Best Coalesces Poems
French Bread
Your index finger
draws figure-eights
in the dusting of flour
on the counter top
where you lean
quite casually,
watching as I make
a loaf of French bread.
Then, laughing a bit,
you insert your powdery finger
into my right ear.
I’m startled...
I was so very focused
on assembling ingredients
that I wasn’t aware
of my surroundings,
at least not enough to see
your finger inching its way
toward me. I laugh too,
realizing the intimacy
of your floured finger.
Somehow,
I don’t believe
your interest is in my baking,
but I proceed on to
proofing the yeast
in warm water,
watching carefully
for the always-shocking
bloom’s suggestion
of the possible,
our palates fine-tuned
to the perfume
of earth and damp places.
Thus begins the slow tango
of dryness becoming wet,
a touch of salt-taste,
elements bound together
by the slippery
until there is inseparable oneness,
deep warmth in the joining,
the inevitable rising,
swelling seeking relief.
But not yet, oh no...
First there must be a pause,
a relaxation of the engorged,
consummation delayed,
then the pressure of my hands,
pressing-on,
pressing and shaping and pressing.
We sip our wine,
talk quietly, anticipating
the inevitable increase,
saying between us,
“We’re ready for the final phase:
the heat that binds,
coalesces the disparate ingredients,
yielding at last to the
inevitable delectable finish.”
Later, cooling as it always must,
we can’t resist
nibbling still-warm bits
dipped in melted butter,
feeding them to each other,
transcending words,
finding new ways of seeing
one another.
Written November 23, 2013
for Charlotte’s Scorchers.
A sunflower-sun blooms high in the skies,
beaming its rays onto the sand and waves.
And seagulls assault the air with their cries,
as crabs dart in and out of flooded caves.
Their orange carapace, in stark contrast;
crabs feed on green algae as flats expand.
And chase the tides, relentless and steadfast,
o'er coral shards and alabaster sand.
When a moist mist coalesces offshore,
fog obscures the sun, dimming down its light.
And Sol's shy face isn't seen anymore,
till brisk breezes disperse this ghostly sight.
As the heat of its rays intensifies,
a sunflower-sun blooms high in the skies.
The sun closes in on itself imploding.
Storm clouds clots like cream.
The sky tinged a rancid yellow of dream
raises tornadoes like totems scolding.
A wet haze weeps through the pine trees
furthering the sky’s somber malaise.
Life, a missing actor on the stage,
the rare and ripest red of blood, ceases.
Yet, the bole of trees carved, coalesces to form
the winged memory of bird, man and bear,
letting all of those who have forgotten stare
upon the aged markers of clans long gone.
And so life, death and the day end eternally glazed
making way for rain-bowed hues within the maze.
Poet: D. Guzzi
Date: 8/13/11
We met in rage, incarnadine fury,
meandered, then, became tenacious friends.
From wary circling hearts, we took the chance,
we joined our hands, we spun in place, we laid
a spiral architecture down, we formed
a spring, mosaic metal, powerful
enough to shoot us through life's remainder.
Our kids launched off, angelic, ravenous,
diaphanous, eloquent quintessence
of you and me, the luminous javelins
so deftly thrown, that hit the lustrous mark,
where they began their own soliloquies.
So placidly we now relax, with love,
For azure shards and lyric gleams we seek,
the moonlight in our glade, mellifluous
in all its soundings, serendipity
of sylvan lore, ephemeral saffron
at birth the lunar light, it shows your face,
it coalesces inception's recall,
I see you as that first explosive day.
December 6, 2016
For the 'SHOOTING BLANK VERSE - Poetry Contest' sponsored by John Lawless.
SUMMER OF LOVE
Torbid lake
Serene shrill
Stillness; opaque
A furnace of a summer
Rumage through the trees and foliage
Rake and sift nature, for a selfish sake.
We all lose blood of our ancisters
We all lose in the end.
We all keep this sacrament in secrecy.
