That Delectable, Albeit Spurious, Choice Morsel On The Tip Of Whatever

It is supposed to mean 

As inviting retort and why it is 
Uttered at times with such 

Venomous self- 
Serving unction that even 

The indifferent tongue recoils 
In utter revulsion is anybody’s 

Guess, whatever answer 
Lies in wait, forked 

And unpalatable as ever.

Right Here And Now, Fiscal Happiness Is

When your seven- 
And-a-half-year-old 

Granddaughter, having 
Overheard you were 

Badly in need 
Of another 

Five euros to buy 
Something and not 

Having found it right 
On the spot or in 

Any of your threadbare 
Pockets, disappears 

Upstairs and straightaway 
Materializes before you 

Dangling 

A brand-spanking 
20-euro bill and proceeds 

To offer it to you, 
No strings attached. 

Ruse Oppenesque

In this great
Lack of right

Clear air, the small
Broken spirit

Living and breathing in
This in which we seek

To find it still nuzzling
Our outstretched palms,

No amount of comforting
Artifice suffices to lure it

Out into the open any more.

Huuklyeand Cinquor On The Transmogrifying Disappearance Of Poetic Ambiguity

Hell, it’s when 
Whatever the well- 
Intentioned well- 
Versed poet writes 
Ends up going one way  
Only to end up never 
Coming out anywhere 
One way or the other. 


 Moderator’s comments: So nice to see you again after such a long hiatus, Huuk—when are you going back?

A Poem Should Be (20)

By all means metaphysical 
And metaphorical yes, 

We know but how 

Can it be when 
The poet is elsewhere? 

All Said In Just One Janus-faced Parting Shot

Know thyself, a part 
Of the old man said, right- 
Away upon which the other 
Part shot back with I know

Nothing apart from that 
I know one thing only 
And that is that 
I know nothing—

How’s that? 

Just Moving On After The Last Straw, Boss

You know
When harsh winds die

Down in Shantytown
For the umpteenth time,

It’s way past time
We gather up all

The orphaned good
Folks left behind.

Digesting Grotesque Humble Pie

Such avian crust! 
Who would’ve thought 

Those four-and-twenty 
Blackguarding black- 

Birds of a feather popping 
Their prominent peckers out 

Of that ravishing, 
Inimitable dish 

Set down before you would 
Soon be laughing 

Their heads off watching 
You eat legendary 

Crow after crow 
After crow 

Without—heavens to Betsy— 
Even once burping!

Memory Flash Feat

A faint blackish stick 

Figure falling through 
A landscape 

Of frosty grey- 
White fuzzy 

Matter that has opened 
Up right 

Under its feet 
And swallows

It whole. 

Not-so-intrepid Moon Stalkers On The Verge Of Rising To The Occasion

We knew the moon was close 
To going full 

Circle and was more 
Than ripe to show 

Its face above 
The steep dark 

Hulks 

Of the mountains 
Fringing our hollow, 

To spill its lunatic light 
And illuminate whatever 

It was that kept hiding it- 
Self in the recesses 

Even in broad daylight— 
Who knows? If only we could 

Rise a little higher, we might 
Catch a glimpse of it too, 

One of these nights.

At Madam Starbucks, The Medium Is The Massage

I have to tell you 
Unsettling news— 
The signs left 
On the bottom 

Of the gilt-edged 
Cup you thought would 
Runneth forever over
No longer show the least 

Stirrings of life, I fear you must 
Fall to your hands and knees 
And resuscitate your old friend
Joe, you need him 

More than ever right now. 

 

Shall We Gather By The Ditch, Pilgrims

Don’t ask from on high

Where your next

Poem’s coming from,

Muddled ones, just look

To where it’s going

To let you down

Next.

Twittering Over The Moon

Guess who

Can rip off the IRS
In broad day-

Light, streak stark-
Naked with Ben

Franklin bills flying out
His puckered rear down

Constitution Avenue
Past cop a plea cop

Station after station
Before returning

To roost in
His freaked-out white-

Washed room free
As a flipping bird

To twitter—all the while
His brooding

Fledglings waiting
In the wings

To find themselves
Mooning over

Their favorite
Lunatic again.

Squatters' Blue Window Shutters

creaking derelict refrain
giving us no quarter—

angry jalousies o-
pening and clo-

sing in a bitter wind,
giving us away

again and again.

Minor Minimalist Poet's Major Prognostication

No whys or ifs about it—
It really is a small world full
Of big disappointments where
We’ll end up trashing
The little talent we have
Writing garbage we think
Expansive enough to fill it.

Sappho Encomium Honey

None so highly revered 
As she amongst us peace 

Loving women whenever 
She took up her lyre and all 

Rude rowdy creatures drew 
Back into silence so sweet it was 

As balm to our oft offended ears.

Egocentric One, It Matters That

The world is beside itself 
Watching and will not 
Turn forever 

A deaf ear to or look 
Away from what 
You are doing to it 

By looking the other way. 

Bitter Poetic Susurrus Carried On A Goodly Wind

It’s always this too 
Obscenely familiar 
Refrain that slips through 

(Tall slovenly grasses ringing 
Derelict tombstones) 

That keeps intimating 
Nothing remains the same, 
Nothing worth keeping alive, 

Not even our good name. 

Sweet Insouciant Spring Dungaree Skirt

My grand grand- 
Standing all of seven- 
And-a-half grand- 
Daughter showing off 
Her blooming 

Outlandish new floral out- 
Fit with a flourish 
And an impish Look Papa! 
Now I really do have to watch 
Myself round honeybees, right?

Downright Right Java Near Mount Ithome

I must tell you 
There’s no better 
Boon than this sterling light 

Dawn after dawn down 
Here in these boondocks rich 
In uncluttered vistas made 

For the out-of-the-way 
Mind and the view 
Of this mountain 

And the rosy- 
Colored sheen 
On the handle 

Of my bright 
Silver spoon tells me 
This brew keeps mighty 

Fine company, too. 

Sailing The Seas Of Uncertainty: Unprofitable Line

With surfeit salvaging
Provisions in hand and buoyed

By the prospect of perhaps
Reeling in a real doozy

Or two, one after
Another, you keep on

Throwing your one
And only precious

Life savers out—
Anything new in view?

Widow's Ephemeral Thoughts

—R.I.P. Terry Tisdale 

Dear God, I know only 
A moment’s needed 

For that low-lying dark 
Cloud overhead to pass— 

Grant me an eternity 
Of light so 

I too can pass 
This moment by 

At last.