like particles in a beam of...

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 236 Deep Traveling Four years ago this week I traveled to Michigan for my mom’s death. Now I travel there for my niece Hadley’s bat mitzvah. Where and when I mourned I now...

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 235 Chicago Dog at the Chicago Airport On poppy-seed, mustard onions relish tomato pickle sport-peppers celery-salt. Elise insisted, bless her. At O’Hare bar the Goose Island IPA swims on my palate, Relish and onion drips down my fingers to mingle with potato chip salt as I write...

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 234 Four Stoops (Election Night Pico Rivera Precinct-Walk Impressions) At my knock, little girl voice: “For my daddy?” Then boy: “Dad, some guy’s at the door.” Caged cockatiel outside hops on perch as chihuahuas crash snarling against security door. Bamboo windchimes knock knuckles. Next house: faux-bamboo ceramic windchimes...

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 233 Cafe Tropical Morning Caught in a whirlwind—work deadlines piled on pre-trip to Michigan. Back on caffeine Three days now. This is a place to stop, sit at scratched & battered heavy wooden table. To think, sip cortado, observe the moving life around me. A pause, before launching...

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 232 Cheap Traffic School, Culver Hotel Grand old brick hotel, marble floors, crown molding; Oz actors stayed here for shooting. True cross section of middle LA, multi-ages & ethnicities—all but the rich and homeless. Hierarchy forms around prettiest woman—offered a seat, given a pen and handed...

. a blogumn by Jeff Rogers So my other feature on this site is Three Line Lunch, my diary in three line poems–one of which will run later today, if I get it finished in time. I first took on the project of a year-long diary in three line poems from September 1, 1993 through August 31, 1994. Which by grand design of the Muses turned out to be the year I met and courted my wife, so that got me some good stuff. And over the years since, every now and then I’ve found myself returning to the wonderfully flexible, nearly formless form (as I have practiced it, anyway) of the three line poem. Anyway, here I am on the night my Hippie Squared piece is due, and I got nothin’.  Ernessa suggested I do a thing about cutting my hair, which is a great idea, but it’s growing into a larger meditation on change, and I’m still working on it. So for fun, I thought I’d run a few of the old three-liners from sixteen years ago. Back then there was no such thing as the world wide web. Or was there? I don’t remember. If so, it was early going, and I sure didn’t post my daily poems on it. I did read them out at coffee houses, though. Including a few of these. Guess you could call this a kind of Hippie Squared/TLL crossover/mash-up. Enjoy. First off, on one of the most common battles between the sexes — sleeping temperature negotiations: Nocturnalistical Intemperatures I’m too hot, she’s too cold; peas porridge in the pot nine days old. Fan in spinny and windy open:  I happy, she freezy. Fan unspinny and windy down:  she’s toasty, everything’s breezy. About my old cat Shadow, now a...

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 231 Saturday Morning Pico Rivera Precinct-Walk Impressions Smells of jasmine and cooking frijoles. Square yards, small square stucco houses, Brick lined driveways. Guadalupe virgin statue in a rose garden. Mattress rolled and tied Standing on a small square stoop. Two calico cats startled off porch dart under...

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 230 Cafe Figaro, Los Feliz, Friday Evening Light chill mediated by heat lamp in the awning above our sidewalk table. Elise: “People love to watch things. Like the cats and dogs do.” Young crew at nearby table, Much hair, dogs in laps, cigarettes poised. Walkers watch sitters, sitters...

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 229 Gypsy Michigander When she hugs she throws herself into it, body and soul. My feelings so often land-locked, I liked her right away, little fierce warm Kari, and we swapped our Michigan memories. Her gypsy soul calls her to Australia job adventure. Don’t know her well l but I’ll miss...

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 228 A Minor Personal Victory Weeks off cleanse, still off caffeine, eating well, I hit an afternoon slump. Heading off for an hour’s traffic slog I long for one shot espresso, one drive-thru Milkshake. I gather myself; grab a Persian cucumber and a handful of...

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 227 Painting an Easter Egg Know your medium and your materials. Soak in vinegar and thin purple dye a long time. Hillocks of paint on paper plate palette, cheap brush in hand, stabbing, sweeping strokes Spoking outward from a yellow and orange circle: a multi-colored star born in an egg...

