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DEMOCRACY
Democracy unfortunately Gives voice to those With no convictions— Who vote to kill debate. Debate is freedom And progress, yet it’s loud. A dirty faction preys on those with no convictions Who want...
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POETS WHO RHYME
Bad! Bad poets who rhyme! You don’t let the other poets have a good time. It’s like when a table over there Is laughing and your group feels a tinge of panic and despair. J.P. Morgan ordered an air...
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HOW CAN A POET LOVE LACK OF SPEECH
How can a poet love lack of speech? Speech that ponders all that is, Speech that dreams of all that was? How can a poet insult his thoughts Kissing you as he does? How can a poet possibly drop Cloak,...
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THE INTENTION IS ALL
If she still loves you, maybe she will appear When you do, but the important thing Is her intention. If she’s accidentally there, Keep your distance, and be careful; don’t stare. If she’s feeling weak...
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WHERE ONE LESS LOVING
OK we get it. You can do one thing well— But, eventually, even too much heaven Turns into hell. Too much Milton and Shakespeare Caused the poets to sin. The lovely songs of Mozart led To this banging...
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TRYING TO MAKE WORDS MUSIC
Trying to make words music, The poet failed, forgetting there was music. The poet somehow believed obscurity Was a melody. The poet somehow perceived That when words grieved, we grieved. But the words...
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QUALIFIED GIVING
Ah giving something with strings Attached: our lover, who sings, Practiced his song for hours. Everything comes with a price: flowers, A scholarship, a grant, a gift, A loan—which lends itself to...
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LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT
Love at first sight? Does it really happen? Even though people often testify they married their “love at first sight,” I doubt “love at first sight” exists. Those who feel they experienced it, were,...
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IT’S YOUR MOON
The words will be famous, not me, To put it simply and politely. In every single case I would rather see your face. They say words are a comfort— That’s not true! I would rather be with you. Yes,...
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WHERE SHALL I BE?
Where shall I be? Shall I be in this poem, where I am happy? When I am writing this I am filled with bliss Because poetry Is a pleasant place to be. But a poem is tiny Compared to the world where I...
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YOUR NAME
Come into this poem with me. We can reside In its lines of forgiveness. Shame cannot be. It can only hide. Everything I was is hidden In these routines. Yesterday I noticed the tide So far out,...
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I GAVE YOU ME
You will now spend the rest of your life With the ordinary friend, Doing ordinary things As, with increasing sadness, you wait for your life to end. On the day of your death, when doctors and...
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DELMORE’S NEWS
I hold the bad news in my hand—your biography Which spends almost no time on the poetry. The book I toss on the bed will end when you die. We’re in the 1950s now, your wife has just left And you’re...
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YOU HINTED EXQUISITELY
You hinted exquisitely that things were not right And I had better take care if you were to be loved On a weekend during the summer in the middle of the night. Your rumors were better than mine. Mine...
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NOTHING IS FORGOTTEN
It’s Psychology 101: Memory is made of bone; Nothing is forgotten. Whatever you did, whatever happened to you: This is precisely what you are going to do. An ancient Greek play sang of fate impossible...
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EVIL ALWAYS ADVANCES
Finding out what it can do, It keeps doing it, Until it becomes a good— Compared to what it goes on to do. This disgusting pleasure is a gift to you. Desperation hardens into tradition; Horror is now...
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NOTHING IS A PAINTING
Nothing is a painting, Though it may look like one, Or a photograph of one Might seem like one. Nothing moves inside your house, And the clouds don’t move, lying at ease Above the surrounding hills....
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IN SCARRIET POETRY BASEBALL, BOSTON SECRETS REMAIN STRONG; FOUR DIVISIONS...
Jean Cocteau has fooled everyone. He’s the new bullpen ace for the Universe. Ben Franklin’s Boston Secrets have a commanding 9 game lead to go with their league-leading 61 wins in the Society...
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PARDON ME THAT THIS LOVE
Pardon me that this love is not sincere, or pure. All I know of love is what has gone before. If I seem to love you, oh, be sure I do, But love cannot love one, nor can it stop at two. So what loves...
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WHAT DOES IT MATTER?
Those subtle insights by the corrupt priests led me astray. Poetry’s a rare thing, for the sensitive poet As sensitive as he is, still must be a beautiful creature, And physically experience the joy...
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