Friday, December 14, 2018

The Quandary


Nesting inside 
A healthy beast 

Lies another less 
Healthy beast 

Inside another 
Less healthy one 

And so it goes— 
Somewhere therein 

Lies the key 
To the puzzle 

No healthy beast wants 
To solve. 

Thursday, December 13, 2018

Fate of a Graphically Novel Nondescript Porno Poet


he knew all 
too well 
his fab femmes fatales 

musings would find him 
graphically broken 
at the end 

of one mushy anticlimactic 
line after another, 
and where 

nothing he laid down 
before them in vain- 
glorious color could stop them 

from coming 
sheathed in plain 
black-and-white 

fictions again and again. 


Tuesday, December 11, 2018

Murderous Mindset


That fleeting image you thought 
You’d captured and which
You were planning to use 
When next faced with another 

Downer dead end has just turned 
The corner and is now hurtling down 
That old familiar highway headed 
For the next mind-blowing bend—

Throttle it before it too goes off 
The deep end. 





Sunday, December 9, 2018

Almost Ultimate Haiku


That image running 
Through your mind could be your last— 
Try to make it last. 


Wednesday, December 5, 2018

On Revolutionary Pre-Texts


Put down one bloody 
Revolting word 
At a time in the body, 
And the others killing 

Time in the margins 
Of the pedestrian 
Mind will turn round 
Squarely and finish you 

Off in no time. 


Monday, December 3, 2018

Once-in-a-lifetime Gift

—for Eleni, again 


When I at last reach out 
For something desperately 

Wanting all these years, 
I want that 

Gift to be offered 
By one so well- 

Versed in the artless 
Art of giving that 

The act itself, freely 
Given, leaves nothing 

Wanting in return. 


Saturday, December 1, 2018

Ongoing Adult Education Is


Observing your six-year-old 
Granddaughter learning how to 
Form her first letters, discovering 
She made a mistake and then

Watching her erasing it carefully 
Before writing it as it should be, 
Never once asking you to help her 
Write it right again. 


Thursday, November 29, 2018

Derailed


Coming from the wrong side 
Of the tracks, we knew straightaway 
What felt right for us was balancing 
For as long as we could on rails 
We thought would lead us away— 
What sidetracked us was that bright 
Shiny penny that blindsided us 
From the right and led us astray. 


Tuesday, November 27, 2018

Prospective Basket Case #45POTUS


The worst is yet to come scenario 
Runs through the entire thread 
Of his talk and boy how we wish 
He’d hurry up and unravel before
The whole shebang blows up
Under the circumstances, leaving
Us gratefully dead in the head. 






Sunday, November 25, 2018

Mushroom Recognition Scene

---for Joseph Hutchison, who first alerted me 

Heads up--just as you boisterously
Catch sight of something precious, 

In the same moment you are 
Already poised to see others 

Massing underground, jostling 
For a view of you, now nodding 

Just ahead, just above 
The silent downy mosses.




Friday, November 23, 2018

DOA Supply Command Post, 2199


Do you read me? 

commandeering 
commanding 
view 

of carrion 
after carnage over 
GMO battlefields, 

gigantic live- 
wired radio- 
active trans- 
mogrified crows 

on 
top 
of 
still 
standing 
tele- 
communications 
silo 

keep 
crowing 
on 

commanding ever so 
increasing demand for 
commodity futures, 

over.

Wednesday, November 21, 2018

If Confucius Were Alive Today


I bet he’d strike us all 
Dumb with something like 
Women with tongues that smart 
Say ‘Men do not need sleep 
At night because they sleep 
Standing up during the day’. 


Monday, November 19, 2018

Suddenly It Dawns On One In Transylvania


One more day.
The grey flaking

Hostel shutters flap open 

In a relentless wind, 
There’s no one

Strong enough to keep 
The dead in. 






Saturday, November 17, 2018

Missive To John Levy In Tucson


Hi, brother— 

Since you asked about Rita 
In your last letter, last I heard 
Your foraging hunchback dwarf 
With the unflagging energy 
And beautiful bouquets 
Of overwhelmingly sweet 
Smelling narcissi who kept 
Coming back to your door 
On her little red bike in 1984 
After you’d already bought four 
Of them and placed one 
In each of your house’s 
Three small rooms plus 
Bringing one to my mother 
As a name day gift is now 
Where her siblings put her— 
In an old folks’ home 
In Kalamata—that’s all 
I know for sure for now,
But thinking back on how 
Fiercely she fought and persevered 
Against the ugliness of people 
Surrounding her, I also like 
To think her new surroundings 
Are chock full of plenty pretty
Flowers like the ones 
You bought from her, too. 


