Humbert's Peak

In the angular light

Of a late July afternoon

I reached Hubbert’s peak

Sexually speaking enjoying

Pleasure so great with you

It felt beyond compare

Or should I say Humbert’s

Because there you appeared

In your red Target suit

Dark sunglasses and all

Looking both Lolita and her mum

And then we went

From two to one

Like a sea nymph

Urging me forward

Until we grew nethered

In the deep end together

While nearby the blue wheelbarrow

Stood upended in the dirt

Its arms for legs splayed

Invitingly

Saying to me

So much depends

On the here and the now of it

Wherever you happen

To transplant yourself

Make sure this time

It really counts

That it was shared with you

I find unsurprising

Nor am I perturbed but delighted

By the promise of all the lesser peaks

Between us yet to come

Never Once My Dear Friend, Not Once

Something I have a hard time
Understanding about you
My dear friend
Even after all those years
Not once did you ever pen
A word of complaint

I mean there is nothing more deadening
In the whole fucking world than
Insurance law yet there you were
Ensconced as a corporate VP
In charge of legal affairs
For the Hartford
And never did
You manage a peep

Discounting all the fancy rhetoric
About the emptiness of the snowman and so on
Which you may have intended
As a coded lament about how
Your work life was utterly boring

But for that reason I content myself
At having been the more direct
If less artful poet
Having found similar means
To support myself I nonetheless
Don’t trend so much to abstraction
Or self satisfaction that scribbling
A line or two will ever amount
To a whole hell of a lot more

The Naming Ceremony

We sons of Marv
We partied hard
And learned to live
With immoderate risk
Whether we or the dice
Became more fully loaded
There’s room for continuing debate

But when the time finally came
For me to choose my own name
I chose Blue Flower Poet
With aspirations so clear
It still remains to be seen
Just how well
It may be said
I lived up to it

Poem for My Father

For all those reasons too
I have scribbled in obscurity
Through each day
The alembic drips

Whether defying received wisdom
Or spurning proffered sympathy
Yet still longing in private
For some crumb more
Than self-respect

Towards the Finland Station
You made your way
Constantly crisscrossing
The tracks proceeding
At your own good pace
So restless means seldom bored

Through it all
You composed a song
For a Jazz Combo
Where urban sets the beat
Balanced by a country air
As with strings of longing
Drawn forward
And from student days
Hear the flute's
Lyrical call
While a guitar provides
The loin's true heat

Even to those who
Consider themselves
Of animal or plant parenthood
I say the heart must stay strong
However divided
As two pieces of obsidian
Broken from the self same stone

And so I am
My Father's Son
I swear it
On this very ground
Where he lies today
I leave one half
While the other
I take away

Hey Mr. Archangel

Ending up
In your presence
Later tonight
Will not be quite
By accident

Whether sitting alone
Or with my wife
It was she who
First brought
The notion to mind

Although I should
Also mention
I personally arranged
For an extravagant bouquet
Of white flowers

Two geraniums
On either side
Of a towering
Snap Dragon together
Serve as backdrop
To a teardrop orchid
Ladled on top
Of a green chevron
Why don't you come in
And see for yourself

And this poem in the form
Of a prayer is what
I'm thinking right now
Whether it carries you
Over the threshold or not
Only time will tell

Two by personal invitation
One by intuition
And then as to
The three wishes
Let them come
Straight away
As my heart swings open
Like a garden gate

Perhaps Enlightenment
Always proceeds this way
Cross-crossing
City side streets
And narrow alleyways
Up the back stairs
Until St. Thomas and the others
Arrive with a rustle of wind
And unpack their bags
For a five night stay

To Fellow Members of the Academy

Unsure on which particular day
I first became a member
Of the American Academy
Of those who dabble in verse

I found myself sitting down
From time to time
In front of the typewriter
With an energy that was
Incredibly succinct

Though nearly capable
Of bursting through my capillaries
That’s how sharply it pulsed at times
And how much I found myself
In need of release whether
By means of measured rhyme
Or just the reverse

It came to me
Line by line
Like an extension of my very self
Yet also as if begotten by ghost hand
Powered or perhaps informed
By someone other than I

All the while
It resonated so deeply
From soles to crown
Measuring the totality
Of who and what I am

So now I say
Let poetry itself
Be the foundation’s rock
I don’t need Harriet Monroe
Or anyone else to help decide
In point of fact
And difficult though it may be
To get the news from poems
Let no man die for lack thereof
For want of trying

Qing Chou and Lao Nian

I trouble myself
Now and again
Thinking about
The three stages
In the life of man
Qing Chou and Lao Nian

Wondering where
In their midst
I presently stand
Betwixt the there I go
And the here I am
Not entirely sure
I still know the difference
Between Qing Chou and Lao Nian