• Three Poems


    Coaxing the

    Cyclone, Tempting the Tempest

    Yesterday, torrents of tears
    Poured down relentlessly
    From the corner of the great
    Eye in the sky. Today’s dawn
    Is pregnant with dark, gray
    Omens of nimbus clouds.
    Coaxing the cyclone, tempting
    The tempest, I anxiously
    Await the raging fists of free
    Versing or rhyming rain
    To hit landfall and pummel
    The rusty, corrugated roof
    And the green-and-white
    Striped window sills of my
    Imagination, windblown
    By what howling inspiration.
    This is the subtlest storm,
    The monsoon of metaphors,
    The typhoon of muted text
    That confounds a seasoned
    Weatherman and makes
    Its arrival and departure,
    Such sudden coming and
    Going totally unpredictable!

    * * *

    Blank Space

    “When the Mona Lisa was stolen from the Louvre Museum in Paris in 1911 and was missing for two years, more people went to stare at the blank space than had gone to look at the masterpiece in the 12 previous years.”
    —Barbara Cortland, Book of Useless Information

    The abovementioned information,
    Far from being entirely useless,
    Is the incontrovertible proof that
    A blank space in all its epic glory
    And magnificence–even in the absence
    Of a an impressive, intricate golden
    Or silver frame–is a work superior
    To the vaunted La Gioconda, or any
    Other masterpiece for that matter,
    Since a blank space grips the viewer’s
    Winged fantasy, tighter than a raptor’s
    Razor-sharp talons, inspiring it to
    Soar in the expanseless blue of sky
    With the prismatic eye and hologram
    Vision of a denizen of Mount Olympus—
    Not through a mere mortal voyeur’s
    Keyhole sight. Behold! an epic blank
    Space, O flawless and limitless, is
    The window of immortality no vain
    Masterpiece of art, caged within a
    Frame, can ever match or surpass!

    * * *

    Arse Poetica

    Writing poetry is like jumping into the Grand Canyon.
    It’s emotionally and mentally back-breaking.
    It’s a dazzling pyrotechnics of sound and sense.
    It’s grammatologically and textually breathtaking.
    It’s metaphorically suspenseful and cliff-hanging.
    It’s infinitely rewarding in discovery and epiphany.
    You don’t know what to expect next. Whether it
    Will be an immortal success or a monumental bust.
    Whether your song will live or die, or both, like
    Schrodinger’s quantum cat! At any rate, good luck,
    Wordsmith wizard or flip flopping prodigal poetaster.
    Bon voyage to your epic omanotopoeaic odyssey!


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