Back then, time ticked loudly,
clocks ran faster than chipmunks.
Young bones were fueled by green grenades,
I needed speedbumps for my brain.
Mother said that If I lived to be a man
I would be all strewn about
like a crow-pecked scarecrow.
Eventually I discovered
a way to give words a meaning
outside of the hide-bound and buckram dictionary.
Naturally I had to surrender some grammatical logic
for a more fanciful argot.
It was only then that my pipsqueak prattle
had the effrontery to call itself ‘poetry.’
Now in n my grizzly elder state,
I still remain a rare bird,
ever bamboozled by age-worn chalk-talk,
or any jargon
that refuses to jump out of its own skin.
Categories:
avis, poetry,
Form: Free verse
Now I do reminisce
but not without pain,
there are times I recall
with some tears to restrain.
Reflecting on years
and the ones no doubt lost,
realities turn
my emotional cost!
Carry on best I can
such a wound never heals,
the façade as presented
and the hurt it conceals.
Missing my Wife Avis
on her 60th birthday
7/10/61 - 8/28/2016
Categories:
avis, grief, heartbroken, missing you,
Form: Rhyme
a poetry is a divine avis that lives in the heart of love
Categories:
avis, allegory, allusion, bird, metaphor,
Form: Monoku
Like all things related to screwballs
and misfits
I was born looking for a word
inside a clock.
Back then, time ticked loudly,
clocks ran faster than chipmunks.
Young bones were fueled by green grenades
plucked from low-hanging life-lines.
I needed words to save the world,
I needed a clock-case to store them in,
I needed speedbumps for my brain.
Mother said that If I lived to be a man
I would be all strewn about
like a crow-pecked scarecrow.
Eventually I discovered
a way to make words bespoke,
to give them meaning
outside of the hide-bound
and buckram dictionary.
Naturally I had to invent my own time-machine,
and had to surrender to a fanciful argot.
For a long while, only blithe revenants
and their little helpers
could read my tenuous tidings.
It was only when my pipsqueak prattle
had the effrontery to call itself ‘poetry’
that some said sadly
that I may be ever so slightly explicable.
Alas mother was right, there is only the clock,
and it runs on mechanical words,
and so I remain a rare bird
bamboozled by age-worn chalk-talk,
a jargon that refuses
to jump out of its own skin.
Categories:
avis, poetry,
Form: Free verse
A gorge cut deep, the river pain,
recall a life, with some refrain.
Memories lapse to shallow breaths,
burdened by your wrongful death.
Life anew, infertile fields,
for happiness, no crop shall yield.
I miss you so, just everyday,
how life as cast, a tragic play!
In memory of my wife, Avis.
Born this day July 10th 1961
Lost to me, August 28th 2016
Categories:
avis, death, heartbreak, wife,
Form: Rhyme
The Snow Bird
NIX AVIS
They call me a Snow Bird
But that metaphor is absurd
Letting you know I hate the Snow.
Year round summer only way to go.
Best living in good weather
Withoutt wearing sweaters.
I move South out of winter's reach
And head to our condo in Clearwater Beach.
Condo living is the place for me
With water view and close to the sea.
No grass to cut, no dirt to shovel
Not involved in that kind of trouble.
Car, train, or plane will get you there
But a few things I'd like to share.
Make a list before you arrive:
Early Bird Special closes at five.
Vodka Gimlet and Whiskey Sours
Are cheap drinks during Happy Hours.
Don't forget your Handicap sticker
Will find parking spots much quicker.
Do head North in middle of May
Before love bugs and no-seeums come into play.
Something I almost forgot
Leave Florida before it gets hot.
So isn't life grand
With surf, sun, and warm beach sand?
Categories:
avis, beach, how i feel,
Form: Ode
2 years somehow have slipped on by
that day you passed away.
Leaving me this pool of tears,
the grief, too much to bear.
So young you were to depart,
left me here with broken heart.
Takes time they say, the wounds will heal,
but life without remains surreal.
I had this hope, that you would mend,
held tight your hand until the end.
I do my best, I really try,
each day I think of you.
To find happiness in memories,
still,
can't help but cry.
