an occasional diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers Hammock in the Moonlight (Mexico68 at Naya) Bari sax lays it down, contented rumble, On rhythm canopy: macramed conga beat, bass thrumble, percussion shiver n’ shimmy; Hammock rocking in the moonlight...

So here it is: an assortment of items out of a Three Line Lunchbox. An apple, some chips and a few three line poems–spread ’em out on your picnic blanket. Ripe, stale, juicy or crunchy; gnaw on a couple and you decide. Enjoy with wine, beer or a glass of cool lemonade. Wild Grass I long to push This thin voice like wild grass Through that crack in the wall Late Night Groovers on the Dance Floor When you got it and you know it Man, you know You got it Wrapped in a Myelin Tortilla This freeway with its miles I’ve driven so often and so long Is surely wrapped in a myelin tortilla Along well-traveled intra-skull head highways Praise Ringo, True Drummer Lives in the moment Drums in the moment Lives in the drums Lament of the True Drummer Lord give me a band. Lord bring me songwriters. Lord send me a song to anchor. Lord lend me a beat to find And keep. Lord let my heart take its skipping, thunderous pulse. Bring it Back Around (Motto of the True Drummer) When in doubt, Bring it back Around. If you liked this post, please do us the further boon of Liking the Fierce and Nerdy page on FaceBook. Also, we’re giving great stream on Twitter, so do give us follow. featured image credit:...

an occasional diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers Only Weeks From Death But With Life Still Possible (For Peggy Holman 6/21/40 – 4/18/06) “I was out walking Dodger this morning and looking at the flowers,” My mom said, “And I thought, I’m not afraid of dying. But I love being alive.” featured image credit:...

a sparsely-furnished diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers He Was the Kinda Guy Who’d call you up all serious and urgent and ask you something like, “Jeff, when I tie my shoe laces, should I put the right one over the left one, Or the left one over the right one first?”  ...

an all-too-infrequent diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers Espresso and So (Coffee Klatch in San Dimas) Fine frothed crema pads liquid obsidian surface of espresso and so I hoist my cup high in salute, “Covadonga!” Love to say it. Love to drink it. featured image credit: Paul Evans –...

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 miss deadline. What else are blogmates for? three line lunch: a fitful and unpredictable diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers Lessons of the Taoist Demon-Wrestler Sometimes the only way to wrestle a demon and winIs to tap out And leave the mat. featured image credit: cazucito If you liked this post, please do us the further boon of Liking the Fierce and Nerdy page on FaceBook. Also, we’re giving great stream on Twitter, so do give us...

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 her erect, back muscles cross-hatched, unsheath her voice. Opposing lawyer with managers spread like wings, papers choked in fist, pogos to his feet, barks! And I think: how must the ancient gladiators have felt down in the bowl of the arena’s din?...

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...

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, Don’t cha know.    

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...

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...

an occasional diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers Ain’t This Universe a Ball? Every journey’s a journey to the heart of the earth, Each our own earth Out there spinning.

an occasional diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers First We Must Be Friends I always aspired to a seasoned heart, to a well-traveled heart. Still I’ve longed too to lie back in the meadow in the lap of a lifelong love. Now I see this seasoned heart travels wherever I do. And first we must be...

a sporadic diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers On the Braided River Up ramp I join this braided river, its woven flow, currents and snags. Off right freeway bank Mountains rise snow-robed. Ahead deep pink in great daubs across a lowering blue horizon. Souls by the millions for miles upon miles by wordless agreements carve this channel....

a sporadic diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers In a Honeyed Light Over each moment hangs a shadow, because The only oath life keeps is death. Yet each moment is bathed In a honeyed light, because this alive moment only is real....

a sporadic diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers In a Black Quartz Sky Night rain drops sweet-cold on eyebrows and cheeks. Rivulets blur my glasses As I walk to the car, folded umbrella tucked under my arm, Streetlights on blacktop street a flare of diamonds in a black quartz sky....

a sporadic diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers Everyone’s Trying to Do Their Best Walking round Silverlake Reservoir, norm seems to be little to no eye contact. So I can watch each runner, walker, in solitary concentration; young, old; worried, determined, Grooving to earphones. I can see it so clearly: Everyone’s just trying to do their best....

a sporadic diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers What’s Breaking All week long I’ve felt like something was broken or breaking. Only this morning did I realize: What’s breaking is my heart....

a sporadic diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers I Always Liked the Sad Songs As a kid I yearned forward to earning my own scars of the adventuring heart, My heartaches and hard-won wisdom. Now down my long rocky road looking back I find it’s gotten hard to listen to those old sad songs....

