Ruse Oppenesque

In this great
Lack of right

Clear air, the small
Broken spirit

Living and breathing in
This in which we seek

To find it still nuzzling
Our outstretched palms,

No amount of comforting
Artifice suffices to lure it

Out into the open any more.

Huuklyeand Cinquor On The Transmogrifying Disappearance Of Poetic Ambiguity

Hell, it’s when 
Whatever the well- 
Intentioned well- 
Versed poet writes 
Ends up going one way  
Only to end up never 
Coming out anywhere 
One way or the other. 


 Moderator’s comments: So nice to see you again after such a long hiatus, Huuk—when are you going back?

A Poem Should Be (20)

By all means metaphysical 
And metaphorical yes, 

We know but how 

Can it be when 
The poet is elsewhere? 

All Said In Just One Janus-faced Parting Shot

Know thyself, a part 
Of the old man said, right- 
Away upon which the other 
Part shot back with I know

Nothing apart from that 
I know one thing only 
And that is that 
I know nothing—

How’s that? 

Just Moving On After The Last Straw, Boss

You know
When harsh winds die

Down in Shantytown
For the umpteenth time,

It’s way past time
We gather up all

The orphaned good
Folks left behind.