Rx Against Raging Despair

Once flighty one, 

Here’s your cup of tea: 

First off, look up 

All the synonyms 

For rue and find 

The one that best fits 

Your pesky malady, then 

Never rue the day 

You were borne to 

Seize it.

 

 

Inspirational Poetic Naivety

You just be 

Like that fat 

Tom resting on 

His haunches under 

A hedgerow of seed- 

Ladened myrtles— 

That poetic “opportunity 

Of a lifetime” is set 

To drop in any time now, 

Senselessly chirping 

Its dumb fool head off— 

All you have to do is swallow it.

 

 

Instructions For Survival In These Mean Times

Breathe in, 

Breathe out, 

Don't forget to 

Take a breather 

And do 

Take your sweet 

Time, taking it all in 

Good stride, let's see how 

Well you glide.

 

Flight

Something in the air: 

Yellow leaves turning orange— 

You were never there.

 

 

Vanguard Tuboflo Poets

In short, we go 

With the flow, 

Write only that

 

Which makes sense 

In the present 

Context but always 

Flush with fresh content, 

 

Contented as all 

Get out, you know 

How that goes

 

Down, no?

 

 

Futile Woke Morning

Gray foggy blanket 

Sudden cold front covering 

The homeland, frozen.

John Ciardi's Ways And Means, 1959

His 

How does a poem mean? 

Means asking it, needing 

Answers our ears clearly

Never expected 

To hear, that small bit 

Of time-traveling 

Universal matter making 

Its uncharted way 

Here, now piercing even 

The astounded ears 

Of the die-hard 

Hard-of-hearing.

 

Sleepwalker's Haiku

Full blue moon spilling

Through open window shutters--

You knee-deep in it.

 

Poetic Negative Relativity

To sit absolutely 

Quiet while writing 

Your thoughts down 

Means you are not thinking 

Out loud and clearly 

No one can hear you.

 

 

In Perpetual Remembrance

Everlasting storyteller
True to your fleeting 

Fly-by-night storyline
You said you'd be 

Here as long as your word was,
And sure enough 

You didn't keep it. 

 

 

Ambivalent Accommodation

Poems fit everywhere,
Save the heart

Of the heartless.

 

Aubade Made-To-Order

In bramble thicket, 

Two morning songbirds chirping 

Nothing fitter at hand.

 

Excess Baggage

It just so happens 

There is much 

One can get 

Out of the vehicle 

Of poetry— 

A free ride is not

One of them.

 

 

Apple Of Our Poetic Eye

first off,
leave nothing 

to chance
and listen: 

no baubles, please—
whatever we hold

dear must be surely
precious to the ear,

and to that eyeless,
munching under-

study of a worm, under-
taking everything, all in

good stride.

 

 

 

Harmonious Love Song Of A Singularly Irrational Muse

Do not try
To understand me— 

Just love me
As I am, 

And let us be two
Dissimilar voices entwined 

In perfect knavish harmony! 

 

 

Eyesore In The Stately Kingdom Of Pines

Where what’s left 

Of memory remains 

This derelict sinking 

Slowly under an eye- 

Opening accruing piercing 

Cover of needles, above all 

Let us keep in mind how

We took pains to leave 

The master key 

Somewhere in the blah 

Back country stretches 

Of forgettable plains.

 

 

Supinely Moving Octogenarian Haiku

Whirring ceiling fan 

Over my bed assures me 

Motor’s still not dead.

 

 

Why Stoics Always Have The Last Word

waxing 

poetic, 

they 

know 

how 

insufferable not 

keeping 

your mouth 

shut is.

 

 

Ambivalent Pedestrian Crossing

—O tempora, o mores

 

Oh, fellow immobile go-getters 

In the lurch, it’s clear 

As that blankety-blank 

Non-stopping blinking stop- 

Light before us we have no 

Inkling where we’re going— 

But not to despair, though; 

Fortunately that lot is 

A lot more auspicious

 

Than not going anywhere 

Period, is it not?

 

Breezy Beach

The gulls flap from one 

Umbrella to the other; 

Whitecaps on grey waves.

 

 

Seize The Day: Ear-Splitting, Abominably Hot Summer Licks

Check out this 

Juicy piece of news, mate— 

The male cicada ‘sings’ 

Through expansion and con- 

Traction of its abdominal 

Tymbal: The female responds 

By clicking when 

She’s ready to couple; 

The hotter the day, the louder 

The sound they make. To me 

All this sounds clearly 

Like getting it while you can, 

Mate.

