The Artist Seemingly Fully In Command Of His Fate

“Life is the art of drawing 

Without an eraser.” 

--John W. Gardner 

 

 

John W. Gardner was 

Not an artist but I still wish 

To thank him for his apophthegm 

Of living artlessly with no dodges 

And no room 

 

For any erasures whatsoever, even when 

The artist in each of us finds himself— 

As did John one fateful day— clearly 

Out of his medium and face-to-face 

With the one-and-only artfully awful 

 

Great Eraser.

 

Industrial Zone Obscenity

porno 

 

graphic 

char 

 

coal 

colored 

 

smoking 

stacks 

 

penetrating 

soot 

saturated

seriously

 

virgin 

once 

 

now 

serially 

violated 

 

sky

 

Apathy's All The Money, Honey

And yet, it's that constant 

Remainder keeps reminding us 

 

Everything adds up and nothing 

Remains unchanged 

 

As long as indifference 

Makes the difference, 

 

It’s all the same. 

 

 

 

 

Clearing The Air (Life Studies)

The poem’s not 

Meant to perplex you, 

Dear reader—it’s there simply 

To make you question what 

You’re doing here. 

 

 

Child's Play Ain't No Pushover, Is It?

Now, seeing you’ve found 

Your way here 

With precious little 

Effort my good man, 

Gets me thinking that 

Doubling back to where 

You started should be 

Twice as easy, even 

Though it sure looks like 

You’ve already gone 

One giant step too far 

Beyond it. 

 

 

 

 

Ephemeral Myopic Poet

The most obvious thing one can say 

About his life was that 

 

He spent it mostly doing what 

He was best at—observing closely 

 

How little one actually sees 

Clearly in the course of a day. 

 

 

 

Payback

At last the worst is over 

And done with and everything 

 

In order; in return, 

All we have to do is stop 

 

Expecting nothing 

But the best in turn.