Poesy’s Progress
My rhymes are gone, at least quite
my lines are stop–
ped just anywhere.
The meter is, no doubt, unconscion

The Afghan women, dreading stones
don sacks of baggy black,
concealing them from crown to sole
excepting narrow Brink-truck slots
through which the men folk let the

Poetry Editors To Poets
Don’t send us dull pentameters;
That stuff’s for Keats and other
Submit no rhyme, but heaven knows
We hate a poem that sounds like pr

I know you mean the best for me,
But why is there this urgency?
If once you really had the time
To praise my attributes in rhyme,
I wonder if procrastination

Intuition Tacticians
(News Item:Scientists photographe
A woman finds the truth in ways a
Can’t grasp, and science proves th
To know at once if men are good in

Gimme That Ole-Time Religion
Needy ancients were aggrieved
If prayers’s goals were not achiev
And beat the god in stone or tree
For what they thought its treacher

Old novels have their faults, but
I’m sure we’d all rush out to buy
If on the jacket lovely Hester tr
To show us all a little cleavage a
New credit cards could quickly sto

The Lawyer to Mrs. Brown:
“Did you have intimate relation wi
Mrs. Brown‘s reply:
“Oh, yes, I must admit it’s true;
He helped me frost my hair one tim

What discount art inspired this ta
Eleven months a year you’re quite
Too dark and gaunt, we thought, to
By breaking out in garments so biz
But just when nature tries to be a

I see the merit in Hemingway’s ch
the sudden casting of oneself upo
but I would like to go more slowly
from different categories: first p
then, one after another, lower bac