Best Buttress Poems
within Zieglerville, pennsylvania
genuine snow white hair
upon her noggin doth adorn,
perhaps she will divulge to me (in private)
after i croon (to said lass),
the melody of Jimmy Crack Corn
hmm...or, maybe this mission
perchance twill be doomed from the start,
and hence finding me forlorn
thenceforth, a backup contingency measure,
would warrant me to don my thinking cap,
and for extra ordinary reinforcement unfold
each Taj Mahal shaped ear flap
plus (for reinforced ironic steeliness),
aye also resort to buttress
any aural "stormy Dani yelling)
via walled in interlap,
which accouterment functions
as a double agent i.e. (or,
to be rather crude),
an audiological jockstrap
to vet or figuratively kneecap
any unwanted infiltrating leaping lap
ping "FAKE" distracting news
inducing madcap
mass media circus
driving this generic teetotaler
to pour himself a nightcap
essentially providing wig gull room
with very little margin of ear err, or overlap
against bigwigs to trumpet pap
pill low ma rendered free and clear
asper insidious (mama mia) paparazzi
charting imp pea ching fear
bringing out bare arms
most likely something internuclear
simply to discover visa vis authenticity
if cute employee
(sporting hair
white as the virgin snow),
which doth simmer and glare
blindingly, thus necessitating sunglasses
(I choose the Ray-Ban brand)
as recommended by cited
all time favorite pharmacist
who unwittingly (or simply because
my myopic eyes didst stare)
fixedly - drawn to such a darling (doll ling)
explaining any reason to go THERE
to CVS - that tis where.
On the barren lava soil,
Windswept pines stretch out their arms,
Gnarled white bones against the sky.
Mountain wears majestic white
Glacier robes that flow between
Buttress ridges of black rock.
Rushing rivers tumble down
To the valley, where blue lakes
Greet like eyes in seas of green.
Written in summer 2016 on the slopes of Mt. Hood
Shore lights buttress the sky's
vaulted dark and shed
a solemn hush along
the river's reach.
Set upon a calm,
fishing boats drift
the night towing lines
of vicious hooks.
Below them, the sediments
of lifetimes lay in secreted
scores cast in a language
lost to the ear. In the quiet
of evenings you can almost
hear the river breathe.
Something rises to speak,
falling silent as if an affliction
has made what
dwells there, mute.
In the distance, small fish
splash the surface pursued
by predators lunging up
from deep below. Then everything
chokes to a quiet.
The river flows on
and on, sealing in mud
the sad chorus
of unspoken sounds.
It was a sizzling summer of electric blues and vibrant hues
in a garden full of flowers inked in plushy spanking reds
a wall of buttress wood splashed with vines of green
a purple morning glory with a touch of dewy sheen
over by a mossy pond a mandarin duck of orangey blue
The sun turns amber like a big fat shimmering coin of gold
in a sky that often blushes fuchsia, pink, by a cloud's enfold
emerald blades of grass behind a white striped skunk
a gradient shade of orange, from a Siberian chipmunk
here by the royal blue bench, a vibrant peacock fans bold
It is a season of rainbow colored rain and red electric trains
in a terrace full of trellises of white, roses bright as Spain
blooming with vigor inside my bright oasis
happily connected to a Revlon kiss,
of cherry berry merry, on a girl named Mary Lou Fontaine
An evanescent bouquet of skewed briars,
is how a tinsel laden tawdry essence wickedly unfolds ,
scuppered signpost to a fetid human compost,
faint light pendant on soul crushed quantum migrant,
who might chortle at vivid veil flimsy vacuum,
skirt recklessly around bogus symbols,
peer behind the squalid limp sodden hedge,
mock myopic moribund mist upon boundary busting dawn chimera,
sneer at synthetic spectrum elastic in its irritating tidal wave surfeit,
cerulean fabric‘s milky way escape plot,
in a perilous quest for that eternal tape loop mantra,
the synaptic heart of that vainglorious horizon,
self-knowledge under charcoal moon and silver cloud veneer,
or feral waste rapid fire contagion,
the indecisive day glow dither on the margins ,
of fly weight feeble frantic dash,
that velvet shadow treason daubed pettifog,
known as tangential wanton cobweb fester creed,
the mind a bloated ripple vortex numbing in its scope,
golden mirage but faux fur real concoction,
against the banal backdrop of complex-ridden superficial eddy,
from floral garland poseur stricken en train,
some vox pop indignation mere shrinking violet showcase waver,
the gleam-hued truth has this dastardly demonic derailment,
that I brush aside as spiteful oxalic sting repost,
that deceptive mint green forest of chameleon cant,
sly nuanced molten maple syrup hint,
from out of kilter tree pierce otherworld,
unseen yet bliss-edged virtual garden of firm conviction,
not just from isolated enigmatic individual script,
such as torrid turbulence or mindless scattered rim shot,
when conventions can be altered in exotic prose,
human zeitgeist has this far too often penchant,
for silkworm rapt effervescent double speak,
whilst plain unvarnished uplifting utterance,
resides within the deep crystal spring well,
of us torch aloft emerald earthling sages,
please augment the rock buttress stark phrase,
whose bluntness is a carrier pigeon of candor,
devoid of muted gray cloud blind waffle,
aromatic sprig to giant spasm of bold pluck,
quandary of human race at hearth,
frightened cliques, hidebound yes men who yen,
to swim the azure gulf of august freedom,
to the Eden where lucid tongues herald pristine witness.
