Best Lintel Poems
She vibrates, a chassis minus shock absorption.
A painting, the nude descends a staircase,
rings of Saturn etched in a vacuum tube.
Or Eniac of twisted cords and switchboards.
She isn't programmed to see light beams
spraying through the trees,
nor silver bearings of morning dew.
There are no bees plunging like pistons
in the flowers, no circuit board on the step.
She climbs the jamb as a bot returning to its task.
Monitors flicker as nanoseconds pass unnoticed,
but the galaxy ends at the lintel.
She's a child of Mir, suspended upside down
in a universe where falling isn't death,
but the failure of electrodes.
Then silent as a dead star she descends.
All drives cease functioning.
She is still as a scarab,
the light years casting sand dunes on sphinxes,
until legs spasm as though coding
a final matrix for iron butterflies waiting to be born.
Categories:
lintel, insect, technology,
Form:
Imagism
Spilling from the lintel,
a pitcher saves the ice from anonymity.
Rafters creak, the sounds of winter
rattle through the cabin eerily.
Memories of dead and gone,
whistles of wind, the monotony
whispers and drags through the days
like a chilling lament.
Hours burn so slowly,
like embers refusing to ebb,
reminiscences stutter
and fade, no lasting testament.
Evenings and mornings
now bleed with the same deep regret;
he's losing all feeling,
as cold as cold can get.
Categories:
lintel, depression,
Form:
Verse
The humble arch, so simple, so profound, so powerful
The arch is Pi in the sky, a curved concrete crescent
Supporting span of bridge or lintel
Inspired by rainbow, waxing and waning moon
Instilled by foot arch, caterary chain suspended
Upper segment of circle, Pi with curved bowed legs.
Compress concrete crush resolves, eliminates tension.
Keystone at apex of arch locks stack array of blocks
With Roman arch a symbol, old concept straggling time
Categories:
lintel, strength,
Form:
Concrete
Spilling from the lintel,
a pitcher saves the ice from anonymity,
rafters creak, the sounds of winter
rattle through the cabin eerily.
Memories of dead and gone,
whistles of wind, the monotony
whispers and drags through the days
like a chilling lament.
Hours slip by slowly,
embers gradually dying,
reminiscences stutter and fade,
no lasting testament.
Evenings and mornings
now bleed with the same deep regret;
losing his feeling,
he's as cold as cold can get.
Categories:
lintel, sad,
Form:
Quatrain
Oluwapemi... your name is soft to the ears... your name speaks peace...
Your name is the soothing ointment of the troubled mind
It sounds like the luculent laughter that comes with the dawn when the turbulent Night is conquered...
It is the extant song of the cuckoo bird in springtime when the greenery blossoms,
and it echoes like the plaintive notes of the first rains sent forth to quench the thirst of the long dehydrated Savannah...
Oluwapemi!
You are the dew of my morning, the freshness that envelops my Night,
and your even-tempered voice like my mother's, is like the cicadas that heralds the break of my dawn
You are the beam from which I draw my strength; the roof over my head, the lintel of my shelter-the pillar thereof,
and the marble upon which I cast my verse...
Oluwapemi!
Your breath is enlivening like the tender breeze that blows beneath the tamarind tree at dusk when the Sun is at rest...
The scent of your hair is like the smell of cinnamon, like the surpassing fragrance of cassia,
your haloed eyes, mild like a dove's, are the Sun and Moon of my Earth, your face my dazzling mirror!
Your waist to the shoulders is like cornfield in the Savannah upon which the young deer gallops,
the verdure on which the reindeer refreshes, the resting place of the poet,
and with your limbs like a wild gazelle's, you leap gracefully against the vanishing rays of the ephemeral sunset...
Oluwapemi!
Name of gold-that is the name that brings comfort to the restless soul
Oluwapemi...
Lady of the Sycamore, epitome of purity, healing balm, priceless jewel, glittering gold
My song, my Muse, my goddess!
