After Kandinsky

who wrote that blue moves in upon itself—

blue like a snail re 
treating in 
to its 

sh 
el 
l 

. 

Cerberus

Don’t look now but something tells me 
There’s something dead to the world out there — 

That cur wouldn’t be barking his heads off 
If it were alive and kicking, that’s for sure. 

Sticks and Stones

Take poison, my love— 

You say it’s only a word,
I say it is only when our lips 

Pronounce it. 





 

Reign of Terror

Don’t let those innocent looking 
Homophones fool you, my friend— 

Puss ‘n’ Boots and Fido are tripping head 
Over heels acid freaks in cahoots again. 

Magic Carpet

Of course it isn’t but what if 
This wind-scattered bed of soft rotting 
Pied apricot leaves decides to pull 
Itself together and take off back to where 
The sky’s the limit again? 

Brimming Over with Holiday Spirit

After the cleansing storm, electrifying 
Heavenly raindrops caught flashing on 

Pods of the pepper—a natural 
Lit-up Yuletide tree! 

Surely a sign from above that 
No superfluous baubles needed, 

Only enough to take in 
More than we can see.

Nepenthe

The narcotic quiet at the end of the dead-end street—

Even the trees approaching it have fallen asleep. 

The Usual Suspect

That’s him there—waxing poetic at the end 
Of another butchered line, that 

Moon-faced assassin feigning 
Innocence time after time. 

In Flanders Field Redux

Lord, whosoever said something like 
Ours is not to reason why 
Or other like inflated poppycock, 
Let him put his muzzle 
Where his blooming mouth is 
And shut the fuck up. 

Sacrificial Rites of Passage

Our legacy—where we always begin 
The quest to give up all that 

We find at the end. 

Any Port in a Storm

In a long sunlit lull, surfacing out of the gutter’s grating, 
Dazed drenched survivor shaking dry all six legs 

On stretch of steaming black sea of asphalt. 

Always Room at the Heartbreak Hotel

Your word would be all 
You say it is and then some 
If you gave me all the room in the world

And then some. 

Lost and Found: Dated Poetic Relic

Lo and Behold! 

I found what they were looking for 
When it became the death of me, 
Then put it back for them to find 
Before they knew the difference. 

Huuklyeand Cinquor's Take on Revisionist Poetics

All you visionaries hell-bent on taking 
Off after a vision, take this— 

A poem can take you anywhere 
You want but it won’t take you there 

If you put it down right from the start. 



Moderator’s comments: After some seven or eight months of silence on his part, I was beginning to think that Huuk was revising the soundness of his decision to send me his “poetry” at intermittent intervals, but it looks like I was a bit hasty with my assumption. So, after a long wait, let us revel once more in observing him at his short, didactic best (or worse, depending on how bad your myopia is) by focusing in on the poem’s intention to wit, what exactly is he trying to teach us here? That a poem cannot be “visionary” if it is written straightaway the first time without any revision whatsoever? Or is he assuming the role of the reader and admonishing us to give the poem the benefit of the doubt and not to dis it from the start? Maybe he’s trying to hook both poet and reader with his version of how to cast off all poetic illusions. Whatever the case, I certainly don’t want to prejudice any poets and/or readers out there by being picayune about his “effort” but I have to admit I’m having trouble following where he’s going with this, but then again, I’m not called “The Squint-eyed Kid” for nothing.