Best Segue Poems
Adieu April
Adios you soggy segue
nature’s mud pie maker
roof top drummer
dog soaker
puddle teaser.
Au Revoir
cool breathed friend
easing the ice from its depths
cajoling the worms
play peek-a-boo
with the Robins.
Bon Voyage old vagabond
titillating transient
instinct whisperer
spring’s pheromonal scent
arousing dormant need.
Farewell
fading water colors
dashes of Jonquil yellow
sprayed among Bluebonnets
triumphant Tulips
surrounded by
Dandelion minions.
“Parting is a sweet sorrow”*
eased in May’s sweet greens
long evenings warmth
celebrating such splendid
serendipity.
John G. Lawless
4/29/2017
*My acknowledgement to Shakespeare
His hand is strafing the castellation on his trumpet, the valves moving up down up down like deranged pistons under the random machine gun fire of his fingers. Each note is a projectile that concusses the air, chases the one before it, nudges it from behind, bleeds into it, and is itself tailgated by the next one, all the way down the line in unrelenting succession, until all the distinct notes fuse, compacted into a single, furious, careening soundscape that leaves the ear always half a beat behind, struggling to catch up, out of breath, high on an overdose of heard adrenalin.
sounds supersonic
air graffitied with contrails of soaring notes
solo flight
Still they come, the notes, jostling and pouring from the bell of the trumpet glinting in the small cone of spotlight, the man’s puffed cheeks like a magician’s hat from which all kinds of disparate, crazy things - playing cards, rabbits, ribbons, doves - appear and instantly cohere into a hyperventilating sonic dream. You’re caught off guard by every note: you never heard it coming, then you hear it, and you’re snatched by it and all its brethren, and carried into the kinetic night.
ears beguiled
vibrations collide, collude, segue
harmony
Wild grasses of my springtime heart unmown,
unruly, unrestrained, in silence grew.
Youth’s fierce infatuation madly blew
its untamed gales where tall, green blades had grown.
Fair birds of transient love have long since flown –
that tale’s dark thread unraveled. Segue to
the stunning, breathless moment I met you
and found the ageless love I’d never known.
As autumn yields to winter, hair recedes
brown-gray, and once-hard muscles dormant lie;
our fathomless love-light remains undimmed.
Spring’s passions redirected, naught impedes
love’s resolute commitment. You and I
adore our beautiful lawn, neatly trimmed.
I hail each bronze, red, and blue coloured dawn,
as pulsing heart mould torch flame of bliss,
to gaze across some awestruck mint sprig lawn,
that golden birthright never goes amiss
Eye beam urban verve one duly savours,
coruscating joie de vivre street life,
bursts of swift dash coffee’s hazel flavours,
cell-phone upbeat day ahead hubbub rife
Blue robin high pitch chirp from chimney top,
sets the tone for morning wonders brightly,
activate those spark prompt hunches nonstop,
schedules met in narrow windows tightly
In suburb or in city centre fair,
skies and pavements segue with deft flourish,
your dreamland ticket ace broad daylight flair,
groundbreaking spurt fantastic, let us nourish
Dynamic itch to stray amid blind alley,
lurk within some parboiled notion latent,
steel clad zone that mosaic sculpted tally,
animated focus me the claimant
"No Contest"
He’s a loser
that’s for sure
orchestrating
a contest
holds a mirror
up to himself
he’s a loser
that’s for sure
the heart explodes
shrapnel hitting
the dorsel
fins
I segue
that is my way
I segue
I think
for a while
how do sharks
make babies?
It’s useless
wondering why
and I walk away
from it all
and I,
I,
segue.
I walk
into the Ocean
and I
wonder why.
