Technically, because he’s is a contraction of he is, I’m sure this can’t count as a verbless poem, but it’s not so serious, so I’m posting it anyway…

A piano melody
of indeterminate origin
Brother Theodore
in the front row
his fists in his cheeks

Invention and fusion
from eras now dust
The butcher Bach
mathematically precise—
well, he’s dead now

(4 May 2016)