If The Truth Were Known

You wake up after dreaming 
You’ll be deprived of everything 
In the by and by— 

A sycophant’s somewhere 
In your subconscious 
Telling you not to worry, 

Everything’s a lie. 

Early Spring Haiku

Bashô stares at fronds 
Shaggy with hoarfrost ringing 
Frozen froggy pond. 

Phaedra And The Depiction Of Artistic Fidelity

In her young artist’s eye, the storm

Clouds are menacing

Frenetic grey and black

Jagged squiggles raining

Down long drawn-out

Swaths of green on

The heads of three purplish-

Red poppies, one of which is

Being caressed by

A long thin penciled right arm

Belonging to a young sun-

Glasses-wearing mop-

Headed red-haired girl holding

In her left hand something

Resembling a leafless tree,

Its ten green limbs radiating

Out from the center, each

Gangly arm dangling one

Black, glob-like fruit--

In other words, a fantastic

Child’s umbrella!—instead of your usual

Plain, black, grownup one, the likes

Of which most of us would more

Than likely mistakenly take it for.

Pierian Spring Redux

What to do, what to do? 

All around us, simple 
Things so profound 
As water rises, water falls— 

What to do, what to do? 
Keep to the high ground, 
Drink deep, too. 

You Talkin' To Me, Janus?

I’ll tell you this much, love—the more 
We hate others unlike us, the less 
Hate we have for ourselves.