The Ultimate Artful Con

 

Just for the time 

Being, what say we 

Put behind us that ingenious 

 

Spiel which wants us 

Placed here to make life better 

Than we found it, 

 

And work instead on 

Putting more of that life in 

To the body of our work, 

 

That is to say, 

Less artistry to see 

How much better 

 

We all look. 

 

 

 

To Sleep Amidst Other Things Amiss

 

Dear diddling nocturnal day-

Dream emitting artists— 

 

Lack of a good night’s sleep 

Should never be an excuse 

 

For waking up dead 

To the world and crowing 

 

“See? I can still cock and doodle, too!" 

 

 

 

 

 

Not Bloody Up To It This Time Around

—after Archilochos, poet and mercenary 

 

[MS SHOWING CONSIDERABLE WEAR AND TEAR] 

 

[ ] 

[ ]

by the way [far?] 

[ ] [ ] 

[ ] [ ] flung side

[ ] [ ]

ditched [ ] [ ] rusty 

[ ] 

[ ]  

[ ]

shield going [where to?] pieces still 

 

[MS QUALITY RAPIDLY FADING] 

 

[ ] 

[ ] 

[ ] 

[ ] wait [for?] better war[ri?][or] 

[ ] 

[ ] 

[ ] 

[ ] poet? 

 

[MS WHOLLY IN SHAMBLES] 

 

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Oxymoronic

--after Heraclitus, again 

 

Nothing remains 

Unchanged, no matter how 

 

Many times 

You have heard it 

 

Uttered by the well-

Meaning masses,

 

By this babbling

Brook, it bears

 

Repeating just the same. 

 

 

 

 

Not So Forward Looking Thinking Man's Poet

 

Here’s to him 

Who always thought 

He was a giant 

 

Step ahead of those backward 

Looking others who remained 

Glued to his miniscule 

 

Frame frozen in their rear- 

View mirrors yet wondering 

Naught one bit how 

 

Everything fits, even all

Our miserable misfits.