Oxymoronic

When 

The poem 
At last 

Arrives, you will 
Know by the deafening 

Silence it leaves 
Behind, you were never 

Here to begin with. 

Evensong In The Air

a 
round 
twi- 

light a descending 
heavy scent 
of night 

flowers 

an ascendant night 
bird’s calling 

a duet 
heaven 
sent.

Ad Infinitum In The Wide Open Spaces

Buckaroos, buck up— 

Just when 
The ditty tends 

To end, it ends up 
With plenty more 

Bloody spaces
To begin again. 

Epicurean Sardine Tin Haiku For Two Malnourished Greek Children, The Peloponnese, 1945

Dish par excellence? 
These starved tatterdemalions 
Can’t tell the difference. 

Full Material Disclosure Of An Artful Dodger

This cannot be stated strongly 
Enough or too often: 

I have a real dislike 
For things of no
Consequence and how
They are woven

Into the fabric 
Of our day-to-day 
Existence so artlessly 
We hardly notice 

We are nothing 
Save empty shirts 
With no pockets. 

Eulogy For A Poet Who Didn't Have Much To Say But

Who kept at it wholly 
Day and night 

Digging up all those bright,
Light little gems here 

And now when 
Others half- 

Heartedly shoveled 
Wheelbarrows 

Of heavy black 
Holes whole 

Light years away. 

That Delectable, Albeit Spurious, Choice Morsel On The Tip Of Whatever

It is supposed to mean 

As inviting retort and why it is 
Uttered at times with such 

Venomous self- 
Serving unction that even 

The indifferent tongue recoils 
In utter revulsion is anybody’s 

Guess, whatever answer 
Lies in wait, forked 

And unpalatable as ever.