Any Port in a Storm

In a long sunlit lull, surfacing out of the gutter’s grating, 
Dazed drenched survivor shaking dry all six legs 

On stretch of steaming black sea of asphalt. 

Always Room at the Heartbreak Hotel

Your word would be all 
You say it is and then some 
If you gave me all the room in the world

And then some. 

Lost and Found: Dated Poetic Relic

Lo and Behold! 

I found what they were looking for 
When it became the death of me, 
Then put it back for them to find 
Before they knew the difference. 

Huuklyeand Cinquor's Take on Revisionist Poetics

All you visionaries hell-bent on taking 
Off after a vision, take this— 

A poem can take you anywhere 
You want but it won’t take you there 

If you put it down right from the start. 



Moderator’s comments: After some seven or eight months of silence on his part, I was beginning to think that Huuk was revising the soundness of his decision to send me his “poetry” at intermittent intervals, but it looks like I was a bit hasty with my assumption. So, after a long wait, let us revel once more in observing him at his short, didactic best (or worse, depending on how bad your myopia is) by focusing in on the poem’s intention to wit, what exactly is he trying to teach us here? That a poem cannot be “visionary” if it is written straightaway the first time without any revision whatsoever? Or is he assuming the role of the reader and admonishing us to give the poem the benefit of the doubt and not to dis it from the start? Maybe he’s trying to hook both poet and reader with his version of how to cast off all poetic illusions. Whatever the case, I certainly don’t want to prejudice any poets and/or readers out there by being picayune about his “effort” but I have to admit I’m having trouble following where he’s going with this, but then again, I’m not called “The Squint-eyed Kid” for nothing.

X Marks the Spot, Treasure Hunter

Say you found a map hidden 
Under the innersole 
Of a hiker’s boot way out 
There in the middle 
Of the wide, open spaces 
And you can’t see hide 
Nor hair of the hunter, 
While only a stone’s throw 
Away from the boot the map leads you 
To the jawbone of a dodo 
And the blunderbuss of an ass— 

What’re you waiting for, dude? 
Dig in, you’ve hit pay dirt.