(LadyLabyrinth / 2023)
The Power of Drugs and Love
There was a time I ruled the world
with a brand new car mentality
using large words to articulate
my aura to sway the gentility
at a certain time in history
but soon I was to segue
to a different malleability
Confident to enter a vice
let freedom ring with Drugs galore
but as time passed on my destiny waned
to an old used car mentality
I had lost my keen acuity
slowly then quickly
to drift into obscurity
With no means to keep myself adrift
a worn out shell of my former self
the time had come to need a lift
with this large simian on my back
that weighed me down so heavily
I had no recourse but to seek
assistance as my will was weak
My kin and friends felt for my plight
and vowed to help me day or night
then began the dauting task
the journey to the Promised Land
with the aid of angels came a cure
God instilled his love in me
and now my heart and soul are pure
In memory to an old friend
Do forgive me, it has been a while,
And perhaps far too long, since I've been here last,
With you or with such burdensome weight.
Hands clasped between my thighs, awkwardly sitting,
And I swear and I could hear the ants go marching,
As I scramble for a spiel, some wit, or some cliched formality.
But I've lost my over-the-shower outline, over those tangled
Imissedyou's and howhaveyoubeen's we've just exchanged.
I'm left no choice but to begin this awful rant free of an awful segue.
So flashing a smile, then a (scared little) chuckle, I take a heavy breath
Then try to die (and sadly fail), I guess there's no exit. Finally, courage
So here goes nothing. "Here I am, and you are here with me,
With your face ever transcendent and ears poised
To hear from me, what sooner or later will no longer be
My secret. And for what it's worth, thank you for coming.
You look stunning by the way, and maybe I could end here,
With you finding, that in my heart you've always been
Such a very beautiful thing. Need much else be said?
But just as well, you are with him. Or with nobody. I do not know,
As long you are not with me, I do not care.
But let me say that I think, you were quite the everything I was looking for,
Ah, that you are not with me when I miss you,
And it's annoying that I will always miss you,
But we all learn to live with the things we do not have.
And now I'm okay. My secret is just that
It had not been easy."
Beyond that, there is no making this right again,
And there is no further peace I would like to regain,
And there is nothing to absolve me from,
There's no need for resolution,
This... is not that kind of confession.
And having loved you is no sin.
Fifty-six years her beauty's heart did glow; a nineteenth century
Love song amid eastern skies northern lights; she danced as dwelled
In dreams these possibilities ? Clandestine, verses sublime gables rhyme
Of sweet perfume, and timeless time; singsongs, choirs, your carriage awaits...
Segue Juliet, this music she plays; parallel, heirlooms her love his, corsage; we kiss.
Form:
In awe, I welcome Thor with utmost glee.
The powerful celestial force set free
amongst the hills and over the coarse scree.
The winds that whip and slink — the hailstones loudly clink.
Flashes segue to link — I quell the urge to blink.
My pulse quickens at the rank petrichor.
I ignore being drenched, making my soul soar,
I turn my face to the rain to taste more.
The storm will not abate — it’ll make me very late
for meeting that’ll seal fate — my destiny won't wait.
Our tempers complimenting to a T,
and search for impressive clichés in sync.
Remembering that which had gone before,
I’m quite blasé about the hot debate.
This poem was included in the 11-poem anthology dealing with hailstones, in the online publication Pick Me Up Poetry, March 2022:
__________________________________________________
© SUZETTE SONNET—SUZNET for short (9 April 2021)
A 14-line sonnet of alternating triplets and couplets, concluding with a quatrain.
1. Rhyme scheme: aaa (b1–b2)(b3–b4) ccc (d1–d2)(d3–d4) abcd
2. The triplets are iambic pentameter [*/|*/|*/|*/|*/].
3. The rhyming couplets are iambic hexameter and include an internal rhyme, namely [*/|*/|*/—*/|*/|*/] (alexandrines).
4. Concluding with a quatrain in iambic pentameter that summarises the poem in a rhyme scheme set by the triplets and couplets.
5. The volta is at L9. OR the couplets may define pivots within the poem, ie a tilting or shifting in the mainline of thought. When the latter is employed, it needs to be uniform throughout the poem.
