Best Spattered Poems
oh ...
Gustav, how you pique the senses
captured passion's plural tenses
lovers twined in percale folds
caught supine with spattered golds
porcelain dolls in fetal slumbers
brushed sublime in tans and umbers
bold, the bleeds of Burnt Sienna
stippling scapes of fair Vienna
Yellow Ochre, Prussian Green
Cadmium Yellow, Blue Indanthrene
trees like soldiers, lilting boughs
abstractions spun of silken vows
ceilings meant to thus adorn
gilded graces - Heaven-borne
waters, tranquil - tresses, bare
a world composing textures, rare
you struggled long to e'er refine
your critics and uncommon line
subjects some then found appalling
yet, remained, your faithful calling
imbibing absinthe, sans a chaser
life you sketched with no eraser
and while we mortals can but dream
you left the world your gauzy gleam
so death would not define the worth
of genius meant to shake ...
the earth.
~ 2nd Place ~ in the "Klimt" Poetry Contest, Anthony Slausen, Judge & Sponsor.
Cherokee Tears
ceremonial drums' rhythmic heartbeat
impassioned tribal chants
echo in Smoky Mountain mist before dawn
tortured spirit of an ignoble president
Andrew Jackson seems imprisoned here
haunted by wailing ghosts of tribe members
too old to meet Jackson's mandate
rise up, carry all you own
except your memories, your hopes
abandon graves of your ancestors
trek the "Trail of Tears" to a barren land
restless are the rising souls
natives who passed the pipe, welcomed whites
campers still report sightings
spirits walking and wailing from dusk till daybreak
specters bearing blood-spattered treaties
mingle in the Smoky Mountain mist
created by Cherokee tears
*Written November 20, 2018
For Line Gauthier's "Tribute to Native Cultures"
Not to be taken lightly, I burnt all my clothes
Cut the tattoos off my back, tore pins from my nose
Foraged for food particles, where wild beasts reposed
Lapped water vapour off thorns, when the thirst arose
My identity gone, I herded mountain goats
Built a makeshift altar, one by one, slit their throats
Looking to the heavens, chanting primeval quotes
Tell me what to do, this sacrifice I devote
But silence returned, I knew nothing else mattered
The goats now all dead, my hands blooded and spattered
A local tribe watched on, their souls not so shattered
Idolised me, then to the four winds they scattered
After two score and ten, they returned unforetold
Carrying symbols, textbooks, diamonds, and gold
Smiling in joy, I asked what stories they behold
All wrote versions of my life in books, but mistold
Some had butchered nations, said it was in my name
Others brainwashed little children, feeling no shame
The rest knocked on doors, telling lies they heal the lame
Scamming billions of sesterces, their one true aim
I condemned the lies, but was a very bad call
They burst into laughter, and pointed to their haul
Just then everything made sense, as I do recall
Killing goats made me, the biggest scapegoat of all
Pulling with hands soft and smooth as glazed clay,
Her foot prods the pedal, turning the wheel.
She basks in the bliss of a beautiful mess.
She's learned art is born from that carefree mess.
Moulding with hands caked in layers of clay,
She makes artwork dance on that spinning wheel.
Her bones creak along with the aging wheel,
Silver hair spattered by flecks of sweet mess.
She glazes with hands rough and cracked as dried clay.
Beyond clay and wheel, life spins a fine mess.
*Form: Tritina
The look of pity on the saleswoman's face said it all
my paint spattered clothing, however the jeans fit
just didn't have that panache, chic pizazz, tongue hanging
inspiration for desire a young woman out to have.
The car dealer took one look at me, led me to the far
corner of the lot, showed me the used hot rods
the beater four doors, the budget cutters like I'd rode
but I wanted glossy black, silver hood ornament, brand new.
Paint is supposed to sit on top of your nails, but underneath
is advantageous when compared to oil, to muck, to dirty guts
so I was a step on the ladder of the working man,
I could even afford to buy hose, which I still don't wear.
There's something to be said for the over glasses, safety
glasses look, white paper coat, something comical
one supposes, but the purple overalls worn for skiing
which suddenly I could afford, made me my nephews joke.
At times I waited for a date who preferred the bar
called and said maybe later, because passion rumbled
between us when we kissed but I didn't want a flit,
disease, broken promise, I wanted to be embraced
Cozy now, body motion are promises and content
passion is beyond me, the bar on the patio in back
the hand I always hold a missing app that answers
more lonely than any mistaken wish that he'd be the one.