All the best 
From your brother in the boondocks 
Of the southern Peloponnese 


Thursday, November 15, 2018

Autumnal Ritual


Centenarian plane tree 
Waving goodbye 

To golden leaves, black- 
Garbed old woman 

Meticulously sweeping 
House walkway clean. 


Tuesday, November 13, 2018

If The Truth Were Known


You wake up after dreaming 
You’ll be deprived of everything 
In the by and by— 

A sycophant’s somewhere 
In your subconscious 
Telling you not to worry, 

Everything’s a lie. 


Sunday, November 11, 2018

Friday, November 9, 2018

Phaedra And The Depiction Of Artistic Fidelity



In her young artist’s eye, the storm
Clouds are menacing
Frenetic grey and black
Jagged squiggles raining

Down long drawn-out
Swaths of green on
The heads of three purplish-
Red poppies, one of which is

Being caressed by
A long thin penciled right arm
Belonging to a young sun-
Glasses-wearing mop-

Headed red-haired girl holding
In her left hand something
Resembling a leafless tree,
Its ten green limbs radiating

Out from the center, each
Gangly arm dangling one
Black, glob-like fruit--
In other words, a fantastic

Child’s umbrella!—instead of your usual
Plain, black, grownup one, the likes
Of which most of us would more
Than likely mistakenly take it for.

Wednesday, November 7, 2018

Pierian Spring Redux


What to do, what to do? 

All around us, simple 
Things so profound 
As water rises, water falls— 

What to do, what to do? 
Keep to the high ground, 
Drink deep, too. 


Monday, November 5, 2018

You Talkin' To Me, Janus?


I’ll tell you this much, love—the more 
We hate others unlike us, the less 
Hate we have for ourselves. 


Saturday, November 3, 2018

Out To Lunch In The Land Of The Free Besieged


a small pale 

red-handled bright 

blue picnic basket 

has been left 


on top 

of a bullet- 

riddled freshly 

painted white wall, 


help yourselves. 


Thursday, November 1, 2018

Never Enough Food For Thought

--for all caregivers, everywhere 


Watching Eleni feeding 
My mother-in-law who doesn’t 
Know where she is, who’s feeding her 
Or what it is she’s eating anymore, I can't help
But wonder at her painstaking patience, 

As she tenderly puts back into that mouth 
That once lulled her to sleep, nourishment 
That keeps wanting to trickle down 
Those spent octogenarian cheeks, much 
Like her mother was wont to do when 

One after another, she found herself 
With six hungry young mouths to feed, 
And where no one ever forgot that 
Never having enough food was always 
More than just a thought. 

Tuesday, October 30, 2018

Monday, October 29, 2018

Rote Painting Poetics


1. 
Painting in words isn’t so hard— 
Just remember that 

2. 
Words are merely symbols 
For things and always 

3. 
Be sure to color them 
By number. 


Saturday, October 27, 2018

Die-hard Flat-earther


I’d rather fall over 
Backwards, my senseless 
Ass lying blithely supine 

On the ground of a stable 
Earthen floor than land flat 
On my face, kissing 

The abominable 
Shifty-looking threshold 
Of a revolting, revolving door.





Monday, October 22, 2018

Revolutionary Pre-Text


Put down one bloody 
Revolting word 
At a time in the body, 
And the rest busy killing 

Time in the margins 
Of the pedestrian 
Mind will turn round 
Squarely and finish you 

Off in no time. 


Saturday, October 20, 2018

Out Of The Dark Spaces Where


intricately

bunched 
together 
crammed 

with- 
in thin 
slits be- 
tween white- 
washed stones, 

cyclamen now 
poke baby pale pink 
faces through, craning 
their fragile necks 
to get a sneak 

preview of whatever 
else is blooming 
out there simply

plain in view. 


Thursday, October 18, 2018

Blues In The Night (Dispossessed American Troubadour)


Oh my love was like 
A red, red shaggy coat, 
A shroud that kept me 
Warm and rosy— 
Now I’m alone, down 
And out and blue, blue 
As a body can be, 
A corpse in the cold 
White wraps of winter. 


Tuesday, October 16, 2018

Vocational Training: What's My Line?


Ok, let’s say we’re 
Three crows all

Cawing on 
A lone telephone line— 

Carrion spotted.
Two leave, one’s left

To continue 
Calling all maws 

Up and down
This lonely calling

Of a line, now doesn't
That sound fine? 




