Clearly Blue

I want 

To describe 

 

A certain indescribable 

Hue of melancholy 

 

By looking closely 

At how I cannot 

 

But think of you.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Haiku: Arena

Here most of us mill 

Around without character, 

Others haul millstones. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Haiku: Hermetically Sealed

Such deep soulful eyes— 

Clearly the silent windows 

To a shuttered world. 

 

 

 

Poet Against The Grain In The Boondocks Of The Southern Peloponnese

Over your head perhaps but 

Then again never entirely 

Out of your element, 

 

This singular cleansing 

Clear blue sky and that 

Uncompromising view 

 

Unobstructed by the ubiquitous 

Chatter of pedestrian clutter you 

Like to think now safely behind you.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Coming Clean At Last

When you feel up to it, 

Feel free to write in 

The persona of one unwilling

To exist outside himself— 

If you do, be a sport 

And rub out every ineffable 

Trace of his presence—painful 

As it is, it’ll spare the both of us 

A world of disconsolate grief. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Double Crossed Subject/Object Matter

the

in- 

no- 

cent 

gilt- 

 

edged 

mir- 

ror 

frames 

no- 

 

thing 

specious 

in 

it- 

self 

 

save 

the 

precious 

image 

you 

 

project 

to 

cover 

your 

abject 

 

about- 

face.

 

 

 

 

 

 

From A Poet's Handbook: A Poem Should Be (23)

To all those unwilling 

To face it, revolutionary 

 

And easy to digest— 

Even those hard ones 

 

Whose subject matter’s 

Revolting—say how 

 

Sickening the image 

Of a starving child is. 

 

 

 

 

Domicile Of The Empathic Heart

 

In the dead of winter 

Huddled over, kindling 

 

A lone dying hearth. 

 

 

 

Sappho's

[ ] [ ] [ ] 

 

ex 

plosive 

               frag 

[ ] [ ] [ ] 

 

meant 

to 

be

 

[ ] [ ] [ ] 

 

loving[ly] ex 

 

[pli-] 

[ca-] 

[ted] 

 

[ ] [ ] [ ] 

 

[from?] 

 

[dia] [pha] [nous]

 

pleats

in 

her 

enamored

 

[memory?] [now]

 

[ ] [ ] [ ] 

[ ] [ ] [ ] 

 

by ravenous moths torn 

 

[ ] [ ] [ ] 

[ ] [ ] [ ] 

[ ] [ ] [ ] 

[ ] [ ] [ ] 

[ ] [ ] [ ] 

[ ] [ ] [ ]

 

to shreds.

 

A Rose Is A Rose Is A Rose Tattoo

 

Get that thorn off 

Your chest—what 

 

The indifferent eye fails 

To take in, the still willing 

 

Anxious heart torn in two will, 

And all those now too timid 

 

To reveal it shall soon be 

Wearing it on 

 

Their bloody sleeves, too. 

 

 

 

Another Holy Mountain, Believe It Or Not

This time 

It’s Zeus’s so-called ladder- 

Like Mt Ithome that climbs 

 

To where the air is still 

Alive they say with spirits 

Of the undying 

 

Ancients that have 

Yet to exhaust that one 

Last precious breath needed

 

To ascend there. 

 

 

 

 

 

Humor Me This Mellow Melancholy Idyll

 

What if 

I told you those blooming 

 

Little yellow croci 

By the side 

 

Of the narrow path leading 

To the cramped white 

 

Chapel on the top 

Of the hill overlooking 

 

My dying birth village took me back 

To a song of my lost youth, 

 

Would you go along with me?