Stars, too, I climbed to them in my dream, climbed
the Space Needle and found my self with no safety net
I always avoided those climbs the dreams more nightmare
even though I do what I am told, to reach, to soar.
Sometimes now I wear black on gold dresses which fit
to the nth inch, so I can barely sit, hold champagne
to watch golden bubbles float against the elegant
white linen against starry night event, that's rich, success.
Dump it gladly for a romp on the beach, the missing
something like threads through a woven maze,
like an angel's hope. When I dump it all and seek
there's grace lying on the shores between the rocks
a pooled place where deer come to lick minerals,
boulders come unglued and sail down river
and think, maybe I could do that. Maybe I could
unglue all the expectations and rearrange the world.
A pregnant lass with eyes of glass had never learned to cope;
once set adrift her fall was swift, she slid a slipp’ry slope.
She fled the curse of worlds perverse by shooting shots of dope,
and stalked discreet’ Asylum Street her daily horoscope.
The stray was struck by passing truck which was her only hope.
Well, Banjo Boy, with little joy, he strums her life entire:
“The wayward waif was never safe; her stars were dark and dire
(born midst the rues and avenues where lack and want aspire)
for no one heeds the childish needs that little ones require;
though faith survives in tempest lives, a swirl within the briar,
infinity grinds as time unwinds, until the winds expire.
Her last caprice? The final peace that no one could deny her -
whipped by the flood, stray beads of blood are spattered on the spire;
though beads of sweat are cool and wet, cold clotted blood is dryer.”
Though broken there, she’s fled the snare with dying thoughts serene.
And now she’s dead, the rumours spread: her age? a sweet 16,
with child, unwed, her soul stained red, her body so unclean.
A place is sought where she can rot, avoiding churchyard scenes,
in limey pits, as well befits, behind forbidding screens;
and all the while a dirge is styled on tattered tambourines
which echo through the human zoo in valleys of the Queens.
Without rejoice, in hissing voice, near soil that’s seldom trod
“In pious role, God bless my soul”, was mouthed with mitred nod,
(the twisted grin seemed dark and thin behind the robed façade).
“She’ll burn in hell with sulphur smell”, spat Priest and man of god.
Well, angels sweet with cloven feet, they sing in girl’s attire,
but Banjo Boy, he’s playing coy while chanting in the choir:
“The clueless search within the church to find what they desire,
but near the nave or gravelled grave, there is no Rectifier.”
And when he’s through, without ado, he stacks some stones nearby her.
Women all around the world
a tribute to you twirling
everyday work and struggles
A woman, wife, mother, chauffeur,
nurse, doctors, lawyers, engineer,
short order cook, baker, teacher,
poet, artist, librarian, soldier,
sister, mother in-law, grandmother,
great-grandmother, daughter,
friend, peacemaker, dancer,
dog-walker, ... and a child of God.
Sappho, a lyric poet,
Joan of Arc, a heroine of France
for her role during the Lancastrian phase
of the Hundred Years’ war
Helen Keller, deaf and blind, an American author,
Eleanor Roosevelt, an American political figure,
diplomat, and activist and the First Lady of the United States
Amelia Earhart, aviator,
the first woman to fly solo across the Atlantic Ocean
Mother Teresa, "Saint Teresa of Calcutta," Catholic,
was an Albanian-Indian Roman Catholic nun
and missionary, place herself completely at the service of others
A woman, mixed clay that was once rough as sand, dropped, spattered, and molded one that was flawed with the disorder of humanity, forgiven by the drops of crimson.
But the most important one, Mary Mother of Jesus
Why?
As I follow the footsteps of my son
My heart breaks at every word said
against Him
Why? Why?
As my tears run down my face
I vision, tenderly cradling him in my arms
when he was young
Why? Why?
Does it have to be this way?
They only loved and worshiped Him yesterday
What has happened in just a day to make everyone hate him so?
Why? Why?
As I take every step behind him watching him suffer so
My legs want to fold underneath me of the pain in my heart for my son
For every blow he takes, for every time he falls
Why? Why?
My eyes swell and my nose runs
from the suffering that my son is enduring
and I am not allowed to get near him to comfort him in my arms
Why? Why?
Please, let his suffering end
Endure and rise again
3/21/2015
Mary, witness to suffering with love and faith in "The Passion of the Christ"
Greenwich Village breathes,
She inhales exhausted tepid air,
And exhales blustery winds of possibility.
The lady blows away the veils of dishonesty.
Tangled streets strung together,
Knotted masses of pearls and poetry,
Entwining marbled heroes,rounded arches,
Crucifixes,and snakes penned on skin.
