Saturday, April 16, 2011

Placebo

Treat yourself if you must,
Even indulging yourself

To surfeit but remember
This bitter pill—

Poetry cures nothing.


Thursday, April 14, 2011

Huuklyeand Cinquor on Poetry and the Mother Lode

Like any prospector hot on prosperity’s trail,
I claim my fair share of digging for nuggets—

But you know what?
No fool ever struck it rich by pretending

He was looking for gold.

Moderator’s comments: I can dig this, but what about all those poor fools who never pretended a spade was not a spade? 





Monday, April 11, 2011

The Toad in the Word Garden

Wherein we are transported 26 years back in time to read a review of some books of poetry and in the process come upon Miss Marianne Moore weeding out the image of a toad—together with a host of other likewise lively conceits—as welcome additions to her magical word garden, but I’m with Pinsky and a slew of other poets and critics who think Miss Moore should have left the toad in the poem. But then again, perhaps she was afraid of coming down with warts.

Stumped, Like You

You say you can’t
See the forest for the trees?
It’s clear-cut

As old growth timber,
You dumbass fool—
All them blockheads done

Fucked up the view.


Friday, April 8, 2011

Memorial Service Mantra

Towards the end and at the appointed hour, the priest chants
Methodically and we repeat it mechanically

May the remembrance
Of the dearly 
Departed live forever—

As if we needed any reminding to remind us
Just how dearly departed forever becomes.
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