Best Bulb Poems
Oh!
the lite-bulb
blinked
it did
I felt it
but what was it
and where is it now
or light is too fast ~
or truth never lasts
His beat rages for hours
darting to the computer table
without time to greet Mom or Dad
as the light pops every minute; wired in
space, lost in blank words when he speaks,
enthralled to level up and gain power points
because he cares more for video than human talk.
The light on the screen aims at Tekken and aliens
raging a war against supremacy, somewhere
outside the real world he can’t deal with, now.
And he puts the light on, enticing him to dim
a special nook in a lit, closed room. Kiddie
books unread for weeks; a migraine
splits past 12 am for a kid of
nine years unable to
control an impulse.
He eats, plays
and deals with
his robot pals..
. . . . .
. . . . .
other boys take
their bikes out,
buts he pushes
another button
controlled by his
mechanical allies
with guns ,roars.
. . . . .
Video wreck,
Game
(Haikus from my short poetry collection in Greek: Se ?????? st????? ??????asµ????, Perched on a few verses,
translated by me.)
A broken light bulb.
It’s dawning. The naked street.
A butterfly.
---
Upon the branches
of dawn, the day’s rustling
silk dreams.
Through layers of snow,
White blankets, the world
Peaceful and quiet, still as grief – abiding
I stay hidden, secreted in the darkness,
Buried beneath the dust, the mud, the earth
Where life awaits the springlike touch
From sunshine’s blessing, rich and glorious
Awakening the music of a heart’s mystery
Soothing, like stardust – so gentle,
Light covers my grave, so somber
Earnest and peaceful, I lay quietly, waiting
For the miracle of a moment when sunlight
Breathes its wisdom through my veins,
Inviting me to rise through the soil, the richest
Clay, trembling with compassion, caressing
Away the frost, cold, so unsympathetic – bitter
Like resentment who fills the heart with
Doubts, distant thunders, storms in skies so blue
They feel like beautiful guiding me through
The reckless rest where I’ve been dormant, forgotten
By the twinkling stars, the sunrise and sunset
Never aware that I was even there – alive,
Hidden by the winter freeze, with ease
But, now – as spring silences the silver flakes,
There, hesitating within the earth, my tender leaves
Begin to peek, peering up toward the sunshine
Graceful and lulling, like the glimmering glories
Discovered in the new buds, stirring, emerging – soundless
On a quest for the light, the rain sprinkling through
The night, erasing winter’s touch with a growing
Promise – the assurance of a thriving blossom, a bloom
Who develops just as the heart begins to beat
With eagerness for the beginnings of spring,
Growing – springing from the darkness, resurrected
Great joy comes from the knowing, the hope
That revives the spirit, the feelings
In those who see that I have made it, once again,
Through the silent nights and the snow blanketing
On a land, sleeping through the winter’s smile,
Waiting quietly for the proper time to rise
From the earth, - new birth of a bud, a gentle
Wish peeking out from the past, prompting the spirit
To listen to the whisper of God’s tender gift to us,
Those who know that, despite our deepest wishes –
In time, in season – there is birthed a splendor
In spring, that splendor – that pretty comes from me
The bulb who waits, patient, beneath the ground
Where there is the promise that, in time, there will come
A beautiful flower who will brighten hearts like the sound…
Laughing in the breeze – a flower, free to breath!
I felt cold winter winds upon
My face, my hands, my ears,
Wet blowing snowflakes, chilly white,
That to my eyes brought tears.
I was outside hanging lights
That would in darkness glow
And with their multicolored rays
Create for all, snow shows.
When plugged in, up atop the roof,
All bulbs but one beamed bright,
I knew that it was "climb up time",
Up there this winter's night.
I turned around to go and get
My ladder from the shed,
When up above my roof, I heard
A whooooosh beyond my head.
I looked up in the night sky where
A very bright light shone
All through the sky, on houses, cars;
I blinked and it was gone.
The light bulb that had failed before
To light was glowing bright,
Much brighter than the rest of them
Here on this snowy night.
Amidst a flash across the sky
I heard a voice, I swear,
Call out -"Take care and cast your smile
To people everywhere.
It's not the lights that glow that need
A spark - it's those gone out.
Shine forth your joy to all the world,
That's what love's about."
W.C.Hull © 2003-23-12-689 (A)
Such a spherical near ball of delight,
Dispelling darkness with illuminating bright light.
It’s core made of red hot and burning filament,
An element clearing blackness, our eyes out of predicament.
If not for a discovery, by Thomas Alva Edison?
We’d still be in Hades, instead we’re in Heaven.
So thanks to the bulb, we don’t strain our sight,
Whether its day light or the darkest of night.
Imagine a life without incandescent light?
I shudder to think of such a terrible plight.
- Prince Freakasso (Painter & Poet)
LIGHT BULB MOMENTS
so stark
it feels
delicate
&
ethereal
involving chance
summoned
to an
alternate
encounter
an
exercise
in the capricious
so esoteric
pleasingly
conjured
to preserve
the affectionate
imbuing it
with feeling
frozen
spectacular
conceptual
illuminates
the scene
NOTE:THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE using spaces&breaks without grammatical symbols ,the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and responds thus making this enigmatic form a two way interplay & interpretatIon unique to the moment& changing according to mood is inherently variable.
