Best Column Poems
working in harmony -
a net is cast
© 8th August 2020
Broken Column
wrapped in female form
split down the centre
more than femininity exposed
Breasts capture the eye
Her softness
Confusing
Arousing
head held high
Her long black hair flows
cascades across decades
immortalized
Tears streaming down a saddened face
Doves crying to be understood
cheerful colors confuse the minds eye
What thoughts lie beneath that unibrow
Beauty within painted distortions
Who is her oppressor
Look deep
Emotions overexposed
Is this her living nightmare
broken yet standing tall
Immovable moving force
demanding to be seen
Silent yet speaking volumes
Metal corset
binds
holds constricts
White flowing gown
What is hidden beneath
What does she wish to shield from our prying eyes
Yet if you look deep she reveals all
See beyond the physical
the manicured
the lovely
crimes nailed to her being
cutting
pushing
splitting
exposing
A heart pierced
hidden from sight
Immovable contemplations
reacting with the unseen
Barren landscapes
contradicting female form
Symbol of all women
givers sustainers of life
Fertile
powerful
spiritual
eternal
Rising from the ground
our foundation
We build upon her soul
Free her
celebrate her rise
Without her we fall
we fail
we cease to exist
Do not allow her to crumble beneath the weight of our iniquity
Cyndi Macmillan's "Women who paint contest series:Frieda Kahalo in Free Verse."
The painting I chose was "The Broken Column"
Desperate housewife I know you are there
looking out the window behind the glare,
so while I'm cutting the grass
I feel your eyes cutting glass...
C'mon over! Let all the neighbors stare!!
There once was a man who talked to the stone
Calming down all its fears of being alone
They spent all his life synchronized into shape
At one point - both realized there was no escape
"I'll turn you into a "Bird", "A Silent Muse"and a "Kiss"
and so many sculptures..." - the artist promised -
"I'll give you myself "... So he used all his talent
Thus carving immortality - "The Column Without End"
Erected in Romania - reminder of his roots
The cycle of life in rhombuses salutes
The Heavens from which Brancusi looks down
At his "Gate", "Silent Table" and his old, native town.
for Brian Strand's Contest: "EVERYMAN'S EKPHRASIS"
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Endless_Column
http://www.visual-arts-cork.com/sculpture/constantin-brancusi.htm
http://images.google.com/images?rlz=1T4SNNT_en___US361&q=brancusi&um=1&ie=UTF-8&ei=F5rCS6zENoKmnQewgsH3CQ&sa=X&oi=image_result_group&ct=title&resnum=1&ved=0CB0QsAQwAA
Is it too late to go on dates
with ladies, fat or thin?
An ad I place to find embrace;
replies come flooding in
The first is brash and has a 'tache;
the second, very gruff;
the third decrees she'd like to see
me standing in the buff.
I pay for drinks and then methinks
I'll never find the one:
it's cost me pounds and all I've found:
it's boring, 'stead of fun.
This dating game is pretty lame;
I want an easy life.
a sorry pup, I now give up...
I'll stay here with my wife!
* purely fictional
for Sara's Pink Domino contest
The Phoenix Column was invented
And patented in 1862 by Samuel Reeves,
Vice President of Phoenix Iron Works.
It consisted of sections of rolled,
Flanged wrought iron, riveted together,
Creating a hollow structural column
That was lightweight, but strong.
It enabled the Phoenix Bridge Company,
An affiliate of Phoenix Iron Works,
To design structures that set world records
For vertical height and distance spanned.
They built Phoenix Column bridges, trestles, and such
All over the United States and all over the world.
Until the day they didn’t anymore.
Eventually, everything changes.
The Phoenix column was made obsolete
By the steel I-beam, which is easier,
And cheaper to manufacture.
Foreign competition took its toll.
Phoenix Bridge Company and Phoenix Iron Works
Both went out of business.
Condos now fill the space where
The open hearths and rolling mills once stood.
But the history remains.
And I consider the fact, with no small sense of irony,
That I compare myself to a Phoenix Column.
I'm lightweight and strong, but hollow inside,
And well along to being obsolete.
I have wore myself ragged
Giving myself to my children,
my husband,
and into the work force
Piece by piece I break away
Giving to anyone in need
Leaving my body as an open door
For all to see
My inner beauty
The broken column
There will always be an England:
roast beef and Yorkshire pud
assure the most fainthearted
that all is for the good.
Is anyone still doubtful?
This thought our hopes restore:
Marmite, baked beans and crumpets
provision us galore.
Coffee at eleven, at five o'clock high tea,
banishing the terrors that met us at the Somme,
kept us and Big Ben ticking
and will to Kingdom Come.
Nelsons' on his column.
Against Juncker's spiteful quips
no naval power can save us,
but we do have fish and chips
I wake up in the morning
But don’t get out of bed
Until I’ve read the obit’s
And made sure that I’m not dead
How Do I get My Dog Out Of My Mailbox?
My Husband Keeps Trying to Kiss Me.
What Do I Do About This?
The Rain Just Won’t Stop.
Begging For Help In the Carolinas.
My Wife Left to Buy More Compost Bags.
She’s been gone for 37 hours.
Do I Call the Police?
Someone Burned All My Clothes?
Help Me I’m Freezing.
Somewhere In Denver.
Piece by piece I break away
Giving to anyone in need
Leaving my body as an open door
For all to see
My inner beauty
The sheriff at high noon cries out in lonely solitude not to forsake him;
But no one comes, and the vocal majority makes their plans to protect personal wealth
Standing alone against all odds, the sheriff in defense of law and order fears;
That all hope may soon come to a brutal end.
The beat of the drum is strong and the rhymes go on;
And the young men emulate their uncle who shuffles cards; in the house of capitol gain;
So they chose to take what they want by trick or trade;
They see the yoke of injustice baring the mark of their people who’ve worn it so long
And Batman and rat girl there in a tree;
It looks like they’re kissing from where I can see.
What is it you ask that I’m trying to do, I wouldn’t know, I haven’t a clue.
So pour me a drink or give me a pill, I really don’t know and I doubt that I will.
Central column, energised void
It’s no in-form nadi
Staff of Hermes, is by love buoyed
Vibrant serenity
Blissful caress divine
All nodes within align
Under the oneness sign
Sensorium
Central column
03-November-2021
Quietus
The night was not for sleeping.
It was for the drag of headlights
against the skin of wet asphalt,
for the torn-down column
spitting its weight into the earth —
too heavy for a backhoe,
too stubborn for goodbye.
EMs Barrio curled in on itself,
a hive of borrowed beds
and half-finished dreams.
I sat outside its hum,
counting the breaks between engines,
each jeepney’s arrival a breath,
each departure an emptying.
The last one wore its driver like an afterthought —
shoulders pressed forward,
face carrying the rust of decades.
The radio died mid-verse,
as if ashamed of how thin it had grown.
I do not smoke.
But that night
I inhaled the exhaust of his leaving,
kept it in my lungs
long enough to taste
what it might be like
to disappear slowly
past a stranger’s gaze.
(Legazpi City, 1997)