I would make a museum of my mind
Fill these musty halls with all my people
Every girl who has walked my corridors
To write her piece and paste it on the walls.
Every plaque together, a mosaic
Of all personas, memories, and thoughts
Together an image, reflected back
Informative of me, an auto-school.
Blowing out the dust of unused ballrooms
Broom cupboards and and the back stairs, each its own
Room for machinations, revelations,
Fed by all those who reside within me
My lonely people, aimless wanderers
Floating through the corridors room by room
Their homes are these clustered, open cloisters.
Endless is my palace of passages.
I am dissected in a thousand cuts
Each slice a living, pulsating breather
Warm and soft against my cobblestone floors
Balance of life and rock, they people me.
Voices low and laughter cheerful, I hear
My population all internally
All beings that are me, graduated
Notches on a scale, all playing their part,
Like cogs and wheels they move in tandem drifts
Here in this exhibit they gave me, of
Balustrades adorned and turrets revived
I transformed: a museum of my mind.
Alas, my dear, we must away!
From Summer homes upon the Bay.
To winter in our warmer nests,
In Southern climes, which suit us best.
Your sister's grand debut went swell!
Gentlemen flock where ‘ere we dwell.
Invitations, voguish ballrooms,
Soon she will ‘meet well’ her fair groom!
Colorful flowers, is her way;
Your Sister just as bright and gay.
Of Summertime she is apart…
But winter's cold is in your heart.
Their hidden notes, confessed intent,
Secretly stole, and back you sent.
A season filled with the joy of blooms
Dance of the daffodils adorned in gold
Fragrance of lilac soon takes hold
Nature displays its colorful costumes
The garden is filled with flowery perfumes
Glowing buttercups so lovely to behold
A season filled with the joy of blooms
Dance of the daffodils adorned in gold
There are tangos aplenty in nature's ballrooms
Butterflies swirl around a marigold
A sunflower's gaze will soon unfold
As a cluster of flowers burst forth like plumes
A season filled with the joy of blooms
Champagne and wine
Elixirs of the elite's delight
beverages of the upper classes
as they rendezvous and converse
amid soirées decked in elegance
mingling among their
latest art acquisitions
envied, even by the Louvre
The wonderful taste of caviar
In opulent ballrooms, near and far
where aristocrats and fashion find their air
ah yet sometimes I ponder
how the toiling working class
gets through monotonous days
I imagine them after their grind
at the Cox N Bull Tavern
drinking and lapping cheap O'keefe beer
chugging down their boredom
in idle gossip
planning petty crimes
At the top of a very long, high hill
Stands a magnificent magnolia tree,
From which a sound most shrill
Calls to mind a charming fantasy.
It is said fairies live in the blooms
Those huge white, showy flowers,
[We cut to decorate pristine rooms]
Are their castle turrets and towers.
Comes winter the fairies migrate
On the backs of the south-winging bird
Of their existence there is no debate
One only has to take the tree’s word.
And, believe that the fairies are there
As surely as the silvery green leaves
Are their ballrooms for a spring dance,
A belief to which everyone cleaves ....
Such things must never be left to chance.
Written July 21, 2022
[dedicated to Caren Krutsinger]
Precision scales of a Bach concerto
relentless tide of crescendos and trills
Waves of emotion engulf my soul
pianissimo's delicate fingers stroll
Mozart sonatas and waltzes I hear
Grand Ballrooms of Venice once more appear
My heart rejoices in time with the wind
to the strains of Paganini's sweet violin
Alas, passion for the masters is lost today
to an era where Tik-Tok holds sway
backgrounds
b e c o m e
ballrooms
7-13-2021
The Brevette, created by Emily Romano consists of a subject (noun), verb, and object (noun), in this exact order. The verb should show an ongoing action. This is done by spacing out the letters in the verb. There are only three words in the poem.
For this contest all 3 words must start with the same letter.
. 3 words only
. All 3 words must start with the same letter
Intuition flares,
prancing in ostentatious circles,
feather-tip proud.
Lugubrious grey wigs
speckle gregariously
bedecked by flamboyant gems:
they flicker frustratingly
in stifled Regency ballrooms.
Our embers, in contrast,
are quiet. Shushed.
They wallow in dark corners,
hidden from prying eyes.
Predators.
Our collective eyelid
flutters closed:
too shy, subduing to privacy.
A silent tear streaks
our collectively cold face.
Science ensnares our senses,
making ordinary life dim -
blindingly darkened;
teetering on Boredom’s knife edge –
we long to carve it free;
infuse new scarlet veins
into its unthinking, meaty flesh,
stoking a smothered fire,
rekindling its earthy,
endearing embers.
The dragon dance of death,
Born in silent Wuhan
Round and round far it goes,
Filling ballrooms of Rome
Hip Hop, Tap, Rock and Roll
Taking breaths of poor souls
Healthy youth fit to dance,
Saving our elder lives.
