Monday, June 18, 2018

Will The Real Hayseed Please Stand Up?

Listen up, 
You know-it-all 
City-bred dandy 
Wordsmith—the poem 
You’re writing should end up 
Down-to-earth discriminating, 
Say a finely winnowed product 
Triggered by wave upon wave 
Of gulls lifting off 
From the nearest 
Harbor some thirty 
Miles away only 
To land here 
In the boondocks 
With the first light 
Of day, foraging 
For sustenance 
Amongst bales and bales 
Of—you got it— 
Freshly cut seedy hay.

Friday, June 15, 2018

Irrelevant And Immaterial Spectra


Resembling flesh 
And bones here— 

Just an occasional 

Revenant taking us up 
And back to where

We thought 
We’d always be 


Sunday, June 10, 2018

Tinker, Tailor, Do It Over

My life had all 
The trappings 

Of a tailor-made poem, 
Till I discovered

I had to alter it. 

Friday, June 8, 2018

Ways And Means For Existential Dummies

--“Time passes. Will you?” 

And still it does not 
Dawn on you, literally

That which ends at the end 
Of each of your days, ends in itself 
And means absolutely

Nothing in the end. 

Monday, June 4, 2018

74-Year-Old Strange Bird Approaching Twilight Landing Zone

I'm so 
Old I remember when I was 
A twelve-something Mister 
Cool thinking someone 
Fortyish was a stumbling fossil, 
And an octogenarian was 
A dodo on its last legs 
Attempting an emergency 
Landing with no landing gear. 

Friday, June 1, 2018

Heads I Win, Tails You Lose

You poor 

What we need 
And what 

We get are two 
Sides of the same 

One-sided argument— 
If you’re not 

With us, 
You’re fucked. 

Wednesday, May 30, 2018

Dumbstricken By A Line From Malebranche*

Playing our latest “smart” 
Game with my six-year-old 
Granddaughter to sharpen 
Our powers of observation, 
We watch patiently 

The dense overhanging jasmine vine 
Above and in front of us 
As it jettisons 
Its white, five-petaled 
Flowers one-by-one, 

Anxious to see who’s going 
To be the first to shout 
There it goes! as each star falls 
Dumbly to the oh so equally
Dumb and patient ground. 

*Attention is the natural prayer of the soul.

Monday, May 28, 2018

Red Herrings Made In America

On top of so much 
Devastating news 

Concerning the Earth 
(about which too few 

Of us are concerned 
And even fewer willing 

To digest), lately 
From the hinterland 

Comes disturbing talk 
Of giant invasive hammer- 

Headed earthworms over- 
Taking the homeland 

By the millions, 

Our much smaller 
Native fry 

For breakfast, lunch, 
Dinner AND midnight 

Munchies—I don’t know 
About you but for those 

Concerned, I think 
It’s time to come to 

Our senses and hope 
It isn’t just 

Idle table talk.

Saturday, May 26, 2018

Read Your Fortune, Sir?

Murky—like the poem you were so 
Intent on finishing you missed

Seeing that fly buzz by only to end 
Up a black dot flailing 

The dregs of your coffee cup.

Thursday, May 24, 2018


“The commune of Poetry becomes so real that [the poet] sounds each
particle in relation to parts of a great story he knows will never be completed.” 
--Robert Duncan, Bending the Bow 

The dynasty 

Of Song, tangible as 
The word sounds— 

In this instance 
Joyous, a small 

Round, reddish-orange 
Object plucked 

From a mandarin’s 

Tuesday, May 22, 2018

Existentialist Angst Is No Laughing Matter

With the world

In bloody stitches, you keep 
Laughing at yourself because 

You think laughing is good 
For you, you must be 


Sunday, May 20, 2018

Late Deep Sleeper

lux in tenebris lucet

What’s with you, trouper? 
On stage

You made many a move 
To draw the curtains,

But the sun’s still 
Waiting in the wings. 

