Best Architect Poems
I cry out; sinking neath life's shoals
Reaching within he lifts my heart
Taking count, cradling every part
Within his arms I am kept whole
Echoes of my pain resonate
He holds me close; he quells the hate
Catching each tear he makes a mold
Refusing to let go he waits
Holding tighter defying fate
Each piece he joins; those that life stole
Breathing strength through me I exhale
His hold still firm my heart still frail
Splintered shards fused; a complete soul
I stand once again and breathe life
Once more his lover, friend, and wife
I cry out; sinking neath life's shoals
Within his arms I am kept whole
Catching each tear he makes a mold
Each piece he joins; those that life stole
Splintered shards fused; a complete soul
07/13/2018
So soft, the light of candles, dancing on the darkened walls.
I pace, and my step echoes, throughout these ancient halls.
Dust has grown so fine and thick that I walk in a haze.
What would my sight do anyway, within this lonely maze?
I can’t escape the edifice, for in a weakened state,
its architect neglected to provide it with a gate.
Such fanciful design—soaring stairs and chandeliers!
Made by one who chased his dreams and flew above his fears.
Now I stride most every night, within this lonely place,
thinking of his foolishness, the weight of his disgrace.
His motive was to win her, and he built without his eyes,
thinking she was with him; imagine his surprise.
I’m locked within this wondrous trap that should have set me free.
A prisoner by my own hand—the architect was me!
29 April 2016
Angles accounted
Volumes and sweeping vistas
Shavings from pencil
It's all your fault
Charles Mortington Parsons
Designer of landscapes
Extraordinaire
That no one has a sense of time anymore
Green lawns appear
Instantly overnight
Tall trees grow
In a morning or an afternoon
Mother nature
Stacked tastefully
Between terracotta bookends
And it's all your doing
Charles Mortington Parsons
I was an active, prominent architect, like fervent stars which race the sun,
Or exotic, summer flowers that bloom vibrantly, creating rapturous visions.
I'd wrought modernist skyscrapers, as huge trees lean into a bronze glaze,
On raspberry, latter days, quite lovely, when azure blue jays sing in praise.
I had designed homes and buildings, to the plumb delight of stylish people,
While satisfying the favorable environment, with novel, vivid colors, gleeful.
I had built homes for family members, the loved ones who made life sunlit,
Like magnificent avenues of autumn, wherein we bask before all colors flit.
Happily, my works were very popular, as current sweet songs of ruby birds,
At the purple, sunset time of fading skies, when lilac time flows backwards.
I dwelled in the house of the whimsical new, admired by casual passersby,
As clouds and gemmed landscapes are admired, by visitors to neon skies.
Neighbors wafted through visual colors, as rouge moon visits newborn sun,
Like hours spent visiting gaiety's garden, waiting for something to happen.
Torrid summer was in the cherry sunset, and green birds owned coral day,
And pink butterflies flew by the window, as gilt, molten time slipped away.
Juicy apricots were beginning to ripen, with their tangy, sweet savor of July,
When I saw several of my creations come to life, on the street, walking by.
I laughed to see the sudden swaying, to graceful, fluted music of the wind,
Like the smiling time of the evening, when seeing sun and moonlight blend.
They moved proudly upon the skyline, playfully frolicking, hues shimmering,
Like the earliest break of antique day, when newest truths start glimmering.
Mellow sunshine fell straight through the clouds, as the dancing slowly died,
Like the last day that a rainbow was glimpsed, on the day that nature cried.
And I had sensations of blind wonder, like the starry-eyed, dreaming night,
When the mighty ocean bellows its roar, in huge, full moon's powdery light.
I realized my buildings were alive, because of the people who dwelt there,
For people lent them color and spirit, as a medallion sun makes floral flair.
But they never again danced in daylight, nor in the sudden, purple twilight,
Yet, the rosy memory has never faded, like vibrant memories of moonlight!
He is an architect of soundscapes.
Senseless with passion he stands
before a pending deluge.
Rapt is he to the resounding
din within the halls of his skull. At night,
the architect will dream of faces
they smile and laugh—they cry and sigh,
and he must reconcile with the knowledge
that he is responsible for their being,
as incomplete as they may be. They chant
his name at the brimming of the storm—he
hears their voices as whispers. There is a
grind which pulses perpetually through
as he hears the endless ringing, through rime
and reason. As chaos descends upon
him, he peels back his flesh to better feel
the salt from the ocean. Waves engulf him.
Although he is afraid, he submits to the
tempest. Underneath the water’s surface
are endless observations for his eye.
Swirling shades of chaos glimmer above
as he shouts profound profanities to
heaven. As the storm recedes, the water
will dismiss the architect from suffering.
He then must dredge the bodies—blue-faced and
bloated—to the dry banks of his stream of
consciousness—where autopsies may yield some
connotation, but never certainty.
