Old Timers' Resurrection

Easter is the time 

We are reminded of 

Christ’s incredible feat— 

Believe it or not, it happens 

Every year without fail 

And we rejoice once more 

And wonder if we’ll live 

To remember it 

Next year. 

Field

Of composition: 

The red wind- 

Swept wind 

Flowers encircling 

A lone 

Wild fig tree tossing 

In the center 

Of an undulating 

Green. 

Busker Klee Shayd Tudéth’s “Skid Row Pedestrian Spiel”

(Key of lachrymose acrimony) 

Someday I’m gonna get that
Tin-eared Tin Pan Alley plugger
Who done this to me and make him pay—
One way or another, bet your bottom dollar
He’ll get what’s coming, come what may.

While we’re waiting, mister
You sure do look familiar, so don’t give me
That idiomatic song and dance
‘bout times being hard—You 
Can’t spare a dime? Like hell!
I hear platters are a dime a dozen
On Easy Street. And me?
I ain’t eaten in a week.

On the Style of a Certain "Decadent" Alexandrian

(after E.M. Forster’s famous description of C.P. Cavafy) 

Don’t look away, philistine—he looks 

To be bending 

His frame of reference slightly 

Aslant to the world’s 

Universal decadence. 

Quest

lost 

pilgrim 

finds

himself 

on 

godforsaken 

path

he 

calls 

progress 

Distance

—for Tom Clark 

I must tell you how

Under a clear afternoon sky, 

I sat under an umbrella 

Reading a friend’s book 

Of poems that had traveled 

Halfway round the world 

To end up here— 

In the evening, no umbrella, 

No moon in sight, no need to tell you 

How close the stars were that night. 

Bashô, There’s a Frog in My Throat

Dying to hear one 

Another’s croaking— 

Let’s jump in.