Thursday, May 17, 2018

Trickle-down Economics Broken Down By One Of The Haves

It’s this way you see 
His ledger rife with minuses, 
Two plus two never making four, 
This good-for-nothing no-account 
Too poor to know the score he 
Put a double-barrel up his sinuses, 
Nothing made sense anymore. 

Monday, May 14, 2018


           “The Jasmine” 

Whether it gets dark 
or light 
the jasmine stays 
always white.
  —George Seferis 









all day,

all night.

Friday, May 11, 2018

"In The Beginning Was The Word"

—for my A and Ω, Eleni—who knows me better than I do myself 

Why is it when I at last 
Give in and grudgingly promise 
To translate a few of my more 
"Knotty” avant-garde poems 
For you, my not-so-comfy with English 
Better half, half-way into them I get 
That nagging sense you think 
They were all Greek to me too, 
From their promising beginnings 
To nowhere in particular 
In the end. 

Wednesday, May 9, 2018

"There's A Sucker Born Every Minute"

—attributed to P. T. Barnum, American showman 

Believe it or not, 

I read somewhere that 
Some land snails can 

Lift ten times their weight 
Up a vertical surface; 

So if you were as strong as that 
And sucked just as well 

And weighed in 
At one hundred-fifty pounds, 

Hauling one thousand five hundred 
Pounds of suckers would more than likely 

Drive you straight up a wall. 

Tuesday, May 8, 2018


Oh, wanting 
Apostrophe, the comma’s 

Always somewhere 

Here to make you, 
Pause to think about it.

Sunday, May 6, 2018

Invasion Of The Slug People

No need to fret beforehand— 
You earthlings will know when 

We’ve taken over everything 
When you no longer have enough 

Time to shovel the slime 
You’ve left behind. 

Friday, May 4, 2018

Huuklyeand Cinquor On Purveyors Of Genetically Modified Crapolla

You sod busting deviant turds you 

Keep on grinding out this bull 
Husking horseshit and before you 
Know it y’all be corn 

Holed by an ear-to-ear 
Grinning sodomite 
Grim Reaper, got it? 


Moderator’s comments: Huuk demonstrating his fiery didacticism once more; too bad he had to stoop so low this time—linguistically speaking—to get his rapier-wielding point across. 

Wednesday, May 2, 2018

Here Today, Gone Tomorrow

Been there 
Before been through all that 
With the required modicum 
Of grace they told me 
I’d find everything as it was, 
Save the whereabouts 
Of my face. 

Tuesday, May 1, 2018

Variations On A Theme By Williams

"There are lots of things we have to go and find out. 
We have to go and find out, what red, what wheel 
and barrow are, at some level." -- Paul Muldoon 

perhaps this is why 

so much depends 

the glazed-over rimed 

eyes of the stricken 
farmer in the muck 

beside the dazed 
white chickens, 

the frozen up- 

wheel of the red 
barrow, the fouled 

furrows of the mind gone 
plowing somewhere off 

in the lowermost reaches 
of ground zero.

Sunday, April 29, 2018

Spaced-out Flat Earther Overstepping The Bounds Of Gravity

Seriously now plastic man, 
If you’ll just please 

Step back and do 
A double take, you’ll see 

You’ve gone over 
The end and surely 

By golly not 
By any stretch 

Of imagination 
By mistake. 

Tuesday, April 24, 2018

Pulp Friction

curioCity kills Bloody Marys 
maraschino cherries Pop guns 
gang bangs poontang rat snitches 
and Edsel squeals 

cathouse beldams melt hams down 
dog days nightmares ride hunchbacks 
warning lights stop critters peeling 
rubber dead in their tracks 

cornered but ornery 
disembodied vulvas bare back 
their teeth like 

the Cheshire cat.

Monday, April 23, 2018


You’re only in touch 
With the world insomuch 

As you remain open 
Enough to touch. 

Saturday, April 21, 2018

I Scream, You Scream. . . .

