Best Stucco Poems
Indigenous woman—rarely accompanied by their
white sisters—or their men enter
through the side door
of St. Peter’s Church.
Here they are boxed in cool stucco,
and stained-glass. A flock of Mexican
Madonna’s shift today to encompass
their fairer sister:
Dios te salve, Maria. Llena eres de gracia: El Señor es contigo.
Bendita tú eres entre todas las mujeres. Y bendito es
el fruto de tu vientre:,Jesús.
Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee.
Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is
the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.
Santa María, Madre de Dios, ruega por nosotros,
pecadores, ahora y en la hora ...
drones on—and on—and on
within the heavenly heights of gilded frescos—bleeding—
rainbows prism the room in false light, kaleidoscoping upon
the walls—murals of brocade, gold-threaded catch random rays.
Woman anchor the pews with their desires—
Pliant and pleading these mothers beseech Mary to intercede:
for first class citizenship (inside and outside the Church)
for work, for health, for a better life for their children.
Voices of the lamb bleating; dinner for the wolves, they pray.
SHORT SHRIFT-little or no attention or consideration
Categories:
stucco, devotion, discrimination,
Form:
Free verse
Classical infusion Beethoven’s “ode to joy”
Playing on blaring audiophile speakers annoy
Purposely looped to destroy vagrants with electronic music
Blends of subversive elements and anxious acoustic
Solution to loitering the bodega doo dropping
Spicy Shiitake broth smelling pissy store front,
Jaded daily stunt, at midnight wino corks popping
Abruptly segwaying into a film from one music scene to
a melting hallway, a lipstick alley with animate occupants
Disconnected unmoored, appearing eerie and dormant
Fluorescent lights unleashing a hum buzz in duress
Hissing sizzling hornets’ nest of unsettling unrest
Levels of unease, an iniquitous den
Such madcap absurdity is beyond my ken
Not a shack, mall, nor a Holiday Inn
A queasy Quasi-Moto mood which lies within
Backrooms filled in with discarded filets of fishy maceral
that have no place,
Frolicking pixella’s in a glossy abyss of liminal space
Plump puce brushed lips affixed
Swollen browns and purple mixed
Deep maroon and dusky rose, make-up art is what they pose
I wish I may I wish away what is unreal with blinky eyes
I pray not to awaken one more inky surreal surprise
Crescent shaped moon portions mounted in pseudo walls
Mounted upon the glare in unpleasing patterned halls
Side by side quagmired half discs dawning a contorted face
In a half dazed-half-moon crest loon’s invisible phase
Not unconscious but in some in-between state
Bored while in transition and abandoned as they await
Whimsical moldings who see me try NOT to take a peek
An exit to this madness is what I and they seek
Maybe re-evaluate my sleep number, for gravity defying rest
What insight imports this encounter and what test?
What it means for a doomed generation Xer or a baby boomer,
tacked in stucco, Silly Putty it seems, in a warped sense of humor
I wish I may I wish away what is unreal with blinky eyes
I pray not to awaken one more inky surreal surprise
Categories:
stucco, confusion, surreal,
Form:
Rhyme
I once saw the Virgin Mary
On a wall in San Francisco
Black marks on a stucco wall
I knew you by the streetlight
A vision of sanctifying grace
Then fussy on a tangled path
Far from my roots of origin
You spoke directly into me
Through my rough exterior
Reaching into the child in me
A mother caring for her baby
Forgiving before I even asked
In a whisper my voice told her
Bless me for always being less
Virgin Mary of the alley wall
Not judging me or hating me
For the person I pretend to be
Seeing us all as your children
A mother who understands us
Sharing your grace and beauty
So if you are gone in the morning
I ask you to keep your heart open
And to remember me here as I am
Categories:
stucco, beautiful,
Form:
Blank verse
Extraordinaire, he raised the ice.
He told me this when I was a child.
He said he heard his neck pop.
He laughed and said, “That stopped my dare devil’s persona.
As you see, I am short.
I liked to participate in a dare devil’s sport when I was young”.
He went further into his exploration.
He said he worked at the ice house and was challenged.
If he could rise up ice with teeth, he would be paid graciously.
He would not disclose the amount.
However, he won the challenge.
Therein, his neck snapped.
The ice was hoisted to the sky.
I asked what happen next.
He said he drop the ice and it hit the floor like a brick.
Herein, the ice splits in two.
How is anima doing?
He was rushed to the Emergency Room.
Maybe he became paralyze pro tem.
What he shared is what I have given.
He died in nineteen hundred and eighty-three.
This is in remembrance of anima.
