Best Scrapers Poems
(a Salute to Howard Moss)
Although it is not yet warm,
we have shoved to the backs of closets
snow-boots, gloves, and woolen scarves,
locked tire chains and ice scrapers
into trunks of automobiles as if
tomorrow the first bloom appears.
Oh, stiff wind blow, hold back snow,
whose flakes unwelcome gust
while hearts claim lilac scent.
Oh, pale moon, come, lend your light.
Oh, songbird, drop your sweet notes here,
while old men's hats sail past
and girls push down their skirts—
with both hands—as purses cling
on hunched shoulders and hair-strands
blow against cheeks.
What is this howling wind
and who brought this mournful song,
this wild, feathered up-surging
as if tomorrow the world upturns.
We've shoved our gloves,
our boots and scarves behind
the racks in backs of closets,
locked away the sacks of salt,
and scoured the ground for signs
of hyacinth buds or crocus flush,
while old mens' hats sail past
and girls hold down their skirts
as purses sway and hair-strands
whip against their cheeks?
And though it is not yet warm,
there is the mystery of spring.
The first weakening of night
picks out telephone lines,
black against sky.
The eyelid of a garage door
lurches laboriously up.
A car coughs blue breath.
With aerosols and plastic scrapers
clandestine delights of frostwebs
are raked to chemical sludge.
Starter motors whine.
Windscreens cloud with pain.
Gears grind teeth.
An electric train
gingerly
utters inarticulate from the sheds,
groaning over cold joints.
Thinking grimly
of tunnels ahead,
it flares with ill-humor
crossing the points.
On unworked land beside the track,
a fox is heading home.
Gliding through
beneath the "keep out" sign,
he grins at the engine,
which just judders along,
headlights trained
on parallel lines
which glint ahead,
reflecting lurid signal red,
extending out, but never meeting,
towards the vanishing point.
Spring arrived, ‘Twas the dawn of man
Consciousness exploded with a Big Bang
We foraged inquisitively for berries and nuts
Soon building settlements and primitive huts
A subtle spark conjured otherworldly fire
And with it came a burning desire
Tales of titans and mythical creatures
Serpents and beasts with grotesque features
Summer arose, out rolled the wheel
Stonework replaced by the forging of steel
Harnessing power from great rivers and streams
Oceans soon conquered by ships of dreams
There were wondrous amphitheaters without a flaw
Spectacular cathedrals that left us in awe
Advances in medicine enhanced our lives
Youthful deaths seemed for the archives
Autumn emerged, the pinnacle of man
Although swarming to billions wasn’t the plan
The thriving Metropolis made man a city dweller
Piercing the sky with scrapers so stellar
Technology progressed to an unfathomable height
Our synapses fired so glaringly bright
We drove motor cars and traversed the stars
And even toyed with the idea of avatars
Winter came, and into ash we did burn
We dug our graves and had nowhere to turn
Conquered by robotics that we impatiently built
Mega cities crumbled to sand and silt
We gave godly power to Artificial Intelligence
Paying the ultimate price when they evolved to sentience
Mighty bombs dropped, and every city fell
The curtains sadly drawn as mankind bids farewell
The bible
our pure poetry
Divine voice
art -- gallery imagery
Father’s expanding palettes of time
space infinite –
shadows of unframed
formless canvas -- man's freedom
to light, shape, transverse supernal grace,
we, alone, limit speed
and trajectory
bridging dark gaps, colors
dappled, dropped and splashed
faith will make mix, both consciously
and intuitively apply:
heaping our scrapers and brushes,
the chill of the chalkboard screech
the joy of the slip and slide
the rankle of arms and hands figuring
otherwise meaningless medium
Creativity man's Adam
ligaments of my elastic being
dutifully, lovingly allowing stretch
for explore
sinewy constructs for
mental lift and taut endurance,
the unshakable frame that
holds all upright, and
makes daily challenges
superbly sculptable, while
retaining elasticity --
God let’s be
and we decide
if when and what…?
His unseen hand
yet in the flaming attributes….
The first weakening of night
picks out telephone lines,
black against sky.
The eyelid of a garage door
lurches laboriously up.
A car coughs blue breath.
With aerosols and plastic scrapers
clandestine delights of frostwebs
are raked to chemical sludge.
Starter motors whine.
Windshields cloud with pain.
Gears grind teeth.
An electric train
gingerly
utters inarticulate from the sheds,
groaning over cold joints.