Paisano I tell you this 
Life is a one helluva big ice cream cone 
That’s a melting lickety-split so 

You don’t wanna stand there 
With your little finger jammed 
Up your ass doing nothin’— 

You gotta lick it, capisce? 

Wednesday, April 18, 2018

Missing Crux Oxymoron

In lieu of a haiku: 

Of course you do not know 
You’re lacking in something— 
Something is stopping you. 

Monday, April 16, 2018

Poetry: The Last Frontier

Situated in some nebulous distance, 
I do what I do so that the universal balance 
Of which I am a part may remain a balance. 
--Antonio Porchia, “Voices” 

In the blooming Judas tree above 
My head, the spaced-out

Enterprising bees go 
Deliriously about

Their going concern business 
Doing exactly you-know-what— 

In a nebulous universe, so am I 
Doing clearly God knows what. 

Friday, April 13, 2018

It's A Dog's Life Until You Lose It

Beats me but coming 
After a hard day’s scrounging 
For scraps, I’d wager 

Those two dead- 
Tired, bedraggled 
Strays that spend 

Their nights curled 
Up on threadbare welcome 
Mats on opposite sides 

Of the main drag—one 
In front of the bakery 
And the other 

In front of the laundry— 
Most likely imagine that 
As long as they can 

Sleep and dream 
Of warm doghouses 
And doggy food galore, 

There will always be 
The prospect of waking 
Up one fine morning still

Very much alive, yet for some 
Strange reason always 
Wanting more. 

Wednesday, April 11, 2018

Huuklyeand Cinquor On Finding One's Way To The Domicile Of The Perfect Poem

Poets, I dare say 
Enough is enough, please 
Gather all your senses together— 

You just passed 
The sign 
That said No 

The next one says 
No Exit. 

Moderator’s comments: Hopeless perfectionist par excellence that Huuk is, 
no wonder it took him so long to check back in here. 

Monday, April 9, 2018

Douma, Syria: No Barrel Of Laughs

Yes, indeed 
That ghastly 
Still of a man 

Wearing a gas- 
Mask does look some- 
What grotesque as he 

Holds the body 
Of a gassed child, 
But hold on—just what 

Did you expect 
To see—a bunch 
Of debased home- 

Grown couch potatoes 
Foaming at the mouth 
At the prospect 

Of strange riffraff suffocating 
In faraway basements? 
Change channels.


Tuesday, April 3, 2018

Die-hard Hippie Listening To Jefferson Airplane High Over Greece

—for Tom (Diz) Carroll, music teacher/musician par excellence 
and frequent visitor to these parts 

The light-headed 
Mind can take in only so 
Much at a time 
Before it has to stop 

To ponder if 
The baggage it’s been 
Hauling over the years 
Might not be too fright- 

Fully overweight and better 
Off jettisoned, preferably high 
Over a luminous landscape 
Filled with nothing 

But diaphanous light.

Friday, March 30, 2018

Marching For Their Lives

Enough of this 
And that, my fellow 
Citizens—we all 

Know we get 
Enough of that 
From people who 

Don’t know where 
They’re going 
Or where they’re at— 

Not like these kids 
Who know exactly 
What they’re aiming at. 

Tuesday, March 27, 2018

Aphasic Synesthesia

Don’t forget 
If you can’t 

Speak because you 
Have nothing to say, 

Just remember when 
The time came for you 

To listen, you were lost 
In thought, looking 

The other way. 

Saturday, March 24, 2018

Down In The Dumps, Period

When I feel like shit, 
The last thing I want is you 
Telling me to forget everything 
And be happy—I was there once 
And look where I am now, 
Feeling twice as shitty. 

Thursday, March 22, 2018

Selfish Myopic's Blundering Doppelgänger

Too busy looking out 
For yourself, you didn’t 
See the other going 

Over the deep end with you, 
And from the looks of it, 
Neither did he—soon 

The world will be 
A much better place, 
If only you could see. 

Tuesday, March 20, 2018

Urgent Message From Where Scott Pruitt Sits*


Cracked pots spied 

Through imagined hole 
In ozone layer—run 

To the nearest 

Shelter for ancient 
Crock repairers! 

