Monday, July 30, 2012

Tailor-made Moonless Night


To take measure of the dazzling 
Fabric of the universe, 

I wait out 

Beyond the needles of the pines 
For the pinholes to appear; 

Many questions on my mind but 
Only one of any substance— 

How many light years will it take 
For this threadbare body 

To pierce the heavens 
At the appointed hour 

And disappear? 

Sunday, July 29, 2012

Blown Away

The heat wave was so 
Stupefying the cicadas 

Exploded taking off 
Our heads the last I heard 

They were high- 
Tailing it, frazzled 

By dodging sparrows 
Pine to pine. 

Friday, July 27, 2012


I don’t know about this 
She loves me, she loves me not 
Love-hate business but all this talk 
Of hard work making America 
What it is makes me want 
To lie stark naked 
In a field full of flowers 
And peel off her clothes 
One-by-one till she lies there 
Doing nothing fully 
Exposed too.

Wednesday, July 25, 2012

After the Fall (for the Zillionth Time)

To start again 
At the beginning 
With the world upright 

And everything just 
As it was 
In the beginning 

That would be how 
To end things anew, 
Another beginning. 

Monday, July 23, 2012

Blaze of Glory, Poet

The lamp 

Of the lady of night has gone out 
But it’s left a flame 

That still licks your wounds. 

Saturday, July 21, 2012

Making Do with Less

Whatever I take, I take too much or too little; I do 
not take the exact amount. The exact amount is no use 
to me. 
—Antonio Porchia, Voices 

Antonio, tell you what— 
Today I’m going 

To take more of what 
I didn’t take yesterday— 

The rest I’ll leave 
For tomorrow;

That should pretty well do it. 

Wednesday, July 18, 2012

Staking out the Usual Suspect

Stick to your MO, gumshoe— 
Stare out the window 

Long enough, no matter what 
The view, you’ll see 

The frame becomes you. 

Monday, July 16, 2012

Hung up on the Goddess

God, I’m a hopeless case— 

Where other mortals see 
Wave after wave of ripples 
Caressing the shore, 

In the foam of my mind I see her 
Multitudinous immortal nipples 
And still thirst for more. 

Sunday, July 15, 2012

Calling Card

Where oh where are the cicadas? 
You can hear their quivering 

Insistence in the pines but never 
A sign of their presence in the air— 

Only their empty shells at the end 
Of summer remind you 

They too were there. 

Thursday, July 12, 2012

Out to Lunch

And offline until Sunday while I escape to the shores of the Ionian in the company of George Seferis (actually his spirit as revealed through his books, but you knew that).

Coming Up In The World

Where once there was 
An outhouse 

With swatches of news 
Paper nailed to bare brick 

Wall next to a hole, 
Now indoors 

A fine vitreous fixture 
And a roll 

Of soft ass-wipe unwound, 
Touching cool 

Marble floor. 

Tuesday, July 10, 2012

Achieving Brilliance

Some have to work hard at it, 
Others hardly at all, so 
Before he steps back 
And takes one last hard look 
At what he’s left behind, 

This ragamuffin of a boot- 
Black buffing the shine of the gentleman 
Has to spit on his shoes and snap 
The rag like his life depends on it 
One more time. 

Sunday, July 8, 2012

John the Baptist aka The Saint Oregano Man

Gather your oregano while you may after his name day (June 24th) and as long as it has ripened fully and you collect it very early in the morning before the first rays of the sun have touched it. This” slight” detail is essential because only in this way does the oregano acquire magical powers. 

This explains why I got up at 5 o’clock this morning and rode my trusty ancient Yamaha 125cc Enduro motorcycle to our olive grove about 9 km due west of Meligalas and spent the next two hours gathering this holy mountain of oregano, which will be cured in the shade, mind you, (or else it will turn black and spoil) before being sprinkled generously on a variety of salads and meat/fish/poultry dishes, as the Greeks have always used it as a food preservative, and it is probably in this role that the pessimistic phrase “Put some oregano on him” is employed metaphorically when someone’s plans start to go from bad to worse. 

NB: It may sound far-fetched to some but included in oregano's magical powers is its ability to heal wounds; believe me—as The Saint Oregano Man is my witness—this claim is definitely not for the birds. Nor is this poem.

Friday, July 6, 2012


When night creatures start
To stir in your sleep, their eyes too

Close for comfort.

Wednesday, July 4, 2012

Descendants of Daedalus

With all due respect, sun 
Please no deviations— 
Just keep waxing pretty

As she goes, I know 
It's a maze but here we are
Doing downright nicely by you

Just as you are. 

Sunday, July 1, 2012

Deception Pass

A poem trying to be 

So clear and rarefied, 
Even a fumbler could see 

Right through it. 

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