Down the alley’s road stood an old stucco house.
In the yard stood a fig tree.
Adjacent to, was Aunt Donnie’s home.
Both lawns were kept by nature splendidly.
Beautiful flowers grew during the fall and the spring.
Summertime was buzzing.
I would visit anima and often see Aunt Donnie.
He loved his Wild Irish Rose.
Even more so, the Depot was where he went for shade.
He would say he needed to stretch his legs.
True to his inner self, his moniker statured him among goliaths.
To put it another way, would be a lie.
This is written as a celebration of life.
________________________________________________________|
Penned April 18, 2015!
Categories:
stucco, appreciation, bereavement, celebration, how
Form:
Narrative
A palette of sounds, smells, and colors;
Spring fills the canvas of my mind
with Her stoic beauty.
And once more, Her fabulous frescos,
fuel my passion for impressionism:
when She dapples Winter's wet stucco
with vibrant splashes of color.
And my heart is stimulated
by Her earthy sweet-scented breath.
Nothing feels as refreshing
as a Spring shower;
the feel of renewal
is encapsulated within each drop.
Robin-Redbreasts and daffodils;
early harbingers of Spring,
magically, change the landscape.
Flowers bloom in copious colors;
and songbirds add a vibrant pulse
to the heart of Spring!
I cherish Spring's sweet smile;
for smiles are made of hope:
and hope is the promise of Spring.
Categories:
stucco, 10th grade, 8th grade,
Form:
Free verse
COMING TOO SOON
by H.B.Ussach
Popping up like pre-fab stucco-concrete-aluminum posies,
Poking up on parking lots as donut shops and quick lubes,
They are plain, utilitarian, proletarian low-low-price bunkers
On a retail war-weary land.
Categories:
stucco, business,
Form:
Alliteration
Foreign Travel- Portugal
It is all that is unspoken that gives a place its atmosphere.....the endless turmoils that come from living....peaceful Celts conquered by Romans
after centuries of resisting. The conquerers monuments still dominate large paved squares .....wide mosaic walking malls with outdoor cafes set a carefree atmosphere. Cobblestones retain the ancient tone of busy roads.
Teal seas sweep out to weathered coastlines ....white buildings jumbled over low hills. Resilient vineyards, olive orchards, cypress and eucalyptus trees, impervious to wind, dot the stony landscape. Dusty green foliage that triumphantly survives between rains.
.....And then there are the people- proud gracious and friendly. A cuisine that is complex but simple in a mind boggling variety. Delicate pastries filled with rich custards, endless varieties of savory pies. Earthy rustic dishes of meat,fish, beans and colorful salads. Buffets crowded with hearty breads, fragrant croissants and inviting desserts. A gastronomic adventure.
....next came the discovery of nesting storks at Comporte, a small coastal,resort town, one hour south of Lisbon. We encountered them in giant stick nests high atop tall chimneys on ancient buildings.
After that -was Casa Palmela ...our most treasured find. A regal, historic residence turned five star hotel. Grand in an old-world style.
Set on a vineyard with low white stucco walls, tall conifers and palms-low-growing with thick sturdy trunks. Who could describe the relaxed balmy atmosphere, the evenings discovering new delicacies and fine wines
in the warm glow of sunset. All too soon we had to leave
But then, why did we leave? To return again, I'm sure.
9/24/17
Foreign travel
Contest Judged: 10/7/2017 1:16:00 PM
Sponsored by: Thvia Shetley
Honorable Mention
Categories:
stucco, appreciation, environment, holiday, travel,
Form:
Narrative
Off beat bike ramps
And a screaming grandfather that is not my own
Across a street with no name,
A boy sits on a stucco stoop,
With rocks in hand, aimed for my future
I ran away, or rather
Rode away on my bike
Around the block and grounded
Downstairs, an old lady
Appropriately named Clementine, for she was so sweet
A black and white floor for two little girls
Me being one of them, you being the other
I mistook Tom for my father once
And cried when my real one cut his hair
Scattered are the memories
But memorable nonetheless
Categories:
stucco, friendship, life, nostalgia,
Form:
1. Non-fiction
The bathroom faucet gushes nectar
drowns my hands in never-laughter,
"Sorry" is a specter
when you told me "0" I felt disgusting,
hopelessly deluded,
naked.
Last night I dreamed
that New York City was nuked,
another Twin Towers Lost,
everyone radiated.
But then I dreamed of you,
in a tight blue dress,
glaring,
cute pout,
"Is this right?" you asked
as you flawlessly played
Beethoven's "The Tempest."
I smiled. "Perfect."
I hardly smile these days.
