>>> 1st NEW POEM I HAVE WRITTEN IN 3 YEARS; NOW YOU MIGHT KNOW WHY <<<


from “The Nine Types of Poets” (sketches)


Nine?  There are at least 69 of ‘em
inside,
wanting out,
Warden.

Pay attention, please -
and as you should -

to the ones banging about most loudly
against the cages,
to be sure -

but also, please kind Sir,
take thoughtful, wise care
with the quieter ones;

one helps the other. 

Let them out and see what
horrors, and glorious failures, and
attempts at [the current definition of] sanity
will soon follow

like an army.

Damn them torpedoes;
Full speed ahead,
As some writers of verse
Whom lay waste
To their own preconception of themselves
May very well accede.

IN HONOR OF MS. STREEP and IN HORROR OF MARGARET THATCHER, here is an old poem from my personal, mold-infested vault:

Margaret Thatcher Declares An End to War

Then she took a walk around the head;  nothing there, went out.

Grabbed a fistful of yen, went ‘round back to Babylon.

Ate a dog, spermed a whale, thrust javelins to Dr. Caligari’s eyes.

Grew tusks!  Had one removed at the dentist’s.

Called home, spoke to deceased Father, and Mother;

Inquired of comatose Siamese sister.

‘This contagion,’ she later told doctors, ‘had just given birth.’

She was lying.