Best Dilettantes Poems
I feel a sense of déjà vu as I listen
to the cacophony of voices:
dilettantes discussing poetry
under baroque chandeliers. Masquerading
as avant-garde writers or bona fide critics
(black turtlenecks; color is an anomaly and suspicious),
they claim carte blanche to spew
pompous platitudes,
pronounce entire oeuvres as lacking elan
while all they create is endless ennui.
1/22/2018
For contest: Contest: Ten Words Ten Lines 2
Sponsor: Silent One
"Tease for Two"
“Ein bisschen Zucker
mit Ihrer Sahne, Sir?“
German accent
smoky toned
she purred
Periwinkles suavely winked,
then played with his -
cufflinks
“Not now Schvee Tart”
he said holding his attache tight
looking across the room
grinning Lupine Blues
a slight smile on his lips,
bemused,
“Service calls,
her name is
"Q”
Across the dance floor
all eyes turned
Parting tall bus boys, handsome waiters
matrons with their peach blinis, their tart apple martinis
flustered debutantes
all poetic unsure
first time daters
dilettantes
rubbed their -
eyes again, they blinked
made way, made room,
for Q's
sashaying soliloquy
serious multi tasking
sensual stiletto Hell-on-High Heels
slick Scarlet lip-glossed
VaVaVoom
As it should be
entertaining control,
further into the room
across the dazzling polished dance floor
no pastie tasselling girls
on well-oiled silver poles
The Special Agent
slinked
The Old Boys
raised their drinks
He stands
She sits
"Ist das eine Waffe
in deiner Tasche,
Special Agt Schmidt?"
She glances at her
Bulgari Serpenti Incantati
and in English says,
"This better be good,
Now is not the time to quit"
Like a wolf
Periwinkles
grins
"Q," he low growl says,
"I propose a change in destination,
I've taken the liberty to buy you
feathers for your wings -
tickets Q...."
then flirtatiously adds,
"Simply adore your bling"
(LadyLabyrinth/2019)
1. lupine/wolf
2. lupine/lupinus, genus blue flowering plant
3. Libertango
A strand of pearls not tied with knots;
we’re held together — just a thread.
At times like sticky spider silk
and other times a shred of string
that aches and breaks and throws our pearls across the floor.
The clatter scatter marble-mess
of all the dirt and hurts we pretty-wrapped.
Without the knots between the pearls, we
come undone. On hands and knees
we hunt and gather what’s to be restrung —
each dressed-up sphere once a naked tear
accumulated once again,
this time to tie ourselves and beads in line
to knot together “could-have should-have” shrugs
and form a diff’rent rope of pearls …or a noose
and in this space of rest — the screws between the pearls,
we plot a dream more fluff than faith before the cobweb breaks.
No doubt, we’re dilettantes in love bites art of making-up.
Knots may keep us stranded
but nots will keep us apart.
Good morning ladies and gentlemen and welcome to beautiful Zurich Switzerland and the First Annual Poetry Soup Convention. Welcome poets, linguists, scribes, metrists and rhymers. Welcome poets from Canada, the UK, U.S.A., Australia and many other countries from around the world.
This convention is for all seasoned poets and young dilettantes. Our key speakers this week will be Will Shakespeare to talk about sonnets. Horace will discuss Latin odes. Homer will give a demonstration on epic poetry. Lewis Carroll will explain light poetry. And last but not least Edgar Poe will give a reading of Gothic poetry.
All poets are welcome to enter the First Annual Poetry Soup Convention Poetry Contest. The grand prize will be the title of Poet Laureate and honor on the Poetry Soup webpage. We will also be offering classes on prosody, onomatopoeia, enjambment and Lambic Pentameter. We will have booths set up in the main hall for help with grammar, syllable counting and rhyming tools.
So welcome all, enjoy all things poetic this week, make friends and have fun. One final reminder before we let you go is we are serving lunch promptly at twelve noon and we will be having Alphabet soup with sage, enjoy.