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 226 Blowing Out the Insides of an Easter Egg Poke holes both ends, work one end wider. Grip egg both hands not too tight. Take breath, mouth around smaller hole, blow. Breath blocked, bear down, blow. Stream of sun orange yolk and clear jelly egg white pour into bowl. Ready the...

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 225 Elected to the Bargaining Team Worker for a union I’m a member of a staff union too. Storm clouds gather round our Approaching contract talks, and we gather together to prepare. I’ve done this before. Comrade colleagues vote me a seat at the table where the storm clouds will soon...

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 225 Dream Catalog #4: To Protect Her Elise and I not husband and wife are kids, in empty carpeted room, awaiting punishment. Adoptive parents come in with earplugs. “This’ll be a loud one,” mom says. Elise throws A push-pin at her. I wrap Elise in my arms. “It’s okay,” I whisper, “We’ll get through...

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 224 Happy Hour Well at least It started out Happy

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 223 Mariela’s Tacos, Koreatown, Thursday Evening Spanish only behind counters. 3 Korean boys knit caps wolf burritos. White office dweeb, Too-short tie, tries Spanish on Latino colleagues. Korean girl, cut shirt off shoulder Walks by, shoots a hard look. Old Latino woman—breasty man?—bundled up shuffles...

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 222 Present Moment Book in hand in hot bath; birds sing close out bathroom window, plane drones far away. Fragrance of my lover-wife still on my face floats to my nostrils on the in-breath. Present moment, wonderful...

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 221 Nostradamus Graffiti Weeks away from office and political tectonics have shifted. Inner circle’s inside out. Turvy’s turned Topsy and Topsy’s gone underground. And what is that fresh handwriting On my cubicle wall? Looks alot like Nostradamus’s gossipy and grim-minded...

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 220 First Awake Impressions That air that can only be of late late night’s early early morning, charcoal gray, Sliding through our sliding glass door just cracked to our balcony: moist, tasting Of water vapor, and carrying the sparse chirps and high calls of the earliest eeriest...

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 219 Michigan State B-Ball Beats Tennessee Elise wrapped in blanket, head on my lap. Tennessee tough D and State can’t penetrate. But they keep at it, paasing, cutting, patient. Second half they break into hoop-town; Great game won by a free throw. Cell phone buzzes brother Ray’s cheer from...

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 218 Gentle Waking Firm warm contact with Elise’s back all along mine. Morning light easing through curtains from balcony to my slow-opening eyes. To awaken always to a world so gently...

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 217 Just a Little Taste of Hangover After our cleanse little drinking for weeks and weeks; now Michigan State on Irish bar TV Followed by fruity drinks packed-in chattin’ with patron Frank at Tiki Ti. Morning comes Desert-mouthed and woozy, a little weak on the feet, with a slight dull ache of the...

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 216 Awake Before the Alarm Is it possible to sleep when you’re trying to sleep? When you know the alarm Is on its way? Perhaps it’s meeting the delicate challenge of letting go, a willed Careless release from care, letting yourself sink without clutching the...

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 215 The Privilege of Renewal Yes it’s a power play, a demotion from office of two to cubicle bay of four. But I get good new neighbors, a set-up mine from the first: files, desk photos, workflow. Though it came to me unasked for, unwanted even — I get the rare privilege of...

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 214 Moving Offices Delegates from the past haunt my file cabinets, bookshelves, desktop paper towers. Things undone, things unread, thoughts scrawled on yellow pads then fled and gone, Glory moments now thin relics. I purge, I take in, I strive to bring to light and...

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 213 Unsleep Morning “How do I ply my trade on the seas of the night?” rang in my head 5:32 am Thirty minutes before the alarm’s jangle would ring out When all I wanted to do was...

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 212 The Gone Voice Chris nervous at the mike, with Music in Silence in hand, and Savage Rose, begins: “Charles and I used to talk about who would give voice to our poems when we died.” Then Chris lends his Philly beat cadence to his gone friend Florida-Haight St.-LA...

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 211 The Two Charlies (Another Charles Bivins Reminiscence) Bivins knew Charlie Manson in the Haight. “He was a dirty little hustler and a cheat.” Bivins, aka Little Sunshine Dada, prided himself that he and the other acid dealers Ran Manson out of town—chased him down to LA. “He was giving us all a bad...

