Best Specimens Poems
"Treasure Box"
The etymologist considered "themselves" singular;
like a butterfly collector they pulled the pincushion
out from the treasure box and proceeded to capture words
pinning them to every wall, they felt a certain kind release,
voodoo prayers ran through their mind subliminally,
the agony of adjectives and verbs being kept
beside ampersands conjoining objective pronouns subjectively
was a fluttering kind of let loose ecstacy
their creation connubial was escoteric, beautiful and ingenuous
and insanely free, in a voyeuristic sense, the art was in the act,
the pleasure was in the generosity of letting them all fly free
Candide Diderot. ‘24
“Collected specimens can be identified to species using genitalic dissections and other internal and external anatomy that only can be studied through microscope work on a pinned specimen. The preparation of the wings spread and legs out, makes all features easily seen, including ones you will never see in a live insect.”
“Gently insert a sharp pin between the veins on the front edge of the left forewing and pull the forewing into place. Place a strip of paper over the left wing and insert pins to hold the forewing in place. Make sure you place the pins around the wing and not through it.”
Snow swallows us with discomfort,
as we tramp across the moor
bent on a visit, a weekly mission
to see your tomb.
We arrive near the marble plaque
the place where you expired
the fault of an unknown murderer:
mad and unknown.
Last week's flowers have been stolen,
a common enough occurrence;
it matters not. For now
you must be playing peacefully
in a garden where birds
play such melodious songs,
where pools glisten and reflect
the gracious fluttering dragonflies,
where exotic flowers thrive and bloom.
You need not our poor earthly specimens.
a garden is a work of art
conceived with gloved, wrinkled hands
a home for fragrant specimens
for mists, for rain, for brilliant sun
yet when the weather turns, so do blooms
from rich perfumes to withered tombs
so clasp tight my hand, retreat indoors
to dream of sun-splashed greener shores
Disagreement filled messages
Miss-understanding cross fire
Every word become specimens
Parting waves of emotions
Filling hearts with hurt
Leaving splitting devotion
New day shines it’s enlightenment
Is this meant to be
Time to consider whats right for me
Friends they gather with advice
Time to think
I’m free no more in the vice
New friends they welcome me in
Hurt and pain shared
Thoughts of isolation grow thin
The future is bright
New plans in place
No more will you see my sad face.
Last night's storm
has left its artwork on the beach,
a postmodernist exhibition
of brown seaweed strewn in clumps
like hair on a barbershop floor,
broken seashells
and a fallen rainbow of plastics
strung out along the shore
where now an exhausted sea
licks the leftovers of a meal.
Chaos has been distilled down
to washed up artifacts
and red bottle caps, drinking straws
and spoons buried deep inside a ball
of yellow twine. I cannot make
much sense of what is on display
or glean from this haphazard art
a hint of meaning
other than in its making.
All seems uncoupled, specimens
torn from lonely souls, bits
and pieces coughed up
out of the exhaust of a huge machine
whose pistons pump and drive
a spinning wheel that has no purpose.
I pick up a plastic sandal
and wonder whose foot
it once belonged to, then put it back
and walk home
alone.
August is ending with a heat that gives no mercy to the land or man
so intense that the air swelters off the river into the tree tops,
looking ahead, its as if we are passing through the gossamer of summer's spector,
Private Shanon has been missing for six days
although, we believe he is lost, not captured or deserted
only God knows where his feet have taken him,
evidence along the riverbank indicates that he is alive and pursuing us
perhaps mistaken and disoriented, thinking that we are further up river,
Old Dorion is seeking him now like a clever wolf,
Shanon was seperated from me while stalking a coyote
a most mischievous animal that is entirely foriegn to us except in prank,
a bottle of whiskey goes to the first man who can lay a coyote down,
yesterday half of the expedition went hunting the prarie dog
a critter more cunning than a cat and jumpy as a log spark,
after several hours of scrambling around like lunatics
Private Sheilds has finally caught one with pork bait and a twig basket
the poor rascal squieks like a cheap violin,
eventually I will send it to Washington with other novel specimens,
President Jefferson and the Philosophical Society will be good guardians,
the men and I have been refreshing ourselves on the jewels of soil
the wild grapes are so succulent that the Italians would believe
Bacchus himself had seeded this earth with a secret serum
and the plum groves cuddled in the most unadulterated coves
invite the mind into Eden's shadow,
on this journey we have observed migrations of pigeons
that have rivaled the stretch of storm clouds,
crowds of squirrels so numerous they have canvassed the ground with a sea of fur,
and now the mighty, mythical buffalo walks before us
a legend amongst beasts, monstrous in girth
with hooves that peel the Plains and horns shaped by vengeance,
as they graze we seize the prize of their offering with thanks in our aim,
not having horses strategic concealment is critical, they are reknown for retaliation,
we dropped seven of them in a great pandemonium of panic
the gun smoke, field dust and perspiration meld into a fragrance of sacrifice,
our sustenance is secured, their lives feed our future,
J.A.B.