where values at the centre of our being should blossom
Our Lady of Paris
With your ribbed vaults
Flying buttress
And rose colored windows
The Huguenots
The Republicans
Couldn't destroy you
Victor and Quasimodo
Loved you
Napoleon restored you
Fire couldn't destroy you
Your spire fell
But your spirit
Your cross
Still shines
NOTRE DAME IN THE NEWS Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Kim Rodrigues
5/16/19
Consciousness Correction – 11-20-23
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Consciousness Correction
Envy sneaks in unseen
A thief robbing light from my house of gratitude,
Sowing simmering anger, extinguishing thankfulness,
In blind yellowed views
Gratitude held captive,
Strangled,
Pennies of “I wish” tossed into stone cisterns
Where winter thrashes cyclconic -
Vortex of a gleeful witness to spring’s demise -
Dead-ends swell in jealous broken branches,
Wrapped in near sighted stigmatisms,
Lenses smeared in covet.
Stone citadels rise from my naked spite,
Blind to confessions of incense,
To curl into deep pools
Poisoned by tainted pools of jealousy,
Creeping to the heights of entitled grudges.
Yet nascent vines, fragrant with focal points,
Blooms of correction,
Slip between crumbling buttress mortars,
Sachets illuminate good will
In wreaths of newborn appreciation
That knows its need for candles of kindness
My thankful eyes, that walked in darkness, see
To embrace armloads of miracles come into focus
Reappearing from soot blown corners.
Scales fall in melting flakes
From my bloodshot eyes,
New sight nourished in a corrected wash -
Sweet nectar of reckoning
By a brilliant polestar of clarity magnified
Opaque about-face.
Our thoughts are but the stone the quarry yields,
Which, rough and cold, do wait the hand of art;
Like ancient rock from untamed, barren fields,
They hold no form, nor yet a conscious heart.
The mind, a mason, takes these common bits,
And with a plan no mortal eye hath seen,
By hammer-stroke and measured toil, permits
A structure rising, glorious and keen.
Each arching line, a metered verse aligns,
A buttress strong where logic’s weight is laid,
And through the glass, where coloured light now shines,
The soul’s intent in artistry, displayed.
So in this verse, a fleeting, built design,
The artificial and the human join.
New red-leaf candles glow in a green room
jungle cathedral; buttress-rooted forest-columns climb
to a sun-starred sky in jig-saw pieces;
wings stretch feathers over gravity;
voices whisper, ‘Beware. Lions prowl.’
Smooth granite-faced walls build shadow-spaces,
city-blocks; black-suited women, men, stride out,
ground-starers, pacing
beside the sign: ‘Do not feed lions’.
Lacovia road
Here once the bambo trees
Dance like native girls
In native half-nakednesss
And farmers trudge a way
Not so long nor forbidding now
Along the banks where lizards lazed
A scampering of children
And trees are with sturdier concrete replaced.
The slant of rain obscures the dry of sun.
Lacovia road
I cannot tell which house you use to live
My old landmark
Of public standpipe is gone
And perhaps lovers
Meet in virtual space of idleness
Instead of where the gossip flowed
And fill the empty lives
With long leashes of control
Dripping from tireless tongues.
