Scattered through previous blog posts are various poems I've published in Three Line Poetry over the past two years. I also don't think I've been diligent about posting all of them on this site. So, I decided to compile all of my poems that have appeared in Three Line Poetry, under my name, as well as those published under the names G.B. Romo and Petra Michael. G.B. Romo is Geetz Beauregard Romo, the imaginary character a few friends of mine and I created in high school. Geetz was the ultimate ladies man, bon vivant, socially adept, preppie, granola-eating, Perrier-drinking, Ivy League-destined-- you name it, Geetz was it... and basically everything we weren't (okay, I admit to eating granola bars, drinking Perrier, and turning up the collars of my polo shirts). I revived Geetz a couple years ago, created a facebook page for him, and gave him a new outlook on life. He made his fortune, dropped off the grid, and returned to his father's West Texas ranch, just as he said he would in his yearbook entry. He's written a few poems, mostly Zen-Surrealist-Beat sorts of things, inspired by the desert around Terlingua, Texas. (Perhaps I was in a Fernando Pessoa sort of mood.) I'll post Geetz's other poems.
Petra Michael is the pen name that I attached to the one three line poem that Petra Noble and I wrote. It started as lines in e-mails one morning (afternoon for her since she is in Munich). They just happened to flow into a nice three line poem, which was accepted.
The title of the collection is taken from a line in one of the poems written as G.B. Romo.
Sutras to the Dharma Moon: Poems Published in Three Line Poetry.
So long had it been
since I held a spring blossom—
I had forgotten.
I sit on the pier;
the river flows slowly past.
So much like my life.
Mourning dove, do you notice me
as you alight upon the patio?
I wonder, who is in whose space?
Ten thousand blossoms
have bloomed and fallen again.
Will we ever walk among the cherry trees?
She turned and kissed me softly.
I could not force my mind
to remain within the dream.
It is enough to sit
and watch yesterday’s rain
drop from the leaves of trees.
Dead roses lie on the table,
still bundled as they came from the store.
For want of water, they withered.
Winter walk in woods—
cold wind rattling through beech leaves
brings warmth to my mind.
The dentist drills and roots,
and all I can think of
are Amsterdam and Venice.
Sunburnt and salt-scrubbed;
wonderful days in the sun;
memories left in the sand.
The river flows past, as it does each day.
Listen, though, as waves lap on shore—
each one is unique.
Published as G.B. Romo:
Thorns surround my agave heart;
spirit and knowledge rest within;
one hundred years to flower.
Life is a horned toad resting in the shadow
of a rock, away from the blistering sun,
and the owl waiting at night.
In the desert night,
the moon stalks the dark side
of my mind.
Forty nights in the desert
howling sutras to the dharma moon.
Her fullness brings me life.
Published as Petra Michael (written with Petra Noble):
Fight on the U-Bahn.
A quiet ride home derailed.
My heart is beating.