*Environmental Protection Agency 

Saturday, March 17, 2018

Oval Mirror, Oval Mirror on the Wall, Who's the Fairest One of All?

Well, since you 
Asked, it looks like 
You’re well 

Past your prime, hunky- 
Bunch—don’t you 
Think it’s time 

You took up another 
Pastime? Like spitting 
In what passes

As your face.

Thursday, March 15, 2018


Wallowing deep 
Down in its own 
Dark juice, the octopus is 
Clearly rejoicing; surely now 
That danger’s over, some long 
Overdue indulgence is 
No great sin. 

You of the spineless 
Backbone wielding 
Wishy-washy hands, 
On the murky bottom 
Of a milieu turning inky 
In the sand, there’s a lesson 
To be learnt here— 

Catch it if you can. 


Thursday, March 8, 2018

Old Old World Emigrant's Longing

His high mountain village 
So remote but still so near 
To his heart now 
Beating in the new 
World, he fancied he 
Heard the homing wind 
Clearly in the cypresses 
Ringing the cemetery, 
Shaping out of thin air 
Every breathless breath 
He took in. 

Tuesday, March 6, 2018

Just Sayin' I Think I Am Here For The Stinking Duration

Well, friends
That’s why life- 
Supporting loving 
Words need to be well 
Grounded in grit 
To keep them 
From being cast 
Away like so 
Many tons of swell 
Headed well- 
Meaning shit. 

Saturday, March 3, 2018

KO'd By The Muse

Just between 
You and me, 
I think 
I don’t look at all 
Like a poet but I do 

Thank you so 
Much you think 
I do—would you 
Like me to 
Slam a poem 

About how 
It feels to be so 
Punch drunk you 
Can’t tell the difference 
Between what you want 

To see and what 
You’ve come to? 

Thursday, March 1, 2018

Acid Reign

Crow on, old 
Grackle on tip 
Of blighted cypress, 
Biting acid tongue. 

Monday, February 26, 2018

Growing Up

My father was old enough 
To be my grandfather, 
And I too young 
To know the difference, 
Till I too became 
A man old enough to know
It made no difference.


Friday, February 23, 2018

How To Compose A Politically (In)Correct, (Un)American Arse Poetica Coeval With These Disturbing Times

OK, class— 
Put in 

The right word 

In the right place 

At the right time 

I think 
That’s just 


Tuesday, February 20, 2018

Sucker Bait

Throw out any line at will 
If you will but always hope 
Something more

Than the one that got away
Surfaces when the poem happens
To reel you in again.

Thursday, February 15, 2018

Once Is More Than Enough, Thank You

Approaching the twilight 
Years, finally 

Waking up early 
Enough one morning to see 

Day break, then going 
Right back to bed 

Too dead tired even 
To sleep on it again. 

Monday, February 12, 2018

Niggardly And Dutiful At All Costs

Precious the memories, so 
Dear in fact he keeps them 

Hoarded in a satchel given 
To him by a doting mother 

Who shilled him 
Into guarding it 

With his life till 
He’ll remember how 

Much he wasted of it. 

Saturday, February 10, 2018

You Know Something's Not Right In Our Heads: The Syria Syndrome

When Uma Thurman’s Kill 
Bill’s car stunt crash that might 
Have decapitated her in 2003 
Gets more live coverage 
Than the twisted 


Of kids blasted 
To pieces before 
Unbelieving eyes 


Thursday, February 8, 2018

Mean Times Iconoclastic

“What’s to be done or said in the meanwhile I don’t know, 
and what is the use of poets in a mean-spirited time?” 
Friedrich Hölderlin, from “Bread and Wine” 

At such times, the true 
Believer’s mind believes

The eye can 
Take in only so much, 

And wonders if what 
It cannot see 

Otherwise is likewise as 
Unbelievably shattering, 

To say the least. 

