Dead beat

I am on to dead beat poet
Who once was anti-clock.

He never liked clock’s face.
He would prefer a sundial.

But sundial was pro-clock
That moved with shadow

In park I chase my shadow
In usual anti-clock rounds.

I see other clockwise faces.
Their hands quickly climb.

The faces have an urgency
Of sun flower toward dusk.

 

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Calming sounds

This night’s calming sounds
Are of sea’s waves with gulls

To kind of oblivion one loves
As by Ashbery , since passed

Beyond anyone’s conjecture.
If it is difficult to open poem

Come inside to hear sea gulls
Trespassing your bird passes.

Gulls are waves of a thought,
Late night music to compose

And now it is raining outside.
We are composing our wave

The poem about an oblivion,
A sea where old poets went.

(reading John Ashbery’s poem Not Beyond All Our Conjecture)