Saturday, October 13, 2018

KO'd On Tin Pan Alley


A lyricist is boxing 
Poetic your ears with in- 
Sane strains of music 
Out of this world
As waxing delirious

Sirens wail in the corner
Poised to throw in the towel 
While you rock back and forth 
Rhythmically timing the moment 
You hit the floor. 




Thursday, October 11, 2018

Hopeless Fall Guy


So many false and trivial 
Things lie strewn before your feet 

Believe me, it’s hard not 
Falling head over heels 

For them, much better you 
Take them seriously and stay 

Just where you are,
A lifetime honorary 

Upright citizen 
On Easy Street.




Tuesday, October 9, 2018

Rx On Growing Up Absurd In America


For the time being, 
Just hang in there— 

Soon you shall learn how 
To weep at the slightest thing 
That makes you sad, then laugh 
At how stupid that makes you feel; 

The rest will come once 
You’ve grown a second skin 
That’s always suppurating 
But never heals. 





Sunday, October 7, 2018

The Body Poetic Continued: A Poem Should Be (14)


1. 

Persevering 
As all get out— 
And badass through
And through,
Like that sleek black 
Crow on the back of that 
Nonchalant white 
Ewe, plucking away 
At her sullied, 
Ragged fleece. 

2. 

In lieu of maggots, dear 
Reader, a tireless natural 
Born killer of life- 
Threatening blood- 
Sucking fleas and ticks 
Infesting the body 
Poetic, too. 

Thursday, October 4, 2018

From Life In These United States: Tomorrow's Hollow


Hopes and prayers 
Promise to be 

So momentous I think 
Another moment 

Of judicious mind- 
Numbing 

Silence is not altogether un-
Called for today.






Tuesday, October 2, 2018

Ultimate Fallacious Pathetic Death Rattle


What a tragedy! 

Your indentured mouth- 
Piece now lies supine 
On the polished beech- 

Wood floor beside you, 
Clacking inaudible spittle about 
Your many splendid feats, 

Though all you can make out 
Over the discombobulating 
Clicking at this late date is just 

Come clean, I’d like to see you pick yourself up 
This time round and try once more 
To lie through false teeth. 


Sunday, September 30, 2018

Bear With Us, Mother Earth


Mortals, 
If not for this dreadful 
Vainglorious arrogance of ours 
Towards every living thing 
That makes us dead to the world, 
How could we suffer to live here? 


Friday, September 28, 2018

Huuklyeand Cinquor On Why Odoriferous Gossip Nurtures Us


They say you should 
Never believe your eyes, 
But if your ears were more 

Plausible as cauliflowers, 
I bet you would 
Eat your stinking hearts out. 


Moderator’s comments: Might perhaps the reason behind Huuk’s long hiatus be because he’s been feeling boxed in by conventional standards of behavior, especially those dealing with politically correct/incorrect olfactory reactions to unsavory issues that have always been so close to his heart? Now that that rather hard to swallow problem looks somewhat resolved by this poem, I hope he's at peace with himself and has finally decided to let John Q. Public go to hell in a handcart driven by a host of crazed grotesques.

Wednesday, September 26, 2018

Huh?


Now that you mention it, 
Most of the time 
You’re never listening, 

And even when you are, 
You’re always talking 
To yourself. 


Monday, September 24, 2018

Faulty Global Positioning Device Gone Round The Bend


Something tells me they know nothing 
Of what I am looking for—it’s plain 
As the look on their faces: 

Nothing tells them 
They are looking 
In the wrong places. 




Friday, September 21, 2018

Music To Their Ears, Poet


Cool it, mon frère— 
No one’s wondering 
What you’re up to 
These days and if anyone is 
So inclined, he or she 
Most certainly won’t be 
Concerned with what 
Your newest but long overdue
Offering’s going to be about— 
Au contraire, more than likely 
They’ll be dying to hear how long 
Your latest deadly silence will last 
This time around. 

Thursday, September 20, 2018

Tuesday, September 18, 2018

Survivor


Making his entrance

From out of a dark side- 
Street indifferent 

To all and strutting 
In full view of a late night 

Crowd of smart sidewalk café bar 
Denizens lining the traffic- 

Clogged main drag, the stray mutt 
Swaggers toward his 

Allotted crash pad 
In front of a long line 

Of freshly slaughtered 
Porkers on hooks dressing 

The plate glass windows 
Of the corner meat market, 

A freshly pilfered 
Well-worn welcome 

Mat gripped tightly 
Between his gritty teeth. 




