Best Burgess Poems
had Julian been even a sparkle in his
mom’s eyes
when Ray put the pen to Fahrenheit 451,
one might have witness the light being
passed
straight from one hand to the next---
from Zamyatin to
Huxley & from Huxley to
Orwell & from Orwell to
Mr. Bradbury & from Mr. Bradbury to
Burgess, from Burgess to Atwood &
onward &
as one picks up the torch,
cranking the floodlights on the
dastardly deeds of the empire at hand
12 more flick on their lighters,
17 more strike matches &
light candles, whilst the flashlights,
the spotlights, the headlights,
the energy saving sunlight bulbs &
even the bug lights,
all spread like rampant wildfire
throughout the world,
continuing the tradition
(one of the few worth keeping)---
Julian & Wikileaks, Anonymous &
LulzSec,
should not be assaulted but instead
hailed for what they are doing,
as the work they are producing is
of immeasurable value to our species---
they all run with the flame burning bright &
though idiots across the board still
buy into the propaganda peddled by the
masters spending $5 billion a year in
the campaign to brainwash more of us
citizens into
numbness,
we who work in the light
unafraid of these attempts still failing
miserably on us,
raise our lights in unison
for one day this world will be lit
perpetually, and not the largest
industrial blower of any kind
promulgated by the powers that be,
will be able to extinguish it.
Categories:
burgess, life, work, work,
Form:
Free verse
I wake from a bad dream
Hey there new man
That’s what they said to me
Hey there how’s it been lately?
I stand, look and see
Elvis, Martin Luther King and John Lennon walk on by so casually.
Roy Orbison and Freddie Mercury harmonising with Liberace as the queen mother watches whilst sipping tea
As I walk what looks like on nothing
I see Winston Churchill talking with Audie Murphy as Lewis Collins stares at me
I say hello to Marylyn Monroe or Norma Jean as Tony Curtis politely corrects me
Burgess Meredith tells me to do push ups, James Mason steadies me. Richard Burton drinking with Roger Moore on one round table and on the table next to them John Thaw doing a crossword - difficultly!
I walk on aimlessly as I see Bruce Lee training ferociously. Clark Gable playing cards with Humphrey Bogart and General Custer sipping whiskey with Einstein, Herriot, Tolkien and Agatha Christie - something too mind bending to me!
I walk through some glass doors and a whole world of familiar faces turns to see.
I wake up suddenly.
I sit up and can’t believe how real that felt to me.
Categories:
burgess, appreciation, cool, crazy, dream,
Form:
Free verse
To the boy who battled dragons
In the mists of yesteryear
Did you ever imagine
That you’d be standing here?
To the man who’s made of stardust
Our brightest son and sun
Will your light shine the farthest
When all is said and done?
To the boy who built his castle
In the once-upon-a-time
On the day you turn your tassel
Did you know how bright you’d shine?
To the man who’s making history
As you light the way for others
Is it really a mystery
That I’m proud to call you brother?
*For my brother
Blake Burgess
Categories:
burgess, brother, childhood, family, graduation,
Form:
Rhyme
Corky Withers was a Very talented performer,
leaving audiences Excited and mystified
with his magic acts Night after night.
More mesmerizing Than the sleight of hand
was his sidekick, the Raucous, rude dummy, Fats,
through which (whom) he Illustrated his ability
to speak through dead-still Lips. All eyes were on Fats.
Then—well, Fats took Over, so to speak.
Corky, by then Quite mad, ended up killing two people.
Seemingly unassuming and shy, he was Under the spell
of the evil, controlling Fats—Corky’s true Id manifested.
I vividly remember some Scenes from Magic (1978)--
to me, a truly Terrifying movie.
Magic starred Anthony Hopkins, Ann-Margret, and Burgess Meredith.
June 17, 2018, entered in Anthony Slausen's Ventriloquist Poetry Contest
Categories:
burgess, film, horror,
Form:
Acrostic
I will always hate the colour orange. Consider:
Last meeting was on promoting sales of necklaces,
The folder given was orange.
Going home was a one-lane affair,
An orange sign stated, “Works Ahead”.
Orange traffic cones lined the lane on each side.
Arriving home I found my wife had installed orange curtains.
By this time I began to have some shivers.
Dinner began: orange pumpkin soup with orange buffalo wings.
“Come dear have some orange juice laced with orange vitamin pills.”
