void

void of all dispersals
in the winter's coming gale
or something Sunday pale
like anything reversals

make for another shore
like birds famishing there
in bushes and midair
behind and before

qualitudes beatities
bamboozlings and quares
where any dares
forego the inanities

positions postilioning
the carriage trade
where any ready-made
trifling pause to sing

here they come o hear
with radar and bands
in all hands
surrounding their cheer

homage to Charles M. Schulz

he died trading art for flowers
in his antepenultimate
Sunday strip

DGA

D.W. Griffith is out
so Steven Spielberg may be in

burly-Q

I admonish you no that
isn't it reflect on this
here a ways about revolve
this in your earways look
awhile on this I say

remarkably hostile and keen
this forcefulness you pine
over and wonder about
it's not this thing or that
it's something else you wonder at

not acknowledgeable by you or its
wonderfulness not hitherto
it goes and where it is
there you can wander freely
nor care if ever any

the lamentableness of positionings

      So what is this I make a sorrow of?
      Frost

sometimes they haven't had time
to establish women in the house
and set up roots these pioneers
wherever everybody is not yet sooner

tulips for a taw

Tom Sawyer's taw is worth two tulips
on the open market but these compooters
grand for popular amusement too
are worth three or four easy

Commentary:

When it comes to Schulz and Spielberg and Tom Sawyer, things are as they are and you squib them or not, it's a turn of phrase or a trick, or etching a little brand on the mavericks.

Other positions are less vague. New things don't always pitch tent in the desert and roll out red carpet all at once. Saying so is for them.

Foreground and background suspend the item under discussion. There it is, something neither here nor there you might say.

A duty devolved upon the writer, to disgorge his contents and fulfill its requirements. Saying so is for him.