A Poem Should Be (18)

Indestructible, lasting almost 
Forever, like that ludicrous 

Prickly pear cactus poking 
Its barbed head of fruit through

The toughest thick slab 
Of concrete, even after being 

Through thick and thin, fire 
And water or, believe it 

Or not, crushed to smithereens 
By crazed bulldozers hell- 

Bent on erasing it 
From the face of the earth 

To make way for some new 
Abominable, transient 

And quite prickless, 
Construction. 

Parting Ways

The fickle winds blow 

                    The clouds this way 
And that way before you 

Hear the silence.

Fatal Attraction

When one goes where one has to,
What’s the use of asking why? 
---Huuklyeand Cinquor 

Like it or not, let the poem 
Walk away scot free 

And it will take you with it 
With no second thought. 

In Defense Of Minimalism Per Se

Brevity in poetry doesn’t mean 
You have little to say, it means 

You have everything 
In the world to say 

And too little 
Time to say it. 

Right There

Yes, in the end this is 
What it means to be free— 

The world feels right 
When you are so, 

And that’s where 
You should be.

Late Autumn Mystery Unfolding Under Plane Tree

Not just the startled 
Cackling of the murder 

Of crows lifting off 
At the sight of our passing,

But the crackling also
Of burnished gold swirling 

Leaves letting go. 

Should A Poem Be Or Not Be Like You Want It To Be?

For the sake of this 
Poem, let’s go out 

On a limb and say 
Ferocious— 

A scurvy feral 
Feline tensing it- 

Self to scurry up 
A budding 

Tree, all set to seize
The moment

A carefree song 
Bird alights on 

That nearest now quivering 
Thin green limb for all 

The innocent 
To see.