Every Seven Years it Shed it’s Skin (Pierre Alechinsky, etching)

featured in the poetry forum February 18, 2015  :: 0 comments

Every seven years
along with its skin
like an inflated balloon
emptying itself of air
it sheds its past
and the knowledge it had won
through swamps, villages
and gardens of myth
the reason it was created
as a metaphor for sin

Every seven years
it grows more beautiful
spotted, speckled and striped
re-filled with ravenous air
reborn to seduce again
in its conquest of the soul.

editors note:

Serpentine seducer or subject of human obsession? Who seeks whom? (See the art which inspired Neil’s ekphrasis here. Check it out!) – mh

Ascension of Polkadots on the Trees
(after the installation by Yayoi Kusama)

featured in the poetry forum December 1, 2013  :: 0 comments

The trees along the garden path
and along the city streets
are dying of polkadots
feverish, choked by the fumes
of passing buses, cars
and indifferent passersby
they have shed their leaves
grown weak, listless,
inarticulate even to other trees
even in spring unable to bloom
while puppies urinate at their feet—
they ask on bended knees:
O god of trees and polkadots
why has thou forsaken us?

editors note:

Eradicate the host and the pox recedes. To bad for the host, very good for the trees. (Nice to have this ekphrastic utterance from our Contributing Poet, Neil. Google the title to see the art which inspired the art.) – mh

The Magic of the Dawn

featured in the poetry forum October 24, 2012  :: 0 comments

It’s what we all think:
there is no such thing
as magic
all sleight of hand
trap doors and mirrors
nothing is real
or what it seems

as when the magician
waves his wand
and his assistant is
halved and disappears
and with another wave
returns again
as if always there

but there are no hollow boxes
filled with mumbo jumbo words
misdirection and trickery
when the sun magically halved
then concealed by night
re-emerges from the sea.

editors note:

Whaddaya mean, no magic? Just yestereve the damn thing was going down; then, when I saw it again this morn, it was going up. Seems like magic to me!!! – mh

Journey of the Spirit

featured in the poetry forum November 20, 2011  :: 0 comments

Having arrived
journey done
drifting on feathers
burnt through
a sputtering flame
licking its own wounds
after so many miles
millennia of appetite
and sky—
who would have thought
the earth would be so

editors note:

A shivering soar and glide to roost, but not rest, on an empty stomach. Cold, indeed! – mh

Prufrock Redux

featured in the poetry forum July 20, 2011  :: 0 comments

I am old
Prufrockian old
(I am told)
My toes are cold
Teeth filled with gold
I cannot hold
A fork.

I am old
A very old

(Not bold
I am told)
There is mold
In the rolled
Of my cuffs.

Don’t scold
I am too old.

editors note:

Keep yer admonitions to yerselves, youngsters! After so many years, “no excuse” is the best we can offer. – mh

Rotting Bird

featured in the poetry forum June 6, 2011  :: 0 comments

(after the painting by Salvador Dalí, 1928)

Sooner or later
Everything rots
Bananas, artichokes,
Wood, stone, and bronze
Paint and poetry
Our very flesh—
Even a lifeless bird
Hanging from
A tree
For the wind
To change
To spread
Its wings again.

editors note:

Sometimes we forget to take out the garbage, flying instead on a vagrant wind, indulging our Dali – ance. – mh