Steeple Seen Through Mist in Early Morning

--for Bob Arnold

ah

in

spire

ring.

Huuklyeand Cinquor on Skeletons in Closets

—after Fernando Pessoa

Heteronym,

If someone called you out

With all your hidden names,

Which one would dare to answer,

And which would take the blame?

Moderator’s comments: Readers of this blog may remember Joe Hutchison's comments on Huuklyeand Cinquor’s first offering a day ago directly below this entry and my answer back. True to form, Cinquor shot back with the above bone-chilling reply which leaves little room for evasive maneuvering by anyone, let alone the poet revealed for what he is—a skeleton in the foul rag and bone shop of the telltale heart.

Huuklyeand Cinquor on Gravity in Poets

Tied fast

To a slow-moving zeppelin,

What these heavyweights need

Is an anchor.

Moderator's comments: As expected, this comes at us fast and furiously cynical; who could wish for more in a debut piece? And the ludicrous image of self-anointed Olympian poets strapped to the side of a cumbersome gargantuan dirigible like the Hindenburg, for example, makes it even more fiery. Speaking of images, if one wished to delve further into this piece, one could even find allusions, i.e. zeppelin, heavyweights, to the legendary rock group, Led Zeppelin. What a tour de force! One can only wonder if his next offering will be as riveting.

Two Poems from the Greek Underground

Let sleeping dogs lie? Perhaps. But if the Germans paid the Greeks the WWII reparations they still owe them, they wouldn't have to wake their dead.

Coming Soon: The Apophtegmata of Huuklyeand Cinquor

Imagine my surprise when I opened my email inbox a few days ago and found a rather lengthy letter from someone I’ve always admired: Huuklyeand Cinquor. At first I really couldn’t believe a maverick poet/writer/philosopher/critic of Cinquor’s stature would stoop so low as to address such an inferior—yea—lowly paper-pushing poet such as yours truly but sure enough he’d gone up and did it. But wait—there’s more!

Not only had he written a letter in which he addressed many of those thorny issues that have pricked the fancy of seriously tormented thinkers since time immemorial, he proposed I do something no poet in his right mind would ever refuse, to wit: From time to time, he would send me original apophtegmata which I would post on my blog—MY blog, mind you—together with permission to comment on them as I might see fit. Just the thought of having that illustrious name appear on Vazambam was enough to send wave after wave of tadpoles wriggling up my nose as I dived headlong into those dizzying depths of reflective narcissism. Of course I assented right off and the intermittent thoughts that Cinquor shall send my way promise to rewrite the wrongs that my blog has impressed upon an unsuspecting public. It’s about time.