Dusk

The opposite of dawn, of course; 
Another less common 
Name is crepuscule but I bet 
Few English speakers know that 
Or that it also means gloam. 
.

Silent before yet another 
Sunset, I suppose it dawns 
Upon many a man 
That one’s vocabulary,
No matter how dazzling,
Can never be a match 
For the unspeakable splendor 
Of one more dying day. 

Huuklyeand Cinquor on The Poetry Conundrum Factor

What do you expect to gain 
When you ask yourself what 
It is with this game when 
You’re at a loss for words 
Save the riddle that remains. 


Moderator’s comments: ?

How Aesop Nourished My Grotesque Childhood Imagination

As I was 

An eager beaver 
Starved for mind- 
Blowing sustenance, 

Amongst a flock 
Of fabulous doings 
He was said to have 

Wolfed down the bitter 
Cold of a polar bear 
Wearing the panoply 

Of a lobster dressed to kill. 

Abandoned Cow Stalls on Farm Near Fukushima, Japan

Too contented 
To know how to react 
When things go sour, what’s left 
Of the cows remains 
In various stages 
Of rot in empty stalls— 
And the phantom farmers? 

Steeped as they were in high- 
On-the-hog atomic subsidies, 
One surmises they knew 
Better than to stick around 
Too long and high-tailed it 
Out of the premises 
While the milking was still good— 

But this remains idle speculation 
Till the day they feel the answer truly 
Seeping in deep down in their bones. 

Food for Aesthetic Homo Sapient Thought

Coming across photo 
Of beautiful decaying 
Beached albatross 

Carcass, stomach eaten 
Away by engrossing 
Blue yellow red green 

Plastic rot gutting still 
Life work of so much 
Undigested mishmash. 

These Gawkers Never Knew What Hit Them

They forgot 
Rote can be useful as hell— 
For one thing, you can tell 

Spring’s peeling rubber rounding 
The corner headed our way 
By tallying all those rubbed out 

Toads splayed and flattened like 
Pemmican on the asphalt 
Straightaway. 

Huuklyeand Cinquor on Poetic Ambivalence

Poetry had a soft spot in my heart hard 
To explain once I let it enter my brain. 


Moderator’s comments: Judging from his extended absence from this humble podium, Cinquor seems to have followed the advice put forward in another one of his memorable two-liners from the past, to wit:

Conceptual Prestidigitation

You look to have that precious gift of sleight; a present 
Better prized and appreciated when kept out of sight. 


We shall see.

Slaking One's Thirst in Gaza

No matter 

How desolate 
How forlorn 
They look 

When the heavens burst, bright 
Spurts of fiery holy water 
Flood the land as promised. 

World Poetry Day 2015: A Poem Should Be (14)

A musing quest 
For common ground, say 
This cur’s 

Sniffing round the body 
Poetic where another member 
Of the pack’s been 

Hanging out his calling card so 
All us intimates know just where we are 
To piss on the corpus, too. 

Ditch

Gathered by the wayside, 
Heads bent over, 
No need to decide— 

Full of bleeding wind-
Flowers on either side. 

Windsong

Your hair barely grazed 
The wild flowering almond 

In your passing and already 
The air sweeping through 

The meadow’s redolent
With bitter fare-thee-wells. 

Tandem Limbo

Help me get to wherever it is 
I’m going, I’ll help you 

Get back to wherever it is 
You’re going along, too. 

Black Hair, White Space, Gray Matter

That space between your ears remains 
Shockingly grotesque, revealing 
A gross lack of fantasy in shucking it— 
Do not wonder then how it was all 
Those sheaves of corny poems you wrote 
And kept turning over in your mind 
That turned your hair white overnight. 

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.