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 210 Bivins Reminisces (from Beyond the Grave) Bivins looked out his 1967 Haight Street window to see John Lennon walking toward him. “My grandfather came from 8 Sussex Street, Liverpool!” Bivins called down, “But the Germans bombed it.” “Bloody savages,” growled...

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 209 Between the First and Third Alarms First alarm 6am stabs the dark — daylight savings stole my morning to pay the evening. But second thought at rising early: vitality. Between the first and third alarms  It rolls around my brain, sing-song: “My vitality belongs to me,...

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 208 Anniversary of Our Meeting Sixteen years ago St. Patty’s Day the English met the Irish, so Elise and I Hit the old Scottish bar Tam O’Shanter for a little anniversary medicinal Irish whiskey And people watching: all shapes, sizes, ages of celebrants decked out in...

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 205 Another Ambush Drowsy from my afternoon cold-recovery nap, I glance at the bedside clock: 5:30 pm. But then I notice my iPhone says 6:30–and we’re due for Kimberley’s dinner at 7. Oh no! It’s another Daylight Savings ambush! Wide awake I jump of...

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 204 Nahuatl New Year, Xocolatl Cafe Out for a sandwich we find a parking lot marketplace: handmade jewelry, masks, balms, Cacao & corn drinks, for Aztec-themed charter school. Men with braids, feathers in hats, Women in silver and stone jewelry; evident pride. A community of the...

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 203 The Hot-Bath Cold-Care System Delightful nakedness. Head under water — sound of spaceman breathing. Lying back hot tea and book at hand against suction-cupped pillow, Sweated brow and muscles slack. Gaining good ground against...

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 202 Phlegm in the Night Like a ball of wet cotton Shoved down my throat All night long in my half-sleep.

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 201 Basketball Banter at the Bel Air Bar & Grill I grab last happy hour stool, game on TV. Elegant woman in fur coat, with girlfriend, Talks playoffs deep-voiced with bartender Armando, who re-pours their white wine Without being asked. “We’re Lakers and UCLA fans,” she tells me, “here all the...

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 200 Good Dog, Deserving Red knew one command: sit. Kimberley taught him, we didn’t. We’d ask him to sit To get harnassed for trips to the park. Whenever he wanted something he would Make sure you were watching then quickly sit, so you knew he was a good dog,...

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 199 The Red Magic Dogs smile. Red had such a winning smile, so purely happy It made everyone around him happy: people, puppies, kittens, fierce dogs. And his fur: so soft when people touched him you could see their tension drain...

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 198 I Keep Expecting to See Him In kitchen I expect the click of Red’s paws across the wood floor, coming to see me. Sitting here in the study a moment ago I expected to see him nose open the door, Stand in the doorway, smiling, and give me that little feathery flutter of the...

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 197 Red’s Last Day Morning he came to me in kitchen. “Hey, sweetie boy,” I ruffed his scruff and he smiled. Afternoon he collapsed, I carried him down to car, Elise sat with him in back, gave herbs. Quiet natural death at vet’s while we hugged him and talked him through to the...

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 196 Books of the Dead Poet On floor of Peditto’s study I kneel with Bivins’ books. Chris shows Elise photos Of the huge poet’s last readings, his long white beard, cane propped against mike stand. In my hands: “The Ruins,” old English poem he thundered out when first I met...

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 195 Purge of the Martian Hailstones Last night: Drank epsom salts dissolved in hot water, chased by dab of honey on pinky. One hour later: Downed equal parts olive oil and grapefruit juice — shaken, not stirred. This morning: I passed dozens of squishy little mud-green gallstones, fruit of my...

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 194 The Haircut Twenty-year long hair snipped away — yes, it still falls almost to shoulders, But it sweeps, it curls, it waves, it dances, if it could by god it would sing. Change is in the air — change is in the hair — and a new day brushes my...

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 193 stomach rumbles much gurgling and churning in the abdomen through this three day juice fast hours spent cutting and juicing fruit, brewing earthy herbal detox teas, squirting herbs and how the system adjusts – one glass of fruit juice last night filled me right...

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 192 A Grand Profusion A grand profusion of bougainvillea tumbles down our hillside Like a vegetable tsunami, all translucent magenta crepe-paper thin flowers And thick green arms reaching into trees, twisting round each other,...

