For G.S.

. . . only because it was a Thursday

(which is her Monday),

and she was walking as though

carrying something heavy

(albeit not in her hands),

and I thought I heard her sigh,

and recalled Lonnie

(who you might not know)

not Lonnie who was always

pawning his wedding band

so he could feed the penny slots

or Lonnie from The Hill

who always seemed to be

half a slice short

of a sandwich,

but Lonnie from

'Lonnie's Lament'

(and here she

cocks her head and

wrinkles her nose

saying "Who?")

because whatever blew

his rain so sideways

inspired John William to put

a saxophone between his

lips and blaze

a lamentation

which matches

her Monday motion,

a wistful grace

with piano lines almost

lengthy as her legs

and a bassline that

plunges like her hair

when she combs it

into a black Niagra

which she doesn't know makes me wish

I could spend

the rest of my days

naked and trembling

in a wooden barrel,

falling forever through

its obsidian mist.

A Decent Day

I was waiting for the bus outside the Borgata casino when I turned around and looked in the direction of Philly and this haiku presented itself to me;

Atop their stalks

these windmills slicing, slicing-

the quarter moon.

This is an older poem that I finally found the right ending to.

MAN CARRYING TUNE
(after Wallace Stevens)

A poem must seduce
the senses most successfully.

Illustration:
A noir figure (back-turned) on stage
entices an audience of eyes.

The muted blues he trumpets
entice even the least open ears.

Accept them then, as key
(notes almost perceived
as known melodies,

uncertain notation of certain chords,
the roots full of doubt,

notes floating like the last of Autumn Leaves
on a soft breeze that could swirl all night,
on a key breeze of cobalt notes),

A cascade of sensation
now fully falling.

We will bathe
In these sensations all song,
as a blue mysterious

beckons in the dark.


(For Miles Davis)

SIJO IN BLUE

The Sijo (SHE-jo) is a Korean form, similar to its younger cousin haiku. They are written in 3 lines and contain no more than 46 syllables. Unlike haiku, metaphor, simile and other wordplay is permitted.


I pace the beach at dawn,
my footsteps, haiku in sand

I ask the whitecaps, why Derrion,
why only sixteen?

Lake Michigan falls on its shore,
the Hawk wheels and wails above.

A Few Haiku

I have been writing (or trying to write) haiku for over 12 years. It's only in the last couple of days that I feel like I may finally have a firm grasp of the form. This is exciting for me, because I feel like I can now begin to write a few decent pieces. We'll see; anyway here are some older attempts that I've revised.


summer sunset-
a woman crying into
her cellphone

country road-
our brakes screech at
a squirrel

Spring shower-
a white cat under the
drycleaner’s awning

summer shimmer-
that woman talking to herself
wears two coats

March wind –
The white king topples on
the chess table

the white moon-
kissing my uncle's name
in black granite

Sunrise- only lipstick in my wineglass

after the snowstorm-
not one loaf of bread
on this store's shelves

a cowrie shell in her dreadlocks-

the North star

spring sunlight-
dust devils dancing
after the broom

summer lightning-
the edge of your teeth
on my nipple

August heat-
the man in front of the bank
begs for change

sunrise-
three men shiver outside
Kogod's Liquors

at the red light-
the rain on the windshield
stops

bright afternoon-
After that swooping hawk
this swirling feather