Best Collage Poems
Here you are, only twelve, at our kitchen table.
Such a carrot top you were! Strangers used to think
you were our red-head mother’s natural son.
And here’s that photo you took of me at college.
Though you’re not in it, how could I ever forget
it was you in front of me that snapped that shot?
For I’m laughing and so glad you came to see me!
In this one, all ten of us are in the back yard
dressed in our Sunday best - our first big reunion!
I’m nearly 30; just look at my silly perm!
Folks still mistake me for Dori in this picture!
Look how Mom and Thea - for once - are smiling!
You’re standing behind me, in a lovely grey suit,
only 32 and almost out of law school!
Here from more recent pictures, this shows a rare time
we were joined, but sadly, for Dad‘s funeral.
You‘re not in this one, Dale . . . nor in any others.
That picture in our back yard was to be the last.
My dear stepbrother, the best man I ever knew -
Taken from us so young. . . you remain beloved.
Written 10/9/13
Used today March 24, 2021 for
A Meaningful Poem - Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Constance La France
epigraph:
A Field Guide to the Questions
That Survived the Fire
I Didn’t Start
—
I. The Songs
When peace like a river
When, for whom
I still haven’t found
what I’m looking for
Why here
here comes the sun
Whose morning
the answer is blowing
in the wind
Why ask
What if
a change is gonna come
When it circles back
Amen?
all you need is love
What then
what’s love got to do with it
Why love, then
every breath you take
Who owns
I’m not yours.
Not now
like a rolling stone
Which road
you can’t always get
Why try
Why dream,
anymore
I heard it through the grapevine
Why now
imagine all the people
What remains—
—
II. The Poets
When—
hope is the thing with feathers
Why—
the center cannot hold
How—
I contain multitudes
Where—
in a dark wood,
midway
When again—
a dream deferred
darkens
What then—
dare to disturb
the universe
So why love at all—
it cuts,
and you
were always
already open
Who watches—
someone will remember us,
not save us
Which road—
I saw my life
branching before me
What remains—
nothing will come
of nothing
Why now—
the hour is out of joint
dislocated
Then what—
the same dark wood.
midway.
again.
—
Coda
and after the songs
and after the poets
and after every question—
a chasm inside you
God left there
before the Word.
don’t answer.
it doesn’t need a way—
it is
the way.
My heart seeks the smoky quartz sage within you, in secret,
like a solitary star adrift in the whimsical wilderness.
For I remember your voice, that manifested mellifluous musicality,
nurturing vain verses to thrive like lavender-incensed lilies,
glowing with sun-stroked flames of empathetic iridescence,
emanating sealed serenity amidst the archaic darkness,
crawling above raspberry-red roses, waltzing in silence.
Tonight, I cradle crooning clouds, soaked in sleepless sapphires,
as the petrichor breeze serenades your unconditional love,
that quenched my crestfallen quill, releasing cashmere calligraphy.
But if poems could speak, you’d feel the wildflower warmth of words,
how, once upon a camellia crescent, I found my inner rhyme in your sea-foam sonnets,
unveiling a cosmic collage of a sojourner soul,
healing from timeless tokens carved by familiar strangers, celestially aligned, forevermore…
I am the afterglow of a sanguine sunset~
airbrushed with patience by the power of your peridot pigments,
as your tongue is the mindful maestro, and I, the essence of your charismatic choir. …
Old place, old faces
Standing in the rain
Years ago, tears ago
No longer feel the pain
Tales to tell, escape from hell
Waiting for a train
Memories, ambitions, dangerous conditions
Reaching for the stars
I can sigh, I can fly
No longer feel the scars
I am here, I am there
Returning from the stars
So many voices, so many choices
Standing on a pier
Winning, crying, losing, dying
No longer feel the fear
Giving, taking, finally waking
Imagine being here.
On one sultry August day
In a clearing in the woods
Within a long delay
for salvaged auto goods
Amid decaying vans, under glaring sun
High above one ant, homebound, on the run...
Along a rugged trail
of micro hill and dale
Between pebbles and sprigs
Over shards and twigs
For seconds brief, beneath a leaf
‘Round a rock, willy nilly
Root outcrop, dilly dally;
Up the maple, fast
With head-on-haul in grasp
In and out of bark
Inside crevice, dark
Astride the edge, at last
Across a lichen patch
Behind broad leaves of dark green hue —
To my chagrin, beyond my view;
Out from under the shade
Into the open glade
Within the reflective collage
of glinting metals and shards
Beneath the tranquil sky — recharged!
“Grandfather, grandfather! At school today,
a classmate hit me with a book.
The teacher made him stay inside
for recess. She said he was a good boy
who did a bad thing. What did she mean?”
“Grandson, I will tell you a story.
All men have inside of them two wolves.
One wolf is all that is good in the world:
the bravery of our fathers,
the strength of our mothers,
kindness toward friends,
compassion for our elders.
The other wolf is all that is bad in the world:
the hatred of one man for another
murder and theft among the clan
envy, sorrow, regret---
all that is evil among man.”
