Spring, Not Fall

Coming upon fallen 

Judas flowers on 
Old warped oak 

Table under tree, 
My six-year-old 

Niece asks me where 
They came from—this 

Leaves me dumbfounded, 
Though it should not— 

She cannot see how 
Innocent she is 

Nor for how long 
She will be.

What's My Line?

I spend most of my day trying 
To remember a line I forget 

The moment I wake, the rest of the day 
I remember to sleep on it. 

Diners' Club

these buttercups 

closed all night 
on table in blue 
grey vase before bay 

window now open 
for light break 
fast. 

Cracker-Barrel Philosopher

You poets in the know, you always say 
Waiting and looking is your thing, 
And presume your next poem promises 
Answers to questions you think 
No one’s up to asking but you, well 
If you think that’s true, try these two 
Simple ones—who do you think you are, 
And who asked you for your view? 

A Poem Should Be

No stranger to fear, Archibald— 
Like that line from Heraclitus, 

Ferocious and show 
It means business 

All the time, 
Like a good watch 

Dog that barks 
At passersby all 

The while be- 
Heading 

Bloody ticks.