A Short Poem About Poetry

Another poem about poetry I'm afraid.  How droll.  No one really wants to know or cares but in case there's someone out there who does.... 


 A Short Poem About Poetry


It's not so much
A matter of trochee
Or synedoche
Not that they're
Inconsequential

But I primarily
Care how a poem
Falls on the inner ear
Whether composed
While walking the dogs
Around the block
Or at home alone
With Artie Shaw
In the background

For me
Words unspoken
By the breath
Carry the purest
Possible sound
That I can only
Hear when I write
Them down

Short Rhyme for the Greatest Minds of this Generation

Here's a short rhyme I devised on my way home from the store tonight, it helped no doubt that I was swinging a bag of heavy groceries to get a good rhythm going.


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And why is it

We have seen some of

The greatest minds

Of this generation

End up wasting their

Time online first

On Facebook

And then Twitter

As if there's nothing that matters

That can’t be expressed

By instant messenger or

In 140 characters

Or less I mean

Poem Written in Reply to Greg

But time really

Can't be wasted
Since we don't own it
In the same way
It may be said
We own all our

Other assets 

Because time

By definition 
Is a wasting asset
Anything we really
Do with it

With full heart and mind
Can only enhance
Our abiding sense

Of what Nothing

Is more truly worth

Ode to Mister Apology (II)

That something
Could be so personal
And still anonymous
Was an important part
Of the discovery of
The undercover work
That you did

That Truth likes
To wear all sorts
Of disguises
More playful
And bashful
Than misleading
In intent
For how would
She otherwise ever
Feel comfortable
Displaying herself
In the broad light of day

Poem Written in a Coffee Shop on 29th Street

It might be

Right there

In front of you

Because some

Of the world’s

Greatest discoveries

Just happen by

Serendipity

Juan said to me

Sitting in a midtown

Coffee shop the other day

When he turned my way

And noticed my glazed

Distracted look

And then one of

Reality’s hidden dimensions

Began to cohere right there

On the page in front of me

Just like a pop up book

As I realized the clarity

Of a picture depends

Not only on the aperture

Of the lens’ setting

But also that of the heart

As it ranges from fear

In the extreme

To something more open

To the plenitude of light

A Grammatical Lapse or Two

Just recently

My mom tsk tsked

Me for a grammatical lapse

In an email I sent

When I wrote Me

Instead of I as any

Second grader

Should have  

Known better 

And I lamely replied

That having dispensed

With punctuation

In deference to style

I felt it my prerogative

To abandon grammar

As well if and when

I felt so inclined

That being part

Of the basic liberty

To which I subscribed

When I signed up as

A practitioner of the art

Of completely free verse

Not standing beholden

To any truth higher

Than the hope of

More pleasurably serving

My listeners’ ears

A Poem for Deflationary Times

There are no more
Or less than three sides
To a coin even in the most
Deflationary of times
Not failing to count
The perimeter

On the one hand
I just bought
A cup of coffee
For exactly
One dollar
In a gourmet shop
In midtown
For the first time
Going back
Beyond my recall

And on the other
It would taste
Much less bitter if
I had a good steady job
Instead of sipping
From the cup
So timidly 
Prolonged by the
Fear of coming
Adversity

But clearly there's no point
In waiting around on the outside
Chance something good is
Going to happen
Because the future depends
On nothing but the sweat
Of my own brow
As it drips and mixes
With the ink that's setting
On the pages of the
Very next volume 
Set to roll off
Roll Your Own Press
While also for display on any
Atavist  friendly device
And then out the door to address
Whatever hard money fate
Happens to await me