Out-Of-Kilter Octogenerians' Wake-Up Call

 

As if ordained, 

We know together 

With our rising 

 

Out of deep lethargic 

Sleep, that pesky 

Rooster will be still 

 

Waiting somewhere out 

There to remind us 

We have yet another 

 

Go at making the best 

Of whatever we still have 

Inside us— 

 

Oh, pray 

It will come to pass 

Today, together 

 

With the plucky spring 

Chickens and those wobbly 

Near over-the-hill hens, 

 

To an end we could 

Only dream of 

To no end. 

 

 

 

(C)Artesian Emanations

 

That crippling deep 

Silence that keeps 

 

Flowing this 

Way and that 

 

In the shallow 

Bottom 

 

Of our hearts, when 

Will it burst full- 

 

Blown to find us 

Bubbling over 

 

With the notion 

Of our own hollow,

 

Dumb infallibility 

Disabled, at last. 

 

 

 

Promising A Lot More Than You Can Deliver: Being A Brief Critique On One Poet’s Approach To Minimalism

 

well it looks 

a lot 

 

like your lot 

of little 

 

poems, 

little 

 

man 

needs 

a lot 

 

more 

room 

 

than 

you 

 

allot. 

 

 

 

 

On The Ambivalent Way Things Are

 

To be able 

To tell 

A split second 

Beforehand 

 

The minute 

The wind changes 

Course and murmurs sweet 

Nothing’s in our ears,

 

And with no one hearing 

A discouraging thing. 

 

 

 

 

 

Doppelgänger Complex

It’s true 

We are dying 

To know whether 

 

We all have 

A dead-ringer out 

There somewhere, one 

 

That doesn’t know 

Who or where 

We are either, 

 

Nor whether we shall 

Ever meet, to say 

Our long-overdue hellos, 

 

Then go gently on our way, 

Richer with the knowledge 

That nothing’s impossible, 

 

Even the incredible 

Occurrence of our own 

Birth that one fateful day.