The Lyric Poet's Nightmare

In the dark, dreaming 
You’re falling only 

To find yourself naked 
Out riding the nag bare- 

Back in broad daylight, 
White wings thrashing 

The darkest air. 

Quo Vadis

I don’t know all that 
Much about mysteries— 

What little I do know is 
The more I want 
To know, the deeper 
The mystery begs, 

No question at all 
Of letting it go. 

Crafty Mothlike Kafkaesque Procedural Matters

Metamorphosing? 
Ask me and I will help you 

Come to grips with yourself, 
But you have to learn how 

To handle it first, steady 
As she goes turning 

Into broad daylight, 
Nothing 

Fly-by-night.

The Gift That Keeps On Wanting

I give up—

You have asked me 
Too many times 
What it is 

I want—ask me 
Just this once 
What I want

To give.

Poetry Workshop Assignments Nine And Ten

. 

Your next assignment is to write 
Unfailingly until you drop 
To the floor and take a knee, 
All the while imploring 
Your muse for more, 

Or failing that, lose 
Track of the number 
Of times you laid down 
Your pen to think 
Of what to say 

. 

Next. 

Haiku: Yahoo Deliverance

That’s when you knew you 
Couldn’t stand the you who once 
Captivated you. 

Thunderstruck

More often than not, 
In what passes surreptitiously 
As deep thought, 

Our mind alights 
On something it considers 
Truly electrifying, only 

To be left 
In the dark a flash 
Later, dumbstruck 

By the depth 
Of our stupidity. 

Zen Haiku: Squandering (In)tangibles

Such waste cherishing 
Things of the world to surfeit 
When nothing’s perfect. 

I Love You Too, Dear

My goodness, who would have 
Guessed her words meant 
And still mean much 
The same as mine, 

And yet,there’s still that much 
More between us to divine, 
Dowsers each, bent on plumbing 
The other's unfathomable line. 

Runoff Past Nothingness

Blow 

Hard go tell it on 
The mountain when 

The passes are still 
Choked 

With spring snow. 

Septuagenarian Spring Solstice Alarum

Something past the pedestrian sprang out 
Of deep sleep this ho-hum dawn and perched 

On a limb of a budding, dumb-stricken tree—sweet 
Sweet bird of lost youth, was it you dared wake me? 

Pedagogical Exegesis

In reply 
To my question 
As to why 
She looked so 
Haplessly glum in her 
Third grade class photo, 
My wife came back with 

You can’t tell but 
The skirt I was wearing 
Was threadbare and torn, 
And I was holding it so 
The tear wouldn’t show, 

The teacher smiling 
In the middle of the back 
Row was petty and mean 
And struck us with an olive switch 
He kept on his desk if we didn’t know

The answers to his questions; 
He flunked me in the second, 
Said more learning’s what I needed 
To make the grade, you tell me now 
How could I not hate him so?