Vindication Of The Faultless Standard Compass Bearers

This one’s for you, Magnifico 
Of the North, because 
Your mind was forever off somewhere south 
Of the border when we told you your notion 
Of true north was never that true, 

That you should look at everything 
Around you askance to see 
What’s really lying out there 
And always in plain view—in this instance,
Lodged between the whites of your eyes, the end 

Result of a mind-blowing bushwhacking 
Just for you. 

Venture Capitalist Pigging Out In The Commodities Abattoir

You’re forever 
On the lookout, your snout 

Twitching in the animal 
Air, ever wary 

Of the news the cutting 
Edge feeder conveying you 

Home on a cold slab of bacon 
Will always be there. 

Romantic Beyond The Shadow Of A Doubt

After a long day spent 
Asking never-ending questions 
To see if I’m deserving 
Of my state, now in the darkening 
Twilight, the slightest wind-swept
Brush of burnished gray-brown hair 
Cross her steady unassuming gaze 
Reminds me it’s best I let the light, 
That incredible uplifting light of hers 
That never seems to end, 
Sweep my every doubt away,
Leaving me alone to cherish my fate. 


 

MIA

Come what may, 
Till you come back victorious 
From the dead, let’s drink 
To nothing 

So full of empty 
Promises you never 
Knew what 
You were missing, 

You who dared 
Give yourself away.


 

Four-Year-Old Old World Ephemeral*

The sense you wish 
You could convey but can’t 

Remains full of aromas 
Of a too brief childhood spent 

Amidst ancient ineffable odors 
Too soon whisked away. 












*US passport issued June 8, 1948,
Patras, Greece.

Zero Visibility On The Horizon

Oh, snooty one who knows 
It all, tell us why on clear days 

You say you can see forever 
But today you can’t 

Make out the muck at the end 
Of your nose. 

Only You And You Alone

Our world once was full 
Of untold wonders too 
Numerous to mention, 
My love, and you— 

You never forgot one 
And one needn’t 
Always make two, 
Did you? 

Putting Down Poetic Airs

Discovering you have a voice descended 
From angels may very well send you 
Over the moon but knowing when 
To keep silent once you’ve arrived 
There is heaven, too. 

Trump Utility Mismanagement, Ltd.

Knowing how, when, and how far to fall 
When you’ve been remiss is useless if 
You’re stuck for the duration 
In an unfathomable abyss. 

Picking Up Where You Left Off

At first sight, perhaps not so easy 
As it seems—case in point: 

I had many memorable dreams last night 
But can’t remember a single one today— 

I’m going to give it another go tonight 
And see what tomorrow’s like. 

Vacuous Out-Of-The-Box Thinker Going In Circles

Isn’t it odd that 
Nothing is always 

Part of everything even 
When you stop at nothing 

To think about it? 

Not Your Usual Stone-Faced Façade

Here, 
Under a now brilliant 
Clear cold blue 
Winter sky that just 
Two hours ago 
Dumped a foot
Of blinding snow in 
And around its hollow 
Shell, I find myself 
Wondering how 

It is this magnificent 
Still standing tall 
Two-storey centenarian 
Stone derelict no longer 
With a roof to its name 
Still shamelessly refuses 
To lie there in shambles 
And take its monumental 
History down 
With it. 

Elizabethanesque Ruse

Dear hurt halting heart, fain 
Pretend you did not 

Hear me falter where once 
My heart beat true, in truth 

It was not my intention, 
Nor was it meant for you. 

Yours truly, 
(Signed) 
You-know-who. 

Euphoria Of The Ephemeral No Longer Disillusioned Man

The uplifting passage in question was: 

Aporia— 

Wondering once 
More at length where 
It all comes from, 

One finally begins 

Asking why 
It took so long 
To arrive. 

Screwed Up

Face it— 
The more you look 
At what you’re doing 
To yourself each day, 
The more you want to 
Blame the mirror, don’t you 
Dare look the other way. 

Before The Sun Comes Up

Love, no need to ask 
But I’ll tell you anyway— 
Poetry’s about trying 
To tell the difference 
Between nights full 
Of questions and answers 
Begging for the light of day. 

Sure Looks Like It's A Dog's Life

Especially after 
A squall— 

A lot like that home- 
Less mutt lapping 

Up the winter sun- 
Light on the lee- 

Ward side of that derelict 
Wino’s soaked ply- 

Board hovel.

