A Poem Should Be (19)

Like that almost 
Imperceptible small white 
Thorn in 

Your palm’s life- 
Line that stirs now 
And then and keeps 

Needling you when 
You think it has gone 
To sleep. 

Point Nowhere Man

Wandering this way and that 
For who knows how long, 
You’re finally at the point 
Where nothing points the way 
To nothing anymore. Where 

Does this leave us, you’re tempted 
To say; no doubt those 
Closest behind you now jostling 
For pole position will soon be 
Wondering that as well one day. 

Haiku: Weeping Low Hanging Tree

willow plunging limbs 
in too polluted thickly 
choking slick black creek. 

Cur Dead To The World Of Love

Wake up and hold that cowardly 
Peace of yours no longer, Corazón— 

I’ve eavesdropped on you 
All these years and never once 

Did I hear you skip a beat? 

That Same Old Song And Dance Coming Soon To Your Neighborhood Theater!

Where each new spectacular 
Episode of sunset presents 

Something different for everybody 
In attendance and all end promising just

Another twilight zone. 

Classical Greek Winter Sun With Figures Of Speech

Moving lazily across 
A seemingly endless cloudless sky, 
Its welcomed teeth biting deep in-

To meet the warm, torpid under- 
Belly of the corpulent body, it seeks 
To cut to the bone and flesh 

Out all those lolling 
Do-nothings who love 
To slip in and out 

Of ancient daydreams and sleep. 

Down In The Dumps And In Need Of A Pick-me-up, I Stumble Upon A Famous Last Line Of A Poem By James Wright

Like so many things 
I’ve sheepishly forgotten, I don’t remember 

Talking to myself when I was too young 
To go to school, like a lot of kids did or still 

Do, like our granddaughter did 
And still does 

When she thinks she's alone and begins 
Reeling off adventure after adventure 

Full of unreal characters known 
Only to her, and me 

Eavesdropping in on the hope 
I can pick up on that priceless, 

Uplifting gem of a germ 
She’s so infected with, 

Though I suspect all too well 
It’s no longer catching— 

Have I wasted my life?