Au Naturel Worldly Delight

 

Ingrained in the rock, 

The stuff that dreams are made of, 

 

Specks of sand packed tight. 

 

 

 

Curt Anti-Didactic Tactic

 

You can only teach 

A poem so 

 

Much, the less 

The better, so better 

 

Keep your mouth shut. 

 

 

Full-flowering Mellow Yellow

 

Full of brass and precious 

Blundering you were 

 

All volume and no 

Low-key till 

 

She showed you how classy 

Sweet silent saffron could be. 

 

 

 

The Alpha And Omega Good News Of The Day

Those in the know insist 

You have to 

 

See it to believe it, 

But nothing about 

 

It’s only 

The beginning 

 

And too often 

In the end, it’s never 

 

Good enough 

To be true, let alone 

 

Comprehend. 

 

 

 

Balm Of Gilead

 

You fall 

Asleep and sleep 

Forgets you were once 

 

Awake in a world where 

Everyone walks 

In their sleep.

 

 

 

Antediluvian Rites Of Greek Summer

 

Erotic lizards 

Play on hot tectonic rifts, 

 

Cyclamen flowers. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Procrastination As A Vehicle For Moving Beasts Of Burden

 

Bear with me,  

 

Comrades! 

What manner 

Speech to give before 

These shifting 

 

Mute masses, unable 

To mutter 

Vocables stable 

Enough to enable them 

 

To make 

Each new unbearable 

Moment more 

Bearable in the end? 

 

In the meantime, waiting 

For an answer to descend 

Like some Marxist-sent 

Deus ex machina, I move 

 

We vote quickly on a motion 

To table the motion again! 

 

 

 

Stoics In The Doldrums

 

What say we finally 

Snap out of it, chum— 

 

The wind that took us 

This way and that has nothing 

More to give us—it’s about time 

 

We live with that. 

 

 

 

Haiku: Save Your Breath

 

What does a poem have 

To say to someone who knows 

 

How not to listen? 

 

 

 

Word Of Mouth Sadomasochistic Poetics

 

The last time I heard, 

The voice of the muse 

 

I’d been listening to all 

These years had not 

 

Come clean with me as much 

As poetic decorum warranted— 

 

Clearly, what she’d wanted 

From me was consummate, 

 

Complete fealty masquerading 

As poetic licentiousness, 

 

And not by any twist 

Of a garbled imagination, 

 

A license to play down- 

Right dirty with my mind.

 

 

 

 

 

Cusp

 

yel- 

low 

 

little

sun- 

 

lit 

leaf 

 

hanging, twirling on 

a spider’s lone 

 

silver thread, how many 

twists and turns before you 

 

flutter 

in 

 

to 

the

 

twi- 

light 

just

 

ahead. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Stoic Doggerel Much, Much After Diogenes

 

Dogs love barking 

At strangers, mutts 

 

Like you, too. 

 

 

Bloody Getaway

 

A very good poet didn’t think so, 

But there’s nothing really 

 

Dangerous about poetry— 

It’s just too bad 

 

Too many poets think 

They can get away 

 

With murder—see, 

There’s another one right 

 

Over there already revving up 

His "menacing" poetic 

 

Vehicle of destruction, 

Heading your way and looking 

 

Too much like me.

 

What'd I Say: Poetics Of Conditional Reticence

 

If you asked me what I do all day 

As a poet, I’d more than likely come back 

With a “nothing much,” and go on my way, 

Smug with the knowledge I had 

At least something to say; 

On the other hand, if you don’t 

Ask me, I’ll never know what 

I’d say—so please do, it’ll go 

A long way towards making my day.