Tuesday, February 6, 2018

One Scrambled Alter Ego Sandwich To Go

Y’know, dude, 
You don’t have to 
Put yourself out, 
Always asking 
What it is I want— 
It’s plain as the egg 
On your face— 
I want you to be 
A hard-boiled customer 
Who knows exactly what 
He wants—that’s your order— 
Try sinking your teeth into that.

Saturday, February 3, 2018

King of the Mountain's Fantastic Leaps and Bounds

Trudging to grade 
School heads down, his two 
Older sisters well ahead 
Of him, the boy spies 
The small beckoning 
Hardened mound of sand 
At the abandoned building 
Site the girls have chosen 
To ignore, and which after 
Dashing at the speed of light 
For all of twenty yards 
Yelling his head off, 
He now leaps from base 
Camp to the summit 
In one superhuman bound— 
Demonstrating once again, 
Esteemed ladies and gentlemen 
Of the Faculty of Cognitive 
Sciences, that learning by rote 
Was, is, and shall forever be 
Solely for the pedestrian 


Wednesday, January 31, 2018


To fall 
Asleep next 
To your snoring 

Five-year-old grand- 
Daughter on 
Your right 

And your wife 
Sawing wood 
Next to her, 



Monday, January 29, 2018

Art of the Deal

You keep telling me 
Having money’s hard 
Work and to make 
Do with what I’ve got, 
Which must be a lot 
Easier if one’s not 
A have-not—so what 
Say you slip me that 
Ace up your sleeve 
When I’m not looking 
And make believe 
I’m hard up as your lot. 

Thursday, January 25, 2018

#Me Too


After lopping off 
A limping male 

Poetic limb or two, 
The liberated 

Muse’s shark-like mouth 
Cannot be said to be 

Sardonic, nor her smile ironic, 
Though some macho moronic 

Poets have gone so far 
As to call it romantically 

Emasculating— a void, 
A fathomless, yawning abyss. 


With all due respect 
To the free- 

Loving unfaithful 
Beastly romantic 

Percy, if Mary were 
Here, I’d surmise 

She’d find nothing grotesque
Or amiss with this fantastic script— 

After all she was 
Nobody’s monster, just 

Frankenstein’s perfect 

Monday, January 22, 2018

A Poem Should Be (14)


Like that home 
Less mutt taking 
In the winter sun 

Shine on 
The leeward side 
Of a derelict’s hovel. 

Saturday, January 20, 2018

America Emaciated, Land of The Free Depraved

Eat your hearts out, you well- 
Heeled so-called emancipated 

Masses yearning to be free 
Of guilt by association, for you 

Too can now starve and torture 
Your selves with plenty 

Of generous home-school 
Helpings of stark impunity. 

Wednesday, January 17, 2018


Who will calculate for us the cost of our decision to forget? 
--George Seferis 

No bones about 
It—of those departed 
And of their deeds 

Most memorable, 
Most haunting 
Naught shall 

Always remain 

For when all’s said 
And done, who’s to say 
And yet? 


Sunday, January 14, 2018

Reaching Poetic Inspiration In Four Easy Steps


Wait long enough 
For something to grab 
Your fancy. 


Get ready 
For nothing to pass 
You by. 


Don’t ever 
Blink in the wink 
Of an eye. 


If nothing materializes, repeat 
All steps above piously incanting 
Ghost Riders in the Sky.


Thursday, January 11, 2018

Nipped In The Bud

If only 
Your resolve to turn over 
A new leaf was just 
As deep-rooted as that 

Desire to bury what is most 
Shallow in you, you just 
Might stumble your way 
To Fall, too. 

Wednesday, January 3, 2018

Please To Google “K'ung Futzu Gobbledegook Twitter Troller" For Important New Year Message!

Kong the Master Baiter say: 

Year of Dog this year and you 
Still surprised I speak 
Your language? Do not be— 

You see again 
And again nothing 
But claptrap come 

Naturally to pussy 
Grabbing prick 
Like me. 

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