“And Grandfather, which wolf wins?
The one that you feed, grandson.
The one that you feed.”
1.
colored leaves in yard
memories spice stew on stove -
sound of friend’s car door
2.
open sunny days
dandelion seeds float by -
all my options gold
3.
planting to be done
windows close doors swing open -
nature loves a hand
4.
my timetable now -
more rainbows can be enjoyed
green pastures shared
Long Tooth
June 8, 2016
"Sit Down Young Stranger" And I'll tell you a story
Of a troubadour who sang about "The Way I Feel"
I stood in his "Shadows" just "East of Midnight"
Couldn't believe my "Summertime Dream" was real
I "Salute" the man who sang about "Sundown"
His music helped ease my strife
Traveling his "Carefree Highway" I found
"Harmony" in the "Summer Side of Life"
"If You Could Read My Mind" you'd know
The "Rainy Day People" and the pain
O being left "High And dry" in a "Circle of Steel"
Standing in the "Early Morning Rain"
Now "The Watchman's Gone", there's a "Bend in The Water"
"Rainbow Trout" swim but the "Circle is Small"
I watch "All The Lovely Ladies" as I'm "Alberta Bound"
But they are not on my "Protocol"
I'd do "Anything For Love" , for my sweet "Daylight Katy"
I'd give up all my fortune and fame
Then "I'll Tag Along" "Restless" and tired
If I knew "Did She Mention My Name"
All Gordon Lightfoot songs in quotation marks.
Native American collage
Traditional tribals that followed Sioux religion,
Had spiritual beliefs
performed controversial dance ceremonies,
Waken- the great spirit
was one universal source,
Mother Earth birthed all
animals, plants and humans,
Black Elk sheltered all,
The sacred hoop said unity,
Circles symbolised oneness,
Invisible Great spirit was Sioux God,
Thunderbird powerful spirit of sky,
Underwater spirits that controlled all commons,
Humans wanted to communicate,
Shamanic practices
to interpret dreams and trances,
Performed rituals for vision,
With visions and dreams
they could talk to spirits,
Native Americans
far more believed in,
Death and rebirth,
Curiosity on afterlife
a human's breath,
Native American collage,
Is all that's holy and mysterious !!
Written Sept 4th, 2015
For contest by Frank Herrara
Interesting to note that American govt. Banned their practises in 1800, still we are trying to solve this puzzle of life and afterlife- through now called science.
Nature's tapestry
diversity reflected
in a pond's mirror.
Memories of a love I’m losing
arrested thoughts on sculpture paper-
an altered photograph, adorned
by hand cut leaves, evergreen shades, and lace
From the page emits, cricket songs
drifting to gloaming, and on and on
into my own mandarin twilight.
I adjust a pair of glittered wings
to your thorax, twiddle them
these symbols of your intending flight
Next, I place a crumpled love letter.
its text, garbled by smeared on gesso
Covered so no one will guess the message-
except, perhaps where a small spy glass
magnifies, I LoVe YoU- I LoVe YoU-
High on the page a bluebird brightly sings
10/28/2013 10:17 AM
Grandpa’s collage holds beloved memories.
Black-and-white photographs of long ago
strewn with tape and paste amid the glossy
snapshots, shaping a man's love of family.
At first glance, one would think he created
his patchwork of pictures in haste. But come,
look closer; no image is placed by chance.
Each scene shares a story his hands retraced -
a joke, a kiss, a tear. See the toothless grins
of growing grandchildren with playful eyes,
the knowing looks of elders and the effortless
laughter of generations, dear faces missed.
All familiar faces except for only one -
the intruder with graceful features. Head held high,
she wears her smile unfazed. I search her dark eyes
for words unsaid, dazed. She is the grandmother
I never knew. Her portraits are puzzle pieces
that will never fit, but ones I cannot unglue
or ignore; my grandpa’s attempt of tying us
to a stranger. I love him more for trying…
For Craig Cornish's A Collage Held Dear Contest,
10/22/13
ephemeral fog
night as cold as witches' breath
lone crow squawks goodnight
(settles on tree branch)
a candle flickers
starlight glows behind thin clouds
city goes to sleep
(earth curdles in mist)
sky sullen and gray
salt tears my crystallized thoughts
bird pecks at my pain
(rain pellets my dreams)
#1
I weigh way too much
serendipitous fashion
jeans are low riders
#2
I weigh way too much
suspender’s keep ass covered
gravity loses
Long Tooth
July 24, 2016
a once vibrant, now discolored rose,
a memory of past that faded too fast
now teeters atop an old photo
my fingers stumble past it knowing
if touched its petals would crumble
it's a perpetual reminder
of how fragile life really is
the wedding photo, young lovers exchange
promises of heart till death do them part
beneath the folds of broken dreams
through my eyes it seems they belong
protected and framed within glass
yet i wonder are they ashamed
as they join together in the beyond
my childhood through the ages
a race of past, pages of life
fading to death amidst my walls
this collage of juncture can puncture
my own heart as i remember
each memory of time passing
11/02/2013