2. Satisfaction
Deflection of your image is essential.
The closer I get, the more
those spiders right there
don't you see them
slipping on the stucco wall?
They remember the feeling
that satisfaction brings
of outsmarting us all
as the sky reflected in my fingernail
is a storyteller of love's plastic rings.
Is it summer yet?
This doesn't feel
adventurous, heart-warming,
sunsets, beaches,
grandfather, innocent crush,
my eyes in sugar rush,
and the books that told me much
so that I could die one day in your hush.
3. A Loss of Inspiration
Midnight's soon, the day's been wasted
thinking of worlds aside from This,
the walls' three dents from my broken fist
and the postcard she forgot she posted
in this odd room I fill
with jackets, wisdom, thrill,
come sundown I rush into wishes
that my jealousy could be just,
yet it's "brand-new in a landfill"
restoring your horrified webcam look.
Since you've gone and my love has died,
this pen's bloodstains have been my pride.
4. Medicine
Maybe you don't realize
you've crushed that tiny bug.
His funeral will not be held,
not until the walls cover their ears,
and blood diamonds ask for fears.
A refill
and a terror,
I can only see your purple sweater
bending once for all my vice;
Maroon Dream City is waiting for us.
These med heavens.
So addicting
until I relapsed into your eyes,
I'm still sick of it all:
the horizon never reached
and darkness perched and ready.
Stop confusing me already.
5. Hideout
Hey, why did
I miss you
Your smile from last June
And no girl will ever
I wonder
I wonder
Slow down, run me over
And laaaugh
Come walk beside this faster incompletion
On a chilly night of sirens
Hey, why did
And my head pounds from lack of
Hey, if I were to go forever
Come to me in my hideout
and I'll kiss your scream
with eternity.
Categories:
stucco, addiction, crazy, dark, ,
Form:
Dramatic Monologue
By Laura Dee Battle
July 16, 2013
(revised July 11, 2015)
There’s no clarity when she’s feeling this way
Blinded by the crippling fear in every yesterday
Crying as endless missteps repeat in her mind
Remembering the missing sun behind her closed window blinds
Pacing back and forth; her insanity runs free
She secured the rusted lock but her mind had the key
The door is shaking now as the ringing grows loud
Tear-spattered walls lined with floods from her clouds
Her TV set is on but static is all it ever shows
Suddenly she sees what everyone already knows
Long ago she lost the beauty in her brittle life
She reaches in her dresser drawer to find salvation in a knife
Remembering the days when angels used to sing
She numbly basks in hopelessness under the stucco ceiling
Her eyes are filled with broken dreams; she doesn’t wipe ‘em clean
It’s too late to save her now, with everything she’s seen
The flood fills up the room while she dies without a sound
Her bed becomes the refuge from all the pain she’s found
She stands on the sheets and screams out her final plea
"I'LL NEVER LEAVE AGAIN DEE JUST STAY HERE WITH ME!"
She opens up her flooded eyes to every dream she never knew
The blinds are still closed with the sunshine peaking through
So she opens her crippled heart to the troubled world unseen
The clouds maybe are heavy with the floods that they will bring
The moment finally comes to take up arms and fight
Readily she meets the shadows in the broken night
So she ventures out the room with nothing but love on her arms
And sounds her demons battle cry with a smile to disarm
Categories:
stucco, addiction, angst, emotions, feelings,
Form:
Rhyme
They're getting older,
five brothers and sisters,
all with degrees, jobs, families,
nice homes, good lives, happier
than most except when they must
fly to the home of their childhood
and settle their mother's estate.
They gather in the old stucco
none of them is willing to sell.
They drink bourbon and scotch
and tell each other everything again
that happened when they were young,
what made them take planes anywhere
trying to escape and forget.
A few more drinks and they see the bees
swarming the day Mom knocked the hive
out of the willow with her clothesline pole.
They were young, not yet in school,
happy and laughing, clapping but not
understanding why Father was gone,
why he would call but never come home.
All summer they rode tricycles
into each other, yelling and screaming,
ringing the bells on the handlebars,
trying to figure out what had happened.
Another few drinks and they agree
it's time to go out in the yard and look up
in the tree where the hive used to be.
Once again they hear children
yelling and screaming,
riding into each other, ringing bells,
looking everywhere for answers,
not knowing the questions.
In minutes they realize the reunion's over
and there may never be another.
It's time to pack, get on planes, escape
before someone puts a match to the stucco.
The hive's on the ground bouncing
and they're all bees, swarming again.
