Huuklyeand Cinquor on Poetic Ciphers

Arrogant to the letter, always

Telling us all his poems,

Even the easiest ones

Are made up simply of words, asking

Why do we not understand them, I can

Deal with that but when

Is this cipher ever going to tell us what

His poems are not then? 


Moderator's comments: No Cinquor--he's not.

Revulsion of the Open Eyesore

near wounded river

where once

I remember

women gathered

to wash

mounds of clothes,

so many mounds

of festering trash

one wants not

to forget to wash

one’s hands of it.

Robert Lax on Patmos

in

his

small

house,

filling

small

slender

note

book

after

note

book

with

small

slender

poems

so

large

nothing's

lacking

Huuklyeand Cinquor on Poetic Bankruptcy

Those precious

Plays on

Words you continue

To invest in,

When will you stop

Thinking they are all

When they are nothing?

Moderator’s comments: I never knew Cinquor invested in and/or produced plays, but this moronic little poem proves he thought he could make a big hit on Broadway by simply falling flat on his face!

A Day in the Life

Where we once again find the indefatigable poet toiling at his thankless trade.

Metamorphosis, as in Cicada

Sί, still

Only a shell

Of it

Self, nada.

Huuklyeand Cinquor on Writer's Block

Though you think

It makes no difference

When not writing, do not

I repeat do not

Take no for an answer.

Moderator’s comments: One more illustrative affirmation of Cinquor’s masterly command of Negative Capability or just another example of a jejune tendency to overstate the obvious?