Best Airwaves Poems
I called to the Lord and my voice,
Echoed down Thy golden corridor.
My sorrowful voice resonated,
Ripples of painful airwaves,
Across the divine exosphere.
And in the midst of my darkness,
Shadows mean the light is near.
He came from His throne to me,
His warmth touched my caramel skin.
I was in the presence of the Lord
And I spoke...to the most high.
I asked what cannot be regained,
His reply was: the stone, after it’s cast,
The word, after it’s spoken...and time, after it’s gone.
And He granted my request to bless the eyes,
That read...this modest poem...
The moor side broadcast,perpetually
amid airwaves of delirium,
aria that reverberates, from crag to scar
beacon to abbey century to century,
Everyday truth in simplicity
to ignite the human race!
© Harry J Horsman 1998
Lili Marlene
In times of war, love can subdue cynical adversaries
(Men separated from their vocation, now filled with hatred)
And quell the beast inside their misdirected hearts,
And free their consciences, to allow sorrows’ comfort.
A noisy silence pervades the barracks’ atmosphere,
Where soldiers stir, stuffing duffel bags and miscellaneous,
While others reminisce, writing letters; maybe their last.
And await further orders for Western and Eastern Fronts, or Africa.
From Belgrade, a woman’s voice over the airwaves is transmitted,
Allowing a moment of silence and reflection for those listening
Alone; spiritually uplifted in memories of better times,
Who seek a reason to justify this madness of sacrifice.
“My Dearest Marlene,” the pen begins when all hell breaks out.
By bomb flashes bright bloody hands write, then the pen stops;
“Until we meet again underneath the corner light,
Like we used to do, my Lili Marlene.”
***
Note:
'Lili Marlene' is a German love poem set to music by Norbert Schultze (1911-2002) in 1938 based on the poem 'The Song of a Young Soldier On Watch. written by Hans Leip (1893-1963) in 1915 during World War I. The song was first recorded by Lala Andersen (1905-1972) in 1939 under the title 'The Girl Under the Lamps”' which became popular during World War II (1939-1945) among the Axis and Allied troops. The song was first broadcasted by the German Radio Belgrade station throughout Europe and North Africa, following the Nazi occupation of Belgrade in 1941.
Marlene Dietrich (1901–1992) was the daughter of a Prussian officer. She refused to work in Nazi Germany, and was branded a traitor by Nazi supporters when she became an American citizen in 1937. She made over 500 performances entertaining Allied troops from 1943 to 1946. Marlene Dietrich recorded the song in 1944 under the Decca Records (US) and Brunswick Records (UK), which was later released in 1945.
My voice was mute like featherless songbirds,
without vocal chords to sing doting tunes.
Sleeping spirit yearned for amorous words,
composing twin flames to ignite from fumes.
Glance of her eyes and embers kindled bright,
like gold moonlight kissing indigo waves.
Symphonic stars formed in a lonely night,
as we sang among galactic airwaves.
Her touch is a cliché of butterflies,
her lips kiss like ballads with boundless verse.
Without her I can feel my heart capsize,
in sickness and in health, she is my nurse.
Her name remains on the tip of my tongue,
as her love completes lyrics, once unsung.
A cocooned cacophony of crickets serenades overgrown fields,
drowning out the creaking of rusted cars long since abandoned.
Maroon and sable tents blot the dilapidated ground—
bloated and weathered,
strips of fabric flapping in the harsh elements.
Legends of wraiths wander,
replicating whispers of infected insanity.
Laughter lingers in suspect echoes,
Rippling from pasts reborn in presents: futures to be later replaced by the past.
The smell of burnt sugar crackles with the purr of buttered kerneled corn: invading the nostrils with senses whose stimuli feign belief.
A faint humming of Entry of the Gladiators creeps in loudening crescendos, adding to the cacophony deigning dormancy in the field
Fragmented timelines intersecting by the call of the Barker
Stained cotton candy melts, reconstitutes, melts once more
Saturating replicating stands with insidiously sticky omens
Ghastly sickeningly sweet mori mementos
Resurrecting the dead from preternatural slumber.
