Wednesday, July 29, 2015

Why Little Children--Like Trees--Are Afraid of Adults with Chain Saws



under the old 

growth is evermore virgin 

growth growing up— 


it’s telling 


the world the last thing 

we must do on this earth is 

hurry up. 





Sunday, July 26, 2015

Twilight in Meligalas


There’s a promise 

Of rain in the stiff northwesterly 
Breeze blowing in from the gulf 
Of Kyparissia, thirty kilometers away, 

And the parched trees are nodding 
In unison yes, yes, yes, 
It’s been a good day; 

I’ve spent more than half 
Of my life planted here— 
What more can I say? 






Thursday, July 23, 2015

Faux Deus Ex Machina


On the brink— 
Whatever to do? 
So tantalizing 

A thought came to him 
As he was about to jump 
To a forgone conclusion 

Out of the blue. 


Sunday, July 19, 2015

None the Smarter at 71


Time was I thought I could think 
My way through life 
Using clever arguments, 
 
That it would be easy to imagine
A world where being 
Smart made you nobody’s fool—
 
Hard to believe now, 
How I ended up forgetting 
Only life makes life’s rules. 


Thursday, July 16, 2015

The Privatization of the Self


"Let every soul submit himself 
Unto the authority of the higher powers. 
There is no power but of God. 
The powers that be are ordained of God". 
 --Romans 13.1 

Nowadays 

To make it worthwhile 
For the powers 

To be you have to 
Put in long hours down

A dark mine shaft deep 
In the heart 

Of the heart 
Of what is no longer 

God’s country 
And be forever 

Damned. 




Monday, July 13, 2015

Air of Acquiescence


Their slender stalks fastened 
With twine to thin reeds stuck 
In a brown, earthenware pot, 

The blood-red carnations nod 
In accord with each blustering gust, 
All the while suffusing the air 

They breathe 
With redolent dyes 
Of thick, heady musk. 





Thursday, July 9, 2015

Hope Dies Last


You get up 
Every day hoping 
It won’t be your last 
And you go to bed wishing 
It had been. 





Tuesday, July 7, 2015

The Methuselah Code

To read the signs 
Of the times correctly 
And to write at least 

One word a day remains 
No small feat providing you 
Reach a thousand. 






Saturday, July 4, 2015

Thursday, July 2, 2015

Virtuoso


Think before you leap— 
With each vaunting 
Step you take, this

Star-studded universe 
You were born into wants 
Nothing better than to cradle you

Back down 
To earth to dream to sleep. 




Sunday, June 28, 2015

Web


The spider sees bliss 
Approaching in the eye 

Of an immobile fly. 


 

Thursday, June 25, 2015

Write-off


No matter how quickly 
They might have been

Executed, poems should 
Always be read out loud

Slowly—one never knows how 
Much breath has been

Wasted already. 





Sunday, June 21, 2015

That Exquisite Clearing House, The Mind of 'Murica


Where you come out 
Of a forest full 

Of burning mind- 
Blowing questions only 

To find out 
You can’t see any 

Reason to ask for more. 


Wednesday, June 17, 2015

Jumping to Conclusions


Virtuoso, do not be taken in— 
This seemingly boundless 
Universe we were born into 
Was made to carry us only 
Piecemeal as far as the last step we take. 
So do yourself a favor, will you? 
Think hard for all of us 
Before you chance to leap. 





Saturday, June 13, 2015

Why the Squint-eyed Kid Thinks WCW Wore Corrective Lenses


Wasn’t he the one who said that 
Fuzzy No ideas but in things? 
I guess that’s what makes me 
Think there’s something 
Clearly going on round 
The left lens of my specs. 

So what do I see when 
I take them off for a closer look? 
Two stuck red bugs making 
A fucking spectacle of themselves. 
Man, what a relief! 
All this time I thought 

I was merely seeing things. 


Wednesday, June 10, 2015

Love It or Leave It


The capital 
Argument recognizing de facto 
Climate change still holds 
No water in the “proper” channels— 

Thus any H2O wanting to pass 
Off as bottled effluent on its way 
Towards overflowing affluence 
Has to make like a zillion trees 

And piss off. 


Saturday, June 6, 2015

Pilloried


. . .the poet— 
brats in the street fling shit at him. . .

