Monday Morning Haiku- Mountain Cabin

Trees

Warmth

Cool mountain morning,

Threaded sunlight through branches

lifts the morning chill

-mtroupe 2015

Obviously, the poem below is not a haiku. Enjoy it anyway…
Time

The cabin rests beneath the trees

As passing seasons roll

The living wood is fresh and green

The cabin wood grows old.

-mtroupe 2015

When a Poem is a Symptom of Illness


This is a poem I wrote last year, while taking an anatomy class. It is probably nothing to be proud of, but it makes me chuckle. It also makes it hard to deny that I sometimes suffer from mental derangement:

Ode to Capillaries

Capillaries deserve great respect,
Great wisdom in design they reflect
Arterioles and venules they connect
The blood comes here after it’s trekked,
To vessels so small we cannot inspect,
Nutrients and oxygen they like to eject,
And gather the waste that tends to collect
And wash out the stuff that tries to infect,
My fav-o-rite vessel if I had to select.

Matt Troupe
5/07

Great Poem about Manhood by Kipling

Rudyard Kipling

If

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or, being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or, being hated, don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise;

If you can dream – and not make dreams your master;
If you can think – and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with triumph and disaster
And treat those two imposters just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to broken,
And stoop and build ’em up with wornout tools;

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breath a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: “Hold on”;

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue, Or walk with kings – nor lose the common touch; If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you; If all men count with you, but none too much; If you can fill the unforgiving minute With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run – Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it, And – which is more – you’ll be a Man my son!