Best Transcription Poems
And who is artist?
I was told before, dollar for painting
(a hundred for creation)
I don't believe that anymore
(never really did)
We are the architects, playing to the open field of the underworld to realities
(an artist with an 'e')
thick conglomerates of sticky color for fingertips
assimilations of rarities in a crown of words
(and I wear it every day)
I walk with a liquid transcription in my mind, and a step before another
planned to exist.
It's the attraction to memory-movement-making
Paste against palette, mouth against ambiance
a sensuality, that goes beyond knowing
and enters the realm of divine.
We are what we are- and what we are is
liquid- little tapers of movement,
beautiful movement.
Even the naked, aspiring snakes of Adam and Eve
begins here.
And who is artist?
I promise you this
They'll never pay you to enough to know.
Tap, tap, clickety-clack
Thoughts vigilantly stamped
Trademark of transcription
Technology's prologue
Twain's famous "Tom Sawyer"
Time etched black and white scene
Tinted with grandpa's dust
4-27-2021
There sat in opulent xanadu, the
demagogue of empirical hedonism,
his granary once fuelled regal reign of epicureanism:
gregarious, restive, much-awaited successor of imperial dominion,
neurotic, obstinate, was the cynosure of cynicism.
The eldest child of Duke and Dutchess of York, erstwhile Prince of Wales,
the proclaimed young heir, stood far from the course of sceptical euphemism;
The heir apparent had a historical encounter with Wallis Warfield Simpson by fatalism,
by wooing Wallis, the royal blood encountered, clangorous cynical criticism.
The resultant mayhem broke, the blue- blood became the bottleneck of idealism;
sagacious, was brooding strategies to be the prototype of unprecedented heroism.
The proclaimed marriage faced vehement oppositions:
encompassing : religious, political, legal and moral objections.
The outright denial to accept Wallis as the king's consort, broke the anticipated rebellion,
Edward's refusal to give her up, led to his final abdication.
When was quite apparent, he could not marry his beloved Simpson,
finally settled to rebuke the throne from etched imperialism as emancipation.
The man of the hour was then entitled "the Duke of Windsor", a transformation stunned the world and wrote an unprecedented statement in chronicle after abdication.
Edward VIII, once epitome of monarchism, became an ideal icon of asceticism.
A sybarite, turned commoner by deserting the successive chair of the british kingdom to wed his ladylove;
a tale of unprecedented impeccable loyalism.
The abdicator's epitaph on Royal Burial Ground, Frogmore,
is still bearing in indelible transcription,
the testimony of an uncustomary love saga of renunciation.
An epoch making transformation, decades have ever witnessed from iconic monarchism to transcendental loyalism:
through unprecedented renouncement
of the bequeathed throne
to array chronicle's unrivalled iconoclasm.
All Rights Reserved © SILPIKA KALITA
RNA or DNA polymerase, an enzyme, protein, attracted to
promoter molecules in the polypeptide chain causing a zipper
motion and transcription of the code, a duplication of codons,
introns and exons, and so it goes, sharing and unsharing electrons.
These attractions and repulsions, coming near and going far
in nanounits or light years, fail to explain things permanently
but make possible the technology to live long and well, with personality.
It is a form of governance, the governance of elements, elements are now
apparently our gods. Learn all you can about their laws, their names,
their needs, read their poems. Only the mentally unusually sound would,
given this knowledge, agree to the process of fertilization and mitosis.
However,
organisms go round then senseless via involuntary respiration. Therefore,
Pilot Oh Pilot Me.
Dear New Poet,
Modern poetry to me engages readers in seeking their own deep or higher meaning to life experiences. It utilizes symbolism imagery and varied verse that speaks to intellect and emotion.
The best advice I have is that which was given to me:
1) Read all types of poetry every chance you can. Make notes of poets you like and why; note poetry forms that appeal to you.
2) Make lists of words, expressions, phrases you find fascinating, interesting, anything that grabs your attention. Also, keep lists of new words and definitions. I use phone apps for notes, lists, thesaurus, dictionary.
3) Write about your own experiences, beliefs, life. Write in a quiet place. Jot down whatever comes to mind, your feelings. Anytime you get an inspiration, write it down, record it. Those thoughts you just know you will remember forever will float away in no time at all.
4) Experiment. Try different word placements, edit edit, edit. Leave it for awhile or overnight. Edit again. Read your piece outloud. Pay attention to awkward points and edit those.
