Saturday, November 17, 2018

Missive To John Levy In Tucson


Hi, brother— 

Since you asked about Rita 
In your last letter, last I heard 
Your foraging hunchback dwarf 
With the unflagging energy 
And beautiful bouquets 
Of overwhelmingly sweet 
Smelling narcissi who kept 
Coming back to your door 
On her little red bike in 1984 
After you’d already bought four 
Of them and placed one 
In each of your house’s 
Three small rooms plus 
Bringing one to my mother 
As a name day gift is now 
Where her siblings put her— 
In an old folks’ home 
In Kalamata—that’s all 
I know for sure for now,
But thinking back on how 
Fiercely she fought and persevered 
Against the ugliness of people 
Surrounding her, I also like 
To think her new surroundings 
Are chock full of plenty pretty
Flowers like the ones 
You bought from her, too. 


All the best 
From your brother in the boondocks 
Of the southern Peloponnese 


Thursday, November 15, 2018

Autumnal Ritual


Centenarian plane tree 
Waving goodbye 

To golden leaves, black- 
Garbed old woman 

Meticulously sweeping 
House walkway clean. 


Tuesday, November 13, 2018

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. 


Sunday, November 11, 2018

Early Spring Haiku


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


Friday, November 9, 2018

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.

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