You are black and beautiful-the true colour of nature;
and your beauty transcends the laws of time which makes you the delight of the poet...
I will proclaim your name... I will proclaim your name...
Oluwapemi... Oluwapemi... that is your name
Diamond in the morning sun, fresh wine from the vine...
My pride, my mirth, my perfect poetess!
Who possesses the semblance of your comeliness?
Categories:
lintel, eulogy,
Form:
Free verse
"Just take this chalk," (so went his talk,
to servants sent before):
"And do not balk. When you uncork
good liquor, mark the door."
This way, the churchman planned to pass,
when pausing for a rest,
fun nights in vino veritas,
partaking of the best.
"So, sup the wine, and if it's fine,
write on the lintel (lest
I miss the sign and fail to dine
there) 'Vinum Bonum Est!'"
Off went the servant at a trot.
Would we were in his shoes!
To earn our pay, we play the sot,
by "testing" all the booze!
From bar to bar, he wanders far,
obeying that behest:
but "Vinum Bonum" starts to jar:
He shortens it to "Est"!
He sips this wine, he guzzles that,
and if he is impressed,
he makes a holy concordat,
and marks the doorway, "Est!"
Down through the Alps the servant wends,
to tread Italian soil:
so many blends, to greet as friends!
Unto his task, stays loyal.
Both white and red, their bottles bled,
are flowing like the Arno:
by destiny, the servant's led
to Montepulciano!
Volcanic slopes (some are the Pope's!)
make wine that's heaven-blessed:
and, titillated as he topes,
he chalks up, "Est! Est! Est!"
Some days elapse -- a week, perhaps.
Beneath the tavern's eaves,
round Bishop wraps the sweetest of traps --
he arrives, but never leaves!
The wine is fine -- almost divine --
Soft, like an angel's breath;
To toe the line, he's disinclined --
and drinks himself to death!
And though this tale's beyond the pale,
a moral you may wrest --
each holy grail's adorned with nails --
go slow with Est! Est! Est!
Categories:
lintel, humorous,
Form:
Quatrain
The Cock and Bull in darkened street,
and the lintel like mahogany.
I liked the way the corner turned
and did this so abruptly.
I liked the shutters closed for night -
they were really quite appealing,
and never in the darkness grown
would you know that they were peeling.
The tram rails were in front of me
and darkened trams were moving,
and eventually I got on one
and left Bordeaux behind me.
1/13/216
Categories:
lintel, beautiful, imagery, night,
Form:
Lyric
In the mazy thicket of thoughts I search
With the fork of foresight on cloudy march
I pick meaningless pebbles from eerie plane
Meaning hisses at the futile chase of fussy lane
All doorsteps lintel-ling and leading to the most sought clue
none is rock and rilled across anthers of the age-long hue
Yet, life minstrels museless must trudge through the parks
Crowded by thorough thronging noisome marks
I must search for missing meaning along this boulevard
Of naked plumes wishing, waiting for the rush-roller yard.
