In Memorium: Passing Hallmark Card Mandate

"Old soldiers never die, they simply fade away"

 

Lest we forget— 

For as long as we can 

 

Live and breathe, 

Let the death of each 

 

Cherished friend breed 

A remembrance 

 

That never dies. 

 

 

 

Fledgling Pegasus, Sans Horse Sense

 

Foolish Houyhnhnm foal, 

Your approach to poesy is nothing 

But a parody of it, full of cantering 

Pitfalls and oh so maddening 

To the heightened soul— 

 

Why ruffle the feathers 

Of such simple-minded 

Yahoos like us who have trouble 

Enough as it is, getting off

The ground, yet yearning to

 

Soar. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

For Him Who First Floated The Idea Of Negative Capability

 

When you think 

You can’t 

 

Swim 

 

Enough to write 

Your name 

 

In water. 

 

 

 

 

 

Coign Of Vantage In The Air

Call it a quirk 

Of fate if you will, 

 

But it’s not 

 

A coincidence 

The shiny coin you keep 

 

Flipping always ends up 

On its edge. 

 

 

 

 

On The Brink: Vertigo As Poetic Metaphor

 

Metaphorically speaking, he 

Mistakenly looks to be 

Three sheets to the wind— 

Apparently a victim of his own 

Bluff but by all appearances 

Only momentarily 

 

Carried away by his dizzying 

Success, this rock-solid 

Astronomically gifted 

Over-the-moon poet

Might soon be seen tottering 

On the tips of his toes 

Like a drunk danseur, 

Before flying head-over- 

Heels οver the edge 

 

Of the nearest sobering, 

Down-to-earth cliff. 

 

 

 

Fifteen Poems

Mark Young, the editor of the very fine Australian poetry magazine Otoliths was kind enough to include 15 of my poems in the latest issue of the magazine, for which I thank him. Here is the link to the poems and while you're there, please copy/paste the link and take the time to read the rest of the contributions to the issue. 

 https://the-otolith.blogspot.com/2023/01/vassilis-zambaras.html

 

 

 

Self-Telepathic Rote Therapy

 

Know this, 

Callous one— 

 

Your next poem knows you so 

Well it’s ready to read 

 

Your mind and write it 

Just for you. 

 

Be thankful just this once 

And show it— 

 

Learn it by heart, too. 

 

 

 

Curtains In Cosmopolitan Santorini

 

What a buzz, folks!

 

The winning entry in this year’s Aegean 

Art Imitating Nature category is. . . . . . . . . . .

 

 . . . . . . .Ms Phyllophila Ephemera’s totally 

Captivating and stunningly uncommon 

 

Recherché design depicting congeries 

Of local Musca domestica strikingly executed

 

On an arresting white background! 

 

 

 

 

 

Soundbite In The Dead Of Winter

A rose 

 

                    I know Gertrude 

                    Needed it 

 

                    Said four times but 

                    Nonetheless this deep

 

Is a rose 

 

                    Red one by it- 

                    Self in 

 

 

                    A wide-mouthed shining sky- 

                    Blue vase on my desk plainly 

 

Is a rose 

 

                    Doesn’t need her repeating 

                    Herself one bit.

 

-----------

 

 

 

Doggerel: Much After Diogenes

 

Dogs love barking 

At strangers, mutts 

 

Like you, too.

 

Stoic Poetic Law Of Diminishing Returns

A Greek poet* and very 

Accomplished one at that, 

Once said poetry is 

Rooted in the human breath, 

And added—as an afterthought, 

Probably—what would we do if 

That breath should ever diminish? 

 

And in the same spirit elsewhere, 

Quoted another poet, a German** 

Well on his way to Elysium, 

Who asked what is the use 

Of poets in a mean-spirited time? 

 

I don’t know 

About you but as one 

Who has accomplished precious 

Little in a vast field overrun 

By well-meaning but unfortunate 

Unacknowledged go-getters 

Sinking in despair, I think 

 

We could all use a well-earned 

Breather and leave it at that, 

Buoyant and resting at last 

In those fertile, mythic, ever green 

Grasses waiting cross the river, 

The slightest distance just 

Over there. 

 

 

 

Tenure Any Minute Now, Prof

When you think 

All those pesky bugs in your system 

Have finally been worked out, 

 

Done with and swept clearly 

Under the rug gracing your spotless 

Private study, and your smug 

 

Smiling mug looks content 

As all get-out, remember to remain 

Vigilant for any loose nuts 

 

That might still be underfoot 

Quivering, poised to bolt 

Out the door the minute 

 

You drop your guard. 

 

 

 

Taking Stock Of One's Self

—for Eleni, priceless as ever 

 

Yes, surely that is 

The only exchange 

Of goods worth keeping— 

 

Find the ones who truly love you, 

Love them selfsame in turn and never 

Give them away. 

 

 

 

 

Haiku: Modest Real Estate Investment Gone To Pot

 

Tilted mini hand- 

Powered tiller rusting in 

Weed-infested lot. 

 

 

 

 

 

Απελπισία Ενός Μετρίου Μετρημένου Στοχαστή

 

Από τον κόσμο το ζαβό, 

Μπήκα σε πυθάρι να σωθώ, 

 

Μα γαμώ την γκλάβα μου γαμώ, 

Δεν βγήκα Διγενής θαρρώ. . . . . .

 

Taking Stock Of Your Latest Knockout Poem

 

Once you think 

You have it 

 

Down pat, another audit 

Of its particulars 

 

Finds you don’t 

Recall where it came from, 

 

Nor where you’re at. 

 

 

 

 

Moot: Dead To The Word?

If it’s true, why

 

Are we no longer still 

Stuck in the stillborn stage, 

 

Our eyes wide open, 

Dumbstruck 

 

Before the unfolding bitter- 

Sweet wondrous drama 

 

Of the only world 

We can call 

 

Our own? 

 

 

 

Henry Teel's Punt In A Nutshell

At rest on a sand dune safely 

Above the tide, its prow pointing 

Towards some lanky gesturing 

Grasses slowly moving in 

To encircle it, this weathered 

 

Light blue-grey punt going 

To pieces was once pulled 

Here by a man who soon went 

To the mainland and died there,

But still remains--an apostrophe. 

 

 

 

 

Haiku: Writ

 

How shallow the state 

Of minds that cannot fathom 

 

Pale sheets of grey slate.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Barbed And Wired

Bard, 

There are many things 

One can do that 

Go above and beyond what 

Some of us rather naive 

Romantics like to call 

A poet’s sense of duty— 

 

Straddled high 

And mighty 

On a fence 

Armed with barbs and not 

Knowing who 

To aim for is not 

One of them. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Looks Like Kilroy's Still Here

 

You, over there— 

 

In the space allotted 

It, no matter how

 

Large or small, 

If your life fits,

 

Write it. 

 

 

 

Here's How It Usually Goes, Dearies

Achromatic— 

Nothing at all 

 

Dramatic about it 

Like the usual titillating 

 

Red-hot fare, you simply 

Plant yourself 

 

Down before one 

Obscene white page 

 

After another and scribble 

Most of the day making it 

 

Grey.