You gave me a new beginning
You gave me more love than I can contain
You are Everything I want to be
You bring a new chance Everyday
A new chance to become something new
You provide all the correct answers
You are the ultimate teacher
You brought us all together
You brought through all the eras and years
You created our many scenic views
You created our appreciation for one another
You created all that we know and all that will be known or is unseen
You created a Life of possible outcomes
You created a new destination
You created all the world's cultures
You created the planets and stars
You created the animals and vegetation
You created minds to design city streets
You created foundation for a house
You protect your created and creation
You carve the shapes we end up in
You created the unfathomable and the unthinkable
You keep us contemplating
He admired the columns, walls, floors and roofs
of the marble castles; they were so beautiful
that visitors from far away lands
cried tears of awe -
they felt as though they were in heaven.
He had a plan in his mind;
it had a structure of castles which glowed
like the Sun, and levitated in the air;
they didn't need cranes or masons to build
them. They only needed a sense of silence,
empty mind, and a blissful imagination.....
Ideas become reality in your belly
Raw ingredients are added for effect
Laboured limbs inject liquid food
It begins, sounds signal transformation
A cacophony of notes orchestrate
A fusion of materials cleverly made
Atoms collide as water subsides
Dry mixture almost expertly tied
Your creation up to imagination
Never the master of your own destiny
Your loins rhythmic to the fixation
Of another genius creating beautifully
A mansion, castle or glorified shed
All born from your glowing womb
Expectations destroyed and met
Artistic design from your living tomb
Look around you!
See, the now is everwhere
as spirits fly from flesh
bent over drafting tables,
sharing vision with the last
of Wright's apprentices.
What messages will flow
across the global plain?
What secret sinews celebrate
their isolation from millenia
of boxes heaped upon themselves?
Free spirits all
and Wright, sardonic ghost
unwitting father of beneficence
assumes a single facet
in a cosmic jewel/
For now, this planetary face
has made a synthesis of art
to house our work, and play,
and inspiration.
Now the schools roam free,
thank God!
Boxes opening
inhabitants embraced,
stone and glass are lovers,
not containers, shadows,
now reflections...
workers, prison free, are celebrants.
The style of life, an artform
feeding skylines,
movements in a synphony
of form and tempi.
Outside is in
and passageways
are petals hovering, their flowers
offering a time of rest
before their faded fall,
paving paths of hope.
For now. design inspires
the theatre of street,
and races drawn together, birth
a culture free of wizened dreams,
embracing Guggenheim, and Sidney
and the wonders of an age
of mystics yet to come.
For now, I pray you free, young man,
for Wright is dead, and your festivity
is in your stretching and your knowing,
just as he a century ago seized faith
in broken icons--you
and sisters, brothers, give us hope
of revelation still beyond our sight,
another new tomorrow--bursting light!
~
O Fingernail Moon
have you sent us Morning Sun
to show us building?
And Morning Sun
are you sliding
down the mountainside
to hint at pyramids,
how to build them,
before you take time into the sea?
O Fingernail Moon
did my father sip nectar
from your crescent lip
before he conned the Sun’s descent
down the mountainside?
I am an architect’s son who watched
his father’s hand trace imagined walls
upward from foundation stone,
his design contemplative
of what might become a home.
I am an architect’s son. I learned
from him how the lift of dream calls
skill to cloathe a naked place,
nature’s skien rewind
into humane living space.
I am an architect’s son. I would match
my father’s hands with heft of words
to build from a resonant base
a scene enlivened by sound
and touch perchance poetic grace.
High above gray Manhattan’s marge,
‘Midst toothsome towers in the sky,
A construction crane there looms large,
Dwarfing the crowds of passersby.
A new building grows, rising high,
Clouding another patch of sky.
A tower for trade will arrive
Where businesses may fail or thrive.
An unsung Mohawk warrior,
And an iron-ribbed Spartan crane,
Raising stanchions; bolting girders,
Work in harmony on the frame.
Clutching the cables of the crane,
Beam rider goes where most aren’t fain;
Riding angled steel slabs, held tight,
High aloft, nearly out of sight.
In their union, we may marvel:
From out of an architect’s dreams,
Row by row; level by level,
They unfold a right-angled frame.
And when the beam rider has gone,
Who will recall his days bygone?
For those who make real others’ dreams,
That is the way it goes, it seems.
The architect of my heart
Building foundations of our love
And knocking down what was there
Creating new places for us to go
Different places for us to see
I’ve never been before
I’ll maybe never go again
Once might be enough with you
Tattooed in my mind
The cranes of your conscience
Carry the bricks
To create this dream
This place
You are taking me every night
We lay together in the darkness
Only the faint hammering
Of that is which my heart
Can be heard.
The architect of my heart
You
Keep on building our walls.
Oh the divine architect...
The seat of wisdom & intellect...
You keep me going when I'm down...
You infuse a smile when I want to frown...!
I seem to live in an apparent Hell...
Where sorrow & despair perpetually dwell...
But yet I always find a way...
When my goals tend to go astray...!
Small orgies of happiness emanate...
When the Spirit is about to disintegrate...
Fresh energy envelopes like rejuvenating rain...
Hiding patches of parched portions...& cracks of pain...
Had You not been around me...
Life would have been sheer melancholy...
Only because I have Your hand...
I see a stream of hopes in every strand...!
The observation
Our thoughtful familiarity
Our decision
Designed by Almighty Architect
4122013