Best Opus Poems
Man of words, strange creature of fiery intention,
Amplifying pictures with that restless imagination,
Great are the images spurting forth from your pen,
Nothing holds you down, working alone in the den;
Unto the night you toil, pushed by an alien power,
Mastering some inner demons, taming your fear.
Oh how you search for truths floating up in the air,
Producing tremors with the raging force they stir,
Until at last your labors come to a perfect ending,
Shaking humanity with the hard lessons they bring.
Look to me I am symphony
An uninterrupted emotional tenor
Of variable nature wherein the scale
Of humanity’s opinion mill and linger
Compositions of blithe open mornings
Tempting to even the most candid spirit
Melodies that a moment of tranquility convey
Washed in the pellucid waters of divinity
These have given me a harmonic musing
Notes composing Mother Nature’s infinity
Rhythms of ecstasy from mankind's infusing
My quintessence of enduring harmonies
Yet the symphony passed to me this night
Lament in faltering the tempo of bullets
A motionless body lies before me
Oh God
The sable skies of night endure…
Winter
Slow ghost in fields of thought
Giver of the inward memories,
turning outward the sigh
of loving and of life
that through the ages remains.
Visible breaths in the blue
Portraits of time
from a barren silence
where once prospered
the sea of sweet words.
Frosted Earth, frozen embryo
Something has stifled
the summer's witness
and brought to our sight
the unfolding
white-woven night.
All is calm under the chilled air,
among the dull houses
and streets of uncertainty.
The mind burns brightest
in the bitter winter,
in long, lonely walks
through the gleaming dream,
embracing with a grin
the swaying winds
and trees that scream.
The world is spinning
and you refuse to fall off.
Yesterday,
you stabbed a crooked finger
into my hidden diary
criticized my Fascist inflections -
debated my scribblings
on Marxism,
noted the notations
indicating Munchausen by Proxy
and then
choked and lamented
upon vague references I made
concerning Virginia Woolf,
Sylvia Plath,
Anne Sexton,
Cruella De Vil
and Hitler.
You literally littered through
my private Pandora’s box
of personal prose and poetry -
with an unbridled
crazed compulsion
and without my
permissible permission.
Pointing to bold typed words,
such as “ebony”
and “vacuous”
and “sociopath”
and the one
you couldn’t evenly pronounce –
“phlegmatic.”
You stomped your hot heavy hooves -
screaming with the dire urgency
of a rape victim:
“What the hell are you talking about?”
It didn’t take very long before
I simply shrugged,
slugged the remaining remains
of my Rolling Rock,
took your index finger
guided it across
your ratted sweater
and placed it
upon your
hopeless,
hapless
heart.
Contractual agreements with publisher caused DELETION
Opus Mysticus
Let us enter... and be silent.
My insanity hangs on the wall with all the other Van Goghs.
Sleeping snugly between semen stained sheets
and saliva creased pillow cases.
Inundations and vivid remembrances
of days dead and hours traumatized.
You and the skinny one behind the wheel.
Whistling depressing dirges in D minor.
Your vituperative Mein Kampf of the ages!
She lifted her skirt and unzipped my soul!
Young children bathing in the quagmire of Eden.
Bellerophone on Pegasus riding through Hell's Kitchen
in the upper east side.
My problems are but pinned butterflies
quasi-embalmed in glass cases
seeking in futile
the sweet revenge of past indignations.
Where are they now?
The artists of Transcript Necco?
Of Zoot Horn Rollo?
They're down on the dark city streets
off in dark scummy alleys
jamming till the lights go out.
Elucidations.
Proclivities.
Paragons.
Intense disaffections.
She lifted her skirt and unzipped my soul!
Absolutely Breathtaking,
Colorful Delight,
Eager Fanfair,
Golden Highlights Illuminating
Joyous Kaleidoscopic Light
Making Natures Opus Perfection
Quietly Regal,
Stunning,
Tremulous,
Unique, Valient Wanton Xenon,
Youthful Zeal
11/4/2011
For John Freeman's Natures Bounty contest
OPUS
busy market place
that one old face in the crowd
journey back journey
Dave Austin
The sound of the brook as it meanders through the grass, His Magnum Opus
Note:
Opus: A musical work, may be numbered in order of composer’s publication
Magnum Opus- A great, or the greatest work..
Countryside canvas,
A painted iridescence:
Woodland masterpiece.
your voice, my opus
a voyage undertaken
musical tones
19/05/2011... 13:33
Park Opus
Quick, scatter, chatter
Gather, store, hide, tail sailing
Fall labor, Fall fun.
Coltrane with Giant Steps coming downstairs, feeling A Love Supreme after two weeks
King going up the mountain and dreaming as he speaks
Miles said, So What... Kind of Blue
Malcolm, By Any Means Necessary, sees it through
Michael, a Dancing Machine, getting Off the Wall for a Thriller
Ali's Rope-a-Dope and Thrilla in Manila
Hank hammering the big 715
Prince's Sign O' the Times in Purple Rain seems
Your work is yours, so get on up and complete your earthly chores
Hansberry's Raisin in the Sun
Madame Walker with her pellucid vision
Aretha's Respect of a Natural Woman
Maya poetically teaches about a Phenomenal Woman
Claudette Colvin on the bus refusing to stand
Angela Davis' incessant fight for the civil rights of "Hue-Man."
Zora Neale Hurston saw "Their Eyes Were Watching God."
"Ella Fitzgerald Sings The Cole Porter Song Book" is no slipshod
Your work is yours; get on up now and complete your earthly chores
Dr. Sebi confidently professes the essence of sea moss
Dr. Cress-Welsing released 'The Isis Papers' like a queen boss
Mae Jemison is traveling into outer space
Wendell Scott blazed through NASCAR without a trace
Ooooooh! When I say your work is yours...
You'd better be getting up and completing your earthly chores
May my greatest feat,
My magnum opus be:
That I loved whole heartedly
And extraordinarily!
May those who knew me,
Know I loved thee best.
She who holds a seamlessly symmetrical silhouette
so supple to the touch
coupled by hips on sticks of tango, that inimitable set of pins
simper at all that you clutch
Bob nearer the eyes of delight
now attune and bound for that which you pine.
sweet quarry in search of marvel, of unmoved bliss
of skin against skin and devoid of the wine
Posture within posture you exude the line
that this foreplay is vessel to where
and piece in arriving where you began
tender so to flatter the tips of foothills
and the tally of the gentle man.
He fastidious with his touches and the gather
Dosed with melodious songs of time
that dance inside a stone-solid nightstick
making shape of fervent ferry
perfect in rhythm, poignant in rhyme
Edging toward frenzy, blinded by light that cuts athwart
He in whisper, you in shiver, ever-soft, all through the night.
You embrace and clutch that which you won.
Two mere afloat - amid sugary scented, tepid milk
and silk of a tensile strength higher than the foil.
Both in concert but as one.
Revel inside the puff and wail delight
bask in pallid threads of all heavens
and darkle with enchanted angels.
Blush, preserve the sevens and elevens
Yelp at the moon and talk in tongues
assent to leer toward implosion
Near slumber now, etch precious
beside the scent of the richest of teas
and bouquets of nomadic autumn
Sleep over leaves that are green
and kaleidoscope-vivid
enhance your reverie and tempt the pungent perfume
of the tenderly-parented Pinot