Seizing The Day, So To Speak

 

Dry, 

Brown, 

Lifeless 

 

Little leaf on my patio 

Table, I get more 

Out of watching you

 

Come alive and twitch 

This way and that 

In this fickle 

 

Wind than waiting 

For my next 

Poem to move me 

 

Who knows where. 

 

 

 

 

 

Family Tree

One wonders when

 

Our old wooden table will at last 

Recapture its lost infancy, take root, 

Sprout, and shoot out its tenacious,

 

Searching branches anew. 

 

 

 

Confession Of A Disillusioned Nihilist

 

I thought 

I could live

 

My life entirely 

Honest with myself

 

Until I found it 

Surrounded by nothing 

 

That bothered me. 

 

 

 

Putting Your Hoof Where Your Mouth Is

 

I kept telling you 

Poets are poets only 

When writing and at 

No other time should they 

Pretend they are anything

But that, but time and time 

Again that never stopped you 

From running off at the mouth 

Before that inexhaustible 

Stream of meandering, 

Fumbling unconsciousness, 

Right or wrong, your raison d'état-— 

No matter where the others were at.

 

 

 

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.