Bringing It All Back Home On The Ferryman's River

Rounding another silted bend, 
Where someone left a lone 
Oar, a marker now half- 
Hidden in the susurrating 
Singing reeds signaling still 

Another traveler’s solitary 
Deposition beached 
Near the not so 
Farfetched beckoning 
Dog-eared shore. 

Wet Behind The Ears

That old Greek he knew you 
Can’t step into the same 
River twice, for even 
If you could, you’d still find 
Yourself high and dry 
On the banks of certain 
Uncharted shit creek 
With nothing better 
To do save wait 
To pay a certain smart-ass 
Ferryman to paddle 
Your dumb ass across. 

Guarding the Gates of 'Murica's Hell

Keep a right dead level head, 
Look alive and stay put 
In your proper place, gentlemen— 

Nothing but a lynch mob 
All these years, you thought 
You’d keep me broken, barking 

Your heads off up the wrong tree. 

Eudaemonia

The gods have been kind indeed; finally 
Out of nowhere, the Senate’s agreed to hear 
Our petition with pomp and circumstance— 
This promises to be a very fortuitous year. 
 . 

Today we have the airing 
Of righteous grievances, 
Tomorrow and the next 
More of the same 
 . 

Till Acheron freezes over—hear, hear 
Let the gods bear witness, 
One more splendid, glorious year. 

VAZAMBAM EXCLUSIVE: DUTCH TOURIST DISCOVERS NEW ENTRANCE TO HADES!

In lieu of my usual poetic fare, I want to promote this exclusive once-in-a-lifetime photo taken only yesterday on one of the side streets of Meligalas only a few feet from the town’s main thoroughfare. With one foot on a ladder (which the local authorities presumably used as a warning marker) and with the promise of hitherto unimagined heights of elation awaiting him, we can see the tourist in question proudly showing off his discovery; unfortunately, before he could return with the proper spelunking gear, he found the entrance hermetically sealed by these same authorities who perhaps suddenly became wary of the adverse odoriferous publicity that would run rampant were the area to be overrun by tourists flocking to see a tributary of the effluent Styx flowing mellifluously under their feet. 

By the way, I think it highly poetic and fitting that this intrepid discoverer should hail from one of Europe’s Low Countries.

Huuklyeand Cinquor on the MO of Underground Poets

Surreptitiously 

Erase each step, better 

Still, don’t move at all. 

Moderator’s comment: The Apotheosis of the Absurd? At first glance, it might appear so to readers unfamiliar with Cinquor’s modus operandi and who might be thinking he’s being a bit facetious here; on the contrary, if we dig a bit deeper, we’ll see he’s earnestly but very carefully exploring new levels of meaning vis-à-vis the creative urge underlying the so-called school of Underground Poetry. 

Unlike his archaeologically pioneering European antipode Heinrich Schliemann—who, in his great haste to find Ancient Troy, dug right through it without realizing it—Cinquor here posits a daring New World approach in which he proposes that poets who wish to explore ancient subterranean passages leading to Hades, and who wish to do so without the fear of being detected and therefore ratted on by weasels or moles, should do nothing but stand perfectly still—a quintessential move on Cinquor’s part, if you ask me. 

The Ferryman on Upward Mobility

No matter how hard you tried 

Mate, you’re still here

Being taken down a river 

At low tide— 

So put up your obol and shut up, 

Hold your hands over your eyes,

Enjoy the rest of your ride.