Honorable Mention in BRIAN'S CHOICE M,any form,any theme Poetry Contest sponsored by Brian Strand
River chopped
Into rugged blocks
Of ice and powdered snow
Under a covered bridge
The tap of horse’s hooves overhead
Rapids froze in place, agony on her face
A boy growing tall in his sleep
Under the crisp white clean sheets
His daddy’s shoes he dreams to fill
Stockings hung above the mantle
The river poses for deer painters
Find the slope of her ear lobe
The shadow of her cheekbones
The snowy curves wound through the forests
Like skirts on dance floors swirling
Her canvas she gives to rows of winter crows, a crown
Cold wind musters at our latched window
Like murmurs behind a closed door, the songs
Of Christmas best belong
To the static ebb and flow
Of a distant station on the radio
Crooners singing to their high school sweethearts
From ballrooms soft with violins and horns
Unreachable from so long long ago.
Golden park that turns to evening dim,
And the soft music of bird on a limb;
Rose garden, in the heat of a summer,
And blushing orchards in deep slumber!
Sateen moon dispels the evening gloom,
To show the beauty of a night abloom!
Noonday, shadows and the lover's touch,
Ballrooms, parties and dancing much!
Capricious rains that lash bent trees,
And scatters the lush, wild refugees.
Seasons defined by our nearest star,
Yet, season to season isn't very far.
Deep and mellow, the warm wave of time-
Barely savored youth, before the prime.
Inky nights with vivid destiny dance,
And all come alive each dawn's radiance!
Sweet as honey are borne precious moments,
So full of meaning and so full of portent,
Like sleeping beauty's very first kiss,
And like enchantment's very first bliss!
A gentlefellow and maiden intermingle
on curiosity's swing-seated rest.
Vulnerableness is compressed between them,
as if a violet's caress requested their presence.
Harmony's tones are blown through the air,
like lilac's laughter scattering
as jasmine's megaphone hums.
Music's smooth movements dance within them
as if mountainberry ice cream were sampled
from their dreams with a fairy dusting.
An artist's loaded brush paints their moment.
A starfish's bluish blush comes naturally.
Beating blood and veins overlap silently.
Regal drape twine hides a stage
where beauty's ballrooms bloom before their eyes.
Love's uncomfortable shoes
leave a pleasurable bruise as they
peruse through fields of vine-ripened grapes.
An eggplant's bloodline finds royalty's manners
are hung like Lutheran banners
in the boldest of circumstances.
A stream of jelly donut filling
lunges into their tongues at once.
Tastebuds are given amethyst's first kiss.
Like hot and cold amiss, the warmth is blissful.
A rainbow's favorite ending begins indefinitely
as a projection of the evening's sky blending.
The progeny of red and blue is born by two.
Pretty women
Pretty women wonder where my confidences lay
Am not radiant to fit a perfect model
For all I have is a shabby bum
And caves that hold my slightly long bones side by side
Pretty women wonder where my secrets lay
Am not so famous to be a first lady
For all I ever knew were books and a few friends
Pretty women wonder and wonder looking for answers
For all they know is the smile I always keep on my face
The mouth I shut when they fill the ballrooms
The who I am that wasn’t supposed to be with him
But as they wonder around
The pride I have held is eyes
The confidence in him kept him moving
The trust I showed him kept him close
For it’s the faith that love never lies
The makes we keep the secrets with in
For we only met destiny
For its not the way I walk
Dress or my looks
The fame or my substances
That leaves his eyes closed to the rest
But the beauty within
It takes ten legs squeaking in sneakers
And eight rubber wheels heavily humming
On the checkered sparkling linoleum floor
To move a boy with a tumor
From one hospital floor to the next
For emergency tests
One nurse one doctor a technician leading the way
Mom and dad
Trailing the speeding parade with teddy bears and balloons
And faces full of frowns surrounding a white crib
And a mobile I.V. tower
Thrashing like an octopus fished from water
Whisk
Kicking down the hallways
Onlookers flattened against the walls
Get out of the way
And as all this passes by
From the corner of my eye
I see a creature on a gurney
Unattended
Parked to the side
Fossil of old woman with her head resting
On a mop of white hair
Everywhere
Her skeleton face framed like a crazed witch
No longer Queen dancing in the ballrooms
Toasting friends writing checks signing up her volunteers
Here she is
Abandoned
Vacuuming the stale air through her purple pursed lips
Eyes locked on my boy
Make way
Make way.
Around inside within
Of footsteps therein
The ballrooms under
Of heaven's wonder
You hear the rhythm
Dancin' wildly
In the earth's belly
Of booming thunder
And the songs gather
Of angels raining softly
In the winds of a hollow
Gusty, reverberation echo
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