How Poets End Up Getting The Reader's Goat

Remember leading that nag 
To water to no avail? Well, 
Your exasperating poetic

Manner reminds me of a nanny
Goat that gives us a milk can 
Full to the brim, then 

Straightaway kicks it 
Over before we can fully 
Take all that wholesomeness in. 

Haiku: Artisan's Well-Wrought Urn Embellishing Mantelpiece

Ashes to ashes. . . . . 


No bones about it— 
Dedicated to an art 
Finely worked to death. 

Quasi-Cartesian Contemplation

Where I can 
Stand, I choose 

To do so, other- 
Wise, I sit. 

No Trespassing--This Means You!

This abandoned derelict has nothing left to say 
Of what went on inside it, years of pent-up anger 
Keep it shut away. 

A Poem Should Be (17)

Finely spun as a spider’s 
Web poised deceptively 
In the morning sun, 

And you an ephemeral 
Struggling captive soon 
To be undone. 

Rub A Dub Tub

More than likely,
The perfect poem is never 
Going to be there when
You need it, even if
 
You’ve just cut your veins 
And are waiting patiently 
For divine inspiration to save you 
From a fate worse than death. 

Stuck-Up On The Way To The Top Of The World

Spellbound to be so high 
You may rightly be but 
Don’t you dare condescend 

To look down on all 
Those flying dizzily past you 
Going the opposite way.