After Archilochos, A Sense Of Seferis

 

Vain ones— 

Write this 

Down so that you 

Never forget it: 

 

This, this 

We cannot do 

Without 

 

. . . . . . . . . . . . . .

 

These two spotted 

Pale doves inscribing 

 

Our fate, rising 

And falling in 

 

Turn in the ever 

Ambivalent yet still 

 

Diaphanous air.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Muse On The Edge

 

If you can sit still 

Enough to hear that which can’t 

 

Wait, it’s a good sign.

 

 

 

 

 

Zorba's Dance, They Say

 

Death is everywhere; 

So is joy, so take your turn 

 

And laugh in its face. 

 

 

 

 

 

Threshold Pitch

 

Odd, how it is 

The poem always knows 

 

You before you 

Know yourself, 

 

Even in the dark. 

 

 

 

 

 

Gets Your Goat Every Time, Don't It, Billy?

 

The frigging harder 

You try not to sound at all 

 

Like your stubborn self.