__________________________________________________
LEXICON
ceraunophilia: (n) A fondness (loving) for thunder and lightning and finding them intensely beautiful.
The term is derived from the Greek ‘keraunós’, meaning lightning or thunderbolt. On the flip side, ceraunophobia may be defined as a fear of thunder and lightning.
scree: (n) a mass of small stones that form a slope on a mountain.
segue: (v) 1. (in music and film) move without interruption from one piece of music or scene to another. 2. Move or shift from one state or condition to another.
petrichor: (adj) it describes how rain makes the hot ground smell at the first rains.
The poetical books are nearly, by me, complete;
Next follows those once-furled, parchmentlike
Scribal tablets on which were calligraphically
Indited the books classified as
Naught but "prophetical"-
After the major and minor scribes,
The authors of which, and those of the first grouping of the
Newer set of scriptural books:
Those of the evangelical order;
The momentum engendered by the narrative flow:
The alacritous, celeritous, positively propulsive flow:
Of the Bible then stalls out,
Mired in and run aground
Amid the impenetrably deep
Bedrock of the various epistolary, predominantly Pauline books
(Paul, being Mosaic in his inditing of just as many and more books than
Those writ by Moses' own hand, for one has the tally of a mere five or six to his
Luminous credit, whereas the other has something on the order of ten, at least, to his).
Not that those, the Pauline books, are of a very poor quality,
But to segue from the narrative and story, poetry, law,
Prophecy and history and the narrative flow thereof:
To turn from these to abstruse missives
Of a yet abstruser philosophical
Bent, then one finds that one yearns anew for the levitical, mosaical books,
When their perusal of books biblical desists before the gates of the
Sadly boring New Testament-save naturally for the gospels,
Which are themselves poetic and narrative and fast-moving.
Such, at least, is my appraisal of the matter.
Form:
quatrain
Clearly put - the star was up to no good.
Musicians have an innate sense of time.
The guests, notwithstanding, all understood
their host - a conductor well-past his prime.
Novice performers, the host chose just three
for the opening event of the night.
His niece, as it happened, was one invitee;
he could still orchestrate who’s in the limelight.
While each one of the fledgling young trio
aced their solo in the gateway prelude,
the simply grand - violin virtuoso
excelled in his mellifluous etude.
Not wanting to move on his host and niece,
the star asked for an encore from her flute.
Would she segue into his final piece?
(in the vernacular of music’s astute).
The auspiciousness of the occasion
would exalt any young lady to conceit.
With tempo way fast for the transition;
it was clear she had been swept off her feet.
Artist: Lowercase Noises - Title: The Things Your Eyes Have Seen
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GnU0aOA788U&list=RDGnU0aOA788U
written 5 Feb. 2016.
Ice Sleep Quickly...
Slowly counting backwards from one hundred
if restless, yet most every night/early morning,
when tiredness defeats ability to remain alert
though rarely these days no difficulty to dream
way before mentally mouthing the number zero,
a segue way into unconscious state disengages
awareness, nor does yours truly recount numb
burr, nor REM member upon awakening hours
later how far from first triple digit to nought, I
ceased noiselessly iterated theoretical string of
symbols (representing whole sum quantity), the
likes linkedin to the Hindu-Arabic numeral cyst-
stem attributed to two Indian mathematicians awk
credited with developing mode to abstract former
lee bird den some assignation expressing a short
shorthand to conveniently represent a numerical
value, honor belongs to Aryabhata of Kushuma-
pura developed the place-value notation in the
fifth century, and about one hundred years later
Brahmagupta introduced important symbol for
zero, without such (now obvious) methodology,
this nocturnal primate, would most likely resort
to awkward, bulky, clumsy, et cetera alternative,
sans Roman numerals silently with eyelids shut
tight, thus imagine if ye will this sir soundlessly
enunciating c, xcix, xcviii...praying to dog never
reaching the lowest solitary i, cuz this mister, he
would never be accountable waking bolt upright
resembling a zombie emitting nought a peep, cuz
this suddenly duped frenzied hotmail, would have
zero choice!
