Best Modernity Poems
My spent colors still speak with my environment
Gray frost seeking a golden sun however little
Dulcet sounds if any come out of this interaction
When words like birds come and take seat in joy
From the lattices of thought is born a poetic line
The lines seek dance of words in melodic intellect
Flashes of suggestion through forms and colours
Movement of phrases for an impression of life
In a definite language in which the poet lives
The lines get together in cohesion to sit in a stanza
Whether in rhyme or in prose matters little
The stanzas love the light and shade of poetry
Even when you say: your touch in the bread
Exudes an warmth this morning, sweet heart
I’m glad that like the stars you’ve excused me
The guitar has to strum in voices of modernity
Instead of saying violence now we say swords
For love you the modern prefer pink whisper
Dream you say is weak and need replacement
I look for shapes which have blurred by now
As I write this my grandson plays with a blue ball
Stripes of sun and starlight raising ripples in air
That meets the happy birds flying towards it
Leaving the yellow and red mango tree in summer
For another taste from another tree in the vicinity
However strongly you plead for prose in poems
The fact remains that we live in a prosaic world
Of cut glass rat race fat loss suicide bombers
And for a lemon shadow in a melancholy corner
We obviously look for poems and not prose
_____________________________________________
31 May 2017
She put herself out there
Alone, cleansed from the stink of the city
She perfects the art of quieting one's mind
The fading blah blah blah's, a relic of "Civilization"
She hears slight groans from above and below
A sickening wrench to her heart
The transmission is unanimous
"STOP!!!!!", "PLEASE!!", "THERE'S STILL TIME..."
Cedar, stone, and river feel the break coming
If only the stewards renewed their vows to Terra
From out of the black she snaps awake, eyes of terror, urgency and hope
It is clear to her what she must do, no alternative
She must return to the metropolis she loathes
To rally the spiritually dead, to reconnect them to planet frequencies
She sacrifices herself for her love of the land and the hope of her brethren
Truly those days were fun,
Little children playing each,
With a fine decorated toy gun,
Life was serious yet catchy;
And we were easily convinced
‘ Sit back, I will buy you Akara’,
Was enough to pacify and evinced.
I can still peep through the silhouette,
Of throwing stones at Mango fruit,
And playing with a plate of omelette,
Those hid and seek games in the rain,
Truly those days were fun,
We went on errands without gain,
Whether it was under the sun!
And when a person died in the hays,
Goosebumps, fear sits in the air;
I can’t forget those jannock days,
As fear was harbored, decency was the heiress
An old woman could tell her daughters,
“Do not touch or allow a man touch you,
For when you do, you will be in a family way:”
I wish to go back to those days in decipher,
For the imagination of her dream, is not new.
These days;
Even a seer can’t see what a teen talks,
And behold, they are all on Tiktok,
Staring at things our fathers only but imagined,
And when you tell them to face their books,
Oh God! They are on Facebook,
These days, decency is just but a crime,
And when you see it, we call it archaic;
Mothers that should do their job,
Are their, on the sad side of Instagram,
Influencing in their nude paraphernalia!
Majority of these parents will taste,
Eli’s strength, a sad reality disguising,
And truly this age is punctured;
And it is bleeding in black jars,
Where then should I start the tale from,
Truly the beat has changed;
Leaving us naked in the daylight;
Where is our morality forte?
Even the news of these days,
Does not sit well with the mind...
It is either abduction, manslaughter,
Banditry, and all those odd news,
I’m debilitated and would want,
To go back to those days!
My eyes are witness to this insouciant.
...At the Shore, zoneyed
hyperspantechnic aerobes
seek treasurefiner-
metal detectives,
hopefilled, as high-tech fishmen
at Igloos of beer
ponder the dearth?, Nay!
of paille tressed, bespectacled
easy-easelers
at hungry palettes
and the sketchmasters who're
ignobly absent!
.
