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.



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)