We all do nothing. Void of intent.
Weather of war.
Patriotism in cloth and bigotry
Uneducated enemy. Unhealthy lifestyles.
Unafraid, because we remain unaware.
Remain in denial.
Seasons change, climate coalesces
Geography is slowly rearranged
As is my focus on something new and strange
A focus on a dot to obsess
We all have reasons to run – to regress
We all hide.
From each other
And ourselves.
Quantum mechanics proves that we can be put back to,
Particles, atoms, matter and gas by physical reactions,
But such indeterminism was fought by C S Lewis boldly,
Who used capitals mid-sentence for personifications.
He wanted to personify morality and the virtues,
So said Right and Justice to detach the judge,
From the justice, from the boyfriend or the neighbour,
So that from Hawking we would in some way budge.
But libertarianism contravenes philosophical necessarianism,
By forwarding that we all have alternative possible actions.
Says we’re not predetermined by prior events and engagements,
Through a divine agent that coalesces and notions,
That truth is out there is a fact, out with our command,
But truth is real, essentially original, humanly discovered;
A god cannot call it or claim its curvature or inception,
Because an agent would make our interpretation blurred.
Truth is not solely objective, bestowed supernaturally,
But is a human relativity which we believe, tell or embody;
We all have our own being which can reap desolation,
Or liberation, if we choose to personify it for somebody.
Operating at Zero G
As cosmos coalesces with the universe
Lights out at space station four
Meteor storm exaggerated its orbit
Plunged it into brilliant dark
Surgeon lost his grip on scalpel and will to cut
As he floated from the operation
Down the hall with nothing on his mind
Patients convalesce and wave good-bye
Touched only by a will to live in space
Astronauts knew not what to do
They too spun away
And prayed for better weather
Peter (a birthday gift)
having not met in this reality
knowing him only by words
and the images captured
like still painted souls
in the magic box
I am free to dress him
in whatever thought
captures, as still life
in my bag of words.
scent of wind and heather
precedes the form as it coalesces
from the fog of imagery
rough coat of tweed
in blues and browns
carries the breath of gods
from distant times
the song of the carders
the slap of the shuttle
as it wends its singular way
between the fibres upon the loom.
he fills a room with presence
hilarities tumble across the threshold
laughter greets all gathered there
and mystery follows close behind
tagging at his coat tails
impatient to be etched across
white sheets of memory
yet like craggy cliffs his brow descends
when deep in thought,
far away in times unwritten
searching for his grail.
A cloud like hand
rolls across my cheek,
stealing a moment
as cold fingertips
sear down my back,
freezing the skin they touch,
bringing me away
from my bloodlust,
captivating my curiosity.
Alabaster screens
shift under the moon
hiding the stars
as shadows dance
in the edge of the woods,
another icy caress
slides down my side,
so cold it warms me,
enough to spark the blood
seeping from
the hole in my chest,
cauterizing it
and as the flesh knits together
a face coalesces before me.
Grayish blue eyes
cut into me
and I spread the wound
so they may peer in.
After getting their fill
they move to my eyes
and I notice
the fine lines of her jaw
and her slightly auburn hair
moving around as if caught in a breeze,
but it’s the way
the light plays across
her meticulous fangs
that mesmerize me.
Curved,
almost daintily,
better to hold what she wants,
my flesh craves them to dig in,
and I feel
the fur on my back rise
as I lick my lips
in anticipation.
Her body
begins to take form
as if she stepped out
from behind a curtain
and she stretches
her delicately curved fingers….
preparing….
My mind skips,
freezing me in midstep
and as I shake off my sluggishness
there she is,
arms wrapped around me,
I can see the three quarter moon
reflected in her eyes
and as her fangs graze my neck
I know I’ve found sanctuary.
There were ripples of the sparkling stream.
The crystalline water was mirroring the blue sky.
That befriended with the sun’s wonderful beam.
Beams of the dazzling looking golden eye.
