Atomic Bonds

Two hydrogens
And an oxygen
Together played,
‘Til orbits

Along came carbon,
Looking to fill
Her outer shell.
In close proximity,
One hydrogen
Nearly drawn away.

person washing his hand

Photo by Burst on

But σ bond
Not broken,
Went away.

Now Hydrogen
Thinks he sees
In every living thing.

Copyright © 2020 H.K. Longmore

A Note from Santa

Thanks for the cookies and milk! In exchange I leave you this limerick.
There once was a visit from Santa
He ate of the cookies and Fanta
But the milk was not gone
So he stayed all night long
‘Til the reindeer were bored of their banter


© 2019 H.K. Longmore


There are things I am willing to do but don’t want to do: this is part of sacrifice.

There are things I want to do, but am not willing to do: this is part of self-mastery.

There are things I am both willing to do and want to do: this is delight.

© 2019 H.K. Longmore

Melody and Counter

It was years ago,
But I wish it were only yesterday.
You were there,
Yes, you were there.

Melody to my counter melody,
And encouragement
For my improvement,
As my part I could not play.

Time and songs,
Performances, recitals passed.
I found a way to remember,
To improve:

I’d retreat to the river,
To the bridge;
Where I would be heard,
With none to harmonize.

At rehearsal last,
Familiar piece in folder found—
Dusted off for Christmastime;
Still I had the counter.

Remembering my old struggle,
I began to fret;
You still had the melody,
But you were absent yet.

And you still had
The encouragement,
If only in my mind;
Your words, your melody I recalled.

I played alone
And played it well;
Praise for impromptu solo
I received.

Where thanks for praise should have flowed,
My tongue instead remarked
How incomplete I, counter melody,
Was without you, melody.

How incomplete I was without you.

© 2018 H.K. Longmore

My First Single

I also am a musician. Check out my post about my first single on my music blog.

Just to Write

I need a rhyme
But not just to pass the time.
I need word play
To say I wrote today.

Installed a new app on my smartphone;
I have many skills I need to hone,
And talents too long
Under bushel banished.

The app tracks goals.
Completed all but one today.

Practiced banjo,
Marching baritone,

Road several miles
On a road bike;
Lifted weights
When I couldn’t repair the flat.

And all I lacked was this,
And had but a quarter hour
Or the day would get a red x.

Taking Control

“Take five of these three times a day”
The instructions say.
I try to comply,
But some days boundaries are merely implied.

The doctor wanted to give me
A powder for my wound,
But he, his supplier, and the grocery—
Out of stock, all three.

Lacking the powder, made from Chinese herbs,
I use what I have: Swedish Bitters,
Good for healing wounds of flesh;
I use a dropper to keep it fresh.

But my patience is tried,
So many gorgeous fall days passing me by:
Infection reduced, wound improving but still open.
I want control, if but a token.

I like to grow my own herbs,
Or buy them whole and grind myself,
But these herbs I’m taking are unfamiliar,
And I would need a guide to find them.

I picture myself wandering the Chinese countryside
With someone who has been there;
A basket over each shoulder
To collect what we should find.

We look for Cha Chi Huang,
We seek some Xian Feng Cao.
Eyes peeled for Liu Zhi Huang,
And don’t forget the Feng Wei Cao.

Returning with herbaceous treasures,
Some we plant, some we dry,
Make a tisane with standard measures;
I’m on the mend, and my heart could fly!

But now, against my joints’ complaints,
I must return to sleeping on the couch:
The friendliest positions
To protect my wound are on its cushions.

© 2017 H.K. Longmore


A glance out the window
Revealed a fender bender
And I, I felt mirth?

Again, from inside,
Viewing the street below,
Another’s pain
Curled my lip toward my eye?

Why? What hag has hexed me,
What sorcerer stole my concern,
And left schadenfreude
In its place?

Were sights that brought me joy
Absent too long;
My eyes need to find delight
Some other way?

Numbness crushing my compassion,
Squeezing out my sympathy?

A sight that a month of Sundays past
Brought me to tears,
Now brings but numb tingling
To my limbs, my reins, my heart.

So I take up my schadenfreude,
Since I can’t convince myself
Of my fraud, that I’m happy for you
(Though your happiness I desire over mine).

Copyright © 2017 H.K. Longmore

Stopping the Spreading of a Lie

The lyric heard while working in the yard
Echoes around inside my brain:

I don't care now
For what might have been;
The heart of darkness
Closes in on me.

I sang the refrain out the second time
The playlist served up the song,
But in my heart I knew,
I knew it was a lie.

This lie, oft repeated,
Would advance from lie
To realm of the believed.

So it is with hope,
Hope for what may yet be,
On this playlist the song
No longer has a home.

Freeway Exit

She glances in her mirror,
She’s taken with what she sees.
At once she feels the need to clean—
A cloth or tissue at hand,
Red light gives time
For her to clean the dash,
Clean the controls,

She tosses her hair,
Checks the side mirror
Lest he is not watching;
And seeing he sees,

She tosses her hair,
Then rinse and repeat,
With a few mirror checks
Thrown in for good measure.

Light turns green,
She sees he sees,
Tosses her hair,

Light turns yellow,
She goes through;
Her eyes bid him follow
Despite the red.

Follow he would,
But she is not you.

Silent Witness

She looks to Sir Moon,
Wondering what he’s feeling
She pours out her heart.

Full Spring Moon listens,
Reflected in the river
Beside which he plays.

If He had a mouth,
Sir Moon would surely reply,
Would tell what He knows.

Of what would He tell?
He would sing what the bridge hears,
What the river sees.

The river sees brass,
Its appearance like silver,
Twelve feet, conical.

The bridge hears a song,
Improvised and repeated,
A song from his heart.

Sir Moon would replay
What the concrete barrier
Echoes to the reeds;

What the ducks and geese
Mistake for a lullaby
As they seek out sleep.

But Sir Moon stays mute,
His heart moved by maudlin song
Played to still her heart.

© 2017 H.K..Longmore

Three Fictions and a Truth

Enters, man on call,
A symphony concert hall.
Opens laptop to appall.

Keeps phone on silent,
But screen? It remains alight,
To receive alerts.

Unshaven, unkempt,
They would fain have thrown him out.
Then comes the call: server’s down.

Unshaven, on call,
Now I stand with phone in hand—
Alone, let snow fall.

©2017 H.K. Longmore