Thinking grimly
of tunnels ahead,
it flares with ill-humor
crossing the points.
On unworked land beside the track,
a fox is heading home.
Gliding through
beneath the "keep out" sign,
he grins at the engine,
which just judders along,
headlights trained
on parallel lines
which glint ahead,
reflecting lurid signal red,
extending out, but never meeting,
towards the vanishing point.
For all those who’ve been captured by my camera lens,
I wish we could do it all over again.
But time waits for no one despite what we see,
In images made of you and me.
In the snap of a shutter or the blink of an eye
A memory is frozen like tinsel in time.
Shiny and shimmering like diamonds and pearls
Each one a treasure, immeasurable world.
Yet never to last beyond dawn’s early light
As the picture of now is an illusory sight.
To have and to hold like water in hand
Hasten photographers to do what we can.
To coax, cajole, position and prompt
People and places to do what we want
To fill up our cameras with just the right touch –
Never too little, never too much.
With just the right color, right texture, right mood –
A slim slice of life that says what, where and who.
In a gathering of pixels of zeros and ones,
Technological marvel mixed with light from the sun.
And oh what a ride I’ve had by your side
Be you stranger, family or friend,
Throughout the years of trying to make clear
What’s moving like clouds in the wind…
People, places, flowers and trees,
Sun rising and falling on rivers and seas.
Small creatures and features of wood, sand and rain,
Sky scrapers and ruins of ancient remains.
The famous and infamous, lost and found;
The good, bad, beautiful and perennially profound.
Healthy, wealthy, humble and weak;
Down and out with nothing to eat.
But your smile most of all is my favorite frame;
Vignette of your memory, your life and good name.
Etched now in the hues of bold colors and grays
With gratitude I have you to reflect upon today.
It is a tree of five hundred one and twenty different fruits
with nine others totally disenfranchised
in a garden of more than a colour of grapes
a black bunch out of every five same
is its numerical contribution in such defined location
A flowing stream, originating from the Nok aboriginals
has created different hundreds of tributaries
in its inland is a town where fertility is ambidextrous
and the most diversified of the colourful flying beauties
is found within its territory
A family possessing envious wealth but seemingly a myth
b’cos of the Mephistophelian deeds of its guardians
its house, built on land where toothpick germinates to a monstrous tree
and man power capable of producing half a continent of sky scrapers
yet six out of every ten of its members
are less comfortable than a pet in the west
The snow drifts to the ground
soft as babies breath
talcing the bottom of the farmer field.
The bows of barren maples brace
for the downy white.
Heat held in the asphalt
melts the first dusting,
its ashen countenance blanching, sullen
as the temperature plummets
cranky in the slush.
The snow laces the still air
edging the scrub brush
like baptismal lace on an infants gown.
A cradle cap for the bitter sweet
snow white and rose red.
Shush, the dawn traffic says
mother and child abed
Engines purr warmed and primed for morning.
Scrapers clear glass lens of light snow
the farm awakens.
All around me
Great cities made of sand.
Green sky scrapers poke through the ground
To thrive in life’s strict conditions
And melt away with the tide…
Great houses made of cards
Form lines and tightrope walk existence,
Knowing that any moment, the wrong brick may fall
And buckle our world to its knees
As Mother Earth shouts Jenga from the sidelines.
So while were here
Dance in the colors
Poised miles above reality,
Leap over the heavens on domino stilts
Floor it in the sky
Living death in the fast lane,
Flourish in faith and
Seize the day in light speed,
Because any moment
We could disappear
Into
Jacob Reinhardt
10/15/2013
Note: Special thanks to Elizabeth Wesley for planting the seed (another one) for this poem. And despite the dismal nature of this writing, Sanibel Island is still a beautiful place to see and visit.
Sanibel, Sanibel, Sanibel dream;
Once we were lovers before I knew what love means.
I held your hands, your soft white sands
Caressing my fingers tender;
Sanibel, Sanibel where have you have gone
Our love no longer lingers.
Gone are your spiraling sea shells,
Remains of your deep ocean friends;
Gone are your crystalline shorelines
I left my footprints in.
From progress called sky scrapers
And concrete travel parks;
Sanibel, dear Sanibel,
You’ve lost your sweet lovers spark.
Others may find you still lovely
With your great blue egret plumes;
But I’m not fooled for a New York minute
Because I watched shooting stars with you.
