Sample Poems by Kimo RedeR

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How Many Ways are (T)here to Bilocate?


As many fa(u)cets as a sink made out of diamonds
As many (d)evils as a blame-casting sinner
As many (l)odes as a poet-tended goldmine

As many fir(e)s as an evergreen forest set aflame
As many o(a)rs as an indecisive Viking longboat
As many ban(ne)ds as a Communist concert program

As many (s)cats as a feline fertilizer
As many (s)pies as a post-glasnost Russian bakery
As many (s)cents as an underpaid perfume tester
As many (h)airs as a bewigged social climber
As many car(p)e(t)s as a worried rugmaker
As many (cl)eats as a cinder track's snack bar

As many c(r)apes as a magician's funeral
As many (s)pears as a fruit-tree carved into an armory
As many c(l)aps as an applauding milliner

As many (v)ices as a misbehaving Frigidaire
As many live(r)s as a several-organed cat
As many n(arr)ows as our slender present tense
As many (g)loam(ing)s as a twilit soil

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To Postpone …


To postpone is to hope every quintessence is followed by a sextessence.

To pray every period can be subdivided into ellipses.
To hope every “post-” can be eternally circled like a pillar.

To postpone is to resent a rope having two ends but no beginning.

To possess a millenarian sense of just-a-moment.
To treat a calendar’s flapping pages like a collective applause.

To postpone is to use a second-hand’s sweep like a broom.

To take a “second” and slice it in two.

To keep “eventually” in its idle gear.

To postpone is to want as many leap seconds added to year zero as it can hold.

To have “prior to” parse its own posterior.

To have “forever” frozen in fossil resin and “as yet” suspended in amber.

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Doomsday Will Be a Matter of Our Carbon Footprint Stubbing Its Big Toe


Doomsday will not be homicide but heterocide.
Radioactive waste will go videoactive as well.
365 days will no longer rotate 360 degrees.


The Eiffel Tower will outgrow its elevator and Big Ben’s second hand will snap its fingers.

Niagara Falls will fit into a beer-mug as smallpox grows into tallpox and cowpox into bullpox.

Marks of Blame will replace Marks of Cain on every person’s forehead.


Doomsday will be a target hurled at an arrow instead of an arrow aimed at a target.

Every taxi cab’s meter will begin tallying moments instead of miles.
Every runway will become a walkway and every walkway will become a crawlspace.


Doomsday will be decided in a Sun City sauna by a team of towel-wrapped bank clerks.

Proposition 665 will declare every devil a figment of our own egos.

The Rapture will come unwrapped and rap on every door.
Nuclear codes will be based on vanity license plates.


Our last few generations will grow an extra set of cuticles and one less pair of molars.

Every dial-tone will turn drum-roll and Armageddon will be gotten used-to.

“To be continued” will appear in fine print and “Nevermore” will appear in italics.

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Evening-Out as Opposed to Evening-Up


Et cetera is a matter of evening-out as opposed to evening-up.

An amino acid’s incubating itself into an omelet is undermined by its urge to outrun an egg timer.


An amoeba is its own updated ancestor and its own antiquated offspring at once.

Every alternate time “or else” elbows into an argument, “even so” enters in as an antidote …