Best Electric Light Poems
Many people do really make good friends
but they've different traits that attract the other
so one responds to one and indeed vice versa
then it works in unison so to go on further
When one is wise people stand in awe
pointing to that one seems to know it all
but real true wisdom creates in the heart
a sense of gratitude to stand and stall
What a beautiful twosome they do make
wisdom marked with gratitude simply divine
the wise reveal within the inner heart
seeking to find a gratefulness to shine
So the wonder of connecting these two
like an electric light when you switch
to the on position the dark is gone
light comes to rescue you from the ditch
Try and live full of these two
for it's wise to be truly grateful
as well as being grateful is wise
this being instilled shows one graceful
(Some thoughts on connecting two friends of gratitude and wisdom.)
A little low-voltage humor in monoku form depicting a fictional day at the Watt home...
The electrical engineer's wife greets him: "WIRE you INSULATE?"
Husband: WATTS it to you? Don't go blowing your CIRCUITS at least I'm OHM!
Wife: "Don't you make LIGHT of this if this were our daughter, you'd be GROUNDED!"
Husband: "Let's leave her out of this she can CONDUCTOR own business"
Wife: "Don't revAMP your story you know it reVOLTS me when you do that"
Husband: "Honey, I'm sorry it HERTZ just trying to keep you CURRENT"
Wife: "Well, I apologize for my RESISTANCE I felt POWERless"
Husband: "I didn't mean to give you STATIC but I'm feeling the SPARK now
Let's go enjoy an ELO concert it will be a good OUTLET"
Wife: "JOULE be SHOCKed to hear this... that would really reCHARGE my BATTERIES
You sure know how to flip my SWITCH we should do this with more FREQUENCY"
Husband, now whispering to the viewer "I just can't RESISTOR charm"
*** Note: ELO = Electric Light Orchestra (70's rock band) ***
In light of locution
whispers
dance delicately off her lips
"Lux Vitae"
Tree of Life,
Trinity,
tribal councils conferred
the coffers, re-offers
enriched and enhanced
erectus
three times three
smoke rises from the ash
and anew you glow
a river of gold
connecting
the body to the soul
blue of sky
the sun of spirit's eye
beheld
in fate of copious moon
intrinsic
the sum
not one, but all
in feel
layers peeled slowly back
from black to light
from day to the night
perspicacity, acuity
filters undone
your wit teases
the brain's
restless receptors
insane we see
weightlessness of the breeze
carrying of scent
her fragrant scent
where angels once undressed the devils
and the lion frantically chased
the dainty dragonfly's peace
breathless
she enters
his anchored mind
libertas quae sera tamen
and free you shall be
enplaned upon the shores of love
where blues breathe in smoke filled rooms
and stars do a tango
overlooking
the electric light
exploding
in the reflection of river's bend
your bow, not too tight
wrapping around
the fringes of my tattered soul
kisses
the parched lips of a wanted life
"Vitae Lux"
The lines on the field are painted a bright white.
I see the sun set slowly behind the goal post.
My eyes are blinded by the electric light.
At games we go all out and do the most.
I can hear the sizzle and pop of greasy concession stand food.
The crowd cheers from the stands.
From around the corner a little kid playing tag begins to cry,
And music is played from the band.
The quarterback passes the ball,
And the cheerleaders yell for him to go all the way.
While he is sprinting to the end zone we hope that he does not fall.
“And that is another touchdown” we hear the announcer say.
This is a Friday night football game.
Someday these boys could reach real fame.
“Return of Sanity”
Fighting back tears as I try to say good bye, not seeing what I’m trying to say
Catching my breath between sobs, grasping for air to breathe into my lungs
Staring into the darkness that surrounds you and I searching for a familiar face
Life has never felt so lonely without you as I feel standing before you now as you look away
After so much time spent together laughing, loving, breathing the same air
So many nights cuddled together just speaking of what’s to come
So many plans left undone as I watch you walk away from us
Lonely, so lonely, once again I fall to my knees in prayer begging for answers
Like the gray moth flying in the night screaming out as it flies into the electric light
I am left walking into the darkness staring at the light before me
Praying this light is shining just for me but feeling as if it’s my light to Heaven
I scream in the puddle of pain you’ve left me in to survive the water that surrounds me
Please hear my voice as I cry for you into the empty cloudy sky
No stars are shining now as the star I wished upon has left me secluded
Lost in the vast empty space I reach out for a hand to pull me into an angel’s arms
I fall to the floor of where we once walked hand in hand screaming for the return of sanity
A light mist of ethereous rain falls
silent on his thin, sharp-angled
face. He lengthens his stride and
leans toward the wind. He walks
through plundered poverty; crumbled
by the weight of exodus. Abandoned
to the blood-rough nails scratching
on the concrete diasporas of multiethnic
history.
Past the playground echoes of PS #59,
as they drift along the faded asphalt
haze of time. Echoes still ring true with
elemental bones of hope: the children
break out and through gunmetal gray,
graffiti covered doors, outside to the
saturated heat of inner-city rage.
