Best Anton Poems
Don’t tell me the moon is shining;
show me the glint of light on broken glass.
Anton Chekhov
the thunderclap
of breaking pane,
frightening.
splintered shards -
remains
of jagged lightning.
those tears I bleed…
my fist is raw.
blackness crawls
out of
the shattered hole.
a fearsome
flood of grinding rain
insane.
my knuckles sore
black and blue.
i’ve kicked a metaphor -
the dog. its bite
worse than the storm.
the glass-eye moon
reflects my mood,
outside the door,
where i was rash.
those tears i bleed
on a handkerchief
so I won’t forget
the glass…so I won’t forget
the glass…
2/22/2023
Writing Challenge - G Words
Constance La France - sponsor
Me: Since Samhain I have been chatting with Satan on Skype..On this date he celebrates his fall from grace..
Satan: Thank you Ken..You look marvelous today..What is your routine? You haven't aged in years...Is it diet and gym, the ladies and your erotic poetry?
Me: You are way too kind..(blushing)
Satan: Really, I enjoy your sense of eroticism, you have a fondness for the ladies I see..You should read "Justine" by my friend the Marquis de Sade..In order to know virtue, we must first acquaint ourselves with vice...
Me: Are you saying it is only through pain one can arrive at pleasure?
Satan: I'm saying you are unhappy because you desire things that cannot be..That's what desire IS, the need for what we cannot have..It's called greed...
Me: I have nothing to fear here..
Satan: Well Ken, there's always the truth..Maybe peace is acquired by the currency of loss..You are in love with perception..I have many friends here in hell with me you may have heard of, Anton Lavey, Aleister Crowley, Adolf Hitler among others..You should meet them..
Me: No thank you, I prefer to "Fear and Tremble" like Kierkegaard..I was taught your greatest truth was convincing the world there was only only one of you..
Satan: You know God loves you..
Me: Is that why you take interest?
Satan: You seek a measure of comfort from Women..Don't you know that love is the laziest theory for the meaning of life?
Me: But was not Faust saved in the end by the love of a woman?
Satan: I will not elaborate on your misconceptions..
Me: I'm just an ordinary human being with flesh, blood and bones..Nothing hard to decipher.. I wish for women and have needs..
Satan: They say the road to hell is paved with good intentions..Charming saying really..I say it is paved with intriguing questions...
Me: It is late, I have to go Mr. Satan...What time is it?
Satan: How much time do you need?
Me: No thanks..lol I have to go....
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
It was something
So many words
It rattled on
Like a streetcar
And it was harsh too
It really picked things apart
It made Howl
Seem like a squeak
I can't remember
Who wrote it
I think
It was some guy
From Great Britain
All I remember is that
It was the longest
The harshest
The meanest poem
Ever written
*** Thanks for reading - Anton... www.foesofprose.com ***
"If in the first act you have hung a pistol on the wall, then in the following one it should be fired." -- Anton Chekhov
Chekhov declared that it's clearly imperative
That a gun given billing must duly be fired.
The bullet obligingly cinches the narrative,
Sating the thirst that the gun first inspired.
Yet the world is awash in objects inutile,
Which clog our disorderly narrative streams.
So why should a playwright adhere to so futile
A diktat pertaining to props in a scene?
Myself for example, habitually arming
The darkness that swaddles me, inkily deep,
My mind so occulted its doubly alarming
To grasp the black Kimber, now sprung from its keep.
The prop having found its way on to the stage,
My untethered demons start chorally keening,
Quite certain they know what the gun must presage:
That this is the moment that holds all the meaning.
A Vibrant Night
At night
When the city is
Lit with lights and literature
Locals and visitors
Ambiances and silhouettes
Dances with the wet backdrop
And the foreground
Maybe a new York playground
The smell of the sound of savory sausage
Sizzling on the nights grill
Salivating tongues and painters pallets
Dancing trees an autumn light breeze
Brushes by as the train underneath
Zooms pass passengers asleep
It's so unique
The smell that permeates
Pizzarias and eateries
It's so late....but that's okay
Let the night be our theater
Now who's that musical man over there
Playing his sultry song all night long
He sounds like Carnegie hall
Her dress is fighting the wind
His necktie is flagging the taxi
She's tipsy, he's dancing like Fred Astaire
Keeping her balanced,
Smells the mocha in her hair
Their equilibrium meets with the stare of each other
Falling into each other embracing humming that man's song smiling...
