Non-Haiku Poems

Dadduma nga obra nga ad-adu ngem sangapulo ket pito a syllables.

Other works with more than just seventeen syllables.

IMPORTANT: These poems are the intellectual property of the author and is subject to intellectual property rights. Use of these poems are allowed provided proper reference to author (Jason Bagni) and source ( are properly recognized and indicated.



Poetry is that one place where nothing can go wrong. Where the poet has absolute rule over his domain. Where even what looks like imperfection fits into the perfectness of both measured and unmeasured rhyme. Where happiness and sadness are of equal value. Where words build, destroy, and rebuild castles all in perfect harmony. Where even silence speaks, and noise is quite. Where even the storm is peaceful, where even bliss is chaos. Where time is both frozen and flowing. Poetry is both perfect and imperfect, momentarily and infinitely constant.



And how did I ever get to this?
when yesterday you were just
a speck of glass
in a sand
in the beach
outside the island
of even my unconscious mind

yet my lips are just a breath away
from yours
in a collision course
of softness
and tenderness
and explosiveness
and unexpectedness

I put the first question
to the back end of the back end of the back end
and brace this mind
and this heart
and this silliness personified
for one last quest
one last first kiss



A cursed blank page
Failed before it starts even
An essay paused midway
Finished before it ends

Crossed words, erasures
Unsatisfactory conclusions
Mediocre rhymes and verses
Sophomoric construction

The page gets ripped and torn
And the paper crumpled
The promise of a masterpiece
Gets thrown, unraveled

That which would hold art
Lay twisted, sorely beaten
That which would launch dreams
Lay crushed, forgotten


She Doesn’t

She doesn’t have the prettiest smile nor the most sparkly set of eyes.
She doesn’t have the best pair of knockers nor the most drool-worthy rear.
She doesn’t have the longest pair of legs nor the cutest face.

yet she knocks me off my feet.

with her wit that can talk about the most nonsensical and the most serious with equal ease.
with her heart that is both sweet like a child’s and firm like a warrior on a quest.
with her spirit that is gentle yet strong it can hold off a horde of dirty little kids coming from soccer practice on a pitch a day after it rained.

it’s cliche but she takes my breath away.

I can and want to talk to her for hours and hours.
I can and want to snuggle to her on fall, winter and spring mornings.
I can and want to hold her hand as we walk on a trail or on the beach or on a downtown street in the summer.

she doesn’t know it but she does.


Dear Muses

Thank you for not giving up on me
Pulling my heart out of its darkest depths
Letting my soul see the light
and my head to hear the words
and for my hands to grasp them and write again

And when I pushed all of you away
You held your distance and stayed out of the way
but kept a loving gaze
giving me time to gather the million pieces of my broken heart
and put them together again no matter how crude you didn’t laugh

and when I was becoming too happy and content
and you know that wannabe poets like me and happiness sometimes do not meet eye to eye
you pulled some trick on me to give just the right amount of lonely
just the right amount of heart break, the right mix of melancholy
to fuel my disoriented syllables and my disjointed rhymes

and with that I take to a fresh new page
weaving words, weaving tales
weaving wonders, weaving dreams and so
I thank you Dear Muses
Respectfully yours I am, your prodigal ward


Between Work and Sleep

I just want to work myself to sleep.
Be a cubicle warrior who has nothing to lose
the last man standing – or sitting – on my desk slaying
Invoices after invoices after invoices
From people who have travel sickness and lost baggages
Until I get tired of all this shit
Or die from it

And dream in my sleep
The same thing over like those
In the movies, one lone soldier manning a fort firing
At voices after voices after voices
From people with me-sickness and lost romances
Until I die from it
Or get sick of all this shit

Then I wake up
And go on repeat


Eun Jee

You are what could have been
Our souls dance when they meet and
Our hearts speak in their own
Secret tounge

We could talk for days on end or
Stay beside each other without
Uttering words and
Still understand each and every pause

We could just have held hands or
Ate McDonald’s burgers everyday without
Kissing and
Still understand each other’s breathing

You are poetry written in basic English, I
Am rhyme written in day-old Korean
We needed more than translation and
Yet we didn’t

You are a glass full of dreams with cracks, I
Am a half-confused, half-empty cup.
We could have mended each other but
We chose to break. Up.

Yes, we are what could have been
Yet we are not.


Like the Moth

I understand the moth
When it yearns
For the flame
Even when it burns.

Because like the moth
My heart aches
For you
Even when it breaks.


Of Autumn When Poets Mourn

What’s with autumn when poets mourn?
Do they cry the blues of a summer lost?
Of a summer flame that never burned?
Or of hot days spent chasing ghosts?

What’s with autumn when poets mourn?
Do they cry of the dark and foreboding cold?
Of a winter spent with only words to burn?
Of chilly nights alone in bed no one to hold?

What’s with autumn when poets mourn?
Do they cry of spring’s long gone hopes?
Of springtime nights when campfires burn?
Of the lonely days watching cheesy soaps?

Ah, what’s with autumn when poets mourn?
Do they cry of fall’s changing colors and falling tears?
Of the smell of raked-in leaves when they burn?
Of fall’s finality of what has been another fruitless year?


Martian Love

I want to write a poem in some alien language,
Compose odes to you in some red barren landscape.

Strange made-up words for a strange made-up world,
Kiss you in the sulfuric athmospheric cold.

We’ll make love while a sandstorm rages on,
We’ll make dry river beds wet again and flow into the horizon.


Fighter, Fighter
A tribute to the SAF 44

Fighter, fighter
You have been away for far too long.
Far from loved ones, far from home.

Fighter, fighter
You have been fighting for far too long.
Cold, dark, outnumbered, you fight on.

Fighter, fighter
You have been bled for far too long.
Enemies, not infront, but those who push you on.

Fighter, fighter
You have been marching for far too long.
But not too long now, as rest is due.

Fighter, fighter
You have been away for far too long.
Home is calling, soldier, time to go.

Fighter, fighter
You have been fighting for far too long.
We salute you, a hundred million and 44 strong.

‪#‎TruthForTheFallen44‬ ‪#‎Fallen44‬ ‪#‎SAF44


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