5) Have fun with it. Throughout the day, observe situations and people. Be open to suggestions and critiques. Poets never stop learning.
A workshop assignment led me to poetry at a time when I was emotionally on overload. Besides being therapeutic, writing poetry gives me a sense of accomplishment.
Favorite THEMES include the joy and pain of 1) Love, 2) Family, 3) Sobriety, 4) Death, 5) Nature.
My favorite REFERENCE sources are: 1) rhymezone.com, 2) howmanysyllables.com, 3) PoetrySoup Cliche Finder, 4) smallseotools.come, 5) shadowpoetry.com
Favorite poems I have written are: 1) Grandsons, 2) Absence, 3) Remembering Johnna, 4) Lady, 5) Surrender or Die, 6) Pocket Watch 2, 7) Time Of Us, 8) No More, 9) Girls of Halloween, 10) Halloween Birthday.
My literary BACKGROUND: Always an avid reader, journalism courses led to newspaper editing and reporting. After 25+ years of a successful medical research and transcription career, physical problems forced a change. As a member of a local writers group, two short stories were published, and in the last few years, as an aspiring poet, several poems have been published.
Possible Title - Let Your Poems Say It For You
May 15, 2018
Tips For Modern Poetry Contest by Line Gauthier
Third Place
A petrified conjunction(?)
what a strange day...
for a martyr of missing time
born in the urn grove
among the burning embers
born on the wrong side of the tracks
what a strange day...
for an unknown hero
living in his restless chamber
his head like an ice-breaker
his uniform of ivory tears
what a strange day...
for a night in a boiler room
mais la nuit est mon amie
so let's talk about the lousy
plane crash avalanche
what a strange day...
for this nightmare paradise
la princesse est très curieuse
and her calculated motifs
like a transcription factor
what a strange day...
for this residue of a pattern
rarely essential by your knowledge
beyond the nucleotide sacrifice
of all the negated literals
there's nothing to think about
– let's eliminate the principle!
inside an empty hillside manor
of the cosmos Demiurge
in the name of all rhetoric solutions
"The major limitation or advantage in life is not the mind or brain it is the choice-decision-belief"
"Learning is the ability to put aside your own way of doing things in order to learn other ways of doing things and then making comparison to find the best way of doing things"
Team: The power of a team is the sum total of relevant contributions/opinions made,
considered, suggested, (noted, formatted, edited, adjusted, updated, adapted, corrected, simplified, magnified, explored, analyzed) researched, utilized and presented by the/ as a team.
“The after-effect of music is dance”
“Dance is a form of movement-pace that the sound-music-rhythm display-initiate-stimulates-sets-follows-reflects-suggests”
Original Poetry is the “description/mimicry of sounds, colors, paintings-images-pictures and nature” that creates emotions.
Poetry is the translation and transcription of things into words that depict the things transcribed and translated.
Alone in a strange place,
sitting at an old dining room table,
in a cool room with little light,
I organize new thoughts and write.
It’s not that I have much to say,
today, more than any other,
but ideas like magma push through
my crust of consciousness exploding
onto the page as words and phrases.
The quiet room, an elixir, motivator and guide,
allows freedom of expression
and contact with deep places
I reach only when dreaming.
Strong ideas and uncontrollable inspiration
builds with every word,
until the climax forces a halt to newness,
giving transcription time to keep pace.
When family returns and silence is put away,
the notebook is closed, and I take my place
joining the conversation, as if nothing happened.
Are these words
Or just li(n)es,
Forming meaning to host
But bubkis* to most
Do I write what I say
This scribble, transcription
I detect some conviction
But if said and not heard
Another blissful, pragmatic
Exceptional blurb
Once exchanged
To receiver
Once translated
By perceiver
It may lose it's intent
Could ignite, not prevent
But the message is taken
Clear, action, now
And, G-d forbid, if mistaken.
(11/04/03)
*Yiddish for nothing/worthless
Sugar is so sweet!
Pale light shines through the liquid
Sweet as it can be!
Transcription of messages here we go
All that we can see and all that we know
Gazing at objects all both near and far
Comets, planets, all orbiting a star
Answers, questions, and all that we can say
Totaling quite a huge number today
Can we?, Can’t we?, it remains to be seen
Gone past and future, and all in between
Granite, marble, hard things are all around
Coins, silver, copper, if they can be found
Talking, yelling, to say it all out loud
Ascending up from the ground to the cloud
Adding, subtracting, what’s the total here?