Anton Brockenbrough
"Medicine is my lawful wife, and literature is my mistress. When I get fed up with one, I spend the night with the other"
Anton Chekhov
A doctor, a poet and a singer,
he was all three talents rolled into one,
prescribed in poetry, advised by song,
his medical practice was so much fun!
recited famous poems as he talked,
his happy patients were of him in awe,
he danced to his songs as he walked,
yet his treatment without a single flaw!
he was most popular with little tots,
they giggled at funny faces he pulled,
amongst doctors there may be many sorts,
but I bet none like him that are so chilled!
diseases of body are many kinds,
treated with medicines of many types,
with a jovial doctor, mind unwinds,
to help body overcome its gripes!
Premiere contest winner (4)
written 20/03/2021
Reveal your other Muse contest
Margarita Lillico sponsored
Brevity hence 4 stanzas
10 syllables, quatrains with partial imperfect rhyme.
Anton walked past the schoolyard
Where basketball, years ago, was the everyday norm.
But, all had changed in this poor boy’s life
To the point that things won’t be the same.
He, now, maintains this school
And accepts the insolence of the
Students as they sneer at him
Because once, he had a shot.
He was a good student and athlete,
The road looked like it was paved in gold.
He met this girl that would change his life.
They dated 3 months when she said
That she was pregnant and he,
Yes he, was the only one.
Anton was raised with dignity and respect
And knew no other road to take
Except the road of responsibility.
Now, at 19, this baby in the world
Has a baby to take care of, to raise.
Anton, has proven himself to be a man,
a man willing to accept and endure.
No greater man ever existed.
He’s raising his child with dignity and respect
With his dreams being
That one day his son doesn’t
Make the same mistakes he’s made.
People attending the London premiere of a new film about Nelson Mandela were told of his death as the closing credits rolled, on 5th December 2013. My new poem is written in honor of the anti-apartheid icon and I invite you to read it here https://www.facebook.com/pages/Lights-Madiba-Action/345492948926266 .
Like it, share it and get privileged access to my writings.
Iulian-Anton Brudiu
"Medicine is my lawful wife, and literature is my mistress. When I get fed up with one, I spend the night with the other"
~ Anton Chekhov
She brightens the skies with her twinkling eyes
As they fall on the pages presented to her
Offering her the honor of a poetry prize
To cause her to smile with satisfaction as she will purr
Poetry and prose lift up like she can sometimes
With emotions so pure they bring conviction
Whether they’re about romance, history or crimes
Addressing the affections with nonfiction
Either by poetic vise or prose that materialize
In dreamy lives who welcome our pen and paper
We will find the inspiration to always idealize
The ones we discover behind a life filled vapor
If it be my wife or the love of my life
The novel, the noun, the verb and the pronoun
I find ways to work through all my strife
With the delight discovered when we write down
Our love for the words we read
As well as the wife we heed
Together, they are a masterpiece indeed!
Reveal your other muse poetry contest
Sponsored by: Margarita Lillico
March 17, 2021
ROMANCE
She played Chopin
And played it wonderfully well.
She would be quite beautiful -
Young, vivacious - I could tell
From my window I could see her,
Though only her dark, flowing hair.
There was a violin on the piano.
Another musician there?
I yearned to see her face,
To complete the lovely sound with vision.
I would gather courage, go next door,
Knock – this my bold decision.
When I rapped the music stopped.
I waited, restless, eager to see
The form, the face I could love so well,
And hoped she’d (at least) like me
When at last then my obsession appeared
She was all I could ever hope for,
Standing there, smiling, greeting
This stranger at her door.
I begged her pardon, but couldn’t resist the urge
To see who was playing Chopin so well,
That she truly must like the great Pole.
She was disturbingly amused, I could tell.
I was about to introduce myself
When she declared, “I like Chopin just fine.” -
Her tone of contempt forever dashed my ardor -
“It was Romance, by Anton Rubinstein”
The power of truth be
With he who insists
That God, unlike man
Has omnipotent hands
And persists
And persists
And persists
The burden of lies be
WIth he who insists
The product of man
Has a divine plan
And exists
And exists
And exists
** Thanks for reading... Anton - www.foesofprose.com **
The woodland's sights and scents add a piquancy to the affair
By the moonlight's inky, starry gaze, so fleeting to retain
To dawn's fragile light shadows benignly filtering through
The damp, earthy undergrowth a mossy bed convenient
An ample, rough bark, redwood tree and gnarled, dry spreading roots.