Within fractured milliseconds, the cycle of the tormented deceased rise
From the ashes of unburnt airwaves,
Rippling through screaming minutes yet frozen in the midst.
A varicosed bearded woman floats aloft grassy overgrowth
Reanimated tigers lurk and phantasmal elephants howl,
Rings round the air in gaseous hush, like cigars puffed by moustachioed men of game,
Insufflating smoke with striped suits in candied reds and white.
The air rises to the resurrected show,
Cries confused for laughter tickle cochlea of the living.
Rain’s riot banishes peace of mind day,
Deluge damning dumps devious rage wet.
Storm, summer rain's wild child pours on display;
Lightning fierce, firing fitful since sunset,
Bass booming thundercracks dishing dismay,
Reverb atmospheric quaking dire threat.
Tantrum, summer's sobs throbs at window’s pain--
That this hellish brat exists, blackened bane!
Strobes’ amperage sizzling slow-motion fear
As brute force rants with spate’s tongue-lashing raves.
Kiss of death’s electric surge stalks me here,
Sky-splitting rumbling roars rock shocked airwaves.
Combustion spontaneous in juiced air,
Summer spawned tempest's temper misbehaves!
Menace.., nightmare slow swirls away turtle’s pace--
I feel color returning to pale face.
SusanAshley
August 23, 2017
N/A
Premiere Contest: Summer Rain Storm
Sponsor: Dale Gregory Cozart
Finally – it was Christmas Eve and we put the presents under the tree and hung our stockings at the foot of the bed. In a few hours, those stockings would be filled with barley toys, ribbon candy and chocolates. I could hardly wait! As mom tucked us into bed, I looked out the window and saw it was snowing again. It snowed all through the night as I lay in my cozy bed dreaming of that glorious bicycle again.
Christmas morning we awoke to the sound of the radio which was now home for Christmas after a long stay at the pawn shop as ‘Joy to the World’ rang over her airwaves.
We dashed to the living room where mom and dad stood beside two bicycles with gleaming chrome and multi-coloured streamers; not the ones from the store window, but the most beautiful bicycles I have ever seen, a red one for me and a blue one for my brother.
There I stood, my heart overflowing with joy and love as I remembered my mother’s blood stained hands and my father’s blue and red stained hands - these hands of love that changed two second-hand bicycles into the greatest gift I have ever known and taught me the true meaning of the spirit of Christmas.
The End
May the magic of that Christmas from years gone by, find you and fill your heart with joy.
Merry Christmas to you and yours.
Author: Elaine Cecelia George
Before the blast in April's darkened sky. . .
before the electrifying surge of insurgency -
when trucks and tanks were used to block the roads, and
when men and even boys were sought to aid in one malicious purpose. . .
before the rampant slaughter -
the raining of machetes down on flesh and bones
and the cornucopia of corpses left like butchered carcasses
on highways, nearby houses and in churches. . .
before the plundering, the rapes and mutilations
and the exodus of thousands to death-infested camps,
there were whisperings -
insidious and portentous to the ears of the wisely suspicious -
and a voice on the airwaves spewing hate.
Before it all,
there was a brewing of resentment
of a people with a history of poverty and
of transitory freedom and capricious politics.
And through it all, with such grave consternation,
governments debated. . . waited. . . . . . . and waited,
playing with semantics
while thousands dead became the hundred thousand,
and three long months - unrivaled for its number of atrocities -
came to its completion.
Seemingly, peace has been restored
and punishment stingily doled out.
Time moves on . . .
except for half a million
for whom compassion by the world
was spared.
Act III, final scene, psychodrama script-
the world is ushered off into history's crypt.
All the super heroes lie slaughtered on the floor
while apocalyptic addicts are screaming out for more.
A handful of patriots ride the airwaves into night
broadcasting dire warnings to bring the truth to light.
General population is glued to the TV set
watching situation comedies, smoking cigarettes.
The program's interrupted by a special news update
"World War III declared" more details at eight.
General population pumps his fist hard into the air
grabs himself a six-pack and settles back into his chair.
Less then twenty cases later he is morgue decor
from the radiation resulting from the war.