Tallying all that we both love and fear
Girls and boys, men and women, young and old
Can they behave? Can they do what they’re told
Co-inhabiting, poverty and wealth
Growing in illness, as well as in health
Tempest, all the works by William Shakespeare
All’s well that ends well; I think we’ll stop here
Sugar is so sweet!
Pale light shines through the liquid
Sweet as it can be!
The building blocks of all living matter
In this day and age, I want some recompense
I don't understand it, it jus' don't make sense
that we can write through our entire lives
with all of these damn defective pens
Now, you all know what I'm taking about
a thought comes to you, and you look around
grab one to jot down and just blankness comes out
a clear transcription of thoughts ain't found
Cups, bags, heck whole drawers of colored inks
rattle around days like maracas of empty thought
a reliable pen can't be that difficult me thinks
yet makers design defective models to be bought
that seem to flow like water in a mighty river
when opened and used for the very first time
effortless lines arc mind to paper to deliver
only to sputter, and spot, and splotch the next time
How many brilliant tomes, how many cures for cancer
how many Nobel-winning ideas of sub-particled find
how many deeply spiritual thoughts went unanswered
because, like a well, the damn pen went unprimed?
Maybe I'm unreasonable, and have a penchant for perfection
but if I pick up a pen it should write every curved line,
'stead of pennies, I want it to rain pens from heaven
that work the first, the penultimate, and the very last time
© Goode Guy 2012-09-06
TRANSCRIPTION
condensed
curious&
abstracted
revealing
vivid
similarities
in
mirror
reflections
looking
closer
a
scenario
of
unexpected
effects
to emphasise
the uniqueness
of
the
seemingly
sedate
in
parody
NOTE:THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE using spaces&breaks without grammatical symbols ,the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and responds thus making this enigmatic form a two way interplay & interpretatIon unique to the moment& changing according to mood is inherently variable.
Copyright © Brian Strand
just
under
the
skin
the you that echoes the actual
physical
scarring
that
shows
just at the very outset of your
supposedly
sane &
publicly
presentable
exterior, lies with you a problem
that
you
can't
quite
fix---and yes, you try to work it
out
with
others,
both
those others selves within &
those
individuals
on
the
slashed & scattered outskirts (like
cracked
little
pieces
of
linoleum) but nothing seems to
work
when
everyone
has
the blatant sinister audacity to ask
if
something's
wrong
but
to offer nothing in the way of ideas
as
to
how
one
might go about medicating any real
issues
of
which
you
yourself may in fact be concerned
about
to
the
utmost
extent---
alone & dwindling in the madsphere
of
things
you
find
a much better way to deal with it all,
found
now
solely
through
the expression of the self & its very
transcription
now
noted
visually
aurally
aesthetically
within your every blissful moments
of
what
others
observe
in
your own behavior when they smirk
with
condescension
saying
"this too shall pass."
...the transcription of a dream.
A youngster, eight years old,
doesn't even have a name,
lives in the wild woods.
Cruel to animals, he kicks
dogs and burns birds and insects.
Filthy with neglect he lives alone,
nobody can get near him.
His family are transients
with no reason for refinement,
violence in their nature and
hatred in their eyes. They rape
their sons and daughters and
beat them senseless if they ever
cry or answer back.
From this ugly, hateful mess
he was kicked out like a jackal
with an appetite
for cruelty and destruction, consumed
with fear and anger just dying to get out.
He was blamed for every beating,
broken windows, broken bones,
so he never showed his face.
He didn't beat up on those kids, he
just warned them to stay away.
He had one passion, one glimmer
of affection for a old pig name of Arnie.
Arnie made him feel a strange contentment,
and his rage just disappeared. He could talk
to the pig and the pig would listen.
extreme polite and honest figure
she is my owner when to others speak
before her every mouth silence
any ravishing awful look stops ...
So she feels admired
in dying modesty it compares
to an angel who came from heaven
showing miracles so lit up ...
candid appears to those who contemplate her
passing in the eyes sweetness of heart
that only captures those who feels her
From her mouth flies, when inspired
a spiritual breeze, full of love
that goes on saying from the heart, "sigh"
Ps.Transcription and recreation of Dante Alighieri's poem by alkas poetry