Bedding Down In Communal Winter Lodgings

Safe above 

The nocturnal prowling 
Of neighborhood cats, 
Where once there was one 
Lone small brown sparrow 
Perched every night 

On one of the three 
Forgotten rusty construction 
Guide line nails stuck 
In the stonework near 
The top of our portico’s arch, 

Now there are three, each 
On a nail of its own, 
In like company, their tiny 
Talons locked tight, holding 
Fast to the common dream 

Of outlasting one more night. 

Know Thyself, Poet

You tell yourself you’ll know 
Better the next time and not 
Make the same mistake, yet 

There’s another voice inside 
You telling you by the time 
The next time comes you’ll 

Still be your old self made 
Over in another image, 
Making the same mistake. 

Narcissist Not Worth A Plugged Nickel

For what it’s worth, 
Here’s my two cents: 

If you can’t stop yourself 
From saying what you’re made of, 
Bite the bullet, shoot your mouth
Off as usual and tell us 
What you aren’t. 

That'll Be The Day At The Old Poets' Home

Your most serious fault, old chum, 
And one that’ll more than likely be 
The death of you is pretending 

You’ve finally found that grave 
New world of poetry you have 
Been searching for so long— 

On the other hand, if you have 
Truly discovered it, please 
Do us one last favor and stop 

Your traipsing back and forth 
Before that dumb old looking glass 
Looking oh so gleefully glum. 

Wintry Consolation

One gray, one white, both 
Faded, the weathered 
Plastic chairs keep 
Each other close 

Company under the torn pale 
Blue flapping porch 
Awning of the lately 
Dearly departed 

Couple. 

Haiku U. Poetry Workshop 101 Prize Specimen

                        narcissus 

You don’t need to use 
Beautiful in this haiku— 
Jonquils are in bloom. 

Photographer X In Action, Hanoi, 2016

The dog in the photograph caught 
Jumping in mid-air does not 

See its elongated shadow 
Being cast on the asphalt 

Some five or six yards 
Behind it, nor that the other 

Shadow next to it belongs 
To a girl sitting in the road 

Looking in the opposite direction 
Behind the dog and now readying 

To take a different photo, nor 
That this girl sees no shadows 

At all, not even those two long 
Oozing tar-like strips from the rear 

Of the black-and-white shoes 
Of the two women directly behind her, 

Who are busy framing 
A different shot 

Of an indifferent dog curiously 
Arrested in mid-air. 


 

Axioms Of A Third Kind

You there, 
You with the stars 
In your eyes, living 
In another world— 

One is the 
Number of the never- 
Ending dream next 
To zero, 

Zero is the 
Number of the 
Stillborn dream next 
To one, consequently 

Still-to-be-born 
Zero and one, 
And one and zero are 
Still one in the end— 

Count your blessings 
On this earth 
While you can, 
My friends. 

On a Phrase Of Randall Jarrell's--From His Introduction To The Selected Poems Of William Carlos Williams

“Nothing is more important than the way it looks” 

If we are to concur with Jarrell’s premise, 
We must take it one step further 
And admit that looks are everything, 

And if so, we must also ask ourselves
What’s to be said of nothing--
That it looks like nothing? 

The Quandary

Nesting inside 
A healthy beast 

Lies another less 
Healthy beast 

Inside another 
Less healthy one 

And so it goes— 
Somewhere therein 

Lies the key 
To the puzzle 

No healthy beast wants 
To solve. 

Fate of a Graphically Novel Nondescript Porno Poet

he knew all 
too well 
his fab femmes fatales 

musings would find him 
graphically broken 
at the end 

of one mushy anticlimactic 
line after another, 
and where 

nothing he laid down 
before them in vain- 
glorious color could stop them 

from coming 
sheathed in plain 
black-and-white 

fictions again and again. 

Murderous Mindset

That fleeting image you thought 
You’d captured and which
You were planning to use 
When next faced with another 

Downer dead end has just turned 
The corner and is now hurtling down 
That old familiar highway headed 
For the next mind-blowing bend—

Throttle it before it too goes off 
The deep end. 

Almost Ultimate Haiku

That image running 
Through your mind could be your last— 
Try to make it last.