Some boy had to climb sky
To make trees green sticks

Like little children’s bones
So they don’t break on fall.

A tree stood on our street
Some boy had not climbed.

Against recent wind in rain
It had no green stick bones.

(Reading Robert frosts’ poem “Birches” )



It is not to say that the plums
Have grown cold and sweet

A daily sun has eaten plums
For our tomorrow breakfast.

He is who had ripened them
And caused them to wrinkle.

There shall be no breakfast
There will be no tomorrow.

(after William Carlos Williams poem “Just to say”)

Susanna and the elders 

Susanna turns immortal
By lusting elders’ passes.

Elders are dead by flesh
Watching flesh, in water.

Poetry  is dead by a  sun
But flows through living.

(After reading Wallace Stevens poem Peter Quince at the claviour)


The librarian’s ship sailed away
And the dog’s too that drooled.
Their ships sailed to darkness.

You may mark their eating habit
Eating others poems in library.
Not stranded , Mark his poetry.

Remembering the great poet of our time Mark Strand (1934-2014)


At Sunset ,you cross the bar,
With evening star and being

Put out to the sea’s vastness,
You turn no longer sea-sick.

Cricket creaks sunset of hill.
A pilot smiles from vastness.

( a self-elegy on the lines of Tennyson’s poem Crossing the bar)


World is sentence I must parse
For sense,as syntactical whole.
It is my sentence ,a voice, a lie.

Before you find parts of speech
Your sentence gets carried out.
Never know what fuck is about.


We come here, on a bicycle
To address mock hectoring

From the pulpit of unbelief
Curious about another side

To address a pile of silences
Sitting on a dappled sunset.

(Reading Philip Larkin’s poem NO Road)