poetica (antiquus)

Some of my very old poems…

Laundry List

piles of clean clothes

dirty clothes

white clothes

(grey from not using bleach clothes)

colored clothes

wet clothes

dog-haired and dusty from being on the floor clothes

Clean them Dry them Dump

them on my bed

Sort them

My clothes his clothes

their clothes

hang-up clothes

drawer clothes

underwear socks linens for the closet making

piles and finally delivering

put mine away

put some of his away

put all of theirs in a basket and

dump it in their


on the floor

Someday they’ll decide

to fold their own clothes

but now they can practice

just making piles

underwear socks shirts and sheets

and pants and pajamas

and then just stuff it all in

their drawers

or walk on them for a few days.

                                     March 12 1993


I sit on the porch, somewhat hidden by an old yew
and think about things: how I’m going to redo, undo
my life…my tomorrows…and the people who live in
homes hidden away here on this quiet street. I don’t
often see them outside. I think they might be lonely.
Ms. Miriam (I asked the postman) has eight cats so
empty tins pile – up quickly in her bin.  Mieu Perdu
Lost Meow visits me after finishing some tuna hash.
Eerie Eckhart (not his real name) is the strange one.
Sometime, I’d like to invite them to dinner; I will
solace them. But I need a job, a place, and soup. 

                                                      Newport, ca. 1995

Springtime in an Old House

What started as a trickle

seeping from an unnoticed crack,

when winter snows were warming

and rain-soaked skies were coming,

found a flow-line in my basement,

towards a sump-pump, often fickle,

in a corner towards the back.

A fountain-pool of tinkling droplets

quietly collected as I slept.

Soon spring gathered volume and velocity;

by night, its sources gained variety.

Now in my boots and with my broom,

and frantic tinkering with the float,

I’m sweeping water from a moat.

Newport, RI

April 17, 1996 (Revised 4/02/12)

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