 

 

Blatently Pure Seferisque

 

How is it
Whether it’s becoming
Dark or light, 

The jasmine has a mind
Of its own, managing always
To stay white. 

 

 

Down-and-Out Hallmark Card

There, there, now— 

Let this poem take you where 

Everything’s coming up 

Roses and you 

Its constant gardener.

 

 

Dire Straits

Do not covet 

The waves 

Your voice makes 

As it wends its way through 

Treacherous waters.

 

 

Reception

Epicurean love is tenderly biting 

Off half the ultimate 

Olive on a dish 

Of exquisite tidbits, then 

Putting the other half back 

So that your better half can 

Take a part of that 

Last bite, too.

 

 

Faulty Inner Voice Syndrome Shock

frequently stuck with- 

in ear- 

shot but seldom 

left dumb- 

struck.

 

 

R. S. Thomas, Still Luminary In A Mean Time

So guiding a light once, no
Need to wonder twice why 

Nothing’s illuminating anymore. 

 

 

 

Paean For Helianthus

O blooming majestic flower— 

Heart of yours truly following 

The tracks on which the sun beats 

Daily cross such ambivalent skies, 

Oh that you could speak 

To us in kernels silent 

And heaven sent 

Of the journey we’re on, 

And so unequivocally 

For which we’re meant, 

Give us this day 

The strength to keep 

Our heads high 

And never 

Repent for all 

Our mortal weaknesses, 

Even as we know 

It’s our fatal bent.

 

 

After Seferis: Over The Mountains

See, there’s still another
Mountain peaking,

The slightest distance—
Let us rise

A little higher, each
Approaching day. 

 

 

Nostos: Heavenly Hellenic Gossamer

Never dissipating ethereal 

Urge to witness it again— 

So piercing

 

A light passing through

Curtains of ever diaphanous, 

Ever evaporating rain!

 

Song Caught In Flight

In a dark time,
If and when it chooses  

To make one more
Appearance, thrumming almost 

Imperceptibly before you 

From out of nowhere, buffeted 

This way and that 

By a fickle wind, stop dead 

In your tracks and stand 

As you will, perfectly 

Still like a hummingbird, 

Till it makes you 

See the light.

 

Enconium For Bill Knott (1940-2014)

No longer
With us he 

Who was once
A real somebody, so 

Significant a poet
In his own out of it right, 

That he was
Soon enough written off 

By virtual slews
Of in “significant” poetic 

Nobodies—
Can you believe that? 

 

 

Quode Vide (Which See): Vicious Pseudo-Philosophic Circle

Nothing needs
Something with which to see, 

Something more visceral
Than nothing, something 

One can eviscerate all
The way past 

Nothing, you see? 

 

 

Good Grief, Charlie Brown!

 

What was it
We had to face
Every day? Let me see— 

For starters there was
The same old sun,
The moon,
The stars,
The bittersweet feel
Of coarse earth under bare feet. 

The main course was grin and bear it
Of course, though it wasn’t
All that bad in the end,
And one thing more
Just for the record—

Insecure brats we may have been,
But we knew for sure
Tomorrow would always be
A brand-new day!

 

 

Luddite Aporia On Desolation Row

Dear God, have a heart— 
How bare this

Wretched sandlot looks;
Where are all those

Ragtag tatterdemalion holy
Terrors that once played

Their ragged hearts out?
Scroll down your answer—

I know you know, stop
Tearing me apart.

 

 

 

A Musing Marquee Muse

Flighty one, wait
Long enough to see 

Your name in lights,
And you’ll miss 

Every curtain call
Save the last 

Dance for me,
Hack. 

 

 

Codex With Well-worn Lacunae

 

Leaf through these
Moth-eaten pages
At your leisure if you will; 

Just make sure you
Leave no holes, no
Blanks and no 

New leaf turning
Over one more over-worked
Turning point of no 

Return after another,
You got that?
Good. 

 

 

 

Poet's Unresolved Burden Of The Heart

Never a light task
To put down 

Whatever dark matter is
Grieving you— 

Heavier even the thought
Of how to carry it out. 

 

 

Invitation To A Long Overdue, Albeit Well-Meant, Poetic Purging

Deep down thinking
Tells me just maybe
My life’s been spent facetiously 

Wallowing in the muddle
Of a clearly shallow pool
Of stagnant water; perhaps 

It’s time
I tried dredging this mighty
Fearsome puddle; 

No more drudge, no bother, no
More hollering, mum’s the word
Seriously, that’s the only path left 

To follow—
Would you care to join me
In this noble endeavor, oh
Fearless, humble lost fellow caller? 