--George Seferis, “Three Secret Poems” 


As a matter 
Of course he viewed 
His art as nothing 
To be jeered at, 

Yet whoever had 
Put together that 
Display of words 
And set it down 

Without even once 
Having thought 
Twice about how 
It would be received— 

Should not that hapless 
Spectacle of self be rewarded 
With poesy of like kind left 
To fend for itself like that? 



Friday, May 29, 2015

Rising to the Occasion (2)


No matter how quickly 
They were set down, 
Poems ought always to be

Read slowly— 
Too many 
People have wasted 

Too much 
Of their breath 
Already. 





Tuesday, May 26, 2015

Lemons Are a Dime a Dozen


Lacking a flashy brand- 
New first line to start 
Their vehicles, most 
Poets traffic in selling you 

On the merits of waiting 
For a killer last, killing 
Time in the meanwhile 
By knocking off lots, 

Lots of lackluster gimcrack,
Secondhand cars. 


Friday, May 22, 2015

Alienating the Self


Admit it— 
hard not to 

believe, harder still 
to acknowledge 

a complete stranger. 


Tuesday, May 19, 2015

Waking the Dead


You don’t have to 
Sleep on it—not 

As hard as it sounds— 
Silence is the only sound 

They understand. 





Saturday, May 16, 2015

Inner City Clearance Sales


trigger happy neighborhoods
where cops pick up/off kids at will— 

smashed store fronts strip 
mauled bodies busted

corporate person- 
hoods clean up again. 


Monday, May 11, 2015

Two Pro Found Statements


1. 

Give credit where 
Credit is due. 

2. 

The world owes you 
Nothing 

You can bank on 
That, too. 


Friday, May 8, 2015

Trying to Make Sense out of Nothing


What is it that makes people write poems? 
It’s nothing you can see or smell, nothing 
You can taste or touch or hear— 

Hidden in the formless recesses of nowhere, 
Whatever it is, it takes all our senses aback 
If and when we coax it out of there. 





Tuesday, May 5, 2015

Springboard


of stream watching

the green wet 
willows dipping in 
to shallow water deep 
enough you think you are 
seeing things down there where 
the branches you look at look 

to be springing roots! 


Saturday, May 2, 2015

Wounded in the Process


no- 

thing too 
in 

significant— 

.

how 



even this small 

sliver 


working it- 
self out, 

heals. 


Thursday, April 30, 2015

Unrequited


Had you asked me 
Against all odds 

I’d have been the first 
To answer yes and the last 

To wager I was wrong 
Even from the start. 




Sunday, April 26, 2015

Life's Understudy


Moreover 
.
You act as if 
You’re standing 
On a mountain 
.
On top of which 
The lowly mole does not 
Understand your role. 


Friday, April 24, 2015

Pure Ars Poetica

(with apologies to Kilmer and MacLeish) 


Genealogically speaking, 
A poem ought to be whatever 

A poet conceives 
A poem should be— 

But never a mongrel barking 
Its ass off up the wrong tree.





Tuesday, April 21, 2015

Up from the Minors


These big time poetry leagues are a bitch, 
But you’ve learned to slide and pitch well; 

Now let's see you slip in your best 
Curve and keep watching 

As the better part of you flies
Sailing out of the park straight 

Back to hell. 




Sunday, April 19, 2015

Sanctum


solitary 

blue 


and 

white 


chapel 

in 

pied 

meadow 


genuflecting 

black 


bird 

making

a

bee


run

to 

ward 

it.


Thursday, April 16, 2015

Dusk


The opposite of dawn, of course; 
Another less common 
Name is crepuscule but I bet 
Few English speakers know that 
Or that it also means gloam
.

Silent before yet another 
Sunset, I suppose it dawns 
Upon many a man 
That one’s vocabulary,
No matter how dazzling,
Can never be a match 
For the unspeakable splendor 
Of one more dying day. 




Monday, April 13, 2015

Huuklyeand Cinquor on The Poetry Conundrum Factor


What do you expect to gain 
When you ask yourself what 
It is with this game when 
You’re at a loss for words 
Save the riddle that remains. 


Moderator’s comments: ?