You've come before this Court of ours
the highest in the World
To ask approval of a plan
which you will now unfurl
You say the Specimens you've grown
in Laboratory tests
Can think and walk, and utter sounds
know when to sleep and rest?
You want to put them on their own
to see how they survive
How long it takes them to advance
but can they stay alive?
The place you've chosen for this test
a thousand years away
Has all the elements for life
so you shall have your way
Request is granted by this Court
prepare for this rebirth
Take them now, and for all time
to the New World, we call Earth
A half-moon wind caresses naked skin
as a whispered prayer takes flight
Love me well when you dream tonight
Moonlight hosts a symphony opera
with natures orchestral might
Insecta songs they sing , for you
and friends in your care, I in theirs
At these unholy hours
thoughts prove masochistic
Wise counsel naught but acoustic
Un- remittance rends and rips
A lover’s melancholy grips in violent tics
Unpleasant distance will cause regret
For in passions sad neglect
lust and jealousy are bred
Thence in stealth their war is waged
through empty fortresses, razed
where loves light hath fled
but for one last cry distressed
Alas, with deeds time hath cheated
surrendered prayers gone unheeded
Lay thee abed, in privacy to wed
and weep alone instead
for those whom companionship
hath left for dead
As mounted specimens in camphor beds
Insecta songs they sang to deafness
with only a half-moon wind as witness.
You may think it's unique
That it's just
happened to you
at the moment
But it has all been done before
Anything that you imagine
has already taken place
It's nothing knew
It may seem
like it's a catastrophe
or that it's the greatest
thing that ever occurred
This is just an illusion
an illumination of discrepancies
fostered by time and space
bolstered by the relevancies
of disinterested specimens
that circulate through
the time portals
of everyday situations
New Dating Site
Sign up today with grunt or groan or moans
Our specimens are dateable or so we say
Sign up to Date-It-Mate-It web-site right away
Without delay, today, or die
True love is hard to find so make it easy
Variety is the spice of life so try a different species
We do not discriminate. It’s party time
Animal, vegetable, minerals and clowns of every kind
We will set you up with anything that we can find
Don’t look under rocks to find a mate
We’ve taken the liberty for your convenience and your sake
To secure your bug like buddies and snakes for future dates
Kept In a jar, a box and under glass
We have men and women refrigerated
Some even come alive but only at a princely price
Frogs are perfect for one night
Marriages are performed at Date-It-Mate-It
With whips and chains, we have no shame
We'll hook you up with I-Pads with your name
Nothing is left to chance
Nothing goes to waste for your romance
Bricks and stones are half price at our site
Sex with them is fine and we sell blinders
Critters are for free and come with leashes
Date it-Mate it-web site does it right
We make all couples fit
By using crow bars and pliers
And if it doesn’t work
We will kill it, to eat it, or wear it home
Use credit cards for your convenience
But we don't take them all the time
Due to local ordinances and obvious crimes
Signing up is easy as can be
“X” marks the spot
Simply state your species
And preferences between the sheets
Date-it-Mate-It loves to please
Sign up today
You will never leave
a cavalcade wept ashore with frenzy like a beastly bus
oblivious of tribes who blissfully dealt without a fuss
triangulated within an ever narrowing pen
contaminated, decimated, eradicated “red” men
once a collection of indigenous separate “nations”
plucked by invaders who usurped america as their den
releasing poison couched as religion into the air
which indignities true colors became readily clear
when europeans “discoverers” fomented war-fare
to those who found themselves in deadly cross hair
every inch of “new world” grimly rustled in every lair
with deadly piping hot metallic bullets with near
with unfamiliar customs on par with a satyr
without means to escape any direction they did veer
cohesion of unity did annihilate without a trace
that belonged to those who stood apart as separate race
paraded as “exotic specimens” in some faraway place
bandied about as if some rare refined silken lace
of their rightful home by chicanery tactics base
to banality, effrontery, hostility though dined
with travesty from Europeans whose dreams lined
against so called original occupants who got maligned.
Between us there is only place for tears and sighs
I’m right you wrong
I can’t stand that
I can’t stand this
I’m the queen
I'm superior
I'm the star
I’m the sun
I'm perfect
I'm better
I want
I need
I’m it
I....
I....
I...