Am I a phenomenon of procreation, or an accident
Of birth? Arriving on my chariot of nativity I spent
Three trimesters in the sanctuary of a womb, and now
I am a child in this world of human.
But curiosity is plenty and questions arise, is my fate
Written or am I free to follow my own course on this
Journey through the enigma that is manhood, and as
My foray into maturity evolves
I find things that sweeten me, moments of childish
Enjoyment, the discovery of teenage bliss, and the
Times spent in twenty-something ecstasy, then came
The awaking of my soul,
And I find men immersed in the place of darkness where
Jealousy, greed, deceit and religious exploitation breed
Death of soul and conscience in a perverted sense of
Existence, as if by some rite of passage,
As some men live in fear of a never emerging tomorrow
Others strive to kept their dignity, but as I submit to the
Blows of fate I feel trapped in a destiny that is not my own,
Yet, as I embrace the moment I am free
As I segue through this state of being I contemplate my
Journey and come to a place of consciousness, in this
Instant of truth my fiat to live is unfolded in communion of
My heart and soul, and I hear music, and I am heavenly
So dance with me, through the rest of my being for the
Melody that is truly divine is you.
Earl S Jackson
April 5, 2011
Copyright © 2011 Earl S. Jackson, all rights reserved.
Most everything written
(and learned ya in school)
Yukon coon sitter, (and bet
your bottom dollar) tibia bunch
of contrived information
all details bu...bu...bull...low knee
within this poetic missive
after spending a lifetime crunch
ching numbers, the following
singularly just my hunch,
but despite minuscule
approximate i.e. kid size lunch
meal, (sans two clenched fists,
and weighing about 1.5 kilograms),
not much to munch,
yet if smacked in the kisser
by a pugilist visited
square in the jaw deadly (Judy hush
hiss) sucker punch
whereby the unlucky
recipient may see "unlucky stars"
after brows severely scrunched,
thee above poppycock, and potentially
"FAKE" though (Ripley deed lee)
believe able to ye,
nonetheless behooves me
to segue-way (by Segway) to pre
sent a "TRUE" revelation see
(gnome hatter, aye
cheese silly contradict
mice elf alias Stuart Little) prithee
please just accept what I write
with a grain of salt
(from the Sultan Sea),
cuz yawl do yarself grave
injury and lodge a gree
vance against this harmless
right ham handed cree
chore from the outer limits
of the twilight zone, thus
I STRONGLY ADVISE thee,
NOT to stake eh knee
un mensch chin hubble cogitation,
and figuratively swallow,
hook, conga line
and sinker thine highly suspect re
dunk yule us gobbledygook mee
cully (meekly) reed this
more so asthma
childish entertainment, hence oak key
jist put aside any urgent task
to revel as sigh bee
devil logical syntax
with sum man tricks
playfully wasting yar
precious time free
cully (freakily) inventing outlandish nee
incoherent yawping, towering,
and brutally butchering,
Brooklyn speak (homer over
mayor later mother), she
nearly always... er added
letters "er" at'er the ender
her sentences - er stain?
Vehicle headlights segue through the muggy day as police cars and ambulances hold
sway as though autumn has crept into a summer's day and flora and fauna
do not know what to do until this glorious English summer returns; as though
the Gulf stream and Global warming conspire to forbid the holidays to be as they
should, when schools out dreary clouds come out to play with rain eager to spoile
their fun as wind works hard to hurry them inside cooped up at home on tedious
technology so vacation at home: "what summer?!" holds sway in these islands of
such variety on such small scale as though it was Legoland at play.
Our puritanism still segues as though we deserve to be punished for honeysuckle
heaven and rosy dawns with skies to take your breath away in an ordinary English
garden having cream teas with by bouncy strawberries, better still shy raspberries
in our unusual now usual summers we fervently hope and pray with weather women
and men will continue to beckon brightly outside and not moan our one safe topic of
polite conversation.