Stay Of Execution

Living on borrowed 
Time, the words were 

Anxious to say what 
They wanted but without 

Sounding too grasping—they knew 
All too well the absurdity 

Of a sentence truncated 
In midair 

Without pausing as long 
As humanly possible there. 

Haiku: Cause And Effect

Where the words entered 
A rush of canebrake rustled—

The wind stopped to breathe. 

Love Poem Scuttled By Inclement Weather

Once upon a time. . . . 


On Cloud Nine, 
I wanted to write one 
But the ink blotted 
Out the sun and you, 

You scudded so artfully 
Behind the nimbuses 
Of my mind and I just 
Sat there and dawdled, 

Dawdled my life away, one 
Time-worn teardrop at a time. 

LOL: A Singular Poetic Justice Indeed

How I do dislike it when 
A FB post provokes me bare- 
Facedly with the likes of 

“I bet none of my friends 
Will share this poem of mine,” 

And indeed I must concede 
How shamelessly I love it 
When I accede 

To the sender’s wishes 
And don’t. 

Why I Get Up Before Dawn

Why 
In such a world 
Of self- 

Inflicted pain, 
To anticipate 
The morning 

Breaking, and how 
That makes one wholly 
One again, that is 

The why and how of it, 
My still sleeping friend.

You Asked For It, So You Better Believe It

I’m telling it like it is 
When I say he was out 

Of his league when he kept 
Insisting his poetry had more 

Punch than a dullard’s eye could see, 
And boy has he ever got a whopper 

Of a shiner to show for it now, 
You see? 

Reaper's Got The Last Word

You sure you ain’t jiving us, 
You’re really on to something 
Big you’re dying to say? 

Don’t 

Let me stop you—get it 
Over with before you drop 
Dead in your tracts 

On the way. 

Poetic Wanderlust Partly Explained

Breathless 

You of the over- 
Worked beautiful 

Voice never faltering, mind that 
Wanders, wonder not. 

Bottom Line Disconsolate Consolation Prize

Terrible and most dishonorable 
Things too dreadful to mention
Are taking place

Now all over a world rapidly
Becoming lost forever and you— 
All you want is for your poetry

To find itself winning, 
If nothing else in the end, 
Just Honorable Mention.








 



 

Know Thyself, Brother

Knowing silence waits 

For the busy man to drop everything
And join it, 

But the busy man has other things 
On his mind and does not 

Know it. 

Machiavellian Drawing A Blank At Eighty-five

Said subject in question being 
In his lifetime a village president
Many times over, machinating

Political animal and owner
Of a coffeehouse having 
The only phone in town, thus 

Suspected police whistleblower, 
Spent his last days lying
In bed staring at the wall, 

And never once spoke, 
Not even to the wall. 

Growing Up On The Wrong Side Of The Tracks: Raymond, Washington, Circa 1953

A double set 

Of rails ran right by 
Our house and how 

I never tired of walking on them 
As far as I could, trying 

My best not to fall, pretending 
All the while they were 

Heading nowhere 
In particular save 

To carry each new balancing 
Act a little farther 

Out of there. 

Without Peer

Insistent song 
Bird I know 
This song’s no 
Match for yours, 
Nor will it ever be 
Around as long, 

And yet there’s some 
Thing dumb in me keeps 
On wanting to match 
Your matchless song, so 
Knock it off, can’t you 
See, I’m almost done.

Moonlighter

Following the money 
Moonlit snail leaves 

Winding silver tracks 
Trail behind it.

What The Eye Fails To Take In, The Heart Will

—for Ans and Peter, inveterate birders par excellence 


Not the green limb trembling 
In the still air but the departed 

Beating of wings 
The branch was home to 

No longer there. 

Haiku: Good Investment

What is a word worth 
Spending your morning watching 
Bees gather pollen. 

In God We Trust

Trust me— 

When you said you would 
Try harder the next time, 

Nobody believed you, not 
Even your best friend, 

Your lying self 
To the bitter end. 

Epitaph For A Spaced-Out Astronomer

Love, don’t you be like me 
When the stars got in my eyes, 

I looked for the nearest 
Black hole. 

Ambivalence

Suffering’s well hidden, 
Festering in Everyman’s heart, 

And everyone wants it 
Ripped out 

Without hurting the heart. 

Shall We Or Shall We Not?

Uproot the poem which dares 
Rear its head out of season 

Lest that bizarre beauty develop 
A mind of its own 

And bewitch us. 

How Poets End Up Getting The Reader's Goat

Remember leading that nag 
To water to no avail? Well, 
Your exasperating poetic

Manner reminds me of a nanny
Goat that gives us a milk can 
Full to the brim, then 

Straightaway kicks it 
Over before we can fully 
Take all that wholesomeness in. 

Haiku: Artisan's Well-Wrought Urn Embellishing Mantelpiece

Ashes to ashes. . . . . 


No bones about it— 
Dedicated to an art 
Finely worked to death.