Friday, April 10, 2015

How Aesop Nourished My Grotesque Childhood Imagination


As I was 

An eager beaver 
Starved for mind- 
Blowing sustenance, 

Amongst a flock 
Of fabulous doings 
He was said to have 

Wolfed down the bitter 
Cold of a polar bear 
Wearing the panoply 

Of a lobster dressed to kill. 

Wednesday, April 8, 2015

Abandoned Cow Stalls on Farm Near Fukushima, Japan


Too contented 
To know how to react 
When things go sour, what’s left 
Of the cows remains 
In various stages 
Of rot in empty stalls— 
And the phantom farmers? 

Steeped as they were in high- 
On-the-hog atomic subsidies, 
One surmises they knew 
Better than to stick around 
Too long and high-tailed it 
Out of the premises 
While the milking was still good— 

But this remains idle speculation 
Till the day they feel the answer truly 
Seeping in deep down in their bones. 


Sunday, April 5, 2015

Food for Aesthetic Homo Sapient Thought


Coming across photo 
Of beautiful decaying 
Beached albatross 

Carcass, stomach eaten 
Away by engrossing 
Blue yellow red green 

Plastic rot gutting still 
Life work of so much 
Undigested mishmash. 





Thursday, April 2, 2015

These Gawkers Never Knew What Hit Them


They forgot 
Rote can be useful as hell— 
For one thing, you can tell 

Spring’s peeling rubber rounding 
The corner headed our way 
By tallying all those rubbed out 

Toads splayed and flattened like 
Pemmican on the asphalt 
Straightaway. 







Sunday, March 29, 2015

Huuklyeand Cinquor on Poetic Ambivalence


Poetry had a soft spot in my heart hard 
To explain once I let it enter my brain. 


Moderator’s comments: Judging from his extended absence from this humble podium, Cinquor seems to have followed the advice put forward in another one of his memorable two-liners from the past, to wit:

Conceptual Prestidigitation

You look to have that precious gift of sleight; a present 
Better prized and appreciated when kept out of sight. 


We shall see.

Tuesday, March 24, 2015

Slaking One's Thirst in Gaza


No matter 

How desolate 
How forlorn 
They look 

When the heavens burst, bright 
Spurts of fiery holy water 
Flood the land as promised. 





Saturday, March 21, 2015

World Poetry Day 2015: A Poem Should Be (14)


A musing quest 
For common ground, say 
This cur’s 

Sniffing round the body 
Poetic where another member 
Of the pack’s been 

Hanging out his calling card so 
All us intimates know just where we are 
To piss on the corpus, too. 





Thursday, March 19, 2015

Ditch


Gathered by the wayside, 
Heads bent over, 
No need to decide— 

Full of bleeding wind-
Flowers on either side. 


Monday, March 16, 2015

Windsong


Your hair barely grazed 
The wild flowering almond 

In your passing and already 
The air sweeping through 

The meadow’s redolent
With bitter fare-thee-wells. 




Saturday, March 14, 2015

Tandem Limbo


Help me get to wherever it is 
I’m going, I’ll help you 

Get back to wherever it is 
You’re going along, too. 








Tuesday, March 10, 2015

Black Hair, White Space, Gray Matter


That space between your ears remains 
Shockingly grotesque, revealing 
A gross lack of fantasy in shucking it— 
Do not wonder then how it was all 
Those sheaves of corny poems you wrote 
And kept turning over in your mind 
That turned your hair white overnight. 




Friday, March 6, 2015

In-between Poetic Tracts


As the words retract, 
The gaps keep stretching 

Out longer, till one day 
Down in the lower 40 

Of your mind, 
There’s just one 

Endless gap left,
Tilling away. 

Monday, March 2, 2015

Transparency, As in Projection


You’ve barely scratched the surface 
Under the volcano 

And already you think 
Your mind’s made of obsidian. 





Wednesday, February 25, 2015

On the Threshold


Unblinking wide-eyed pupils 

Soon to be taught how 
To be blind to whatever 
They saw 

That set them apart. 



Sunday, February 22, 2015

Little House in Olive Grove at Twilight



passage

of almond flowered clustered

stars through the firmament soon in sight


find matches smell the oil lamp light the fire

place yourself right here no

where else in universe so


right.


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