Copyright © Brian Strand
A light bulb
that when turned on
is faint and low, range amber flow
then as it warms
the given light
glows bright and strong
filling the room.
A love
born of friendship
inspires and gives life to each other
that questions the whys and wherefores
to become more
of understanding and acknowledgement
that one is nothing without the other.
With time,
it grows
or dims
as the source allows.
I felt cold winter winds upon
My face, my hands, my ears,
Wet blowing snowflakes, chilly white,
That to my eyes brought tears.
I was outside hanging lights
That would in darkness glow
And with their multicolored rays
Create for all, snow shows.
When plugged in, up atop the roof,
All bulbs but one beamed bright,
I knew that it was "climb up time",
Up there this winter’s night.
I turned around to go and get
My ladder from the shed,
When up above my roof, I heard
A whoosh beyond my head.
I looked way up and -Oh, my gosh! -
A very bright light shone
All through the sky, on houses, cars;
I blinked and it was gone.
The light bulb that had failed before
To light was glowing bright,
Much brighter than the rest of them
Here on this snowy night.
Amidst a flash across the sky
I heard a voice, I swear,
Call out, "Take care and cast your smile
To people everywhere.
It’s not the lights that glow that need
A spark, it’s those gone out.
Shine forth your joy to all the world,
That’s what love’s all about."
W.C.Hull © 2003-2013-23-12-689 (A)
Edison bulb
Instine formula
calling bet’s
to the last three
a crazy intense formula
with pimples wild
set up now golden age
it was like a deck of card’s
down to the last three
with a gofey pimple on top
what appears now
what happens now
the last two heads
now he says drink
he wants you gone
YOU THOUGHT IT WAS SPRING
LIGHT BULB MOMENTS
so stark
it feels
delicate
&
ethereal
involving chance
summoned
to an
alternate
encounter
an
exercise
in the capricious
so esoteric
pleasingly
conjured
to preserve
the affectionate
imbuing it
with feeling
frozen
spectacular
conceptual
illuminates
the scene
NOTE:THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE using spaces&breaks without grammatical symbols ,the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and responds thus making this enigmatic form a two way interplay & interpretatIon unique to the moment& changing according to mood is inherently variable.
Copyright © Brian Strand
My mother loved me into wonderfulness
An odd child, too unusual for school.
I was sent home the first day, with a note.
I watched my mother’s face, for nuances.
A small wavering cheek dimple would have
Confirmed my most horrid fears.
I could tell by the whisperings of the day
The teacher did not want me there
Would my mother feel shame?
Would she call me names too?
Like the children had?
Arms enfolded me.
Relief.
She still loved me.
My mother, the one person who
Believed in me when I was feeling like
No one else did.
You my blessed son, are too smart to go there.
I stared into her brown doe eyes.
She had never been more convincing.
And I was a child who needed to believe.
She is the reason I persevered.
No other teacher could have taught me
Resiliency and tenacity like my mother did.
She, and she alone, convinced me of my
Brilliance.
No one else would have failed nine thousand and nine hundred and ninety-nine times and still tried one more time, right?
So in a way I must dedicate the electric light-bulb to my mother.
God bless you, Mother.
You are my hero!
As I look upon my tree
I can't help but ponder just what it means
The star on the top represents The King
Below are the blessings He's given to me
A bulb for my mother and one for my son
Beside it my fathers, each grandparent gets one
My wife and my friends represented in light
Each like our spirits shining ever so bright
Each ornament represents, the gifts on the way
There's one from my childhood I proudly display
The train at the bottom circles the tree
Like the love that we share, its path never ending
We rejoice in the strength, the joy and comfort
His branches provide unending support
All coming down from the One up above
Derived from the trunk supporting our love
So as you gaze upon your tree
With clearer eyes may you see
It was never about the gifts below
But His ever warm and constant glow
The bulb should have burned out long ago –
But still it burned, its feeble frame
Still clinging to life.
The light that illuminated the room was hazy;
As though the bulb were a candle,
Flickering faintly in a dark cave.
Ink sat in its inkwell, fresh
As the day it was poured; the brush bone dry;
The paper, brittle as porcelain – forgotten.
The ancient walls kept out all natural light, it was just
The bulb and its dim orange huse
Causing a weak shimmer off of stray plates and glasses;
Set upon the table, still waiting for the vening meal
That never came.
Ominously, the old wood creaked in the quiet breeze
Let in by a crack through the door
The silent echo was deafening, eerie in the morning light
The brought all to life
Except the empty house and its empty rooms
The house
With its empty walls, its creaking door, its burning bulb –
It waits.
For what, none can say.
But it will continue to wait, so long as time keeps moving.
It waits in vain however, for it will forever remain empty
Its occupants are never coming home.
Light Bulb Thinker settled down to concentrate on work
Ideas were parading, from his job he did not shirk.
Librarians hushed their clientele, so LBT could think.
Phrases and vocabulary came to him in green, yellow and pink.
Wonder what is happening? Another thinker asked.
Not sure, said the book worm, is he comfy and masked?
Does he have to be? A patron asked in a hushed tone.
They watched the amazing thinker, as he sat still as stone.