The background was overflowing with mountains.
Mountains with snowcapped peaks,
Their attainment of such exquisiteness is a real arcane.
What is it above the sky that they seek?
The eagles were gloating about their wings.
O! How marvelous they were to glance upon!
Thrushes flew above the river as they sing.
Grazing on the grassland was a cluster of fawn.
There I saw the elderly yet strong fisherman.
Flinging his lure in an elegant technique.
Attracting catfish and trout as much as he can,
While sitting on the boulder beside the flowing creek.
The loveliness of the lotus was luring me,
Positioned silently on the cerulean water.
The white arrowhead was charming as she could be,
Her petals were diminutive as they always were.
Far away, I saw a grandiose tall tower.
Its peak was reaching for the high heavens.
He stood there taking delight over his power,
Amazed all travelers every now and then.
The heavens above exposed a band of colors.
Little time, after the floating dark skies cried.
I then assumed that our life is filled with squalors.
But don’t worry because later they are all bright.
After the drizzle, dews sat calmly on the grasses.
Scarcely and leisurely moving towards the ground,
The sunlight coalesces with the dew with tender caress.
How luxurious they looked wearing the golden crown!
The children played alongside the river in pleasure.
Girls were collecting flowers to make tiaras and garlands,
While boys were skipping stones on the tranquil water
Their little footprints placed themselves on the loose sands.
And I was assembled comfortably on the greens.
Beside flowed the river without paying any notice.
It cleansed all of my hopelessness and spleen.
Therefore I slept on the nature’s lap with internal peace…
She raises her façade to greet the dawning sun;
Yggdrasil a goddess, the empyreal one.
Tree of life, tree of hope, in sunlight’s kiss;
nurturer of the winged, in ethereal bliss.
She births her children with or without light;
nature’s sacred, matriarchal and wizened sprite.
Fronds of green, adorn her brow while
varied lichens are sprouted on boughs.
Nine worlds she guards, this venerable soul;
nine worlds her gasp will forever hold.
Concepts held of cosmogony;
concepts of origins of anthropogeny.
Symbol of the great of visica piscis;
a link of Tetragrammaton devices.
A soul is born of spiritual essences;
into many lives, existence coalesces.
Ominous Foreboding Augurs...
Innocuously incubated kindled
imperceptible dire strait
restlessness like tinder
with pinterest Deutsche agitate
barreling like a freight
train running so much
faster than an eight
track uber twittering,
rumbling, quickening and inculcate
dissension among dissolute
rabble rousers, who
do obediently initiate
rank and file will not abate,
boot re:reed out (bus) soon,
thence coalesces into ablegate
insidious encroachments
no longer patiently await...
ideal conditions to hatch
schism within parched
soil perfect for hate
mongers of democracy
breeds anarchy to facilitate
chaos, which quickly spreads
like kudzu, or wildfire Arson
Welles immediately forcing leader
of free world to abnegate,
(heard to trumpet "FORGET
THE WALL" mate),
(despite being caught in his
pink frilly underwear), to late
for Mar a Lago escape, where
formerly great wealth did
pool lightly coagulate
elite class heard faint stir of echoes,
then earsplitting clangorous louder
than an ICBM din (er bell)
rent asunder forcing
freedom of "FAKE
MEDIA" to abdicate
all the while pointing beringed
index finger to accentuate
his Taj Mahal ululation
interspersed veni, vedi,
veci stopping for spate
to coif (died in the will)
hirsute and aerate
said wind swept hairdo
pausing every now and again to snap
selfie portraits, plus
instagram loved ones to alleviate
that pompous, outsize,
and humongous ego fast deflate
ting into a shriveled up POTUS
float hissing boilerplate
hot airy premature ejaculations,
he would not capitulate
(sooner be rocketed
to Pyongyang and cell bate
good times with Kim
Jong-un to emasculate!
