| Date |
Title |
Content |
|
Dear Ann Hibbins |
I hope you now realize
your fellow human... |
|
When In Tune |
They say
if your voice
hits a note... |
|
Why Not |
…to be
like the salmon
able to
blend... |
|
Fair Is Fair |
Dürer's the Knight
presumably
symbolizes... |
|
Beware. |
Easy to scoff at
an ancient
and seemingly... |
|
Stampede |
The leaves hang waiting. Crushed by sun’s... |
|
Do I Know You? |
My heart
cannot help but ache
for you,... |
|
I Salute You |
I love the way
you wrote what you... |
|
Irreverence |
To get ready for any set-to
he had himself... |
|
Not Again. |
Once,
the Phoenix got tired of
being... |
|
(7) |
Seven risque words
have made him... |
|
none again |
...could not resist the recent rash of... |
|
Requiescat |
For whatever reason,
I never witnessed... |
|
The Art of Writing |
You don't believe that writing
is an art by... |
|
Borrowed Words |
There were many that came and passed through... |
|
none |
Splendid lovemaking,
great gift only she... |
|
From Ashes. |
Seems life itself
has been reduced,
thrown... |
|
Nice, Clean Photo |
Tha awkward smile
on his mother's face
was... |
|
Reminiscing Over an Old Photo |
|
|
Poet's Woman |
Your smile
is better than sunlight
to... |
|
******* |
No one will be there
to witness, watch and... |
|
The First. |
There is
a dirty, scrawny orange
in... |
|
Eggscuses, Eggscuses |
immature poets imitate, 'mature' (old like... |
|
????? |
a takeoff on Britts latest.
After... |
|
How Does a Poem Mean. |
I don't care whether
it is the egg
or the... |
|
Cracking the Egg |
My pagan ancestors
drew meaningful... |
|
Laura |
I kept the single copy of her alternate... |
|
About Mycorhizzoids |
My affinity
for roots could well be... |
|
How to Not |
Roots...are attractive.
And precious... |
|
EVENT OF THE SEASON |
It started as an ordinary day.
At five,... |
|
Four-and-Ten |
But once a year
there comes a day
that... |
|
none till further notice |
If I had defied
all the world's... |
|
Bellyfull |
Three squares a day
will do it for me,
but... |
|
Du-uh |
I am certain
Earth is in the middle.
It... |
|
Doubting |
Most
can do
a passable
imitation of
a... |
|
DAY OF THE STAR |
Awaiting winter’s darkest hour
we light the... |
|
STORM BREWING |
inspired by the photo
|
|
Which West |
American West, when recounted
seems never... |
|
Brittdid raise the issue |
Interesting. No two poets are the same, not... |
|
CALAMITY |
From San Francisco to Utica,
evryone has... |
|
Indecisive Observation. |
He stood out.
But the glimpse I got
made... |
|
Consequence Not Known |
After three days
on the train
the first... |
|
The Two-rain Rima's |
in response to Seven Shades of Grey
Each... |
|
Recollection |
As year by year I watch the seasons... |
|
THE GOOD-BY SCREAM/Embrace |
Tonight,
I will not cry,
tonight, I will... |
|
Far away |
Birches, the pale,
stand in tight... |
|
Abandonment (re Alex's book-case) |
Among other
possibly... |
|
Mannequin? |
The body suggests
but the hands and the... |
|
Built in the Twenties |
The wood floor still glows,
carries the... |
|
Idols All |
At one time
(or another)
I might have... |
|
Where Did it Come From |
to: fligt without limits
Above my... |
|
Towers Anywhere |
Stones heaped like this
do not speak to me... |
|
Limer-mag-ic |
|
|
Perpetual Gift |
for:
|
|
untitled transposition from German |
in response to
|
|
IN TRIBUTE TO ISSA |
IN TRIBUTE TO... |
|
Watch Out, Beowulf. |
Britt's Grend(e)l's not your usual... |
|
DATING (triolet a la Bartholomew Griffen) |
(in response to the whole idea)
I’d be so... |
|
Contentment |
Response to
|
|
Viņas atbildi gaidot (for timmy) |
Not sure how workable this is. Typing it in... |
|
Waiting for Your Answer - a Canopus in re Last Light |
Within life’s hurried, quick, relentless... |
|
untitled -response to Domus Eternalis |
Twixt two eternities,
twin halves of... |
|
untitled |
it is better
to drink water
from an old... |
|
Unguarded House |
Time
glides through our abodes, spills... |
|
Home Is the Sailor (Self- portrait as a House) |
My father
would have loved to own
one of... |
|
The End of It |
The whole darn world was ours to... |
|
Fourth World? |
for
|
|
Too Far Away |
...in response to
|
|
haiku? |
clearly, her voice is
an invitation to... |
|
Discovery |
For the photo
|
|
Gypsy |
Your playfull smile, your dusky face
a... |
|
Not a Poppy |
“Pretty flower tell me
why did you grow
at... |
|
Is it Too Soon?: |
Looking for an answer
the morning... |
|
MY MOTHER’S KNITTING BASKET |
With fuzzy yarn, wrapped twice around,
the... |
|
(tanka) |
I miss the barking
and the scratching at... |
|
Prairie Woman |
Windtorn
she stands, alone,
lifting her... |
|
Dare I Ask? |
Are we here
in a world of nothing
but... |
|
Strange, that. |
The can of sardines
I ate from last... |
|
Consolation |
This is
what it may be like
beginning to... |
|
So Much for Myths |
Wonder if Hera
had any grounds for
being... |
|
Doggone |
I miss the wagging
and the scratching at... |
|
Swiftie |
The tub in our house is quite lonely:
we... |
|
deja vu |
seems Delacroix
was prescient.
How else... |
|
THERE’S MORE THAN RAIN IN SPAIN |
Have you heard of the Man from La... |
|
No Room for Modesty |
It was a big old freighter
converted to a... |
|
Dachau |
When blackout was the rule
and jail for... |
|
Reconciliation |
I do not hate you,
not since I grew... |
|
Indecision |
A blank white page is
unremarkable
when... |
|
Quitting Time |
My fingers caress
her slender form,
and,... |
