Still Mellow Yellow At 76

What if 

 

I told you quite 

Rightly I fancy these small 

Yellow croci blooming 

 

By the side 

Of this narrow 

Path leading 

 

To the small white 

Chapel on the top 

Of the hill 

 

Overlooking my sun- 

Lit home village remind 

Me of a song 

 

Of my youth, would you 

Indulge me this not 

So farfetched fantasy? 

 

 

 

Catch Me If You Can, Chumps

The whereabouts of where 

Your promising poetics were 

Headed at any given time 

Were clearly present 

And defined by 

An artful aversion 

 

To working hard 

At nothing save how 

Fast and easy you could get 

In and out without 

Ever delivering 

The promised goods. 

 

 

 

 

 

Spring Haiku: Cupid's Tart

 

smitten lovebirds dart 

in and out of the bitter- 

sweet lemon tree’s heart 

 

 

Mistaken Presumption

The poem does not ask to be 

Taken for granted simply because 

You think you’ve put it down so 

Rightly in black and white— 

It wants to know if you will 

Ever learn to tell the difference 

Between that which is before you 

And that lying between the lines 

Left in pieces behind you.

 

 

 

 

 

A Poem Should Be (21)

 

Fiercely and mercifully just—

As balm is to a wounded heart,

And bane to an incurably sick one.