The tube becomes his headstone, body decomposing on the floor
beneath blue light TV flickering...1984.
'Twas the night before Christmas, when...
Oh no, said Rudolph! Stuck again!
The sky is dense and techno-waved,
our path seems wild and misbehaved!
Poor Rudolph stopped in sky midair
and yelled to Santa, we can't fly!
Earth satellites have made a snare
of wireless currents in the sky.
You see, today's advanced machines
are human gadgets called 'smart' phones;
they shop the Web from tiny screens;
airwaves mess up our flying zones.
Of course, they seek last-minute deals
on Christmas Eve, worse time of all,
when we are here 'head over heels'
to bring kids' presents, big and small.
Then Santa answered, use plan 'B'
come down one level in the sky.
Take care and watch! Don't hit a tree
or steeple top as we zoom by!
So Rudolph did as Santa said,
though still, they'd be a little late;
made headway now with deer and sled
where techno-waves had low flow rate.
Sandra M. Haight
~4th Place~
Contest: The Night Before
Sponsor: Joseph May
Judged: 12/08/2018
~1st Place~
Contest: Christmas Rhymes
Sponsor: Kim Rodrigues
Judged: 12/18/2017
out in the county and up the highway
anger hangs like lost voodoo over Miami
dances on bumperstickers
floats on airwaves
scars faces with perpetual glares
colors perceptions darkly
alters moods and
drives young men to football coaches
then army recruiters
anger that beats stepchildren
hunts coyotes for pleasure
and hangs corpses on barbed-wire fences
anger that asks
have you seen many Mexicans today?
just my wife and kids so far but it's still early
i hope to see more
he calls me a race traitor
he's to old to hit and i'm to old to hit him
so i suffer a fool
he tells his old wife only a *****would marry a Mexican
middle-aged men in Ford 350's
scatter brown children at bus stops and crosswalks
then pull guns to protect themselves
from the older brothers of the children they harass
and... hey why did you do that to my little sister?
can get you shot in "self defense"
it gets to me too as anger leads to fear
fear for my Mexican son and daughter
who have records but have committed no crime
but out in the county and up the highway
the police put up roadblocks
issue tickets without cause
and brag, every Mexican in town will have a record
they told my son "what's the big deal everybody gets pulled over
everyone has to pay their share"
even if they
come to a complete stop
obey speed limits
use their blinker
don't tailgate
tell it to the judge, my son and my daughter
the judge who gives out four month sentences
for a third non-offence
or you can pay the
take it off your record fee
we lost your paperwork fee
you live in the wrong neighborhood fee
you drive an old car fee
we don't care if you did it or not fee
then after you pay and pay
re-arrests because the clerk didn't enter the payment
leads to
lost jobs
missed classes
and retracted scholarships
my children are Mexicans
Pictures shared over the airwaves
Palm trees giving ever so gently
To tropical breezes are captured
As our forever moment in time.
With each sunrise comes the
Rich greens, soothingly calming blues
And gently comforting whites.
A breathtaking scenery of a canvas
Of unimaginable creation.
With each setting sun comes
Enriched hues of the primaries.
Blended reds, oranges,
Yellows and blues create stunning
Mixtures of color in and about the
Horizon slowly overtaking daylight
Seemingly setting the clouds ablaze.
The ocean mimics with darker tones
As the sky slowly closes its eye upon
Us holding our hearts just a bit longer.
Daily repetition allows us to
Visualize its blessing in the
Hopes of acceptance and
Appreciation of what we have,
Are given and are given in return.
Watching the sun set in Maui
Would be an unforgettable experience
But for now it remains as an
Instant snapshot of time and place
In present time zone’s past allowing
Visions of an everlasting
Memory bring a smile to my face
And peace in my heart
All in part due to the kindness of
A dear friend and his giving soul.
This in itself has been an
Amazingly wonderful experience.
Thank you for sharing with me
This beautiful sunset in Maui.
Thank you Jerry.
5/22/19
(continued from part 1)
What is innocence
that little boy
whose pulling his toy
with it’s broken wheel
Do you think he doesn’t know that the price of that crack needle
Could buy him a meal?