They said I'm a chip off the old block, but I'd never budge an inch
For it is of nature to bear the semblance of the one from whom you proceed
For it is blood to blood, nothing escaping
For that's nature's will
All we can do is to chop off the externals that does not augur well with the times we are
And that's if that semblance is an Ogre to modernity
~ semblance
daddy long legs spinning its' web from the ceiling
8 legs of terror, to 8 years of life as a kid.
monster under the bed hurry,
big terrible eyes, gleaming at me from the dark unknown corner.
go wake your mother from her slumber, Dad must rest.
modern fear is 17
dead in parkland at the hands of
a madman, yet mental illness should not be the
cause of FEAR.
Fear, fear, fear,
what do I - a young girl have to fear?
sexual assault, being told I
lack authority because I am a female.
Do not! shrink the power of my gender identity, I do not fear the tall white men who believe their distress
must stay hidden beneath their black engulfing suits
whispering degrading slurs about our temples-our bodies
because fear is weakness, and what is weakness if not a delicate flower ripped from its deep roots in the soil?
weakness is not the white man!
the all-consuming, terror-inducing mastermind
behind fear is you.
Only you allow yourself to be afraid
when we find enough strength in love and hope,
nothing will hold us back
-Katherine Beth
Our lives have become so simple
Yet stress and anxiety are at an all time high
We’re overweight and depressed
Extremely offended most of the time
We’re wealthier than we’ve ever been
We have more food than we can eat
We’re metaphorically and literally fat
We can't see our problem, nor our feet
We lack perspective
All of our hardships have been taken away
Our human nature that was developed in another world
Is counterproductive in modern day
We have to begin to take responsibility
Regain what our parents stole in our early life
Suffering will then become a lesson
We can minimize our strife
Life is now simple
The problem is our tiny point of view
Clarify and evaluate our place in this world
Then you can appreciate the human sacrifices that came before you
A madman pushed me off the track, lucky not much harm
I sat in the Hospital waiting room with just a broken arm.
They handed me a form to fill, 20 genders, 10 types of race -
I tore the sheet with my good arm and walked out of that place.
I walked past a park, a man dropped a syringe, gave me a stare
I walked past a crazy woman preaching to the air.
I walked past teens speaking to their phones but not each other.
Saw expressions I couldn’t read - an enemy or a brother?
I remembered the in-crowd whose moral sight was blind
I wanted to leave their dubious fads behind
I walked past the demonstrators, their justice leads to blood:
We may need a Noah's ark from the oncoming flood.
I walked along the Palisades, the river on my right.
I perked up because the old roads, the boat basins came in sight.
I jogged on the Long Path, crossing Bergen County, then Rockland too.
Turned inland and ended up in a children's petting zoo.
There were the black hats - Jews of a Hasidic sect.
I spoke with one woman; she looked at me with undeserved respect.
It was a change from the jaded people I often met
Wondered what the secret was, is a religious way correct?
Those Jews might not surf the internet, they might not watch TV.
And when they move en masse into a town they spark animosity.
But what struck me there was something clean and true.
As she pointed out the exotics in that petting zoo.
Since then I've been to Lancaster, where the Amish live an older way
That lifestyle has its drawbacks too, there are always shades of gray.
I've visited Salt Lake, where Mormons spurn drugs for recreation
A visitor described them as the handsomest in the nation.
I like my way of life, but other ways make me think
Do we really need social media, or drugs, an evening drink?
Would we be better people, if some things we didn't know?
Should we stand against the current, or go with culture's flow?
Do we really need the likes, the scroll that never ends?
Can we stop and read a while, or try to make real friends?
Can we set anchor in a place where lies don’t get through?
Can we cure our sick republic, retain what’s proven true?
My campfire illuminates the scattered stones of the chapel ruin.
Conjuring contorted shadows who swell like mighty hands
Proclaiming the insanity of the divine.
Tobacco and tea is all I need beneath the tapestry of the stars,
I say " good night" to shuffling cattle and cantankerous insects
And declare darkness as a friend, soothing ,forgiving
A keeper of empty promises,
Seeking clarity I have fled to the mountains
To escape from the acquisition of things ,
I need to expunge , to cleanse
illusions of the mind,
A forlorn song of wayward bird
Carries on the breeze
I sleep in the stillness of a silent night.
