Friday, January 30, 2015

A Poem Should Be (13)


At once buoyant and cathartic— 

A hard resilient knot heaving 
In the slosh 

Of a soft underbelly, aching 
To wrench 

The wretched queasy 
Blubber out. 

Sunday, January 25, 2015

Saturation Point Roundup Check




radi-

o

active


static

[OMGGMOOMGGMO
OMGGMOOMGGMO
OMGGMOOMGGMO
OMGGMOOMGGMO]

suicidal


mon

san

to

bee


sieging

deci-

mated

hearth.


Friday, January 23, 2015

Old Sea Dogs in Doldrums


Paddling 
Distressfully 
Slowly 

Out of deep forgetful sleep, we wait 
So as to find ourselves once more

On familiar ground—anywhere 
Save shipwrecked on reefs. 


Monday, January 19, 2015

Unclaimed Winter Offering to a Fine Feathered Friend


The small crust of white 
Bread I left out 

For you little brown one, 
Still lies there on the cold 

Grey slab of rock which now seems 
To be flying us ages away. 


Friday, January 16, 2015

Vazambam's Last "Poem Beginning I"


I swear I’ll never write another but 
Should I chance to try, tie my hands 
Cross my heart, let me lie forever 
Barefaced without batting an eye. 





Monday, January 12, 2015

Eyewitness to Bibliomancy


At my wits' end 
By all I see before me, 
I pick a book I believe

To hold truth; I balance it 
On its spine and allow it 
To fall open; with eyes closed 

I pick a passage and let truth flow 
Back through my fingers 
To the future

Till it blinds me.





Friday, January 9, 2015

from Nostos Sensuous




                              vantage point


on all sides


clear

monotonous

cry


of gulls sweeping back

dappled-gray tears


blue sky

.

                              headland


yet no sweet home here

save the heart

buffeting

.

breaking of waves

that convoy unrequited

love cross every wind

.

swept rock

.

                              inlet

there—

sun pockets glistening crystals stranded


in small salty recesses
 
.
                     
                              on a sour note


hardly any


song to assuage

the bitter imminent


light sapping home sickness

.


                              transients at bay


ships huddled in harbor

masses anchored on quay.



                        

Monday, January 5, 2015

Soul Food: Eating One's Heart Out


Let’s get one thing clear, chéri— 
Some brainless poetasters say
You should never, ever serve 
Soul in a poem as the main entrée, 
With spirit and heart 
As side orders, all taboo 
For offal-eating fools dying 
To eat their words 
And have them too, a tad bit 
Too tasteless for the likes of me 
And you?


 

Friday, January 2, 2015

True North


So easy to be led 
Astray by aimless wandering— 
All the same, no lost soul ever 
Found himself by using a compass. 


Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...