Past gothic orthodox cathedral
mausoleums which sit like ancient
stoics and stare through burnt-amber,
azure, crystalline-blue stained glass
eyes; focused out with a kernel of
eternal mustard seed hope: souls will
come again and warm the sacred pews.
Past the Puerto Rican market
where the pig's head led the
carnivore parade of mastication
promise every day. A meat-market
window of letted-blood and death
reminiscent of Amsterdam whores
with their wares on display for the
dead-eyed stares of the men outside.
He comes to the dust and
grime of an empty lot covered
by old and broken concrete slabs.
He stops and lets his mind drift
back to watch a woman who wears
a ratted fox-tail wrap around her
neck. She holds a long, un-filtered
cigarette, loose, between her two
bright, fuchsia painted lips. She
wears a black velvet hat with veil
to her nose and a straight black
dress that flows below her knees,
mid-calf, above her shiny black,
high-heel, patent leather shoes.
He can almost see through the blur
of a chiaroscuro choreography his
mother, visiting with the Kazakhstan
neighbors, in this dreamlike memory.
The multi-plexed, subsidized project,
where he was born, once stood just
beyond his vision of a mother's visit in
high-heel, indigo, tangerine, sibilant
sounds; lit with electric light smiles
of denial.
She would hold her cigarette between
fuchsia lips and wear that ratted fox-tail
wrap until the cancer cough began to spew
Chesterfield blood on the molted fox-tail
head of her beloved fur.
Then she went to bed. Went to sleep. And died.
Pigeons cooed quietly on that New York City night.
At first there was nothing in the very distant past,
Then bang! There was everything, a universe so vast;
All splendid and magnificent, terrifying and mundane.
But before we knew all this, before we could explain,
About giant, burning, swirling gas balls,
And dark vortexes that swallow worlds,
Before we knew what made the light,
Our ancestors named the stars at night.
Polaris, leiðarstjarna, Sea Star, the Great Northlode,
not 424 or 308, not numbers and codes,
But the tail of a dog, the little bear's story,
The explorer's hopeful guide towards glory.
The heavens were filled with loved ones now gone,
With archers and lions, heroes and swans.
Every star had a story long before we knew
Their weight, their size, their age, their hue.
Without imagination, would the sky draw our gaze?
Would we ever see the Northern lights, its colors all ablaze?
We can feel the ground, we know it's there,
But we have to imagine the sky and the air.
Looking up, we watch the birds in awe,
Their graceful glides and swooping soar.
We are not birds; we know we cannot fly,
But imagination makes us ask "What if we try?"
So Leonardo draws a helicopter from imagination's sight;
The Wright brothers undertake the first plane flight,
Blimps and hot air balloons take to the sky,
and now man experiences how it feels to fly.
Every scientist already knows,
Without imagination no great idea grows.
From that first humble wheel to the latest Lamborghini,
From the first hot meal to the finest shrimp linguini.
From flickering candles to a bright electric light,
From using feathered quills, to keyboards when we write,
From burning wood and coal, to nuclear fission,
From dreaming of the moon to our first manned mission...
Knowledge helps us build a ladder, but can only go so far;
It takes imagination to reach for the stars.
Treacherous drops, millions all at one time,
High and low, ferociously banging on tin rooftops
Unifying into ponds in deep crevices of grime,
Never ceasing to flood the farmers field of crops
Drenching everything in sight from daytime to nighttime
Eventually culminating with ferocious roars over mountaintops,
Raging across the sky while the flashing of electric light never stops.
Suddenly, as though by some invisible curtain,
The intoxicating, earthly aroma of rainfall gone,
Over downy clouds, blue skies decide to peek through for certain,
‘Round the treetops, chirping and singing carries on
Meanwhile the sun resumes its duty to shed its glow at dawn.
She brightened like a child whose broken toy is glued together,
summon tears as one summons servants,
and danced like a flower in the wind.
She disclaimed the weariness,
that dragged upon her spirits like leaden weights,
exude a faint and intoxicating perfume of womanliness,
like a crushed herb,
and felt like an unrepentant criminal.
She flounders like a huge conger-eel
in an ocean of dingy morality,
gave me a surprised look,
like a child catching an older person in a foolish statement,
and gave off antipathies as a liquid gives off vapor.
She has great eyes like the doe,
heard me like one in a dream,
and let the soft waves of her deep hair fall,
like flowers from Paradise.
She looked like a tall golden candle,
moved like mirth incarnate,
and saw this planet,
like a star hung in the glistening depths of even.
She seemed as happy
as a wave that dances on the sea,
walks in beauty like the night,
brilliant, and as hard too, as electric light,
silent, standing before me like a little statuesque figure.
By Seth Yuhi Musinga
Hot Cross Bun
(Now figure out that title)
In poetry will we finally reach a phase
When all of our poems truly amaze
Ourselves and others reading them
In front of fireplace when light is dim.
