Skid Row Tenement House Rotgut

So rotten the rickety flight 
Of stairs you had to hold 
Your breath and nose all 

The way ending 
Up stinking drunk 
On the bum 

On the ground 
Floor landing up 
Side down. 

Downtown Sidewalk after Deluge

Scum all 
Washed away— 

Cement scrubbed so 
Clean urchins soak 

Up hopscotch 
On it night and day. 

Concupiscent Sirens

Oh most baffled 
Of bedeviled public 
Men, should you chance 
To come upon a ship 

Stranded miraculously 
On top of a mountain, think 
Out of the box, do not be 
Dumbfounded, do not founder 

In the maelstrom 
Of male stupidity, it’s clear 
As that insistent throbbing 
In your dimwitted heads— 

A woman’s lone pubic 
Hair has dragged it there! 

Food for Thought

Grit your teeth on this 
Piece of homily, ‘Murica— 
Just so 

You can squeal 
Your piggy little hearts out, 
Once we have the elections 

In the bag, you’ll be free 
To skedaddle out 
Of the poke unfettered 

And amble in 
To the nearest Salvation 
Army melting pot. 

2016 U.S. Presidential Candidates Enunciating the Question of Poverty in America

1. Hillary Clinton: 

“For once and for all 
For crying out loud, 

Tell me what 
You want?” 

2. Donald Trump: 

“For crying 
Out loud, tell me 

Once and for all 
What—YOU WANT?!” 

Blind Patriotism

In brief it is 
When you see what 
You don’t want 
To see—say bombs 
Bursting in air over 
The land of the free— 
And still you believe 
You’re seeing things. 

Narcissist on the Shores of Lake Placid

Smoothie, spill but

One drop of oil on
To the surface

And watch it
Disperse it

Self in the firmament. 





 

Sickle in Abeyance

Tilted to the right, 
The red-orange crescent 
Moon suspended just 
Above the twilit 
Western horizon seems 

(If one is so inclined) 

To be sending a signal 
For us to hurry and set 
Our house in order 
In order to fully reap 
Our rightful bounty 

And get out of tilt forever. 

Old Country Derelicts Gone Fishing: Raymond, Washington, ca 1950

On the stinking mud 
Flats of the Willapa, 

Old houseboats inhabited 
By leaky old men once 

Forever young. 

Discrete Aegean Sequence

More than enough

Here of what a sea 
Bird’s kept 

Folded be 
Neath 

Its wings. 

. 

                inland urchin 

Ringed by mountains 
Strange that 

I should have been thus 
So drawn to the sea 

I don’t remember 
Whatever became of me. 

. 

               inlet 

Salt sprays 

In the recesses 
The mind 

Tastes of brine. 

. 

               katabasis 

In a poem 
I once wrote 

Conches nest 

And thinking 
The sea, the sea 

Engulfed me. 

. 

                tail end of evening 

Of sails in the sunset 
Small white cries 

Of gulls sailing over 
The edge of the world 

Unfathomable. 

. 

               archipelago 

I shall pave 
The wide blue 

Sea with slates 
Of marble 

And keep on 
Striding 

Till I find you— 
Wait and see. 

Huuklyeand Cinquor on Minor Underground Poets

Oh, the ignominy of it all! 
To die as they lived, revolting 

And buried underneath rotting 
Sheaves of subversive verse. 

Moderator’s comment: As this is Cinquor’s first communiqué in almost a year, I trust he isn’t having second thoughts about continuing our five-year cooperative venture as set forth in this initial blog entry of October 11, 2010; worse yet, I’m worried to death he’s approaching terminal burn-out phase and will soon be beyond saving. Perish the thought! I don’t know what I’d do without his horseplay poetic and gadfly manner rearing their heads now and then and injecting some sorely needed life into this deadly lackluster blog. 

NB: I hope I’m wrong but why do I sense Huuk is describing himself here rather than some nameless poetic pencil-pushers pushing for world revolution through the medium of putrefying polemic verse?

Maven's Vigil

Keep a watch 
Out for the flickering 
Of the first evening 

Star and stare 
As if it were 
Your last. 

Coign of Vantage

This fragile young 
Unruly bitter lemon 
Tree weighed 

Down with more runaway 
Fruit than it can bear 
Needs a rod to spare it— 

Let him who is full 
Of plenty be the first 
To provide it. 

Pockmarked in the Process

Just passing through 
This corner of the universe, 
Stranger and couldn’t help 
Noticing round these parts that 
Your moon goes through 
Its phases like it was 
Some sort of zombie, 
And all that plus 

The look on your face tells 
Me more than likely 
You’ve been through something 
Similar and back, too—why 
Else should it be so 
Familiar and smacking 
Of moldy green 
Cheese, too? 

Berceuse Fantastique (Updated 30-8-2017)

Baby cries in white
House

                    Of jackals 
                    At twilight 

Soon night 
Shall set 

                    All things alt-right. 

Caesura of Summer

Our friend cicada? Halting 
Its cranking only 

Long enough to let us know 
Our attention span wasn’t up 

To cranking along 
Long enough 

To catch up, too.