Last of the Adobe Kings

 

On my way, I pass by

The remnants of another day—

His weathered visage

On the knoll—I see 

He sees me not,

Nor does he look away.

Opportunity Is A Window Onto the World

The sea, the sea, who will be able to drain it dry? 
—George Seferis, from “Mythistorema” 

In this small house 
On the bluff that is being 
Inexorably eaten away,

 
In front of the large bay window
Letting in the light, 
Pray your eyes take in

 
As much as they can 
Before running out 

And down to the strand, 

 

Your hands cupped 
Round your ears so you can hear clearly 
The world’s beckoning, inexhaustible

Song.

Egocentric

On a world that turns round itself only 

Once a day, what on earth are you doing 

Turning round your self twenty-four hours a day? 

Dead End

Poem after poem after poem
Made up of one sentence—
I’m climbing up the wall.

Mnemonic: A Memento of Forgotten White House History

Can’t remember that mouth piece right 

On the tip of the tongue? 

Forget the sax, man— 

Try playing with, um,   

Harmonica!

 

This is the Color of My Dreams

(title of a painting by Miro)

I don’t paint but I know enough 

About colors to dream about them 

Painting my dreams. 

Glutted Market

The last thing we need is still 

Another poem offering 

All it has to give us 

All we need.