Five Tankas

Rather would I be
A blazing, earthbound beacon
Than uninspired rock
Spinning in desperation
Trapped in its lonely orbit.

"I've slaved," I told her
To compose a good tanka!"
Condescendingly
She glanced at me and replied,
"But you only wrote five lines."

Those who seek office
Come armed with buckets of mud
Sights on starched lapels
They dip and hurl, dip and hurl
Why don't they all wear brown suits?

Seeking out poems
Is a fruitless endeavor
Only when ready
Will they descend upon you
Imploring incarnation.

Pity the poor beast
Either struggling or starving
Or, in the best case
With a life of dull comfort
And accomplishing nothing.