ii
In the mazy marble of thoughts we search
With the fork of foresight on clueless march
We pick meaningless pebbles from eerie plane
Meaning hisses at the futile chase of limpid lane
All doorsteps lintel-ling and leading to the most sought clue
None is rock and riled through thronging of the age-long hue
Yet, life minstrels museless must trudge through the parks
Crowded by thorough darting noisome marks
We must search for missing meaning along this boulevard
Of naked plumes wishing, waiting for the rush-hour yard
Waiting all along
Tilling for a songless song
Categories:
lintel, africa, anxiety, betrayal, confusion,
Form:
Lyric
To be left alone
to be a cat
a porcelain memento on the mantelshelf
unnoticed un-thought-of even un-heeded
till a hand accidentally stretches
to caress the China paw of a line
all tucked in
out of a Federer need to be willingly unobtrusive
knowing the place of the homely cat
that’s fed as a pet
for the well-being of the spectator
in polite chaste drawing-room court
To take him à rebrousse-poil
and the pretty picture is shattered
canine claws unfurl drawn in offence
the conquering hargne of a Djokovic
the pounce leap and tumble
on the millimetre of the angular line
of brazen self-righteous discomfort
and desire becomes a clay cat
baking in the womb of the mantelpiece
under a creaking crumbling lintel
Revised from a 1986 poem : « Cat on the Mantelshelf »
© T.Wignesan 1986/2012
Categories:
lintel, fantasy, cat,
Form:
Imagism
Without shed blood, no remission of sin,
A lamb was killed to clothe Adam and Eve,
On sides and lintel, Passover blood streaked,
A token of redemption to the Jews,
Animals' blood shed in Old Testament
for each sin that they did, known or unknown,
As we are sinners, blood has to be shed
To cleanse us all from innate transgressions,
Only one person's blood was untainted,
He took the form of man and on the cross,
Lord Jesus Christ shed his last drop of blood,
Thus, through His pure blood, we are washed from sin,
His blood gives us victory over death
and sin and protection from diseases,
Sealed by His blood - the real covenant.
17th March 2023
For Sotto poet's "B--forms and words" contest
Categories:
lintel, bible, jesus,
Form:
Free verse
Sundial
My passion is the silent weather vane
The gambrel brought such sorrow
Much I marveled this roughcast cairn
Eagerly I looked for the lintel
I have dreamed of the clocks
Eagerly I looked for the masonry
It was heterodox
Somewhat louder than the freemasonry
Back into my memories rewinding
And the clapboards never machining
Deep into that darkness watching
Still is notching, still is notching
The graves seemed happy botching
And so I screamed, 'Is that a weatherboard?'
I crave the dissident, derelict dormer window
My mind always strays to caryatids
Much I marveled the dissident gazebo
Much I marveled the eighth patio
I crave the baronial, balcony breezeway
You warned me about the indigo
And so I screamed, 'Is that a drift way?'
Take thy landscaping from out my heart
What time is it, And the megaliths never grinding
What time is it, And the masonry was nonbinding
I heard an italianated, slapdash roofing
It was fireproofing
I discovered the statues
Take thy picket fence from out my heart
I discovered the vases
Deep into that darkness listening
'It's that plaster work,' I muttered
My passion is the silent weather vane
The gambler brought such sorrow
Much I marveled this roughcast iron bane
Eagerly I looked for the lintel barrow
It's a new day and yet dark now,
What time is it on the sundial?
4/7/19
written words by James Edward Lee Sr.2019 ©
Categories:
lintel, adventure, analogy, time,
Form:
Free verse
Spilling from the lintel,
a pitcher saves the ice from anonymity.
Rafters creak, the sounds of winter
rattle through the cabin, loudly, eerily.
Memories of dead and gone,
whistles of wind, the monotony
whispers and drags through the days
like a chilling lament.
Hours burns so slowly,
an ember refusing to ebb,
reminiscences stutter
and fade, he is chilled to the bone.
Evenings and mornings
now bleed with the same deep regret;
losing his feeling,
his heart is as hard as a stone.
Categories:
lintel, sad
Form:
Verse
I …
am provenience …
the heel of my father’s foot -
the damp of his brow
and his burgeon …
I am my mother’s bloom
sown in the soil of her intentions
seeded with wonder
and promise …
but some petals unfurl only in
the dead of night -
haunted gardens tended by
half-wished ghosts
phantoms …
frozen to their duties by the
mists of recollection -
icy arbors of regret and time, passing …
if I could but daub that lintel
with my blood -
force the reaper’s honed, desultory edge to
pass over those most dear
but …
too many I’ve walked homeward, in hand
too well he’s learned my face
too deep and numbered I’ve plunged
that oily, arrogant eye
and far too many times I’ve cursed
that endlessly esurient appetite …
I’ll find no pity, those deep pockets, his
nor a nip of banal bearing
it’s too late for tears -
the winds, far too wet for weeping
but I know him too
and he shan’t catch me dawdling
no - he’ll have to swing wide for this vine
else I greet him running and
wrap him snug -
strangling, like kudzu on catalpa …
for my roots reach deep
and are family-firm,
tended …
with love.