The First Annual Poetry Soup Convention Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Line Gauthier
3/7/19
An Obscenity Trial
by Michael R. Burch
The defendant was a poet held in many iron restraints
against whom several critics cited numerous complaints.
They accused him of trying to reach the "common crowd,"
and they said his poems incited recitals far too loud.
The prosecutor alleged himself most stylish and best-dressed;
it seems he’d never lost a case, nor really once been pressed.
He was known far and wide for intensely hating clarity;
twelve dilettantes at once declared the defendant another fatality.
The judge was an intellectual well-known for his great mind,
though not for being merciful, honest, sane or kind.
Clerics called him the "Hanging Judge" and the critics were his kin.
Bystanders said, "They'll crucify him!" The public was not let in.
The prosecutor began his case
by spitting in the poet's face,
knowing the trial would be a farce.
"It is obscene,"
he screamed,
"to expose the naked heart!"
The recorder (bewildered Society)
greeted this statement with applause.
"This man is no poet.
Just look: his Hallmark shows it.
Why, see, he utilizes rhyme, symmetry and grammar!
He speaks without a stammer!
His sense of rhythm is too fine!
He does not use recondite words
or conjure ancient Latin verbs.
This man is an imposter!
I ask that his sentence be
the almost perceptible indignity
of removal from the Post-Modernistic roster."
The jury left in tears of joy, literally sequestered.
The defendant sighed in mild despair,
"Please, let me answer to my peers."
But how His Honor giggled then,
seeing no poets were let in.
Later, the clashing symbols of their pronouncements drove him mad
and he admitted both rhyme and reason were bad.
***
A well-known poet criticized this poem for being "journalistic." But then the poem is written from the point of view of a journalist who's covering the trial of a poet. The poem was completed by the end of my sophomore year in college.
"Marching Band"
Dapper dilettantes take over one hundred yards
Showing their feathers like a cockatoo on pointy shakos
Displaying their talents on grass they are anything but green
Ready to give resplendent resonance through beasts of golden brass
Popping percussive drumming getting drilled into them by a sergeant
Time and time again by so many rehearsals they know formations by heart
The time for sweat and tears is over, they are here to perform
Atten hut!
Impressing the crowd with baton twirling
Majorettes turn into marionettes as the sergeant pulls their strings
Compact formation now, the crowd will wait for hot dogs
Watching a half time special while they stand alert in place
About face!
Witnessing scintillating choreography with a one, two turn
The symbols get their chance to be rim shot participators
And the Grand Marshall leads the baton twirlers aside
For the color guard and their blinding high definition radiance
No one is out of phase and the scene is picture perfect
Then they dive into the scatter drill
Show their true talents with life, love and liberty to move where they want
Individual inspiration takes over each one to the ensemble
This is the real reason they are here, for happiness
They make way for the gymnasts while maintaining play
Who express their own interest in the spectacle of somatic arts
Triangles and fantastic figures on three people straddled high
Build in the crowd a new love for geometry
They have to give way though in good measure
To guns of glory and so many shots sent high in the air
Puffs of smoke are burst sky high, evaporating a salutary good bye
Thanks for watching
not in the heart again
for chrissakes it's like Swiss cheese
decoffinated please I'm a yet ambulatory zombie
off his medication as usual
alternatives to logic 101 with Prof. Spike
far too much work for a dead end
saw his only ally the embalmers needle
left his innards spilled in the sand
history in its entirety mocked his comprehension
had the nation in tears and then nausea
several dueling scars graced his genitals
if our perceptions already lie
why shouldn't we
I had to laugh
it was all I could do to keep from smiling
even after a thousand years of AI research
the electronic government was helpless
my Microsoft forehead radiator
absolutely charmingly couldn't get any focus
