A Poem by Thomas Piekarski

Chantilly

1.

 

The tide dribbles out,

seabirds practically inert.

A lone tugboat

moored in darkness.

 

That tide replenishes

its every essence

reflected by a brilliant

abalone moon.

 

2.

 

The finger-rolled basketball

dipped inside the hoop

then Englished out

just as the buzzer

ended the game.

 

This unfortunate twist

resulted in a prolonged

losing streak.

 

3.

 

The pulse that requires

a neutron powered stethoscope

to detect it just may

contain only scant traces

of hints that anything moves.

 

4.

 

You bet I despise those

incredibly crude impostors,

surly sorcerers

sorely lacking pathos.

 

I mean the bourgeois

leeches who preach

that money begets freedom.

 

And I can’t help but abhor

those sometimes skittish,

overwhelmingly scandalous

internet coquettes

who slather blogs all day

with their copious photos,

fodder for the curious octopus.

 

In endless effort

to promote their personas

they pound pylons deep

into slithery quicksand.

 

No terra firma for them.

No need, they think,

 

totally convinced

they’re dynamos

on a roll, champions

of the system

or captains of luxurious

ocean liners.

 

What they eventually construct

are bully pulpits, launching pads

from which to pitch the innocent,

bilk them of their heritage.

 

They feverishly seek

any means by which

to propel rampant

and insipid pomposity

that bans credibility.

 

 

 

 

Thomas Piekarski is a former editor of the California State Poetry Quarterly. His theater and restaurant reviews have been published in various newspapers, with poetry and interviews appearing in numerous national journals, among them Portland Review, Main Street Rag, Kestrel, Scarlet Literary Magazine, Cream City Review, Nimrod, Penny Ante Feud, New Plains Review, Poetry Quarterly, The Muse-an International Journal of Poetry, and Clockhouse Review. He has published a travel guide, Best Choices In Northern California, and Time Lines, a book of poems. He lives in Marina, California.