RSVP@suchtoungueincheek.com

 

Biting A Blank Bullet For The Duration

What’s that you say? 

Superkid poet profoundly
Past his prime still
Defying gravity always
More than capable of leap-
Frogging from one fantastic
Telling line to another
In an unbroken series
Of singular bounds,
With no wear or tear
Worth mentioning till
An astounding lack
Of down-to-earth metaphors
Finally sends him and his oh so
Flighty craft soundly
Crashing to the ground? 

You must be kidding.

 

 

 

Vain Ionian Mode

 

Light-washed columns 

Of plain and simple truths
Out of the blue— 

Nothing like it in this world
Made to order 

For the likes of me and you. 

 

 

In A Bind: Gaza And The Three Wise Monkeys

Thus what bound them
Together remained 

Forever unspoken, known only
To a blind, deaf, select few 

Who knew all too well how
To keep their mouths shut. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dark Poetry (By Candlelight)

You’ll do fine
By it—just remember 

To approach
It with caution, 

Even though
That unsettling flickering on 

And off that refuses
To keep still and let itself be 

Snuffed out does not look
As threatening 

As the quickening shadows
It keeps on casting.

 

Not-So-Moving Ephemeral Collectibles

 

All the junk we thought
We needed on the way, 

But with nothing
Lasting of value beyond 

A precious uncertain morrow
Every day. 

 

 

Pearlies Of Wisdom

Believe me,
Nothing to believe in is
Nothing to sneer at— 

Just think zilch
And you’ll see how
Grim it is to grin, 

And your curling upper
Lip unable to bear it
By tucking it in. 

 

 

Last Logbook Entry Of An Unjustly Neglected Satiric Poet

 

Hell or high water,
I’ll keep shouting it 

Till I’m blue in the face:
I’m not going to keel over 

And die till I see all three
Of my intimate followers’ 

Bulging bloodshot eyes
Green with envy, ogling 

The body of my work
And me 

In my final resting place,
Period. 

 

 

Doggedness

 

Nothing remains
The same: It’s been said so
Many times it’s old-hat,
Oblivious to change— 

Keep on trucking light
Just the same, tread
Water if you have to,
Always use your given name. 

 

 

Poetry For Oblivious Mutts

--Corazón, stout dog,
“Poetry Is a Destructive Force,”
Wallace Stevens 

 

To bark with all our might
Straight from the heart is just
What we didn’t want— 

We needed something
That would clearly set us apart
From the howling, romantic pack. So 

Oh so vain as ever, we found ourselves
Mushing on to wherever it was
We were going, 

Forgetting all too soon
That which brings us
Together remains

For all appearances,
A blinding blizzard pure
As the driven snow. 

 

 

 

N.B. Haiku

Note intended not
To be read in haste only—

Attend is the word.

 

 

Out Of It, Deeply

Burrowing 

Rodent can’t tell
Its shadow from a hole 

In the ground. 

 

 

Exeunt Anytime Now, Player

Have a heart, dear
Ham—the persona 

You so want the crowd
To lap up, keeps fleeing 

Through the riddled
Exit wounds  

Of a bleeding ticker. 

 

 

 

Huuklyeand Cinquor Critiques Gone4Ever© Miracle Painkiller For Poets

 

Patience,
It’ll be over
In a jiffy—

It only
Hurts so
Long as you 

Hold it in. 

 

 

Huuklyeand Cinquor On Artful Poetic Hubris

Striving to best 

What you already think
You do better than others,
You keep writing, trying 

For that elusive special something
Precious to say, never
Once thinking you should have 

Packed it in yesterday.

 

 

 

Variegated Equine Sequence

 

Like that pale
Horse that gallops through 

Our thoughts bringing us
A multicolored mane. 

 

 

 

In The Lurch

 

It’s a mystery how
The words have always been 

Waiting there just as you left them,
Waiting to hear you 

Go back.

 

Second Skin Didactic Infections

 

Mess with innocuous
Ideas long enough 

And they become bad
Habits itching 

To be scratched
To death 

Again and again—
What’s to be done? 

Shun yourself
From everything

Blah and dig in, saving
In the process,

Your worthless skin. 

 

 

Odd Curmugeon Quips Approaching 80

 

Better you
Lose that too bitter
Demeanor quick, Junior— 

You’ll find soon enough
It’s far better than becoming
Meaner and meaner.