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? 

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.

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. 

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. 

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. 

Fatal Attraction

When one goes where one has to, 
What is the use of asking why? 

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. 

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. 

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. 

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?