Artists, tourists, vagrants,and scholars,
Know the calling of its siren song well.
People living on the fringe of humanity,
And those from the upper crust, fuse.
The village is the one spot on earth
Where you can expose your primal desires,
And explore their depths unfettered.
She is a lovely harlot who lives to please .
Musicians and thinkers engage in chess,
Neighbors line the benches of it's central park.
Children run naked through its fountains.
The poor and idol rich roam, anonymously.
A reader of fortunes lays out his cards,
Lovers tango,who knows which one leads?
Perhaps all the seekers will find their way,
And the leaders will learn how to see?
Lady Greenwich Village,the canvas of New York life,
Her face painted with brilliant spattered oils.
Each of us can add our own divine colors,
Dripping and blending with individual uniqueness.
...... Part 3 ......
The old wolf creeps, the old wolf leaps
on prey he’s been a’ trackin’ –
a deer adorned with branchin’ horns
is torn by beasts attackin’.
The morning quakes, a shadow shakes,
tined antlers left a’ lyin’,
and spattered spots and scarlet clots
repaint the point o’ dyin’.
A magpie flies with frightened eyes
(on ebon wings a’ wavin’),
spies wolfin’ jaws and sated maws
of wolves no longer cravin’.
The snowdrift clears, a cool wind veers,
a dying breath, moreover –
a wraith appears, with shaggy ears,
(one droopin’ down, hung over).
Dawn’s sunbeams crowd, ignite a cloud,
its threaded strands a’ weavin’.
The pack awakes and twists and shakes,
for soon it’s time for leavin’;
it’s bleak, it chills on shallow hills,
as she-wolfs come a’ nuzzlin’,
but north winds scold, the wolf lies cold,
the pack stands back a’ puzzlin’.
On crimson snows neath perchin’ crows,
the pack abides a’ guardin’;
while nights are tight with Harpy kites,
the she-wolves wait an’ harden,
until a groanin’ blizzard stones
the barren forest stowin’
his shaggy ears beneath the weirs,
with icy hails ’a blowin’.
The storm abates and terminates,
the glacial wind’s subsidin’;
the past is past or passin’ fast
and life goes on abidin’.
The herds, today, roam far away,
not thinkin’ of the dyin’;
the pack’ll stray from day to day,
’a stalkin’ hard and tryin’.
As spring sneaks forth upon the north,
they’re lean without their leader.
A she-wolf (bound with belly round)
strains neath a budding cedar.
Upon the morn a whelp is born
(the future forest drover)
in new frontiers, with shaggy ears
(one droopin’ down, hung over).
......End......
The Hounds of Hell Released
Blood-spattered feathers on broken wings,
and the Age of Angels and Light was undone.
A black mantle of terror and darkness descended,
as the red-hot lips of hell opened wide, belching out
war-thirsty hounds that shredded peace to pieces.
10-31-2015
Contest: In 5 Lines or Less #1 (Picture This)
Sponsor: SKAT A
Placement: 6th
Through my window I watched it float gracefully by
An eloquent specimen, a rare butterfly
Wings painted black and the brightest of green
The most breathtaking creature I ever had seen
It flew to the forest in a zig-zagging line
And landed to rest on the bark of a pine
Flushed with the thrill of the game hunters play
I stalked up and captured my elusive prey
It struggled and fought with great strength for its size
Prying and pinching, I heard muffled cries
“Release me!” It squeaked “I will NOT be your prize”
I saw tiny legs and angry little eyes
‘My god it’s a Leprechaun!’ I shouted with glee
‘You must grant me one wish now’…”So be it” said he
He slashed through my palm and bored to my thumb
Til it bulged to the size of a cartoonish plumb...
My fingers exploded in bits all around
Flesh and bone spattered, blood gushed to the ground
I stared in stark terror and mad disbelief
My mangled hand swaying like a dangling dead leaf
‘I’m wounded, I’m dying!’ In panic cried
And fled to my house to the bathroom inside
‘It’s ruined!’ I screamed as I bled in the sink
‘Now they will notice, now what will they think?’
‘I know I can never remove all these stains
I know that my eyes cannot hide all this pain
The veil has been shredded, the wall broken through
(I saw something move at the edge of my view)
There in the corner the Leprechaun stood
Black eyes spinning secrets of evil and good
He spread out his wings like a butterfly should
Ready to fly back to his tree in the wood
He spoke without speaking, "So, what have you caught?"