Copyright © September 3, 2024 Gregory Richard Barden
Categories:
lintel, analogy, introspection,
Form:
Free verse
A Solitary Stranger
Lonely a soul, he, waits there daylong, a lonely stranger, he
To knit the finest webs of dreams, one of the most delicate kinds.
Gazing, out there, with brimming eyes he ponders
To catch a glimpse of the sun seeping through the windowpane
Lonely a soul, he, waits there daylong, a lonely stranger, he
To knit the finest webs of dreams, one of the most delicate kinds.
Gazing, out there, with brimming eyes he ponders
To catch a glimpse of the sun seeping through the windowpane
The croons of his leisure time runs high through the seven seas,
As a hymn, rises to heaven and above, one, perhaps, eager to linger more…
Brushstrokes of canvas, dazzling horses of the clouds, in a resilient morn..
Open your eyes , and you will believe the happening world, in a fable, unborn.
Lonely a soul, he, waits there daylong, a lonely stranger, he
Cotton candy dreams, where in production, are in muse, those dreams!
Those old aged clouds are all in a classic silence, piled up high,
Rain will be coming soon!
Lonely a soul, he, waits there daylong, a lonely stranger, he
Cotton candy dreams, where in production, are in muse, those dreams!
Those old aged clouds are all in a classic silence, piled up high,
Rain will be coming soon!
Those croons are floating with the strongest rainfall , great news!
Where it drizzled through the lintel for yet , an hour more.
Rain-soaked an hour are chilling with gone hours, as ours,
A dead wet soul now, is he, posing in my mind!
Those croons are floating with the strongest rainfall , great news!
Where it drizzled through the lintel for yet , an hour more.
Rain-soaked an hour are chilling with gone hours, as ours,
A dead wet soul now, is he, posing in my mind!
Categories:
lintel, fantasy,
Form:
Free verse
* Paid my heed my friends for the frost giants begin their march southwards,
* and their hounds of winter ,shall Slather and bay awaiting direction from their masters
* as then ,
* they fall upon us .
* Even the sun wains back at the feel and shadow of their March.
* Our brothers the oaks stand true ,
* as these giants now put breath upon them.
* And so it is ,
* the sacred grove now sent to slumber,
* until the giants and their hounds, call for retreat.
* The longest night approaches and no advance can be made in our labours,
* For the ground is now of stone and freezing fire ice .
* We shield their attack with fur cloaks , glowing hearths and summers blessed mead .
* Our friends, family and forgiven foes gather and give thanks to the old year and for its bounty.
* Calls for the sun to return and warmth for the soil ,
* echo amongst all present .
* In the coming born year may our land , wives , and beasts be fruitful.
* Now darkness is abound,
* but for this bastion of kindred folk , the hounds of winter now tearing at the door , scream their howling and send their cold and shrills, about this protected steading .
* Grandfather places his knowing hand upon a beam "The carved runes in this lintel shall keep the frost wolves from our door, since ages past, and so mote it be" .
* All nod and agree at this given truth.
* But
* Not but for the silver light of our lady would we know anywhere else existed this darkening , he exclaims ! .
* A drum starts to beat softly as the crones of this gathered tribe begin to chant .
* Our oldest tribe member steps forward, for on this night they will carry the youngest in their arms .
* Together it will be their honour to sing for the log of Yule to then be consumed by this ,
* our holy fire .
* As the longest night starts its ending and the folk kneel beside the sacred glow messages are shouted to those who have passed through the great veil .
* They hear our shouts of love and joy , they hear us call their names as we tell them , "all is well ".
* We send our gratitude ,thanks and blessings may they be,
* as we have been, on this longest of all nights
Categories:
lintel, allegory, birth, blessing,
Form:
Free verse