In-between Poetic Tracts

As the words retract, 
The gaps keep stretching 

Out longer, till one day 
Down in the lower 40 

Of your mind, 
There’s just one 

Endless gap left,
Tilling away. 

Transparency, As in Projection

You’ve barely scratched the surface 
Under the volcano 

And already you think 
Your mind’s made of obsidian. 

On the Threshold

Unblinking wide-eyed pupils 

Soon to be taught how 
To be blind to whatever 
They saw 

That set them apart. 

Little House in Olive Grove at Twilight

passage

of almond flowered clustered

stars through the firmament soon in sight

find matches smell the oil lamp light the fire

place yourself right here no

where else in universe so

right.

Stopgap Measure

Save your breath, poet— 
It’ll come in handy later

Bridging the void. 

Slaking Your Thirst after a Long Dry Spell

the miracle 
rain keeps 
its distance but will 
soon descend slant- 
wise on the wings 
of a blustery south wind— 

beaks open, 
unlike us the supplicant 
chickens know this time 
they won’t need 
to lift their heads 
to the high heavens 

to drink it all in. 

Poetic Diction

Spirited crystal clear heart- 
Felt silences pronouncedly sylvan— 

Punctuated by murmurs 
Of a babbling brook. 

Beyond A Reasonable Doubt

Because I wanted 
To live exclusively without 

Because, 
Though although 

Was also right there 
In the running 

Before I decided other- 
Wise, my life became 

Meaningful—it was as if 
I’d finally found a reason 

For being here, though 
For the life of me, 

I could not explain it. 

Farce

Guffaw before the curtain goes up 
And the audience throws you 
An askance glance like you were 
A tragic actor in a comedy 
Of errors; keep it up after 
The curtain comes down 
And they all laugh along 
With you to the bitter end. 

A Poem Should Be (13)

At once buoyant and cathartic— 

A hard resilient knot heaving 
In the slosh 

Of a soft underbelly, aching 
To wrench 

The wretched queasy 
Blubber out. 

Saturation Point Roundup Check

radi-

o

active

static

[OMGGMOOMGGMO

OMGGMOOMGGMO

OMGGMOOMGGMO

OMGGMOOMGGMO]

suicidal

mon

san

to

bee

sieging

deci-

mated

hearth.

Old Sea Dogs in Doldrums

Paddling 
Distressfully 
Slowly 

Out of deep forgetful sleep, we wait 
So as to find ourselves once more

On familiar ground—anywhere 
Save shipwrecked on reefs. 

Unclaimed Winter Offering to a Fine Feathered Friend

The small crust of white 
Bread I left out 

For you little brown one, 
Still lies there on the cold 

Grey slab of rock which now seems 
To be flying us ages away. 

Vazambam's Last "Poem Beginning I"

I swear I’ll never write another but 
Should I chance to try, tie my hands 
Cross my heart, let me lie forever 
Barefaced without batting an eye. 

Eyewitness to Bibliomancy

At my wits' end 
By all I see before me, 
I pick a book I believe

To hold truth; I balance it 
On its spine and allow it 
To fall open; with eyes closed 

I pick a passage and let truth flow 
Back through my fingers 
To the future

Till it blinds me.

from Nostos Sensuous

                              vantage point

on all sides

clear

monotonous

cry

of gulls sweeping back

dappled-gray tears

blue sky

.

                              headland

yet no sweet home here

save the heart

buffeting

.

breaking of waves

that convoy unrequited

love cross every wind

.

swept rock

.

                              inlet

there—

sun pockets glistening crystals stranded

in small salty recesses

 

.

                     

                              on a sour note

hardly any

song to assuage

the bitter imminent

light sapping home sickness

.

                              transients at bay

ships huddled in harbor

masses anchored on quay.

                        

Soul Food: Eating One's Heart Out

Let’s get one thing clear, chéri— 
Some brainless poetasters say
You should never, ever serve 
Soul in a poem as the main entrée, 
With spirit and heart 
As side orders, all taboo 
For offal-eating fools dying 
To eat their words 
And have them too, a tad bit 
Too tasteless for the likes of me 
And you?


 

True North

So easy to be led 
Astray by aimless wandering— 
All the same, no lost soul ever 
Found himself by using a compass. 

In a Mean Time

So many things weighing on our mind, 
We don’t need to count them

To know they’re there, we have to 
Forget about them and remember

How light-headed we get when we don’t care. 

This Too Shall Pass

Beautiful— 

The word becoming so worldly 
Obscene, exploited, wretched 
The many failing

To wonder why 
And to what use 
Hoping 

It will all come in good time. 

On the Road at Two-and-a-Half, or Blowing in the Wind Called Phaedra

Oh, I like this new game 
Of Papa’s—these strange little 
Light things he picked up 
To show me—he calls them 
Leaves—how they race along 
Where he placed them next 
To each other turning 
Over and over and me 
Running after them 
Like crazy I hope 
The one he said was mine wins. 

Truth's Like a Fly Swatter

Cross my heart, hope to die— 
It looks like they’re droppings

Of flies, the eschatological 
Ephemera of poets who swear

Their shit will last and not 
Stink to high heaven forever— 

Though from where I sit, 
It all smells a little too much

Like a downright rotten white lie. 

Silver Linings Playbook

when storm clouds scud 
your way, the sun does not 
up and check out— 
it stays there 

high above the weather, 
looking out the window 
of your world, saving 
for a rainy day. 

Ex Libris Vazambam

With all the time in the world 
At nine months short of three, 
My granddaughter tells me 
She’s going to follow 
In my footsteps and read 
All the books in my library. 

Looking back at how 
Haplessly I fell 
Short of that goal, I do hope 
She doesn’t take after me— 
For better or worse, 
Let my feat remain 

No small consolation 
I won’t be round to see. 

Faux News on the Air (In Cracker Boxes Everywhere)

No more pussyfooting round— 

(I tell you the news is right) 
There in front of you

(Inglorious color) 
And not in black,

(Just white), like 
You folks like it so 

(Get cracking, right?)

"I Found My Thrill"

I remember his 
Last words as he sped 
Down Memory Lane, 

His blueberry eyes rolled 
Back up all the way to where 
The moon stood patiently still. 

Capital Punishment, Period

When the word you need 
To finish your sentence leaves

You hanging in the air. 

House on the Hill

All that’s left is a mound of detritus— 
Barely enough to remind us it stood 
Tall and strong as the family that held

 
Sway over it, a domain now infested 
By burrowing creatures of the night— 
Let’s say blind earthworms with feelers

 
Breathing through dank skins, sensing 
Their way through the dark by gauging 
Changes in the ever-changing light. 

Watchtower

That black 

Dog that stands 
For Death has 

Two gray marks 
Round its red 

Eyes that keep 
Watch for any signs

Of life just like yours. 

Fish out of Water

Where you find out when 

The sea is only so 
Deep as the air 

You breathe in. 

In the Long Run

It makes no difference where 
You were going when you were 
Turning left or right 
Or going straight ahead— 

Something tells me 
That was where 
You were going when 
You had no choice but to go 

Short of stopping dead in your tracks, 
Which makes all the difference, 
Should one wish to know.