Just Perpetual Lies That Blind, Poet

Now set to fall on your face after all

These years of chasing that

 

Elusive golden mean, don’t you go without

Telling yourself you knew

 

Exactly what you were up to again. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Stillborn Comprehension

You too have listened to many 

Who spoke in riddles without 

 

Understanding a word, not 

Even the pregnant 

 

Silences left behind 

In their absence.

 

 

 

It's A Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World, Is It Not?

If it is indeed 

Natural as Heraclitus says 

 

It is, for man to know 

His own mind and be 

 

Sane, why is it so mind- 

Boggling maddening 

 

Hard to tell who is 

And who is not? 

 

 

 

Haiku: Flatiron Greek Heatwave, Summer 2022 AD

This sun spreads panic— 

The scant shade we seek cowers 

Under steaming rocks.

 

 

What'd I Say? (A Poem Should Be #24)

Hey, hey there,

 

Hold your horses--

Like that early 

Bird morning mourning

 

Dove’s alighting on one 

Of our garden’s 

Judas trees and ooh

 

Ah oohing 

For its tardy 

Out of it mate 

 

To get with it and make 

One more daily 

Routine lovingly singular—

 

See that bough shaking? 

I told you it was 

Worth the wait.