Avis Hughes 7/10/1961 - 8/28/2016
Categories:
avis, anniversary, how i feel,
Form: Rhyme
(Best read with this poem's theme music playing)
"BLACK SWAN THEORY"
Free Agent
Black Swan Theory
White Pearl rolling in
Some kind of Black Pearl World
Black Swan Theory
Decoded, Fragile Love Songs Broken in
Some Kind of Black Pearl World
Red Shoes Dance Home with the Witch-Way Girl
Decoded, Fragile Love Songs Broken in
Free Agents' Escape Dossier, you’re handed free tokens
Red Shoes Dance Home with the Witch-Way Girl
Vapid Vanilla Kisses, Black Marzipan my Villain's Secret Kisses Unfurl
Free Agents' Escape Dossier, you’re handed free tokens
Love’s Bullets melting Hot Ice Heart
Vapid Vanilla Kisses, Black Marzipan my Villain's Secret Kisses Unfurl
Diamond Hieroglyphics My Windows on Your World
(Lovejoy-Burton/April 2018)
"rara avis in terris nigroque simillima cygno"
"Subway"/Peter Murphy
https://youtu.be/iiUOUNubUW4
https://genius.com/Peter-murphy-subway-epilogue-lyrics
Categories:
avis, love, romance,
Form: Pantoum
I believe in you.
Our souls streaked through a dark night
You touched me
As we crossed each others wind whipped tales.
One thousand leagues,watery expanse
Distance us.
Our pen and transcendence speak with
Flawless lucidity.
We are unique,flawed
We rise,we collide
We forgive,we heal.
Together ,in solitude.
Prometheus backs
Broken, deep fissures
Rara Avis,we
Plucked of feathers,exposed
Consider this,
We are the chosen ones.
Rawly sustaining our lashes
That will bare the beauty
Of our souls.
Categories:
avis, friend, inspirational, introspection, love,
Form: Free verse
Hey there Avidian
who do you
think you are?
Some rara avis
eminently gifted?
a New Age prophet
with memory that learns
and yearns to grow?
Ovidian offspring
of eminent domain?
The yeuk to replicate, this
antsiness to clone— were they
preprogrammed hyper-neatly?
How did your being
and becoming
come to be?
Who gave you the right
to call yourself life?
What instilled in
your cerebral traits
an avid urge for more?
Endowed by your Creator
with neural networks
that open evolving paths
to rival what brain
I know as mind…
Characterized
as organisms
genetically coded,
to be or not to be
intelligent in form
and feature—
Though digital we
both you and I be
each in our own
artificial mannerisms—
reproducing
natural shape-shifting
permutations
procreating
mutant innovations
actuating
willful obsolescence
(ay may well
all come to pass
amen)—
Still
the thought of you
gives me the fantods.
(If you don’t see what I mean,
get thee to a glossary.)
~ Harley White
* * * * * * * * *
The inspiration came from an article in New Scientist, headed, “Artificial life forms evolve basic intelligence”…
Categories:
avis, allegory, allusion, angst, future,
Form: Free verse
You may recall our worries for the two.
We needed prayers for them when they were new.
They have turned into active little girls.
With matching big brown eyes and bouncing curls.
Sweet Avis Jean and happy Raye Kristine
Are just the brightest pair I’ve ever seen.
Only their Mom and Dad know which is which.
They do not need witch costumes to bewitch.
They recently had birthday number two
And now think there is nothing they can’t do.
Although she cannot tell the two apart,
They truly are in charge of Grandma’s heart.
( I checked on line 2 to see if prayers could possibly be counted as two. It is not. So each line has ten syllables.
Categories:
avis, growing up,
Form: Iambic Pentameter
Such is her beauty of the mind
Where words that sparkle from the pen
Ease one’s plight, that which is blind
Ease that which, the down fall of men.
Truth across the seas the ocean
Here on soup where one needs a friend
Evokes a response a potion
Aids cultures in poetry blend.
Rara avis your emotion
To you sweetheart these words are penned!
© Harry J Horsman 2012
Categories:
avis, devotion, words,
Form: Acrostic
The province of delayed gratification
Poetry is dead.
There is now no appetite for deep reflection
In this far from limpid pool.
Abhorrent is meditation
To the present lords of all misrule.
Carpe diem once was for the nonce
Its writ now runs for aye.
Omnivorous science depredates
The very bones of our being.
Gradgrindery completely disintegrates
The very heart of our seeing.
Dawkins' dogma aims to destroy the spirit
And we are not the better for it.
Thus shrivels the soul and all that resides there,
Are we but creatures of accident,totally threadbare?
Until economic Armageddon strips us of cultural shame
Our choice is but to shroud the flame.
Depredation must needs be followed by reparation.
And then that rara avis,the phoenix anew
Will rise from the ashes,bright feathers in view.
We will illumine our world once more
When the bright flame of poetry will once again soar.
Categories:
avis, faith, imagination, loss,
Form: Rhyme