Clouds on the Horizon

In this picture snapped 
Against a background of clouds 
In a green meadow, the common

Edible field mushroom has 
The appearance of a giant flying 
Saucer that has just touched 

Down and whose crew is justly nebulous 
About meeting the earthlings 
They've heard so little about 

And who are now more than likely 
Getting ready to welcome them 
With another species 

Of mushrooming giant. 

To a Poet Friend Drowning in Bathos

Had you but one iota left 
Of the deep lightness of a Herrick 

To keep you from going under, 
You’d have no need of a derrick. 

Another One for Rita, Hunchback Dwarf Forager

No beauty sleep for her 
Who recognizes all those uncommon 
Lovely greens one needs to know, 
Sets off before the morning 
Sun can wilt them, sells them after
For a pretty penny to housewives 
Too busy trying not to look ugly 
To get up and go.

To Oz Moses, Horticulturist

Plucked by a cryptic hand, no more 
Flower trysts for you, my friend 

Who cultivated the light openly 
Hoping it would never end. 

New Leaf

Quick, quick, the leaf, the leaf! 
How full of joy that

Whosoever has the eyes 
To weep when e’er a dying

One turns slowly over
And falls asleep. 

Fixation (In the Manner of O'Hara)

I don’t have a cat 
But if I did, I know 

I’d want it to be 
Like Frank’s great 

Orange tawny one, Boris 
(Armed with Madness) Butts, 

The one he describes so lovingly, 
Aptly in “Cantata”— 

And if you want to know 
Why, you’ll just have to 

Part with that wild hair 
Up your ass, too.

Smoke Screen

We all drive by 

The homeland the scene 
It looks terrible 

All these people up in smoke— 
No body screams.