Run Silent, Run Deep

Bouyant, self- 

Satisfied with your craft 

Turning out shallow 

Wake after wake of far- 

Fetched mixed metaphors 

Under the sonar that seeks 

To find you out before 

You can escape, sneak 

Back now to the safe harbor

 

Of the ship’s slip, moored 

And with the fickle wind finally 

Gone out of your sails, fall back in- 

To that narcotic, 

Familiar deep, 

Sleep— 

You’ve earned your keep.

 

Cynic Bitching Frugality

What is necessary 

Fare we always take in 

Just the right amount, 

That which is 

Leftover, we leave 

For the bellyachers, 

Who always lack everything.

 

 

Mesmerizing Prestidigitation

Willing 

Victims of the phony, 

Once more we find the bogus 

Poet in his medium with us 

Wondering how 

He put us there.

 

 

Classy Catty C-Class

Seriously now,
On a cold winter’s day

A poem should be a lot
Like these three chummy

Felines cuddled round each
Other on the still warm

Hood of this classic cool gun-
Metal gray Mercedes-Benz coupé.

 

  

 

Fishing For The Poem That Got Away

To have your line 

Baited and dunked in- 

To the legendary 

“Rosy-fingered” Aegean 

Waiting for the slightest 

Tug that tells you something 

Classically fishy is dangling 

At the end should be enough 

 

To tell you you’re all 

Wet and it’s well 

Past time to reel 

Yourself in.