A humble haven for primal, abandoned, wanton display
The foliage green canopy conceals a multitude of sins
Anton, my lover, you are the saviour of my heart and soul
Truly I love to breathe your masculine scent and hair
Struggling to restrain my appetites when you are nearby
Alone I desperately yearn for you, it's my private fear
But today I am ecstatic , for you have proposed to me
To imagine having you all to myself in body and soul.
Anton, I shall prove my love for you is of the constant kind
All those sacrifices we have made could surely only bind
Let the headiness I feel pirouette me into your arms
To feel your consuming ardency continue on and on
I love our bit of heaven we experience when alone
Continually let us revive that special passionate spark
Passions do fade allocated to dusty memory banks
But my love so rejuvenates me as we meet every day
My dear Anton I am afraid to live this life without you
I want you to reiterate that you feel the same for me
Totally enveloped in your entire world implicitly
Once an old fortune teller asked me to cross her hand with gold
As she had a precious gem of knowledge to impart to me
Her vivid, streaked, carmine red mouth grinned amiably
As she tightly held my hand and peered at my outstretched palm
Perusing it lengthily said advantages there would be
"Look into my eyes, oh yes I see a grand passion madam"
Seeing my doubtful gaze, she said "it is all here in your hand"
"You must tell me when shall it be" I vocally did demand
"Patience, soon, very soon, the man is quite a suitable match"
Excitedly I jumped for joy "in life you mean", I questioned
"No, never that, it shows an equally passionate pair".
Medicine is my lawful wife, and literature is my mistress. When I get fed up with one, I spend the night with the other"
Anton Chekhov
After a hectic stressful day
Some time for ourselves every day
Doing that which gives joy in every way
Few moments of happiness and gay
Every one should pursue some passion I say!
Hobbies keep boredom away
Passions drive stress away
When sad passions provide a way
They bestow joy without delay
Every one should pursue some passion I say!
When passions become profession and pay
Our work seems like a play
We are exhilarated full day
Success automatically comes our way
Every one should pursue some passion I say!
When body is aged, hairs are grey
When our strength does betray
Our passions like morning sun's ray
Prevents darkness and dismay
Every one should pursue some passion I say!
Childhood, kids should not fritter away
For nurturing talents set aside some time every day
Pursuing extracurricular hobbies keeps them gay
Boosts self-confidence in every way
Every child should pursue some passion I say!
Some love music, some in painting feel gay
Some love sports, for some in poetry happiness lay
Inner joy keeps illness at bay
Advantages of hobbies do outweigh
Pursue some passion without delay!
17th March 2021
I'm wondering where true love is
is it somewhere across the bridge
Or is somewhere above the sky
Or is over the mountain ridge
Or is it just deep down inside
Buried deep down within
Way beneath my own skin
Or did love get blown away
Away by the angry wind
Is it somewhere within my reach
Or somewhere across the foreign sea
Or is it just an ancient concept
A concept full of imagery
Will it wilt or will it wither
Will it ever be discovered
Is love somewhere being smothered
Or is it somewhere above the sky
Or Somewhere over the mountain ridge
Whisked away by the winds
Or somewhere deep inside
Tucked like a pedal into a stem
Plucked for a wife
love like a scent
Love that expires
Or grows thin
Love that wilts and runs away
Love like clothing in disarray
Beaten and raped
Scraped and bruised
I found her
Lying naked
Dead
Clothing removed
Now I know where love is
©copyright 2015
Anton Brockenbrough
I put my brain in a blender today
It was my right hand that did it
The dominant one
In one forceful bash
I reached in and pulled it out
Bits of bone and bloody brain
First stop was chop
Little pieces of memory flipped about
But remained
This is no good, no good at all!
Next, I set my mind on grind
Gray pulp splatter
What's the matter?
You're not getting squeamish
Because that's nothing
I hit the pulse button
Splat and splatter, splat and splatter
Memory-matter, splitter-splatter
This is guts-and-gore stuff
So deal with it
I lifted the brain-lined lid
And freed the random chunks
They were clinging for dear life
But there is no escape
With the back of my hand
I slapped 'em back in
No escape, not today
Off the grind and on to puree
**Thanks for reading... Anton - www.foesofprose.com**