Thursday, September 13, 2018

Being One Of The Thinking Poet's Many Unresolved Burdens


It is seldom easy to set down 
What grieves you 

Inside, harder even remains 
The thought 

Of carrying it out 
To a foregone

Logical conclusion. 





Thursday, September 6, 2018

Discrete Heartthrob (Unfinished Sequence)


1. 

Your heart loves it when 
It hears itself 

Skip a beat. 


2. 

Over there, stood up 
On the corner looking 

Beat but still 
Standing still. 


3. 

So 

Much to see 
So much to not 

See how 
Much it hurts. 


4. 

Watching all 
That could have been 

Moving past. 


5. 

Appearing 

Out of nowhere 
Out of the corner 

Of your eye, something 
Bloody ragged 

Insidious, tearing 
Your heart inside 

Out on its sleeve. 


6. 

                    Heartbreak Hotel 

There’s more where 
That came from 

And always more vacant 
Room at the inner 

Sanctum inn. 


7. 

I am sorry 
For never wanting 

Enough of a good thing. 


8. 

                    prepaid 

Tomorrow promises 
To deliver the next 

Day better till 
There comes no 

Tomorrow. 


9. 

So what? Whatever good 
Came of always expecting 

The best? 


10. 

                    apprehender 

Be still

My heart’s anxious 
To hear 

The drumbeats. 


Sunday, September 2, 2018

Swelled Head Meeting His Match Halfway


You’re always on the verge 
Of discovering something 
Of vast import, uplifting 

To those you think are 
Well below you, when 
Will you at last bend 

Over backwards and fall 
Head over heels over 
The deep end? 

Thursday, August 30, 2018

Epitaph For A Die-hard Nihilist


I remember 

You always wondered why 
Nothing made sense 

But never why 
Nothing could explain it. 


Saturday, August 25, 2018

Veiled Facebook Plea To My Readers


Perhaps you will have noticed 
But more likely not, my writing’s 
Composed 

Of very simple thoughts 
With lots 
Of oft-repeated old- 

Timers like black, white, 
Sunrise, noon, twilight, night— 
And now and then, a few 

Youngsters I’ve created 
Along the way like 
Thinkamajig and scurzy, 

The latter which I thought 
I’d made up and wanted 
To include here 

As a world premiere, 
But which looks 
Like it was 

First coined by one Sarah
Curzon as the name 
For her 

Instagram account, so 
That one’s no longer my exclusive 
Baby but I can still fall 

Back on my all-time 
Favorite, nothinglikeness, 
As a Google check shows 

It continues to be 
Completely unknown 
To millions like yourself, 

Very much like me.

Thursday, August 23, 2018

Bipolar Parting Is Such Bittersweet Sorrow


Janus, half of me wants 
No part of you when 
You’re no longer yourself 
And your mind’s long gone— 

The other half stays behind 

Hung up on selfies of so 
Long it’s been awesome 
To know you, how long 
Are you gonna be gone? 

Tuesday, August 21, 2018

Mundane Matters Above All, Poet


There, Glaucus— 
Don’t you see 

Plain as the gathering 
Crepuscle crossing 

The transparent blue 
Rush of mountains 

Most majestic, now purple 
Rhetoric clouding 

The poor mind’s eye. 


Sunday, August 19, 2018

Friday, August 17, 2018

Becoming Slightly Unhinged In The Bank Waiting For My Priority Number To Come Up During Another Record-Breaking Heat Wave


Mine’s sixty-eight—I’ve been 
“Cooling my heels” over an hour 
And the priority slip I’m now using 
As a bookmark says my waiting 
Time should’ve been around nine 
Minutes; in the meantime, I’ve been 
Making do in the overworked air- 
Conditioned inner sanctum 
Of the nightmare 

Institution which looks after 
My rapidly dwindling bantam 
Nest egg with all the care 
Of a crazed mother hen, 

And reading a slender volume 
Of poems called Sleepwalker’s Songs,
All the while thinking of what I could do 
If my nest egg were fatter, watching 
Customer after customer go up 
To the teller and walk out again 

Onto a dazzling, searing asphalt so hot it could fry 
Enough dinosaur eggs to feed an onslaught 
Of famished, day-dreaming somnambulists 
Armed to the teeth with nothing 
But a slew of cool blank checks— 
I wonder what 69’s thinking of. 

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