That'll Be The Day At The Old Poets' Home

Your most serious fault, old chum, 
And one that’ll more than likely be 
The death of you is pretending 

You’ve finally found that grave 
New world of poetry you have 
Been searching for so long— 

On the other hand, if you have 
Truly discovered it, please 
Do us one last favor and stop 

Your traipsing back and forth 
Before that dumb old looking glass 
Looking oh so gleefully glum. 

Wintry Consolation

One gray, one white, both 
Faded, the weathered 
Plastic chairs keep 
Each other close 

Company under the torn pale 
Blue flapping porch 
Awning of the lately 
Dearly departed 

Couple. 

Haiku U. Poetry Workshop 101 Prize Specimen

                        narcissus 

You don’t need to use 
Beautiful in this haiku— 
Jonquils are in bloom. 

Photographer X In Action, Hanoi, 2016

The dog in the photograph caught 
Jumping in mid-air does not 

See its elongated shadow 
Being cast on the asphalt 

Some five or six yards 
Behind it, nor that the other 

Shadow next to it belongs 
To a girl sitting in the road 

Looking in the opposite direction 
Behind the dog and now readying 

To take a different photo, nor 
That this girl sees no shadows 

At all, not even those two long 
Oozing tar-like strips from the rear 

Of the black-and-white shoes 
Of the two women directly behind her, 

Who are busy framing 
A different shot 

Of an indifferent dog curiously 
Arrested in mid-air. 


 

Axioms Of A Third Kind

You there, 
You with the stars 
In your eyes, living 
In another world— 

One is the 
Number of the never- 
Ending dream next 
To zero, 

Zero is the 
Number of the 
Stillborn dream next 
To one, consequently 

Still-to-be-born 
Zero and one, 
And one and zero are 
Still one in the end— 

Count your blessings 
On this earth 
While you can, 
My friends.