Art is everywhere, buddy.
Flourishing all around you.
A stimulus maximus.
80 arrows at your heart
All the time.
Yet you don't feel it.
It's too much.
You're out there.
Somewhere.
You're somewhere all the time.
While miracles pop off all over the place.
Who cares!
You're trying to keep hold
Of your 5 year old.
Baudrillardian Echo
I awoke this morning with a profound vision of a painting.
A sort of Baroque ensemble of consequence, still lingering.
I've put it to pen, since it's quicker than painting.
The contortion of life via exploitation, from sacred to the profane.
Inside the frame:
Hills roll from back to foreground.
Three groups in the fore.
First from left also starts the hand of time.
Here some people admire the warmth of the sun, kissed by the rays.
Peaceful, unadultered, not yet restrained.
Drawn across the scene, and years have unravelled between them and these, where others sip wine.
Enrolled in playful acts of elation.
Seeing the reward natures vines of harvest provide them.
No longer new.
Able to take advantage of balmy days.
That romance of the past becomes a backdrop to the history of today.
In the lowest right of the work, barely within the frame.
A darkened coloration of auburn, perhaps a trees shade.
A wizened few smoke-rounded, toke in orchestration.
Contriving and prioritizing alternative ways.
There but not present.
Daydreaming our dreams of past days away:
''To live most natural was to imbibe from the elements of nature.
To desire was to co-opt, to milk, to press grapes with others.
But to groom, to groom the weeds of the idle...'' Think industry men.
Striving to lay ownership of all in front of them.
Outside of the frame is the simulacra.
The fought rights of the worker became frayed.
We peddle our fortunes, distracted with nonsense.
Killing ourselves to capture something.
All of the while, running away.
Business as usual, each to their own.
Ignoring the troubles that lead us astray.
Now, we metamorphose love into self-loathing.
We synthesize the serotonin.
The narrow space between us and the painting, no longer here; nor yet there, was when we had it best.
Was that the end?
What if everything was given?
No work, we’re all living a life of ease
Apathetic, we sit at home
With no hopes or future dreams
There's no more need for higher education
We use psychedelics to expand our mind
We close our eyes and travel to exotic places
Eating gourmet food, sipping fine wine
We've already seen the consequences
A privilege extended has become defined as a right
But, when everyone is done
Who will continue with the fight?
Living a life of meaning and purpose
Manifest from blood, sweat, and tears
In an emotional attempt equalize everyone
We’ve digress year after year
We have to remember, survival is the exception
Extinction is the rule
How ironic, the self proclaim smartest of all species
Ends up looking like the biggest fool
In modern times, everything has been given
Humanity is now on its knees
There is time to turn things around
But its starts with personal responsibility
MODERNITY
bubbles
away
in symbols
adopted
&invented
or borrowed
celebrated
as conceptual
embraced
as
mainstream
in status
impelled
by rational
ritual
in
constant
shifts
of attention
a diaspora
culture
of
ideas
of expanded
consciousness
perspectives
steeped
in the
fascination with
the
moment
clamour
for
self
attention
NOTE:THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE using spaces&breaks without grammatical symbols ,the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and responds thus making this enigmatic form a two way interplay & interpretatIon unique to the moment& changing according to mood is inherently variable.
MODERNITY
such
a
rare opportunity
significant
&
individual
to
walk through
history
so poignant
these
reflections
of change
the tone
shifts
to
different
connections
to be found
everywhere
potential
& influence
borrowed
& learned
as a
source
of
inspiration
from
imitation
novelty
innovation
transforming
oft times
improving
NOTE:THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE using spaces&breaks without grammatical symbols ,the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and responds thus making this enigmatic form a two way interplay & interpretatIon unique to the moment& changing according to mood is inherently variable.
Copyright © Brian Strand
I see the
Tombstones of modernity
crumble
as tired tears
of pretty paintings--colorful--
(wash my face)
and decompose cheap convenient concrete
to make way
for more convenient wires.
The metal, sharp
pries me far above what is knowledgeable