The Jacaranda in Spring (Near Rhyme) What discount art inspired this ta… Eleven months a year you’re quite… Too dark and gaunt, we thought, to…

On the podium the sternest of tyra… Yet a dead one’s manic puppet, Claiming now inspired compliance. His baton a thrashing rapier, Forcing eyes to see the fire

Polyphemus Hurt by Schtick (Apologies to Abbot and Costello) When Ulysses poked out Polyphemus… The giant ran to friends, who hear… “Nobody blinded me!” —but then he…

Believing garbage cans are scandal… When battered, making us seem decl… My wife delivered firm commands, a… I threw away a garbage can today. And then a thrilling thought occur…

At a photo op outrageous beyond be… Bush does a little jig between two… back from Iraq with artificial leg… (Oh, you victims, you crippled sac… if only one of you had leaned on…

He could not paint a world that g… For his shimmered softly. His cliffs, cathedrals, seas appe… congenial things of liquid light; and even locomotives seem

I hate the callow ones who think t… And have therefore the right to cr… I hate the ones who charge me twen… So I can try to win a ten-buck pr… I hate the ones whom you will irri…

His Hobby Our Mr. Hughes, retired, was exce… At working wood, and every Yule h… A creche —cut plywood forms to rep… The cast, especially Jesus, whom…

Elephants, Lawrence wrote,* let love bloom slowly “in their vast shy hearts.” But Lawrence dreamed. The beasts, it’s true, were once

Our voices hushed, we slip into the narrow, gloomy room, a taper on the back-wall bar the only source of light. Lou leads us to the wooden chairs,

Our hunters, armed with guns and b… Go forth to thin the numerous deer… So none will starve, we’re to supp… Though that lie causes me to sneer… To jocks karate isn‘t play;

American Ethics An ancient joke tells how a kid wh… his parents out of rage or just fo… Then cons the judge by citing all… He’ll surely suffer as a lonely or…

A poem should be allowed to say something; good ones often have. It isn’t by necessity a fakir’s cabalistic drone

A Wake In Florida’s woods there stands a… Still silo-girthed but leaning now… The trunk bone-white, stripped of… The spectral limbs shattered, gone…

M. The Old Widower’s Effluvium His cachet evolves from subtleties… as he is groomed for an ever small… He doesn’t sweat for he cannot toi… so baths now seem superfluous,