Song of Innocence

Mirror, mirror on the wall,
Tell me whose fair children,
In cool cauldron tall, once sang
Carefree with naked innocence all.

Hard As Rock Provenance

Where you can

Still stand where

You come from,

No matter where

Or how

Hard that is. 

The Heights of Fancy

We know

The poet’s voice has reached

Its pinnacle when

We can hear a pin

Drop here down below.

Poetry Only As Old As You Feel

The Poet as Methuselah

—for Joe Hutchison

Honestly, I’m an old man

But I’m not really

That old.

I was just

Feeling my age when

These lines came to me,

Forever young.

Faced with Below the Belt Criticism, the Besmirched Poet Retaliates

You cocky fly you—

Fouling

My immaculate sheets

Of verse—I swear

Before my hour’s through,

Your shit shall be maculating

The fan too.

Back by Popular Demand

After four months, still saying goodbye.

Traces (7)

Blockhead Existentialism

The tree was always there when

You needed it

Until you became a stump.

~~~~~

Truce

The poem

Wants nothing

From you

But to meet it

On its own

Terms—

Unconditional

Surrender.

~~~~~

Waiting for a Bite

Whenever I throw out a line,

I always hope

Something will be left when

The poem decides

To reel me in.

~~~~~

Concentration Means Resolution

Let the first thing

That enters your mind

Stay there.

~~~~~

True North

So easy to be misled

By aimless wandering,

But then again, no one

Ever found himself by

Using a compass.

NB: A note on Traces: Time to leave, hopefully not without having left a trace.