Opening TV and orange Garfield appeared.
Even the Cheetos and Utz Cheese Balls were orange.
Turning to a book what do I get?
A Clockwork Orange by Anthony Burgess.
That’s when I began to really hate the colour
For even the goldfish had the same colour.
“Is it possible in this world it’s all orange?”
My wife thought about that and said:
“Oh no my dear, there’s salmon, carrot, coral, titian….”
Disgusted I left the house towards a verdant park.
Categories:
burgess, nonsense,
Form:
Free verse
They say that love is like the sun
Lighting up the moon
Two hearts eclipse and beat as one
On an evening late in June
In azure skies where stars are strung
Like jasmine vines in bloom
A gentle breeze, like love, has come
To hum a little tune
On beaches where the waves are flung
At high tide and high noon
A sea of blissful tears will run
Among love’s sandy dunes
In a little house where hope is hung
Like a wreath in every room
Love’s made a home, life’s just begun
For a lucky bride and groom
And he will be her shining sun
And she, his gleaming moon
Two hearts eclipse and beat as one
On an evening late in June.
For my brother, Blake Burgess
and his wife Krystal
on their wedding day
June 30th, 2018
Categories:
burgess, love, romance, romantic, romantic
Form:
Rhyme
My name is Axon Burgess
I am broken and thin
I went to fight for glory and right
but only drank more gin
Before he died
my friend would confide
about his sister's beauty
if her eyes did look at me
her eyes would look right through me
What are you doing in this town?
Who are you looking for,sir?
The girl who's face launched many a ship
I am looking for her
What are you doing in this town?
Who are you looking for,sir?
The girl who is a cathedral of butterflies
I am looking for her
What are you doing in this town?
Who are you looking for,sir?
The girl who walks as gentle as a fawn
I am looking for her
Categories:
burgess, beauty, desire, girl,
Form:
Having felt the true awareness beauty brings
Here blindly corresponding' overdue,
Leaves sentiment for daydreams to review
Whilst pondering on thoughts of lovely things,
Like you, whose effervescence shines so bright,
As lily pads, complete me like the clouds
Where every need with perseverance, light
Shows godly, the intentions wrapped in shrouds
They're woven from your loveliness, delight!
Though death, may have composed the lullaby,
To sleep with you majestically laments
A heavenly abode, so commonsense
Can teach me what is beautiful, I die.
The remnants of a life-time play pretend
Conceived in new beginnings, not the end.
also at:
http://allpoetry.com/poem/4288353
A poem for a lovely girl http//:allpoetry.com/Burgess
Categories:
burgess, lost love, love, me,
Form:
Sonnet
Sprawling, against a backlit Sun. Magenta
the Clockwork of Time
and its infinite antinominies
..................of timeless aimlessness
and Void of Time
fades as a memory
the pulse and rhythm of each staccato stroke
against the clockwork springs
and fine-tuned apparatus
the pendulum swing
and weighted balance strokes
Masses of Fixed, orbital constructs
and circadian heartbeat pulses
conforming to some Final End
of Morbid Alarm
or Eternal Awakening
the surreal bending of metronome reflection
twists the Absolute structure of melody
(notwithstanding it's momentary cadence,
and sequence of endless notes
Cascading
backwards in patch-work puzzlement,
like Shostakovich having a break before the
Symphony begins
and lets out Piano-Forte brash
as if in dissonant protest
to the scandal of patterned, and ordered
Tablature
Categories:
burgess, 11th grade, 3rd grade,
Form:
Acrostic
PLEASE SAY THAT AGAIN MR. BURGESS (JUST A LITTLE BIT LOUDER)
Lieutenant General Ronald Burgess
(Director of the US Defense Intelligence Agency)
sat there in front of the Senate Armed Services Committee on Thursday &
asserted to the world that
“Iran is unlikely to initiate or intentionally provoke a conflict”…
um, could we hear that again Mr. Burgess for all the distracted viewers at home?