a sporadic diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers Whatever It Is (Last Call, New Year’s Eve at the Thirsty Crow) He leans into the bar. “I’ll have a raspberry vodka with cranberry.” The pretty bartender just looks at him.  His voice sways on its feet. “Or a vodka-cran. Or whatever it is.”...

an erratic diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers Choose Your Moment Her lips are soft, exploratory. But I need to look for jobs. “Is that wrong?” I say, “Should I just be in the moment?” “Depends what moment you want to be in,” she says....

an unreliable diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers The House Always Wins Throw your cards on the table. Full house: Visa, Amex, Discover, debit and credit. Because the house always wins....

an unreliable diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers On Open Seas at the HMS Bounty  Low dark beams, porthole mirrors line walls, wooden ship diorama behind glass, back of bar. Memories hover of brief torrid love 24 years ago in Gaylord apartment, floors above. Tonight I’m cast adrift, without employment. Mark buys me a beer and I tell him about the layoff....

an unreliable diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers Bliss Eyes Closed (Same Cat Time, Same Cat Place)  Pepper comes to visit me in the bathroom each morning, rubs her white fur body on my naked legs. Stovetop espresso brewing I sit cross-legged on kitchen floor, gray Imogen in lap headbutts my chin. Night bed old black Cleo climbs onto my chest and rumbles, rolls onto her back, bliss eyes...

an unreliable diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers The Poetry Flick  “Just write the truth,” she said. “Don’t impress.” But don’t she know It’s all in the flick of the...

a sporadic diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers Bowstring Tightrope  I pick up my pen Then I step Right out onto the bowstring

a sporadic diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers Her Midnight Door  Cracked, no light behind, Dark-outlined As in thick black eyeliner.

a fitful diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers Full Moon Over Joshua Tree  Astride the stars, atop the sky A night-sun so bright It hurts my eyes.

a fitful diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 417 Hand I climb onto the tree. I pound in the nails. I reach my hand down from the sky and I rise to greet it.

a fitful diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 416 Tree I cut the tree from the forest, strip it and stab it into dead earth. I climb onto it. I pound in the nails.

a fitful diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 415 Mirror Her Oh for the veil That hides me from the mirror Of her eyes

a fitful diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 414 One Bastard Moil Tur Moil Perhaps my least favorite moil

a fitful diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 413 Behind Bars Thoughts clutch At their bars Of bone.

a fitful diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 412 The Lid The more the insides roil The more still My lid.

a fitful diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 411 Broken Wing Quill pen Dangles, A broken wing.

a fitful diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 410 The Mute Poet I have fallen mute Before my own Life.

a fitful diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 403 The Veil The veil might slip back. But I’ll know, this time That it’s a...

a fitful diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 398 Right Over Here Me and you and all the rest of us in this great big high-vaulted universe. So how about if I take charge of this little corner Right over...

a diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 397 How About if I Take Charge? Me and you and all the rest of us in this great big high-vaulted universe. So how about if I take charge Of this little corner right over...

a fitful diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 396 At Mystique’s End I drew a lovely veil over my eyes. I will not curse the veil. But I pull it aside and praise clear...

a diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 393 A Meditation I am in my body. I am in this world. This world is my body.

a diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 386 What You Think, What You Do Break it down, thought by thought: This is what’s it like, moment by moment: This is what you think. This is what you...

a diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 385 Susan Sings For Her Dinner I love it when she speaks. Susan, our old dog, one crippled leg, fuzzy muzzle, as I hover the dinner bowl above her, Lifts her snout and looks right at me with big black eyes and barks with furious...

a diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 384 A Planetary Journey Setting out for a movie we end up driving the winding roads up Griffith Park hills. On a bench we look out at the Hollywood Hills, hold hands and talk. Walk to the Observatory. Under stars on planetarium dome in cushy chairs we doze. Outside telescope: Jupiter’s...

a diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 383 A Toe’s Radius for Elise upon journey‘s return Tonight my sleep no longer lonely. Yes, alone can be sweet, Air blowing cool across my naked body, covers off, sliding door open to overnight balcony. But all tonight long even in sleep I know her warm body resides, so near, within a toe’s...

a diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 382 A Lone Certainty Only one thing is certain: Something Will happen.

a diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 381 Button Breath: Reset Button.

a diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 380 The Breath From My Fingers These are my fingers. These are my thoughts. This oxygen belongs in my chest until it enters the breath of the earth.  These words have left my fingers. They now belong to you....

a diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 379 Sensuality of Thought My subject is the Sensuality of Thought. But she just won’t Hold a pose.  

a diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 377 The Other Thing About a Journey We travel some way in dear company. My lover-wife’s face in my hands. Her knowing touch. Eyes of the friend who knows me in square gaze. An eloquent long hug. I hope to die loving hand in mine, loving faces ringed in light above...

a diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 376 The Thing About a Journey We travel all some way alone. In quiet womb’s peace I hovered. Only child I spent solitudes in ecstasies boredeom loneliness & philosophy. I hope to die Loving hand in mine, loving faces in my light. Still lone stones across rapids await....

a diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 375 So I Extend I stand on this ground and push my mind down into my feet. I lift my head and look into the trees, feel the breeze in my hair, see it wave the leaves. So I extend from the base of the earth to the top of my head and beyond....

a diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 374 Rerouting Rivers When the walls of hard rock tower over us, like water we follow the course Of our weakness: channels carved in soft sand become high-banked rivers in our brains. How now to blast my rock walls, jump my banks and reroute my own rivers?...

a diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 373 Full Moonset for Elise out on her journey Ripe orange white and round it slides right down sky and snuggles between mountains. On morning patio I sip my coffee. Full moonset over Elysian Park....

a daily diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 367 Gaining Ground The question I place before me now: How do I use the blessing of this time alone  To gain ground on myself?...

a daily diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 366 Quietude Let me be quiet Even In my disquietude.  

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 365 The Unhurried Self It will be my task, now, to be gentle With the objects that come to my hand, with the creatures that live under my care, With my own unhurried self....

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 364 Easy in Spirit I find myself this morning easy in spirit As Elise prepares to journey north again And I prepare myself inside for a quiet time at home....

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 345 Tears in the Ocean “I refuse to drown,” she said, “Just because He refuses to swim.”  

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 344 Lies and Truth Always have to keep close track of your lies. Nice thing about the truth, even when it hurts: Truth keeps track of...

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 333 1/7th a New Man They say every cell in your body is born anew in seven years. So in one year 1/7th of your cells become brand new. Don’t trouble me with the anniversary of my sin. Can’t you see I’m 1/7th a new...

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 332 Bleak LA #4: The Lennon Killer “Mark David Chapman,” he says, wild gray hair and sunburned red face, And me looking 1980 Lennon – what the fuck does he mean? “He thought he was right,” Thrusts cocked face up close to mine, “But God won’t forgive him on judgement...

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 331 The Gifts of a Year Accepted a job today. What a year can bring. The devestations of January and March. The fortunes of July. 

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 324 The Wrong Question There can be No right answer To the wrong question. 

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 323 Nice Shoes Morning: “We can’t afford those shoes,” I say. “You force me into this role,” says Elise, “You’ve had the same shoes for years. You need new ones. I buy them and you complain.” Afternoon: I bump into Susan strolling in Atwater. “Nice shoes,” she...

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 322 World Curve Half a world away it’s night time and moments are being made that will last lifetimes. I walk down the street to the small restaurant for huevos rancheros, walk it back home Where we sit on the couch this morning and watch the World Cup final night game....

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 319 Objectivity is Hard to Come By (Says Dr. Rolfe) “You can get it from me,” he says, tall, lanky, cross-legged; gray-goateed and grinning. “But that’s only because you pay me.  “I’m not invested. I can only sustain it for fifty minutes,” he’s on a roll, riffing now, “And even that’s iffy.” He rocks forward and guffaws....

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 317 Party Report #5: Why I’m Not a Baseball Star “How could you tell who was going to make it?” someone asks youth coach Butcher. “If they wanted to be in the batting cage more than with a naked woman,” he says. “Now I know why I never made it,” I...

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 316 My Patio, With My Eyes Open A mop leans against the fence; plastic bag of dog shit on back stoop; washer and dryer Against wall; strand of decorative lights burned-out coiled on a chair; cardboard boxes. But the hours spent in air under sun or wrapped in fine dark in long talk with loved...

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 315 Fire Flowers Dozens of points off balcony: screechers, warbling whistlers & cracklers; pops & booms. Far and close: ones that bloom, ones that burst; pink & green sprayers and white twirlers. Through our tree a whine: straight above a golden fire flower explodes, showers dark ash....

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 314 It Goes On It Goes (In Memoriam Matthew Butcher 1983-2010) Today I am sad for my friend, her family; her son shot, killed, and grief is because time Goes only one way, so we laugh and joke, drink and smoke, say soft words close that help But only so much and briefly, because time goes only one way, it goes on it...

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 309 Pretty in Hardback Pink (32 Candles Book Signing) From Writing Pad’s small classes in Silverlake, food and writing and talk, friendships Arose and spread. Ernessa brought cocoon novel already strong but we prodded and coaxed it. Tonight on stage in her hand the hardback butterfly unfolds pink wings to flutter up over the...

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 308 A Fireside Philosophy of Fire (Bon Voyage Bonfire for Burt and Moon) “Fire: nature’s TV,” says Leo, “And it never repeats.” “No reruns,” I say,  “There are no reruns in a...

