Five Double-Title Poems

The double-title poem (a form invented by the author) has two five line stanzas. Titles are limited to one word each. The first title reads into the poem or states its opening motif. The first word in stanza two is identical to the first title and is italicized. At least one word in the last two lines of the second stanza rhymes with the exit title.
Poems may be metrical or open. If open, lines should be as even in length as pos-sible. End rhyme is to be avoided, but internal rhyme is welcome. Punctuation is inventive, with use of the Dickinson dash to create pauses—and disconnects.
Double-title poems respect both locality and spooky action at a distance. By treating language as both particle and wave double-titles aim to provide the aesthetic pleasure of both fixed and open form.



Sat by the Aegean. Working on a tragedy.
Unaware of the eagle, circling above him.
He had already finished his beginning and
middle; just needed the peripeteia to end
(which the eagle held, safe in its beak, for

Aeschylus.) Birds know how to break open
a turtle shell to feast on the succulent meat
within. Drop it on a likely rock—from way
up in the sky. Eagle was myopic. Poet, bald.
Turtle smashed the father of tragedy’s head




Making. Done when you negotiate prenup
(or divorce) or comprehensive  legislation.
Messy! Fingers in intestine of goat or pig—
even a horse! Hold nose. Mash and season
imaginary meat. Cookin’ up metaphorical

Sausage! Simply make the THING itself
and the end usually justifies the means—
Sausage & peppers! Sausage & meatballs!
In an omelet! On a pizza! Pish! Who cares
how the hell it’s made?—If it’s a heavenly




Is at it’s best when you return after two years
at sea; enter your shanty and there’s your bed,
your desk, your ceiling, floor. You even feel
fondness for that awful “art work” on the wall.
You sit on the porch with your mate. Revel in

Familiarity. Sleeping together for almost 50 years.
Visiting haunts together an umpteenth time. Dining
at a favorite inn. Ordering the dish you always do.
As for that Big Bad Wolf Cliché? You’re exempt.
Familiarity can just as well breed Love and Joy as




Hangs heavy on our hands once it stops flying.
Waits for no man, but halts in the middle of the
road for Elizabeth Bishop’s Moose. All agree:
Time is Money in disguise; but when it comes
to how much an hour’s worth—we differ BIG

Time. In Seattle, 15 dollars. In Harare, 50 cents.
In Washington, 114 million on the U.S. national
debt. The good news? Andy’s Wingèd Chariot
has our back! Father T so vast he heals ALL
(though we do our best to kill ’im when ’e’s)




I’ll write a love song if you cover it for me.
Where would Hoagy’s Stardust be without
Bing Crosby? Where would Eden Ahbez be
minus Nat King Cole? I’ll gladly supply the
love, joy, grief, wonder. All you need do is           

Cover. I’ve attached an MP3 so you can hear
me croak my heart out. Your voice, far more
moving than mine—even without the violins.
Nobody knows my name. That’s so WRONG.
Cover me. So the world’ll know I wrote your


David Alpaugh

If you have any comments on these poems (or on the Double-Title form that he has invented) David Alpaugh would be pleased to hear from you.