An old Abe sure you don't happen to be
Back in those days it was hard to see
Things as silence of night was there
So they lit a long candle with care.
As for me I prefer an electric light
And write poems as hard as I might
After in my mind a picture they drew
When I awoke each one came through.
Could be barely in morning or late at night
And any temptation off I refused to fight
Regardless of way my mind might be going
Poems popped out and are all freely flowing.
Some poets say that my poems are repugnant
Due to being weird and rather redundant
I myself find favor with each and everyone
And read them while eating a hot cross bun.
James Thomas Horn, Retired Veteran
PS. They don't have a category for sick yet.
From some place high and far away.
Not too far away.
A concrete habitat gilded with glass, steel and twinkling electric light.
I like to watch the city from afar.
Like a voyeuristic deity I eat it up greedily with my eyes.
My minds' eye cannot grasp it all, the complexity, the multitudes of people.
This is how I, above all else, humble myself.
Because I am but one drop of water in a fathoms upon fathoms deep ocean.
Like everyone else, I must go with the force of the tides now and forever more.
We are all powerful when our droplets come together into a single massive wave.
We erode, steadily but surely, the obstinate rocks on the shore.
This is love.
Perhaps someone can see me.
A tiny silhouette of a man, holding a railing somewhere.
I will wave hello just in case.
As beautiful as the purple flush of dawn,
loveliness broke on me like some rare flower,
eyes like mountain water that overflowing on a rock,
as bright as a blazing star,
brilliant and as hard too, as electric light.
Her voice rang like a bird-call through her rustling fancies,
words sounding like wavelets on a summer shore,
beautiful pearls of wisdom slip from her mouth without even knowing,
smile flashed over her face, like sunshine over a flower,
looked like the picture of a young rapt saint, lost in heavenly musing.
Her hair dropped on her pallid cheeks, like sea-weed on a clam,
lips are tremulous as brook-water is,
laugh is like a rainbow-tinted spray,
cheeks as soft as July peaches,
her sweetness halting like a tardy May.
She is calm like a mountain brooding o'er the sea,
her breath upon my cheek like a perfumed air,
our love is pure as the snowy leaves that fold over the flower's heart,
sweet as a summer night without a breath,
my love for her is like the sovereign moon that rules the sea.
She always gave me a surprised look,
like a child catching an older person in a foolish statement.
The Making of Stars.
Long time ago before stars appeared,
nights were as black as standing inside
a mist of ink ejected by an octopus.
When stone-age man found how to lit
a fire, sparks flew up and slowly
the night sky had what we call stars.
When a star or spark dies a new one
will appear if not as many as before
now that we have electric light.
In Kalahari a tribe sits by the fireside
sparks fly upwards, they see to it we
always have stars on the night sky.
OF THE NEW FLESH
A returned to open channels
Open to the unknown the beyond
Burning humming like angry hornets
Bottled in electric light and shadows
The whispers come through the void
Humming in the open channel
Of an ancient television set
Like a cryptic monolith, alive
The noise to signals, burning voices
Scream and chant arcane rights
That pushes n pulls the soul of things
Never dreamt of before, unseen
There in the dark the halogen arc light, bright
Blares its pure hot hollow holy light
Laying before me was a stark image of chrome
Of gears springs and electric circuitry.
Gracing suicidal insight
wickedly sharp blade
Mad for flesh and bone,
blood baptize in its righteous
fury for the masses to cut the cancer, away
Of the new flesh
this covenant of mechanical arts
And malice
A calculus of angels and insane
The insane idle smiles hide the dark shame
covered in a thin facade of normalcy
They hide lies that drip from those smiles
The hate so deep it blinds the eyes of tranquility
The secret lives of the damned
Burn, blares the new blade of silver
Bone n gears; the product of death
As the mechanical heart reimagined
ruminates and redefines
In heaven hollow facade
Silence of the holy realm
The static of Valhallas Halls
Sits a cathode ray tube
Full of angry hornets, fiery angels…
Humming into the sacred night
a blade flickers in delicate light
Dancing into shadows
from burning sacraments
A holocaustic humanity
Mad for flesh and bone
Baptize in blood
Born of righteous fury for the masses
To cut away the cancer
voices whisper
scream
call and demand:
“Long live the new flesh!”
I hold your hand asking for a dance…
Enraptured from a tingling spiritual romance…
I bow to you giving a gracious smile,
Knowing you are with me all the while…
I enfold you with electric light embrace…
Thankful your love fills fears place…
I honor you with a pure courageous mind…
Ushering into my being compassion laced with kind…
I serenade you with my song trinity…
Blended with perfection; sovereignty, unity, unlimited possibility…
I see our bond is infinite, redefining wealth…
I willingly go down the rabbit hole to know more of this truest self…
I vow to remain connected by your side…
I promise you never will I choose to run and hide…
Forever I will hold your hand…