but the Royal Society of Blind Philosophers
helped me with my little problem
a miracle of recipe repair
because our endorphin soup is a bit thin
the quicksilver cooks ate first and fell asleep
having thrown away their brains long before
in the field kitchen of the gods
after the air raid sirens of postmodernity
can there be too much truth
for an army of blood diamond merchants
now a bit more about para electrics
if only I were at liberty to discuss it
yes imprecision can carry signal
but the place is crawling with dilettantes
wearing their secret butt plugs
it's a guessing game as you can see
petitioning for a visually diagrammatic idiom
although it's a devilish seesaw but let us restart
The Oblivion Ride was the big theme park attraction
my extended family was in the sideshow
justifiably taken for a pack of fools
then the sun went down and never came up again
and we stepped into the stone circle
chanting evidence is preferable
to the moonlit tombstone
good luck with that in your airwaves
broadcast on radio Sarajevo
signal drifting drifting drifting
with minds great and small
and smaller and smaller
the Internet is the yearned for Messiah
there it's done and out and not to be unseen
you wrestle with it while I proceed
dashing among startled commuters
mesmerizing the fact finding committee
their dictatorship of x-ray leeches
tossed him out of several monasteries
apparently the production quotas were relaxed
in a kaleidoscope of normalcy
the style crazed mannerist martinets
howdy do nail in my shoe
From "Engine of Didactic Beauty" available on Amazon
Artist Portfolio: http://walteralter.byethost32.com/
What was created to expose,
now a fortress meant to hide
Bastions of higher learning,
masking havens safe for lies
Where discourse once was treasured,
the ivy droops and sighs
With comfort their true measure,
the dilettantes all cry
Plato is disgusted,
John Locke is more than riled
As a millennium of learning
is mocked in false denial
Students weak and wounded,
from those lessons never learned
Their tomorrow’s but a doomsday,
their futures sure to burn
Those words were there to save them,
both the hated and revered
All truth in dialectics
—left abandoned by their fear
(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2016)
Animal Farm
The youth of today; the ‘avant-garde’ of new lingo, lost words
‘Ennui’ of wisdom, with a blatant ‘cacophony’ of disrespect
‘Carte blanche’ entitlements pave a highway to absurdity
What once was ‘anomaly’, has become, a ‘bona fide’ threat
The ‘élan’ of our youth, self-absorbed with the screen
Their windows to the world encumbered only by a charge
The character constraints abbreviate a slang stream
As an Orwellian ‘déjà vu’, eighty-four is not far
But these ‘dilettantes” of tech, with an emoji style speak
Will never, understand; the ‘baroque’ of a poem, makes you weak
Contest: 10 Words, 10 Lines 2
Sponsor: Silent One
1/17/2018
Required Words:
-Anomaly
-Avant-garde
-Baroque
-Bona fide
-Cacophony
-Carte blanche
-Déjà vu
-Dilettante
-Élan
-Ennui
What was created to expose
is now a fortress just to hide
A bastion of higher learning
within a haven safe for lies
Where discourse once was treasured
the ivy droops and sighs
With comfort their true measure,
the dilettantes still cry
Plato is disgusted,
John Locke is more than riled
As a millennia of learning
is mocked in false denial
Students weak and wounded
from those lessons never learned
Their tomorrow’s but a doomsday
their futures sure to burn
Those words were there to save them
both the hated and revered
All truth in dialectics
—now abandoned by their fear
(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2016)
They came for the Gypsies,
The time tribe Romana's grand Gypsy trust
To manifest in feasts of fear, horrific best,
The Crucifixtion as a culture test
Is sycophanted phallic prophecies;
Mixing spells where river's dwell
And will reveal third eye infusions
That dillute foregone conclusions!
The starkest of illusion will confer
The dead of deadest property, I'm sure!
Pillaged by proud Nazi's reeling
Who have not a friendly feeling
One God-Fearing German village
Saddles soaked in sorrow
Silently seduced bone marrow
Or from sweeter water billage
With Genetic trace
In hemolytic face;
A truth no German yearns to borrow!