Lacovia road
And a fluttering dust of memory
Like paper littering the school yard
New mansions are strewn among the grass
Old cottages gone
Gone too the wattle and daub familiarity
Where we huddled out of the rain
And shared bammy and avocado
And old stories of Kujo crawling through the sugarcane
Among the crocodiles and in their skin
And the British fright to see the thing
Up like rabbit running for more than life
Lacovia road
And the big river still brims below
The old capital
Rearing for recognition without the mango trees
And shrimp sellers at the side of road
Without women burdened with cassava load
I long to smell the fry fish still
These stable buttress of the old economy
Replaced by the late coming
And harsh selection of a spindly modernity
Juxtaposed against a vast and ancient history
Of moments eternal.
Everything is beautiful at this time of day,
Following a quickening morning shower.
And the huge orange pearl that is the sun
Is just beginning to shepherd its endless power.
The spirit of divine blessings carries me,
In a vision, to the center of this sacred lush glade.
There lays a stone walkway crossing a footbridge
In a course toward stairs of rock on a rising grade.
Then immediately before me, a shrine-like temple,
With finely carved work exhibited on every side,
It appears to be the craft of the Eternal Builder himself,
To whom the fairest beauties of nature have replied.
It bestows its stately head of glittering spires to the sky,
Resting upon its noble structure of stone buttress and turrets.
The remaining stairs, I bound, and through the gilded doors,
Into the cedar and marble interior, a work of matchless merits.
The artifacts are carved to satisfy the eyes of God,
And, for amenity, a cruciform lamp high in the ceiling of the shrine.
Comprising the interior are two large and lavish units,
The nave consecrated to the body and the apse to the mind.
The golden glow of the lamp exalted the light in my eyes,
So I turned toward the door and gingerly stepped down the aisle.
With head bowed, I walked through the gilded doors,
Feeling the tender glow of the light on my back all the while.
River minnows
One of life’s sunshine days
A pleasant walk down to the river
Scene of all basking in high summer sun
Sheep graze roaming enamoured of the warm grass
The river flowing passing on its ancient meandering way
A self carved path by an enticement no choice drawn to the sea
And over the river and water meadows comfy white cottages seen
The bright garden colours given now a soft focus by haze and distance
Onto the river bridge the weight an impetus of water a few feet down below
Grey stone ancient buttress shaped by old artifice granting water a gentle pass
Auric and glistening the strong suns noonday blazing light beams down
Lit the riverbed of soft golden sands transmuted a bronze by depth
Flanking green reeds softly sway the gentle current persuades
Shadows shapes seen moving contrary and counter way
Lovely minnow’s dark tops sides a silver hidden
Viewed unseen but in this summer light
Serendipity favour a glance a view
Perhaps a little peep
Of heaven
idealism of youth
mélange of
dreams and prayers—
disparate yet intertwined—
assembled in their thunderous ranks
to echo past myriad
gleaming colonnades that
buttress evermore eternity
self-betrayal and realization
stolid mind shattered
by coruscant might,
and one's irreverent yearn
in shards was rent asunder,
bereft of merit but who
transformed amid the filth—
banality dismissed
sorrow and reconciliation
grieving stream of years
torn from Chronos’
pavilions tattered—
first estranged but then
with fairness stemmed
life's passing entourage—
muted those who would upbraid
apotheosis
were you there
you might have seen
time begging after destiny,
which turned aside
what once had been—
transcendent he continued then
past worlds without an end
Click on 'About This Poem' above for additional comments.
Oscans, Ligures and the Apuli as known
Ancient Greek, Samnitics, Sicanis and Celt
Indigenous tribes, one people with love grown
Capodanno Fiorentino o'er lands dwelt
Wine appellation of Sangiovese as shown
Wreaths and lanterns over folklores shine not welt
Carrara marbles as buttress of stronghold
With arts and culture, graced with norms of the bold
One of lifes sunshine days
A pleasant walk down to the river
Scene of all basking in high summer sun
Sheep graze roaming enamoured of the warm grass
The river flowing passing on its ancient meandering way
A self carved path by an enticement no choice drawn to the sea
And over the river and water meadows comfy white cottages seen
The bright garden colours given now a soft focus by haze and distance
Onto the river bridge the weight an impetus of water a few feet down below
Grey stone ancient buttress shaped by old artifice granting water a gentle pass
Auric and glistening the strong suns noonday blazing light beams down
Lit the riverbed of soft golden sands transmuted a bronze by depth
Flanking green reeds softly sway the gentle current persuades
Shadows shapes seen moving contrary and counter way
Lovely minnow’s dark tops sides a silver hidden
Viewed unseen but in this summer light
Serendipity favour a glance a view
Perhaps a little peep
Of heaven