In Passing, Dear Heavenly Demiurge

Though it has nothing whatsoever 
To do with language 

Right or wrong, just fondle 
Sweet basil once ever so 

Lightly and its scent stays full 
Of innocent angels years after 

You’re long gone. 

Haiku: Carmina Trumpana

One fragment follows 
One more equally broken 
Specious argument. 

What We, As Law-Abiding, Solid Citizens Of A Great Nation, Are Discouraged From Acknowledging

Hear, hear— 

That auspicious 
Gritty feeling that keeps 
Gnawing fitfully 

Against the gristly hollow 
Of our most nauseously fitting 
Specious inner ear. 

75-Year-Old Pedestrian Versifier Temporarily Stopped In His Tracks By 7th Century BC Fragments Of Archilochos

[ ] [ ] 

[ ] [ ] damn it all 

[ ] [ ] Startled that [we?] are 

[ ] [ ] only now 

Starting [where?] 
To realize just how 

[ ] [ ] 

Moving this all is, [isn’t] it 
Too bad we can’t 

[ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] 

Put it in reverse 

Balcony With Ionian Seaview

Matutinal sea 
Of jasmine spilling 

Over corroded wrought 
Iron railing against white 

Washed wall splashed 
With streaks of light, 

Overwhelming pale 
Blue pastel light. 

Calling All Tone-Deaf Wannabe Poets

Oh, my goodness— 
D'ya hear her, 
Ignoramuses? 

If so, belt it out loud 
And clear, where 
‘Where’ sans the 'w' is out 

Of dumb necessity 'here', 
And not where you are 
By a long shot, dear. 

Right From The Word "Go"

--for John Levy, who’s always on the mark 

Let us take solace in the knowledge 
There are still poets out there who 
Take their reading slow and serious, 
And show us just how badass 
Some poems are and where 

They’re going when quizzical 
Others don’t know what 
To make of them— 

Those misguided ones who 
Think that if they leave them 
Alone, they’ll come back atoned 

For their transgressions, yet still sheepishly 
Dragging what's left of their farfetched tales 
Where else but behind them.