Self-Telepathic Rote Therapy

 

Know this, 

Callous one— 

 

Your next poem knows you so 

Well it’s ready to read 

 

Your mind and write it 

Just for you. 

 

Be thankful just this once 

And show it— 

 

Learn it by heart, too. 

 

 

 

Curtains In Cosmopolitan Santorini

 

What a buzz, folks!

 

The winning entry in this year’s Aegean 

Art Imitating Nature category is. . . . . . . . . . .

 

 . . . . . . .Ms Phyllophila Ephemera’s totally 

Captivating and stunningly uncommon 

 

Recherché design depicting congeries 

Of local Musca domestica strikingly executed

 

On an arresting white background! 

 

 

 

 

 

Soundbite In The Dead Of Winter

A rose 

 

                    I know Gertrude 

                    Needed it 

 

                    Said four times but 

                    Nonetheless this deep

 

Is a rose 

 

                    Red one by it- 

                    Self in 

 

 

                    A wide-mouthed shining sky- 

                    Blue vase on my desk plainly 

 

Is a rose 

 

                    Doesn’t need her repeating 

                    Herself one bit.

 

-----------

 

 

 

Doggerel: Much After Diogenes

 

Dogs love barking 

At strangers, mutts 

 

Like you, too.

 

Stoic Poetic Law Of Diminishing Returns

A Greek poet* and very 

Accomplished one at that, 

Once said poetry is 

Rooted in the human breath, 

And added—as an afterthought, 

Probably—what would we do if 

That breath should ever diminish? 

 

And in the same spirit elsewhere, 

Quoted another poet, a German** 

Well on his way to Elysium, 

Who asked what is the use 

Of poets in a mean-spirited time? 

 

I don’t know 

About you but as one 

Who has accomplished precious 

Little in a vast field overrun 

By well-meaning but unfortunate 

Unacknowledged go-getters 

Sinking in despair, I think 

 

We could all use a well-earned 

Breather and leave it at that, 

Buoyant and resting at last 

In those fertile, mythic, ever green 

Grasses waiting cross the river, 

The slightest distance just 

Over there. 

 

 

 

Tenure Any Minute Now, Prof

When you think 

All those pesky bugs in your system 

Have finally been worked out, 

 

Done with and swept clearly 

Under the rug gracing your spotless 

Private study, and your smug 

 

Smiling mug looks content 

As all get-out, remember to remain 

Vigilant for any loose nuts 

 

That might still be underfoot 

Quivering, poised to bolt 

Out the door the minute 

 

You drop your guard. 

 

 

 

Taking Stock Of One's Self

—for Eleni, priceless as ever 

 

Yes, surely that is 

The only exchange 

Of goods worth keeping— 

 

Find the ones who truly love you, 

Love them selfsame in turn and never 

Give them away. 

 

 

 

 

Haiku: Modest Real Estate Investment Gone To Pot

 

Tilted mini hand- 

Powered tiller rusting in 

Weed-infested lot. 

 

 

 

 

 

Απελπισία Ενός Μετρίου Μετρημένου Στοχαστή

 

Από τον κόσμο το ζαβό, 

Μπήκα σε πυθάρι να σωθώ, 

 

Μα γαμώ την γκλάβα μου γαμώ, 

Δεν βγήκα Διγενής θαρρώ. . . . . .

 

Taking Stock Of Your Latest Knockout Poem

 

Once you think 

You have it 

 

Down pat, another audit 

Of its particulars 

 

Finds you don’t 

Recall where it came from, 

 

Nor where you’re at. 

 

 

 

 

Moot: Dead To The Word?

If it’s true, why

 

Are we no longer still 

Stuck in the stillborn stage, 

 

Our eyes wide open, 

Dumbstruck 

 

Before the unfolding bitter- 

Sweet wondrous drama 

 

Of the only world 

We can call 

 

Our own?