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 191 Sitting Through (Morning Meditation Struggles) Only breath, like waves moving onto the sand and receding, only that. But muscles Between shoulder blades seize rope tight and burn, and waves of failure crash over me: I will never. I can’t. I throw my head back and yell: “Goddam it!” But I sit...

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 189 Poet and Poem Gone (In Memoriam Charles Bivins) Stop by Chris’s office and he tells us: Bivins, titanic Haight-Ashbury Falstaff Orson Welles humongous raging great poet died. Chris’s eyes look into watery distance When he recalls the mystical deathbed poem Charles wrote. Nurses threw it...

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 188 Wonderful Moment, Terrible Moment “Present moment, wonderful moment,” goes the mindfulness meditation exercise. But this morning all my mental and bodily knots and quaverings sit with me. The moment becomes full when I accept them; it becomes wonderful and terrible...

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 187 Figments Maybe it’s like this: We’re figments of God’s imagination. God has a vivid imagination.

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 186 LA’s Emerald Jewelry It’s never more clear than after weeks of rain that LA’s been thrown down Into the bowls made by mountains — while I drive the freeways that thread them, My eyes thrill to the emerald green that rises above buildings and presses the...

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 185 Do Be Gentle It’s okay to look at your pain and your fear– But yes, do be gentle with them– Like you, they’re only trying to...

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 184 Chasing Free Will To the extent that we can direct our own attention We can achieve free will — I thought, this morning, in meditation While trying to simply attend to my...

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 180 The Fluttering Wings in My Chest Just my hobbled best I try to do in this maze of puzzles and mystery, deep comforts And deep pain, flailing about with no compass but the whirling blue sky roof And nothing to grasp but the fluttering wings in my chest of my own stuttering...

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 174 A New Face On It The gray and brown and red hairs fell like rain, caught in the trap Before they ran down the drain. With spinning vertigo from depth-gazing my soul I shaved my four-years beard this morning: wanted to see my true...

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 165 Night and Then Morning “Look in my eyes,” I said last night, holding both her hands. “You know I love you.” And I move in quietude this morning: get up alone and make coffee, sit and read Quietly by myself. Take the dogs to the park and sit with them in the...

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 164 The Type Ecstatic Sometimes there’s nothin like a night at home alone with your smokin stuff and Your music and your woman on text and your dogs and your roaring fire on the patio And your thoughts all your own, and your rapid-fire fingers they type...

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 163 My Minor Morning Meter Adventure Our separate paths through yesterday converged for dinner and drinks at the York. So We left her car at 8am meter. I rise early, while she sleeps, to my morning quest: Move her car around corner, bring home mocha, black espresso, toasty egg...

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 162 Cypress Park Patio Night Seventeen shots loud and close. Elise runs through gate from back patio as car peels out. While on phone with 911 we hear the same gun one block down, ten more shots. Soon helicopter thuds rhythmic circles above, its spotlight paininting houses and...

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 161 Pacific Bird Trio Hawk soars in a royal circle above bluffs, gently descends, rises on sure wings, banks. Pelican unexpectedly majestic glides like a B52 bomber on still wings high above surf. Gulls flap and flap, flap and coast, herky-jerky fliers, low above water along bluff...

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 160 Red Follows Me Red moves his old bones, 100-year old arthrtitic dog, tumor-ridden, Climbs down portable stairs off our bed in the morning dark, and alone Of all our dogs, follows me to the kitchen, the bathroom,...

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 159 Chasing My Own Tail Around My Own Head Sometimes I gotta slam the door on my own head, Take that de-elevator down into my body. That big fat head thinks it can figure out all the answers, but it...

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 158 Bleak LA #3: Pasadena Movie Theater Men’s Room Waystation Funny the instant messages intuition delivers. As I enter he shies away, and Before I even smell him, or see his three backpacks, see him washing himself In the sink and drying with paper towels, I know he’s...

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 157 Wild LA Our dogs bark wildly from backyard, over squirrel chattering, badger growl. Elise: “They’ve cornered some creature.” I trudge up with flashlight. “Nothing.” But then Molly’s sightline guides my light treeward: two raccoons huddle on an upper...

