Meant Not for the Birds

not 

believing 
what 
is 

in 
the 
air 

on 
the 
coast, 

incredulous 
gulls 

flock 
in 

to 
see 

inland 
sea 

of 
garbage, 

make 
sure 

they 
bring 
back 
plenty 

mementos 
for 
scrap 

book 
of 
unbelievable 
day 

trip 
there.

Great Expectations from the Dark Night

I’ve been lying low on this hillock waiting for the sun 
To descend behind the floating blue 
Black mountains every evening for ages 
And have yet to let anybody down— 

As sure as my name is Legion, any minute 
Now the needlelike cypresses reaching 
For the heavens will begin 
Sinking into the landscape again. 

Tin Ear

Wake up— 

The music the rain 
Makes as it falls 
On the tin 

Roof’s music you’d have 
To be snoring standing up 
Under it not to hear. 

Ciphers

In the city square where strangers come and go, 
No one sees they’re being watched, stranger 
Still, none save me will ever know. 

Like a Caged Canary in a Coal Mine

You who sing life’s short but meaningful— 
Keep digging there so long as 

The air’s fresh and plentiful. 

Trust to Revolutionary Verses Then

Mind you always explosively intense yes hitting
No false note comrades enlightened enough 

To blow the hoi polloi’s brains out, 
Make true believers of them

To the very end. 

Earth Science Field Notes

                         promontory

sun lounging

lizard stands rock

still above blue green

deep

                        

                         fissure

where upswept pink

cyclamen petals quiver

                         

                        between rocks

slit filled with pine needles

Potomac Farmhouse Diner Entrées after a Freak Summer Shower

Garnishing the fowl 
Broiling, steaming sun 

Basted squealers roiling 
In a heap of muck served 

With relish on the veranda. 

A Poem Should Be (10)

Battle-scarred, still 
Undying, like that word now 
On the tip of your tongue 

Long forgotten, dead 
To a world waiting to burst 
Forth from the rubble 

Your speech has become. 

Spirited Away

On a day never to be 

Forgotten, this day will return 
No longer 

To haunt you. 

Janus-faced

Poker face and all, 
Everyone knew he was given 
To hiding behind a facade all day.

All for naught! 

For no one called his bluff, 
No one dared face the thought 
Of giving one’s self away. 

Reciprocal Gestures of a Different Kind

Love, not taking in 
Everything you throw my way 
Does not mean I do not appreciate how 
You take in everything 
I throw your way. 

Eudaemonia

The gods have been kind indeed; finally 
Out of nowhere, the Senate’s agreed to hear 
Our petition with pomp and circumstance— 
This promises to be a very fortuitous year. 
 . 

Today we have the airing 
Of righteous grievances, 
Tomorrow and the next 
More of the same 
 . 

Till Acheron freezes over—hear, hear 
Let the gods bear witness, 
One more splendid, glorious year. 

R.I.P. Sebastian Barker (1945-2014)

I just got a call this morning from the poet Hilary Davies informing me that her husband Sebastian Barker passed away in London. A fine poet and dear friend, he shall be sorely missed. Here he is with wife and friend in happier days in the house he built and loved so much in the village of Sitochori, Greece. 

You can hear Sebastian reading from his poetry as well as finding out more about his rich and creative life at the link below.

  

http://www.poetryarchive.org/poetryarchive/singlePoet.do?poetId=5564

Tidings

morning afternoon evening 
hearing mourning bells again— 

no matter 

how many times still 
being tided over 

takes time getting used to again. 

Huuklyeand Cinquor on the Postmodern Phenomenon Known as "The 'It' Poem"

Should be 
What it was before 
It was but don’t ask me 
Once I get my hands on it 
What it was like. 


Moderator’s comments: I know Huuk’s not going to believe it but I liked it before I saw it.

The American Dream Poem Should Be

So far-out it could paint 
A thousand upbeat pictures 
With nary a discouraging word— 

But hey, don’t ask me how 
Groovy that would be, 
Y’know what I mean, man? 

On a Tome Written by a Ferociously Witty Poet (revised)

Chew on This— 
The title he’d chosen 

Sure had plenty of bite, too
Bad his mouth was 

Toothless. 

NB: First published on Jan 22, revised after three days of looking at himself in the mirror. 

For the Time Being

No cause for alarm— 
When you wake 

The rest of your life 
Will have dawned 

On you, just sleep tight. 

Know Thyself

Trying times aside, why 
Can’t I be more of you? 

It would help us both 
To see us through. 

A Poem Should Be (8)

Graphic and badass 

Subtle as a shuttle 
Cock bobbing be 
Twixt the head and awe 

Smitten throbbing heart! 

Huuklyeand Cinquor on the Polemics of Poetics

It was said that because he had been blessed 
With an impersonal peaceful nature, he had nothing 
To do with launching personal attacks demeaning 
Any fellow poetic character; that he preferred 
To remain on neutral ground, a strange sort 
Of angelic no man’s land where the twilight was 
So ambiguous you could not make out where 
The next deadly round was coming from. 


Moderator’s comments: Toeing the postmodernist line to near faultless perfection, Cinquor craftily avoids any hint of (dis)closure here but the poet in question must surely be a practitioner of blank verse, right? 

Nostalgium Noxium Guttersnipem

Man, 

It’s when you’re finished 
Dragging your bod

Up from the gutter 
All these years 

And no buddy offers 
To take you back home. 

The Sun Always Sets, The Road Goes On Forever

On the way to town, walking

Past a priest and a man talking,

Their backs to the sun.

...................................................

 

...................................................

 

On the way back, walking

Past a priest and a man talking,

Looks like the sun had to run.

The Party is Here

Well it was here,

Wasn’t it?

Do Not Disturb

Today was another no-brainer; 
The sun rose, the sun set, 
Nothing crossed my mind, 
Nothing that upset me— 
I have so much to think about yet.