All the sudden our world is full of "i"s
The u in us is now just two disjointed "i"s
All is fading, so is it worth it to keep the ties
When the love is long gone from each other eyes
I’m jealous of the us who used to touch the skies
Flying free, careless and happy like butterflies
Just two souls that didn’t care about the why's
Focusing on creating a world free of lies.
Now all the beauty is replaced by hidden guise.
That pride and prejudgments have jeopardize.
The us that once Inspired other’s envies, now agonize
and we’ve just became two specimens that others analyze.
I hate the "i" that refuses to understand the ultimate demise
the “I” that keeps hoping and begging for a last reprise
Blinded by a love that will no longer compromise
too afraid to see IT was something “I” fictionalize
I loathe the stubborn “i” that keeps you paralyze
The biases that push you to always scrutinize
The purest soul tendered with no disguise
The “i” in you that no longer sympathize
I’m afraid of the "i” who’s ready to finalize
Of all the voices that pushes me to soliloquize
Screaming, yelling, and telling me to finally realize
It was just make believe, one soul “i” over romanticize
No need playing the blame games or trying to ostracize
There’s always later, maybe time will help it stabilize
There is always a lifetime to try until tomorrow dies
Until there is no time and nothing else to revitalize
You....
You....
You...
You’re it
You need
You want
You’re better
You’re perfect
You’re the sun
You’re the star
You’re superior
You’re the queen
You can’t stand this
You can’t stand that
You’re right I’m wrong
Does it matter if at the end we are saying our goodbyes.
POINTS OF VIEW
Took kids for fresh air to zoo and laughed - are we or they behind bars?
Monkeys studying a parade of human specimens for their amusement:
Point of view was a novelty for kids -
Their cage locks were welded tight.
Stone walls and iron bars do a prison make
If our minds are the rigid stone and bars.
Can monkeys fly? Do fish walk?
Perhaps, I said. The kids laughed and then took photos
Everyone laughed and denied their own photo - That’s not me!
Of course it’s not. A two-dimension static image of a three-dimension dynamic person.
The camera makes monkeys out of us.
Cameras always lie...as a quoted scripture exerpt mayseem toprove anything.
You can’t expect to understand a stream from a single stone pebble;
You’ve got to see the whole flow and ebb for a truer picture.
Let go of expectations. Expect nothing. But always hope for everything.
We stopped at the ice-cream vendor.
An optimistic realist expects nothing and is never disappointed -
Expect nothing. Not even the unexpected.
Your mind full of stones will always bar progress of spirit.
Be empty of preconceived notions. New viewpoints are essential.
With no fresh air, no winged ideas, no wind of change, comes
Mildewed destruction of your spirit’s health. Poison to your system.
Be the deep-flowing fresh stream, washing limitless pebbles :
And if you get out of your depth, kids, then
Don’t fail to come crying to me.
...............................................................................................................
Written 1 July 2013 for Debbie Guzzi’s contest REFERENTIAL
Exerpts used are from CLOSER by Chris Aechtner
“caged snapshots of mildewed expectations,....on wings of letting go..”
(In loving memory of my big brother, Reg)
Right within my den
Calligraphic letters you penned
Surfaced as reminder of the love we shared
I see picture perfect portraits
No negatives.
You do appear on wings of time
Like sun's penetrating light
In spaces, deep as the Caribbean Sea
Yes, you are reflected
In multiple hews, brilliant as you...
Blood of my blood;
Imagine fortified versions of you
I see courteous crews...
Beyond seven saintly specimens
Now your name is set abroad
As though Griot who ruled.
I remembered, you tamed my fears
And rose to pave smooth
One perilous path I walked to work
Yes, weary women in need of warmth, were
Cloaked in hand woven peace, given by you
Now, you're laminated photo...
Graphed upon walls of grateful minds.
I have seen you prodding time
Through lens of your mind
Tall as mahogany trees
That cools, and shelters multitudes
Now; who but time, will seal
This empty space
I feel within my soul?
You'll never be you I once knew.
*
Blue blood, red blood, royal blood, good blood...
Bad blood.
My investigations into blood,
The brifest of forays into science.
Disect the subject,
Swift, swift cuts.
You wont feel a thing.
Dripping onto the carpet,
My circumstantial scientific evidence.
Specimens and evidence,
Evidence and specimens.
Crisp dry blood,
Crack, crack with movement.
Heals over,
Just like new.
My body is a tapestry of scarred patterns.
Proof of my scientific engagements.
But for the lack of conclusions,
I would be truely bona fide.
As much blood as I cut out,
Bad blood soon replaced it.
Its secrets perplex my inner scientist.
My inner child is scared.
My outer masochist is ready.
My scalpel is prepared.