Dedicated to the One I Love

Narciss, it’s beyond 

Your comprehension— 

No poem is more beautiful 

Than the one being 

Read by the light 

Of your eyes. 

Greek-American Gambler Wins Precious Bride Hands Down

Dad may have returned flat 

Broke to Greece in 1936 

But he was still 

An ace at bluffing: 

Whenever he finished 

Dancing at village fairs, 

He’d dig into his pockets 

And throw a handful 

Of pennies into the air. 

Everybody thought 

He was flush with cash, 

Mom’s poor parents, too. 

Birdbrain

Thank God, I’m a teetotaler— 

All this twitter’s enough 

To drive one to think. 

Not for the Birds

Magpie, be silent and listen— 

How many times 

Have you not heard this one? 

Doubt before Dawn

Whether it’s rime or thistledown 

Along this roadway, we’ll know 

As soon as the sun shows us 

Its face and the fog lifts— 

Let us rise to the occasion 

And be on our way. 

Assayer

Appraising his folly 

His universe to see, 

He wonders why 

His sight’s been affected— 

Two black holes his eyes, 

Don’t you see? 

Taken to the Cleaners

Incredulous, love— 

I can’t believe how

You took the shirt off 

My back or why 

I’m still waiting for you

To give it back, incredibly

Laundered, immaculate, white. 

NB: Please read this poem by Aditya Bahl

Commodity's Future's Latest Release, "Crawl, Multiply and Prosper"

Okay, all you earthy worms, let’s hit it— 

With a one and a two and a three 

Cornucopia! 

In every nook and cranny 

Of our fertile little acre— 

No need to blow your horn to see— 

Bushels of rotten apples falling, 

The likes of you and me. 

Cult Following

I can’t help myself— 

That thing’s after me 

So bad I want 

To watch it 

Kill me again. 

Dead Souls

Know this: If the wind that blows through 

The cypresses at night won’t let you sleep, 

There’s still hope for you. 

Erosion of Memory: Shall We Gather at the River?

Could this filthy thread of a rivulet be the river where 

Full-bodied village women gathered each spring 

To wash their hand-loomed rugs

Or is it just another corporate 

Fabrication run loose? 

The Ultimate Writing Workshop Poem

“. . .and suddenly everything became clear to him.” 

Ok, let’s stand back a bit and look 

At this fragment of a sentence 

From a distance—it comes to us 

From a story by Chekhov; 

Raymond Carver mentions it 

In one of his essays on writing 

But does not tell us its name 

Or what it is about; it could be 

About anything, that much is clear— 

So what say we leave it at that, 

Fast forward instead and imagine 

This sentence as your epitaph. 

Remembrance

re the mourning doves 

throwing their voices 

from somewhere close 

behind me Lorine’s 

memorable you- 

ah-you calling 

your absence obliquely. 

Anonymous Papyrus Fragment, Ancient Messene, Date Unknown but Later Than You Think

Fields we had

[        ]

[        ]

[perforated]

[ now?]

[        ]

[        ]

[        ]

[shredded wheat]

Ely[sian?] with honey

[        ]

[        ]

[        ]

[        ]

Bees combing long

[        ] [flaxen?]       

Hair [       ]

[         ]

[         ]

[         ]

[down?]

To your knees      

[the rest wholly eaten away by moths]

Hammock

I don’t know 

If it’s the night 

Wind that sways 

Me or the pines— 

Either way, 

I don’t care. 

Squeeze Play at the Bottom of the Ninth

Oh Doc if only 

I had the strength to show 

The uniformly moved 

There’s not enough power left 

In these sinews 

To delight them, 

Would they settle 

For my laying down 

A perfect bunt? 

Wild Cyclamen Mode

Heads up though 

Seeing such impossible 

Flowers spring up everywhere 

May not always tend 

To elate one 

Let alone 

Make one feel as they say 

In the pink but oh 

Such mixed blessings 

Should they not 

Then give one pause 

To think?