Huuklyeand Cinquor on Burning Poetic Temperaments as Fuel

I do fear I keep 
Repeating myself but when 

Will the candidates poised 
For undying posthumous fame ever stop 

Feeding entries into their infernal 
Recycling machines? 


Moderator’s comments: I have no idea, Huuk, but I can venture a wild guess: As soon as a fire-breathing, flying white horse powered by an insatiable lust for the likes of hubris-driven, never-say-die flamboyant and fiery poetry hacks arrives on the scene? 

Revelatory

Sheets of lightning vault across 
A leaden sky on the dome rain 
Thunders down under the terrible 
Eye of the Pantocrator the huddled 
Faithful trampled underneath the crypt 
Remains sealed no one asks why. 

A Poem Should Be (5)

If not wholly transparent, clearly 
Willing to show how 

Much is hidden.

Calico Cat with Southern Exposure

Nothing fishy about this one, 
Asleep and curled 
Up like a furry worm 
In the warm winter 
Sunlight outside 
The fishmonger’s open door. 

Even one with a fuzzy poetic 
Imagination can guess that 
She’s dreaming of nothing fancy— 
Fish heads, bones, a special place 
In the sun, nothing more. 

World-weary One

When I say 
The sound of words is mesmerizing, 
Would you come to 

Hear me count to three, 
Snap my fingers, 
Make the blather go away?