Where fallen angels care
And Gypsyfied the wounds
With age-old Gypsy healing rare;
Where tinker-tapping dusters dance
A dance to Gypsy tunes
On pointed pins appointed special flavor;
As pointed pins do point and prance
Well-pointed pins provide a good and precious savor.
Hemolytics is genetics with inscription
Inscribed inscription's indecision.
If Gypsy wounds could fill the forest
With this Gypsy dance so true
Then everything I thought I liked
I think I still would like in you;
In fact, the things I know I liked
I soon would love.
Genetic indescription must be fact
As power angels grab a power pact
The fallen angels with their power prayers
Heal Gypsy wounds nocturnal during flairs!
Fluoresence fills the forest
Where tinker-tapping dusters dance
As pure and naked dilettantes appointed
Point of every perfect pin's romance.
The dance of the dilettantes hasn't many steps.
It isn't meant to be remembered, nor to cause upset;
it's simply meant to get us through, like breakfast spent in bed.
It gives us comfort just to know our words have just been read.
And if a noble Dour-Glower 'gins to shake his head,
that's just fine and dandy, we'll tuck him safe and sound,
and read to him instead ---
Once, I met a Dour-glower walking through an orchard
"How dare they call you apple trees;
you're only whisps of bark!
You haven't many leaves,
and you're little more than seeds!
You think you're special with your flowers,
yet I've never seen you fruit!" screamed the Dour-glower.
What could the saplings do?
All of it was true.
They couldn't drop their leaves,
nor tear apart their petals.
But as the Dour-glower took his leave,
the sun above shone true.
The soil of the field was just as sweet
and craddled every root.
The baroque politician walked with carte blanche
he definitely was a bona fide anomaly.
The crowd didn't like his avant-garde elan
as the low mummer turned to cacophony.
Politician calmly showed ennui
as though it was deja vu.
Crowd was not a bunch of dilettantes
becoming avant-garde took his shoes.
Then began ripping his baroque clothes
what happened next, nobody knows.
beware the enemy who can
fart your national anthem
it was a mob scene at the microphone
kill him kill him they laughed
nobody wanted to miss the show
a perfect blend of pandemonium and bliss
sound bites took their ears off
but how else can one enter the future
with enough for gas money
a basket of Chinese takeout and a cigar for the road
I wasn't free as a kid either
trying to live happy with an unhappy soul
we're going to be a brave scout
aren't we little boy
the place was crawling with dilettantes
NazI pederasts and machine politicians
parents now hunkered down and on the run
from the children bounty hunters
this is the era of retribution
officer Claudia held her gun on him
I need as a minimum a fat 8 inches
can we do business she murmured
OK I'll take achoo as meaning yes
wishing only to stay true to my vow
keep a poker face no matter what
certainly I know right from wrong officer
having tested them both thoroughly
under laboratory conditions of course
on the normal frequencies
it seemed to do the trick
it's a trick of light because light is proof
all is rumored is a good disclaimer
another night of sinister symbols
broadcast across my eyes
in a Japanese bukkake tourist accident
I'd like to make a withdrawal
from my camera account now
when the steam pipes blow
and the manhole covers blow
so life is an insane riddle then
so if right and left marry
will the kids have two heads
From "Engine of Didactic Beauty" available on Amazon
Artist Portfolio: http://walteralter.byethost32.com/
Catharsis
You’re my favorite artist
With your magical touch
A petrified leaf becomes a lustrous forest
You speak words that cannot be fathomed by shallow linguists
Your works are filled with overwhelming emotions
Poured out on a plain and boring piece of caricature
It’s a wonderful chaos – a series of explosions
Breaking the mundane and giving birth to a glamorous picture
Your feelings invoke power
You can either bend or destroy existing realities
And at the same time create beauty out of ashes and powder
You are a threat to banalities
You are God’s masterpiece
Because of you dilettantes like me exist
You make me smile, knowing there’s more to life than what it is
Because of your catharsis