While the waves washed in from the distance
And the tides came and went with the moon;
I gave you my all while following the call
And you left me far too soon.
Sanibel, Sanibel, Sanibel dream;
Once we were lovers before I knew what love means.
Its My car
Thousands of miles together we travelled
maps then a sat nav journeys unravelled
collected all sorts, even went to the tip
bus into town, no in the car I'll just nip
MOT services tax, insurance as well
paying the bills down to me it all fell
Now at the end the bills just to big
think its all over I have to admit
one last journey together we made
down to the scrapers only I walked away
the end of this tale is not very nice
travelling on roads comes at a price
pounds shillings and pence me it did cost
but for my beautiful car its life was lost...
A city where
Sky scrapers are rare
As is the city
So are its buildings, compact!
Scraped by the sky they seem
Yet intact is their splendor and grandeur
Modernity fused with the classic ancient
Decorates its highways and streets
Spell bound and enchanted
By its beauty I was to be
If it were not for the voice of duty
That called me back home
FAREWELL!!
Walk the streets, Passed the subway trains
Echos of piss and debris, Filled streets
Rushed paces, Sky scrapers withhold glory
Look onto and pass, The city that never sleeps
An overwhelming sight of rodents, Amongst the people
Much like scattered roaches, They raid on Broadway
Faces fade into the dark, Looking straight ahead overlooking the light
Scaffolds supporting a frame, Old buildings becoming a hip name
Into the train I go, Onto the L from Time Square
Into Brooklyn underground, Almost there
Before Me Grand street, Next stop Montrose Ave
Up the stairs and into the light, Different from what I remember in these flights
To take flight and see all my childhood memories
Home always feels the same, When your heart stands frozen from a teen age
Montrose and Graham, The Ave of Puerto Rico to be exact
My pride still lives loud, That's a fact!
Live Art on an open scene, untamed by four walls for all to see
Refreshing scent of pollutants from Mobile Steam
There's no place like home, Who needs the country
People bored in Manhattan, Vacation else where please.....I Do!
12/25/2015
Sky scrapers posed a gauntlet across her neon waters....
Radioactive tides their evasive in stalking horse wavelengths
Walpurgis nights preordained pentagon knife; planchette's point
Blank modern day Pompeii ? Neptune's, man of war; crimson's rabbit.
Just A Note: 6\7\2014...."Hey Baby, You Know I Love You: Your A Precious Creation
....Far Beyound Racing And This, These Man Made Things....'Sweet Dreams Baby Boy.'"
IMAGINE NIGERIA.
Imagine Nigeria,
Becoming a sweet fruit
Like my orange juice,
Imagine Nigeria
With patriotic youths
Who speck truth and
Make my future look
Good,
Imagine Nigeria
That education carry’s a
Concrete foundation,
Becomes a national tool
Towards economic civilization.
Imagine Nigeria
Where the Elders give me
Shelter,
As helicopters isn’t only
For the god fathers,
Imagine Nigeria
My area without malaria
Where the health system
Isn’t a trap wearing danger,
Imagine Nigeria
During the good and bad,
We all stick together.
II
Imagine Nigeria
Where majority is happy to
Sing her slogan,
Infants carry my flag high
On her shoulders.
Imagine Nigeria
That my export moves round
The world,
Without corruption been her
Escort.
Imagine Nigeria
Where terrorism isn’t the
MilitarY salary,
And unmask every stranger
Within her territory.
Imagine Nigeria
Where tension isn’t collected
Before pension, instead
The aged gather for happy
Recreation.
Imagine Nigeria
That electricity lights up
This city
Its connected with easy and
Distributed for almost free.
III
Imagine Nigeria
Where all my blames are not
Left for the leaders,
Instead, first caution our nuclear
Bread winner.
Never curse Nigeria
All I depend is these natural
Mineral,
I can never reverse the
Desperate immigrant,
Looking forward to construct a
Beautiful new river on
Another land.
Imagine Nigeria
When industries employ my
Indigence
And never appoint by your community,
Refineries doesn’t pollute the high
Sea and kill my cat fishing.
Imagine Nigeria
That farming is encouraged
By modernized planning,
Imagine Nigeria
The prosperity sister
Make big plans from your
Little area.
My governor isn’t a magician.
Imagine Nigeria
Beautified with Iroko
Sky scrapers, and
Ordained the genuine giant
Of AFRICA.
HABIB AKEWUSOLA.