Eulogy For A Poet Who Didn't Have Much To Say But

Who kept at it wholly 
Day and night 

Digging up all those bright,
Light little gems here 

And now when 
Others half- 

Heartedly shoveled 
Wheelbarrows 

Of heavy black 
Holes whole 

Light years away. 

That Delectable, Albeit Spurious, Choice Morsel On The Tip Of Whatever

It is supposed to mean 

As inviting retort and why it is 
Uttered at times with such 

Venomous self- 
Serving unction that even 

The indifferent tongue recoils 
In utter revulsion is anybody’s 

Guess, whatever answer 
Lies in wait, forked 

And unpalatable as ever.

Right Here And Now, Fiscal Happiness Is

When your seven- 
And-a-half-year-old 

Granddaughter, having 
Overheard you were 

Badly in need 
Of another 

Five euros to buy 
Something and not 

Having found it right 
On the spot or in 

Any of your threadbare 
Pockets, disappears 

Upstairs and straightaway 
Materializes before you 

Dangling 

A brand-spanking 
20-euro bill and proceeds 

To offer it to you, 
No strings attached. 

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?