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 307 Living on the Patio There’s something about just being outside. Friend and downstairs renter Stephanie’s  Good old round-faced smiling friend Cecilio, of the sideyard barbeques of years past Visits from Vegas, so it’s coffee, and toast with honey and memories, in morning...

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 306 Sportin’ the Cargo Shorts to the Pool Party Just gotta couple more things  I gotta put in my shorts,  Then I’ll be ready to...

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 305 Bargaining Ramps Up You can let them rile you, But don’t Let them rattle you.

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 304 Now You can only do what you can do, And you can only do What you can do now.

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 303 Party Report #4: Prince at the Aladdin on Big Screen DVD “Real musicians up there,” says musician Jozef to musician Jimmy, “not syntheziers.” Jame’s Brown’s trombonist duels Prince’s guitar. “With real lungs and real fingers,” I say. “And real hearts and real souls,” says...

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 302 Party Report #3: Driving the House “Alimony,” mourns party guest Jimmy. “My wife got all my houses.” He gives a wry snickering laugh. “But I got to keep all my cars.” “You can always sleep in your car,” I say, “but you can’t drive around in your...

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 301 Party Report #2: I Love a Good LA Party Jimmy hung a lot with Leon Russell after the divorce. “He was not a happy man. His wife got the house in the hills, but he was entitled to half of everything else. Made me go down the basement and take half the canned goods out the survival...

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 300 Party Report #1: Email from the Eighties “Quaaludes are still the only drug I really miss,” says middle-aged party guest David. “You could basically deny all responsibility,” he sits a little sad and frumpy. Party guest Jimmy laughs. “I’ve got the formula. I can email it to you...

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 299 Listening to Neil Young in the Car (Cinnamon Girl) In such command of the colors of his instrument: His electric broad, heavy and deep; his acoustic strung with sunlit sand. His voice shot through with light, thin reed floating on...

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 298 So the Wind Won’t Blow it All Away by Richard Brautigan Had to read the book very slowly. Every line so beautiful and sad, So known and understood, that over and over and over again It broke my fuckin’...

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 297 Pavlov’s Harp: The Books Written in My Brain Any book anywhere anytime: spine straight, open in a lap, hefted in my hand, Splashes resonant redolent chord of music down library concert halls of my brain, revs Neuron harp strings poised shivering for angel finger caress; a deeply programmed...

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 296 Only Now There is only now. And now. And now.

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 295 Almost Indecent Writing is something you do When you’re alone, And then you share it.

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 294 The Man With the Three Point Knife (2010 NBA Finals Lakers-Celtics Game 5 in Boston) Bryant in third quarter becomes a surgeon with a hot sharp scalpel His three point shots slice in clean and precise But the patient still...

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 291 Not a Fan (2010 NBA Finals Lakers-Celtics Game 4 in Boston) At end of couch Elise leans against me. Imogen cat jumps on her lap, knocks remote. Arches back and rubs her gray and white furry face against Elise’s face, then jumps To my chest and bumps my chin. “Not much of a basketball fan, are you...

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 287 Top Three Tips for Living in a Climate of Fear Refuse to be afraid. Band together and refuse to distrust each other. Be discrete, yes, but refuse to be ashamed or to...

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 280 Intimate BBQ She cuts veggies, brushes them with olive oil, forms burgers. I fire up the coals. She mixes rum cocktails in tiki glasses. I pack the pipe and crack the beers. Colored lights crown patio as we eat & talk. Intimate Memorial weekend bbq for...

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 279 A Notion of Ocean Pervades (Saturday Morning Redondo Beach Precinct-Walk Impressions) Saltair-weathered wooden houses with ship’s-deck porches and crow’s-nest balconies Yearn for the unseen sea. Wind-twisted old trees with leaves whipped like tattered sails.  Tank-topped women & shirtless men deep-tanned. Gull’s cries over hills...

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 278 Shred and Recycle Office copy room. Little girl runs in laughing, someone’s daughter, slides three sheets  In slot of the big blue shred & recycle bin, runs out. Back with three more, runs out.   My copies go awry so I find her, hand them to her. She looks up at me and...

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 277 The Unexpected Moments In dark with touch she eases me awake early For pre-dawn delight.  Oh these unexpected moments.

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 276 Homecoming Elise has been north for three weeks of classes and friends. I wrote, I goofed off, I moved into the guest room — my own little camp-out just down the hall. Somehow tonight I feel ready to remake our bed, retake my place, make it warm for her...

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 275 Exhiliration! Exhiliration! — Just one of the cataloged nine types of joy — I just made that up, that “nine” part — The exhiliration took hold...

a yearlong diary in three-line poems by Jeff Rogers, day 274 Time-Travel to the Present If your time-travel journeys to the past hurt Your forays into the future scare You can be back here safe right now with just one conscious...