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 156 Sharing the Poker In our wet patio chiminea I use firestarters to set flames gnawing on moist logs. In dark with our cocktails we pass the poker back and forth, taking turns Kicking red embers into flame, re-jiggering logs to draw air, co-tending our...

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 155 In a Hall of Love and Tears (In Memoriam Erica Tabachnick) At Hollywood Forever Cemetery, before snowed peaks in a blue sky, In a hall of love and tears family and friends talk and cry. Gathered home after They can’t help but laugh and smile. Today life takes in death but so vividly...

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 154 Plunging Rainbow North off 10 Freeway into downtown, fat rainbow plunging against high-piled clouds, From their white pillow tops down to their pregnant purple foundation, Then just brushing pure white snow-capped saw tooth San Gabriel...

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 153 Poem Ten Wrote ten poems today, and remembered That I can always come back to myself If I can only be still for a little while and...

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 152 Setting Records Making Memories At home under blankets with my sweetheart, hot chocolate and a good movie. Rain slaps the streets below, taps the windows, drums the clay roof tiles above, Setting records. While cozy inside here we’re making lasting...

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 151 Antigua Coffeehouse Rainy Afternoon Haiti As Yancey makes my Mayan Mocha he says he’s been reading online in back All about Haiti. The English doctor trying to prevent amputations on children, The prison that crumbled down around 700 political prisoners never charged now...

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 150 Antigua Coffeehouse Rainy Afternoon Family Puzzling out relationships two tables away: mother with kid And hired tutor? College sister, older brother, brother’s kid? The man teasingly Helps the kid with his homework, then buys him a sweet. His dad, I...

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 149 Antigua Coffeehouse Rainy Afternoon Sun When the rain suddenly pounds flooded Figueroa the coffee drinkers And computer tappers and studiers turn as one to look and ooh and ahh. Later the sun stripes the photographs of East LA and turns sponged-gold walls...

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 148 Sweet Pressure Red always sleeps against my leg at night, or if cold scooches up against my side. The tumors growing inside him now make for a lumpy bed, he’s grown restless at night And I know that soon that sweet pressure and comfort of him beside me will be...

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 147 Young Beauty in the Water Store The old Romanian couple took over the water store. He worked hard, she in wheelchair, Slouch-faced and sad. But I always said hello and she brightened. After a year I come in, She’s on a cane — “You’re walking!” — big smile and at once I see the pretty young...

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 146 Wordstorm When the Wind Becomes Unstoppable A justice of words can never be permanent When words shift and scatter like sand, because Meanings storm and drift and sting when the wind becomes...

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 145 Some Makeshift Temporary Justice of Words It all goes away when I write. Everything recedes Except what I pull in close, tease apart, struggle to resolve Into some makeshift temporary justice of forever inadequate...

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 144 Destiny in the ER Destiny’s a drunk transexual smiling with blood on her teeth, Frankenstein stitches On her cheek, biker boyfriend at hand. She tripped and bashed her face in a parking lot. “Bring me Atavan!” she yells, laughing. “Before my DTs start! You can’t keep me...

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 143 Testimonies in the Court of the Heart Showed up yesterday to the Court of the Heart with testimonies In my back pocket, and I read them out in a clear strong voice. I copped to my lies and my truths, and now the judge...

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 142 Silent in the Court of the Heart Today I observe the Rite of Silence For anything I say can and may be used against me In the Court of the...

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 141 Things Wondrous Made of Plain Things (NELA Art Walk) We buy three stars of rusty nails and screws from Nan’s show at Future Studios, Then move on to MorYork, a fantabulous treasure trove of artistic assemblage oddities Display cases, statues, things hanging, things wondrous made of plain...

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 140 The Love-Killer Sometimes I see her scanning my eyes for what she fears. Sometimes I see clear love like clean water glistening in the sun Going all the way down. Fear is the love-killer. We must dive...

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 139 Your Wild Flower How I do love Your wild flower, down among Your sweet native grasses.

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 138 Holiday Watermelon Belly Looking down as I sit naked writing on my laptop in bed I see the round watermelon-ness of my belly, holiday legacy, and I know That it’s time to do a bowel cleanse again and start...

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 137 Dealing With Shit At my counselor’s again last night, dealing with shit. There’s rarely a shortage of shit to deal with, is there? Oh well. Progress was made. Life is good when it’s real, even when it’s...