Peter the Polenta Eater


Peter is not apathetic

He has his opinions,

His positions on the people of plenty,

In fact, he has plenty of polenta to prove it.


Peter is not indifferent

He has his preferences

He is not affluent

But he has spent a lot on his polenta habit.

He prefers to call it a hobby,

I only refer to it as a habit, because I have an outside perspective on his obsessive fascination.


Let me explain:

This past Wednesday was Ash Wednesday,

And on that Wednesday Peter ate the last of his polenta.

He was so busy saying “ashes to ashes”,

That he forgot to maintain his polenta stash,

He went searching hi and lo in his cupboards,

But found no more polenta and no more cash.


He yelled out at the top of his lungs, “WHY!”

For his love was no more,

He was blue on the white kitchen floor.

Then suddenly, like a new beginning

An idea struck him like a bolt of lightning.

Excited and inspired he quickly sat up,

Socks and sandals,

Out the door,

To the bank,

Then Peter withdrew a loan to purchase his very own huge solar panel!


For the next few weeks, Peter used the money made from selling his solar energy to sustain his polenta needs and to purchase corn and processing equipment to manufacture his very own polenta factory.


Polenta plantation,

Polenta creation,

Peter, Peter,

Was a polenta eater.





Where Gone?


Your airship is inside of a cloud.

Your hair is hidden behind a hood.

Your wings flap blur so fast but it is only a memory of a blurry flapping.

The hope is lost,

It is hidden in a shoebox,

Under tissue paper,

Under other boxes,

It is left behind in a taxi cab.

It is double bagged

Misplaced with the mail.

Lost forgotten, the reason is not sending.

Forging existence,

Pending discovery,

Inability to formulate new beginnings,

Rigged elections, new and old,

Go one mile pull over and ask for directions.

Potentially there is none

In lost reactions.





Walking with Shawn


Rush of wind, there it goes

Now behind us

there it goes

Where’s the wind?

It’s right behind us

I get it now

There it went





Protest Words #1


Fight the power!

Power to the people!

Fight the people!

Power to the power!

Shower with the people!

Coat me with flour!

People wanna shower

I want a peep hole.





I called her


I called her,

But she never called me back.

I called her,

But she never called me back.

I called her,

But she never called me back.

I called her,

But she never called me back.

I feel this poem is not a genuine poem.

I wrote it while I was thinking about the concept of honesty in poetry,

But this is no longer honest.

I did not call her,

But she never called me back.

I wish I had called her,

And she wishes I had never called her back.

But I really wish she had never called me back.

Because honestly, I never called her, and I never called her back, and she never called me back, and to suffer is satisfying.

So I’ll just pretend

I called her,

And she never called me back.







Text Message:

"I miss you."


"Ditto Kiddo."


Peaks sharpen hazy crisp.

You make me lazy like the clouds, but abruptly tense too.

You said clouds are a disappointment because they're never as soft as they seem

"It's an ocean", I replied, endlessly.


You equally empty, equally to be loved, equally a coming Buddha.

One day I will learn to give what I don't have and happily receive what I don't need.








All poems by David Bernstein.