Do you think he doesn’t, know
that that beer bottle
Is why he bares the bruises on his skin
Is it why he has to force himself to grin?
Is that little girl sitting with her perfectly coifed dolls
Singing to herself so she doesn’t hear the screams
Doesn’t she scream in terror
as her father bursts into her dreams.
And shoves her mom crashing into her little table.
Does she have to dream, to live her fable
And even then,
is she able?
Do you wonder what she is thinking
as she struggles to push the head back on her doll
or is it a way for her to merely, ignore it all
Are you watching with 20 million other viewers
A drone in your living room, a slave to a box
A fly in a web of airwaves
Do you think your government is doing the same
Or are they filling up
Graves
is there an agenda being played
as our minds are swayed
Is this distraction as innocent as it seems?
And that epidemic….An epidemic of having too much food
Begging someone please!
stop us from eating I cant see,
my knees
like it’s the bubonic plague
like we’re dropping like flies
An epidemic!
Could we build a memorial and carve on its stone
5 million died this year
from an this epidemic alone
we could… if we replaced obesity with
starvation
Is it ironic that the fat kids stomach looks just as big
as the starving ones.
What is innocence
Is a boy who just wants to spend time with his grandpa
He doesn’t understand
As his grandpa takes him by the, hand
And leads into the bathroom
To show him the darker side of man
That in that moment he’ll have to grow up
Faster then he planned
Faster then he can
What is innocence
Does it exist in this land
From the time were born
We stripped down, bought and torn
From violence to ****
We’re watched and mimicked
Our lives just a gimmick
To get in our little kids heads
Where innocence treads
To take away their bliss
The only thing that they were born, with
What is innocence
Does it exist anymore
Or in this day and age
Have we closed that door
Forever more?
I drumbeat your heartbeat
Sweat beating off body heat
I red dye your blue sky
With thunderbolt electrify
Play until my fingers numb
The fine hairs of your eardrums
And rapture into a new verse
Onto your flawless miss universe
My voice caresses the airwaves
All I want is for you to believe
When you hear the love part
Of my serenade in your heart
I don’t know why I lose control
But something deep in my soul
Fine tunes to your signal
‘cos babe my soul is rock-and-roll
And when you hear the drum roll
It’s just my stomach babe gal
Feeling your butterfly effect
Bracing for a powerful impact
When you charge onto the stage
‘cos even rock stars come of age
Hope to still pull your heartstrings
Through your earpiece when I sing
So I drumbeat your heartbeat
Sweat beating off body heat
I red dye your blue sky
With thunderbolt electrify
Play until my fingers numb
The fine hairs of your eardrums
And rapture into a new verse
Onto your flawless miss universe
08-20-2015
Drink Down The Deepest, Darkest Reasons For Me To Stay...
I sin in shapes while the dozer beats us both down
By one or two, my thumb is fingering my cell phone
After 3 or 4 I've got your voice choking the airwaves
Baby the beat in my heart is much greater than the beating you've given me
So I'll charm on
I'll be the burden to your apple tree
Your appetite is not right
Anymore
The pitchers here are for drowning out equality
The lights are dim so we can all pretend that we are someone else
The songs are loud because the only way to shake you off
Is to beg them for a headache, and I'm...
...waking up (waking up)
With headaches and pieces lost from the night before
BUT WHAT THE HELL ARE FRIENDS FOR!?
Tap me out like a quarter in the slot machines
I've made a mess of your ragged little magazines
Trendy eyes are the spies for the latest scenes
And now my buttons are cut to look like pine trees
(it makes sense to me, it makes cents for me)
So write me off with your shoulder to the jukebox
I've been here once, not twice
And still I've got you figured out
The whore
On the dance floor
Waiting for the biggest score
DARLING!
WE'RE NOT THE IDLE KIND!
WE'RE NOT THE IDLE KIND!
(ANYMORE!!!!!!!!!!!)
DARLING!
WE'RE NOT THE IDLE KIND!
WE'RE NOT THE IDLE KIND!
(ANYMORE!!!!!!!!!!!)
DARLING!
WE'RE NOT THE IDLE KIND!
WE'RE NOT THE IDLE KIND!