Donal Mahoney
Categories:
stucco, anxiety,
Form:
Blank verse
Kaolin ceramics shelved for display
A framed mirror suggests a window into time
Fortifications in a continuum surround this fortress
Inside a Southwestern style is secured
Bulldozing nature for architectural delight
Rich in warm tones and textures of stucco
Baroque oval portals lead into substructures
Endearing pine stripped.....stained to perfection
Strategically placed beamed ceilings finesse
Whitewashed antlers hang above a fireplace
Not a hunters home but a setting of one once known
A water well stands with an antique pump
As an unyeilding sun drenches the broken claylike ground
Genuinely revealing a life long past
In Beautiful New Mexico a Southwestern home is found
~This was inspired by Brian….and his Cameo piece~I hadn't used or seen the
word KAOLIN in some time...and it reminded me of the west....hence, I used the
word first and went from there~
Categories:
stucco, imagination, places, urban, visionary,
Form:
Free verse
The morning sun stretches across the sky,
charging a palette of blues, greens and chalky coastal whites.
The smell of salt is carried by the early morning humid wind,
and seagulls search for their first delights.
The sparseness of our beach terrain rises up
into sweeping, spartan hills where provincial gardens stew.
Our little white bungalow house proudly stands
on the high promenade and gazes down to the ocean blue.
With stucco walls our house is stout,
it’s long low face consumes the heat of the clamoring seasonal sun.
Through the wide, arching doors to the four season porch,
the eaves crown a frame of fragrant cinnamon.
Our long, slender, wall-less garden extends out to the sea,
where our cliffs afford views of natural luxury.
A centuries old stone staircase descends to our beach,
where blue waves refract light into love’s estuary.
The four season garden is divided in two, half is for cooking
and half for the artist’s eye to bravely portray.
The sun warmed, fertile sandy soil has been sculpted
into rows of herbs, beach fruits and leafs of blue-gray.
The kitchen is open and the heart of this house,
where home grown love is slow cooked and always eaten close.
Stone floors and wood paneled surfaces appending the rooms,
with unframed windows to gaze and expose.
Interiors would be decorated with the colors of love,
painted by hand in the organic way that lovers can.
Our bed is a sand dune of linen and sea bird feathers,
where sunsets and it’s music seduce us time and again.
Categories:
stucco, home, house, beach, garden,
Form:
Verse
\
Hopped out early from his bunk bed
Jumped into his old blue jeans
Slipped his hand into his pocket
Found enough change for a drink
Put his tennie to the kickstand
Hopped aboard his three-speed bike
Smiled in great anticipation
Drew a breath of summertime
Strapped his helmet to his noggin
Heading on a morning ride
He had reason to be smiling
Now that this day had arrived
Billy rode along the asphalt
Like a bird he felt so free
No more classrooms, no more homework
School was out for twelve whole weeks
He cruised past Demato's grocery
An old stucco painted white
Where good gossip was the staple
Soft-boiled peanuts on the side
Heard some geese honk from the mill pond
Saw a yearling near the pass
Billy eased off on the pedals
Trying to make the moment last
Sunlight gently swept across him
O'er the treeline at the rise
Fragrant honeysuckle blossomed
In the holler near Route Five
And he wondered about Heaven
Could it be as nice as this
He was sure of one thing nicer
His dear grandpa whom he missed
As miles disappeared behind him
And his thirst began to build
He had one more place to visit
For his trip to be fulfilled
Soon he reached the Tower Toll Bridge
Though no toll was ever paid
Inside joke by the designers
Built for one car, either way
In the distance he could see it
A lone tombstone on a grave
The old church that stood beside it
Had a century's decay
He dismounted at the entrance
And approached the ancient sign
All it said was Billy Edwards
Born in eighteen-fifty-nine
Date of death gone to erosion
But his age was given - eight
And the last time Billy came here
Both their ages were the same
For a full year he had worried
If he'd die within that time
Just the same as Billy Edwards
Now he had some peace-of-mind
Categories:
stucco, childhood, children, miracle, religious,
Form:
Epic
Brilliant first morning rays
chasing shadows across wavy
slate roofs, along fortified stone walls,
just ahead of gently caressing
salty ocean breezes,
ancient cobbled streets
and flowing canals echoing
the greeting of the day
from weary denizens stirring.
Stucco walls starkly contrasted
with creeping vines, bright yellow
and red flowers adorn, waiting
for plein-air artists
to make them immortal.
Leathery old men with deep tans
converge in plazas already bustling,
eager to share fishing stories
over board games and espresso
while they patiently wait for
olives to ripen
and wine grapes to grow fat.
Categories:
stucco, life, people, places, social,
Form:
Free verse