I now absolve myself
that aforementioned jest,
a tongue in cheek diatribe belies
my means to predict any forecast,
yet if any resemblance
of chance events
materializes between
my pablum childishness at best
there could arise fruitful market
for kitsch sheen collectors items
high as Mount Everest!
Quasar pulse time moves
at the pause ratio of
radioactive query change
A long anticipated moment of attraction
did quicky supernova boom,
then it slowly did mushroom
into repellant cloudy, doubtful affection
Heartbeat fears
perceptually travel
on quantum tick-tock gears
of uncertainty
Unknown quality of years,
diastolic guessing
Vibratory standstill
only lament expand glacial regrets
Inert decisions
based on vein transverse concepts —
Kinetic permutations of a void, after-vow life
Nil short hand trust keep spinning backwards
Neutron clock halts bio-rhythm progress;
nuclear bond broken, uncoupling kismet
Goodbye waves of binary permanence fusion
create so many
proton teary Eves and electron frown Adams
Paradoxically, unsettled matter
coalesces at entropy speed
High density flow of severed devotion
be an anti-betta Fate phenomenon:
A dual retrograde stillness of eMotion
Bosom thoughts, so whisper sublime,
do travel faster-than-flight
How null was the shooting star time?
Premature departure coursed flatline
through a serrated wormhole
in the vacuum cardio
Shared space contract
slower than
a frozen common asset
Oscillating fidelity
bandwidth kilohurtz breathe
aorta flux impurity
In the stillness of passion entropy;
that vast, intimate static ocean of much less
Suspended dreams drifts silently —
Non-animated feelings, so full of emptiness
Oh, how the ventricular pain throbs,
feel how slow the time bleed
When the systolic ticking sobs stop,
where will that stillness lead?
In impressions:
I reflect...
my expressions retract...
In composite cycles
I react...
Burning optics of set cycles
Spins
Around
Falling
Down,
Swirls, twirls to a stop.
I see lightning striking the ground.
Echos of reality
Excite liquids lights of delight.
Nanoseconds of thought, interact...
Spun perceptions like spiders at night
Memories are snared here in moments of silence
Of treason and crimes
Impressions die in optic’s artificial dawn
After the flesh, countless dry desires, expire...
In melancholy's pyres
Histories are burned to ash
Blow in endless winds of creations
Silent raging storm
Expression of birth and images die.
All bleeds at the edges of space
Crashing into star stuff.
Falling, buried in dead flesh
sunsets in a sea of oblivion
Faces awash in red flaring sand
like a car rusted machinery’...
Optics react
Date coalesces facts
The images blur
Information Redacts!
As I walk along a lonely path
…into oblivion...
to the edge of the sea, I emerge…
I stand and scan a Fractured Land.
as the late afternoon twilight years
of this primate become sans my exist
hence, more visible on the horizon
an increasing awareness prevails asper
how this middle aged baby boomer
(whose incessant, inconsolable, and
incurable wailing still reverberates til
this day - LIX exiting the birth canal
since January thirteenth ninety fifty
and nine) promulgates nascent longing
jumpstarting helping formulate doing
beneficial actions. only of late didst
an upswell to demonstrate appreciation
(towards acquaintances, countrymen/
women, family of origin, friends,
neigh boars, relatives, Romans, et cetera)
becomes a manifest destiny. awareness
crystallized within the recent past of
my life and hard (days night) times
this yearningto "pay forward" dirty deeds
done dirt cheap along the highway to hell
(mainly within a voluntary capacity)
to avail energy of waning body, mind,
spirit triage. until such a plan (as
per say traveling abroad - either a
lone or with an adventurous minded Ma
demoiselle) coalesces into fruition,
a daily strategy to impact my imme
diate environment in a positive manner
took figurative shape. his doable, feasible,
justifiable, et cetera longing (to contribute
sweat equity such as organic gardening/
farming, teaching English as a first, second
third...language, or writing opinion
editorials blurbs for a news letter,
which loving labors of body, mind
and spirit would be accepted would serve