(just in case ya left the room ta get some milk n’ cookies or somethin’)---
“IRAN IS UNLIKELY TO INITIATE OR INTENTIONALLY PROVOKE A CONFLICT”
and after he said this,
he was asked about the Israeli government’s intentions
regarding the continuous threats of annihilating the nuclear facilities
(ooh let’s hope they aim right…wouldn’t want to massacre any civilians now),
he responded by saying that to the best of his knowledge,
the Israeli government has not yet decided as to whether they will attack Iran.
and so, if little brother decides to attack Iran
without the initial support of big brother,
remember this, o’ citizens of the empire,
for an attempt will most certainly be made to
rile up & round up your own psyche
to get behind the madness,
even though the men who wear the uniform every day
come right out on international television &
tell us that this great big boogeyman that is being strangled by
the world around it
with endless sanctions
in order to squeeze it dry of its oil,
is not planning to strike back on its own
without being attacked first.
Categories:
burgess, life, world,
Form:
Free verse
All within the taiga glade,
Their raiments gilt in comely shades,
The burgess shrives vagrant souls.
A garth of god for men alow.
Whereinto the roots may grow,
We wayfarers may never know,
For we waltz twixt sky and earth-
Domain of beast and realm of birds.
The elders of the greenwood lie,
On earth when once they kissed the sky,
And glowered at the rover’s romp,
Through lodgings filled with trunk and stump.
Or shrove to lonesome wretched wights,
Flying from their fearsome frights;
Seeking presence with burgesses,
Of taiga glade, the earth, the trees.
But now they lie upon the ground,
Now shod their garb, and lost their crowns,
Ne’er again will readorn,
Unlike their kin who stand and mourn.
We pass into the land of love,
For pleasant autumn leaves above;
To revel or repent alone,
To contemplate or to atone?
Categories:
burgess, 12th grade, appreciation, autumn,
Form:
Rhyme
Some folks like to say that life’s a beach
Build our castles in the sand and then we dive
But there are few who care enough to reach
And pull us back from the ever rising tide
When we’re content to stroll along the surf
Delighting in the treasures that we find
No one else can tell us what they’re worth
Or how much we’ll regret those left behind
When we cast off from the old, familiar docks
And venture forth into waters yet unknown
It’s your loving light that spares us from the rocks
Your warm glow that guides us safely home
And even in the darkest of our nights
When all seems lost, we will still look to you
And although we no longer see your light
We still feel your presence, strong and true.
In loving memory of
Truman Burgess
1940 - 2023
Categories:
burgess, grandfather, grief, light, loss,
Form:
Rhyme
It’s funny to look at creatives,
painters, writers, musicians and such,
look back across their bodies of work,
and laugh at how much of it is luck,
that things they put their whole soul into
now languish deep in obscurity,
while works they did for cash rise above,
the reasons a compete mystery.
For example, Anthony Burgess,
the writer of Clockwork Orange fame,
wrote the book in three weeks for money,
from a half-baked impulse in his brain,
only to see the story snowball,
becoming, by far, his best known work,
even became a famous movie,
the success of it made his brain hurt
to the point he denounced his own book
as he went through the balance of years,
but try to recall his other books
and you will find no memory appears.
Though the man didn’t embrace the work,
the impact of the tale did not cease,
and I think that it is safe to say
poor Burgess crapped out a masterpiece.
You have seen it plenty in music,
like the overperforming B-side,
KISS was known for their raucous rocking,
that is how they’re practically defined,
and yet their greatest commercial hit
was a sappy love ballad called Beth,
a B-side to more pulse-pounding fare,
yet somehow outperforming the rest.
How many songs came about like this?
It’s so many it’s now a cliché,
and all that was well before Youtube,
now it seems like every other day
some amateur you’ve never heard of,
who past efforts just seemed cringeworthy,
just got ten million hits overnight
because they crapped out a masterpiece.
Max Brand writing all of his westerns,
a genre that he helped to define,
thought they were junk, his poems were art,
yet just the westerns have survived time.
The people who made the first Matrix
Have done nothing that impressive since,
to the point that it’s become quite clear
they don’t know what made the first a win.
No matter what the medium is,
it seems not to matter in the least,
set people free and somehow some will
happen to crap out a masterpiece...
CONCLUDES IN PART II.
Categories:
burgess, art, how i feel,
Form:
Rhyme
Freedom is the green grass where the antelope roam
It’s the darndest yarn of cotton
It’s the bottom feed for human basics
Freedom is the buttress of the Moths wing
It’s the smile you give me
when you're in clover
Freedom is the languid river
And it’s the caterpillar’s prayer
And the hero’s scythe thrashing the tall weeds
I see a glade
for freedoms chance of burgess
Categories:
burgess, allegory,
Form:
Free verse