(My mind was struck dumb, stripped clean of all thought)
“Now” he laughed softly, “I shall grant your demand”
I sank to my knees then and reached forth my hand
~ For Jackie ~
what horrid irony ...
I put this suit on because it was his favorite -
pink, double-breasted wool bouclé, with navy trim ... by Chanel,
matching pill box hat and white gloves
oh, the smile he shined on me this morn when he saw it ...
that amazing smile that has charmed the world!
the flash of teeth that stole my heart in Georgetown ...
all those years ago ... and now ...
oh, dear god, it must be nightmare!
please, please ... someone tell me it is a brutal dream!
his favorite suit that I wore for him,
now covered with his blood and flesh ...
and his precious head in my hands, lifeless
the back of it is gone
and what was just speaking to me moments ago,
is now spattered on this suit
oh dear heaven, save me from this horror
wake me to the morn and tell me it is but a hellish meandering,
for I am wearing pieces of my husband,
and this beautiful garment - that coaxed his smile ...
Is now a ragged raiment of death ... a spoil ... a stain
my beautiful, beautiful man,
my shining prince ...
staring.
~ 9th Place ~ in the "Poetry For The Sake Of Poetry" Poetry Contest, John Lawless, Judge & Sponsor.
Is it autumn, when silence has come to a lonely lakeshore?
Throngs of reveling summer tourists are flocking here no more.
Is it autumn, the water's sitting still in the swimming pool?
The rowdy children have gone, unhappily, back to their school.
Is it autumn, when the blooming gladiolus have been lost?
Tonight, the garden's bounty will be bitten by our first frost.
Is it autumn, do golden cornstalks hang heavy with their yield?
The farmer has a scarecrow propped, out standing in his field.
Is it autumn, the pumpkins have no orange spattered 'round them?
Their deep green color is fading now, up near the browning stem.
Is it autumn, the farmer has left his apple orchards bare?
The spiced aroma of baking pies goes drifting on the air.
Is it autumn, when the gathering geese ready to fly south?
Two neighbors saw them yesterday, I have heard, by word of mouth.
Is it autumn, with dying leaves turning shades of rust and red?
The maple tree's timbers brave the wind as they begin to shed.
Is it autumn, with ever shrinking sunsets and chilly nights?
There comes a whiff of warm woodsmoke as the first fire alights.
Is it finally the day when autumn will at last arrive?
Twelve months ago was a long, long time to wait to feel alive!
Date - 8/26/2022
(15 syllables per line)
The pricking sun starts to hide
when the stars unfurl their cloaks
The darkness starts to creep this evening
Oh I can feel my spirit rising
I stayed at the corner
And concealed by the dim
As I waited for them
With a see through dress
it reveals my fresh taut breast
and flaunt my crescent hips
Prowling, peering, peeping
like the voyeur moon
Scanning these passerby men
with a filthy eye
Ops, I spotted one!
"Pssst, pssst, pssst"
is an enchanting invitation
from this lovely siren
And I receive a glance
With a wink of an eye
he give in to mine
In my bed I prepared
sheets of smooth linens,
rose spattered floors
like a shattered virgin,
Sets of burning candles
weep my husband's leave
but their lights celebrate
my burning desires
He perfumed me with his breath
He oiled my body with kisses
fluids dripping in my flesh
Giving and receiving
Warm bodies colliding
Flesh against flesh
as this fire we unleash
Riding to pleasure
till we reach hell's depth
I'm a flesh huntress
who craves for flesh
I sling sweet talk
and bait my body
I need not snare
for that is man's desire
Don't dare to escape
As I cast sin's net
This poem is inspired by proverb's immoral woman...I am not pointing to a woman in
general...this is just a particular woman whom I also know....the point of view here is
shifting...
I Walked alone on a rainy day through an abandoned road,
with lofty trees and bushes at the sides;
No one ahead and no one behind; and I prayed
"May the road never end"
Bracing nimbus clouds spattered cool crystal drizzles
and soft breeze pierced the bamboo stems,
Raised beguiling flute music, made me pray
"May the road never end"
Slippery road embellished with fallen dry leaves,glittered;
Stepped over colorful leaves to see the nearby trees,
with ripened fruits and singing birds ;and I prayed
"May the road never end"
Raindrops from wet leaves hit my head;healed my wound
Haunting scent from wild flowers spellbound
and Cute prattle between flying squirrels,made me pray
"May the road never end"
A sudden gust of wind blew my black umbrella,
and the impulsive rain drenched me,
cleansed my soul and my hurdles flew away and I prayed
"May the road never end"
DEC-04-2017