Winner Take All: Confession Of A Literary Sleight-Of-Hand Man

Consider if you will, 

When all is said 

And done, 

 

And all those proverbial 

Bromides I once dispensed 

With such considerable aplomb 

 

No longer 

Roll effortlessly off 

My once oh so smooth 

 

And often too fiery 

Biting acid tongue, 

You’ll know it’s time 

 

I let bygones be 

Bygones, shut up 

And deal myself 

 

One last ace from up 

My sleeve just so 

Everyone can 

 

See how sleazy 

In the end it was 

I won. 

 

 

 

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.