Best Turin Poems
The Dilettante Diaries: "In Stasis, Black Iris"
Oriental Lily's
Stamen bleeds
blush ochre dust
like icing sugar
duelling tongues
sweet captive
musk
over stagnant
white pure perfume
Stains soft feather fingerprints
sweet bruises across warm velvet skin
imprints a new story
a kiss lingers
there just there
you know where
secret whispers begin
Again
Again
Ripe Tiger Lily
purrs
petals opening
languid longing
Luscious
Laugh
Vibrant
Sin
Again
Again
Velvet revolver
deep
like
Turin
Worships
the
Holy Ground
She grows in
new secrets sown
something grows
something begins
Again
Again
Aquarius eyes
languid pools
for windows
drinks her in
like a
hummingbird
drinks her
charms within
Leo addictive deep
crimson
she is vibrating
Life
draws you in
Luna cool
kisses her
heat
she is the
Sun
revolving
you her muse
a lesson for now,
lean in
A revolver cocked
for killing past hurts
opens petals
ruinous
deep ripe purple
plum
unfurls
begins
begins
again
again
Evergreen
Verdant
Elixir they
sleep to dream
Just words
in the
luminiferous aether
waiting
waiting
waiting
intoxicating
New Chapter
In Stasis is
Black Iris
Surrenders
control
relenquished
Souls are
transforming
trading
Black Iris
lies in waiting
(Lovejoy-Burton/September, 2018)
1. Georgia O'Keeffe, "Black Iris", 1926
2. https://www.georgiaokeeffe.net/
3. https://www.npr.org/2011/07/21/138467808/stieglitz-and-okeeffe-their-love-and-life-in-letters
4. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QEdKPHGHoMc
Deceptive Griselda is not so fair
She conceals her real age, will not declare
On the Net she croons love’s tunes
To make all the young men swoon
A fantasyland like hers is so rare
The secrets that she always locks within
Mysterious as the Shroud of Turin
‘Twould be easier to gauge
The much-debated shroud’s age
Than guess the date of photos she's seen in
Wherever she goes, she carries laptops
Sexy blog posts from nursing home rooftops
Delusional minds deceive
Some catch on, some still believe
But at 87; her figure’s flopped
Entry for Tracie's contest
My hubby came home with a grin
Said “I’ve booked us a trip to Turin”
I found my bikini
it looked oh so teeny
now I’m fasting to fit myself in
I cut out the chocolate and cake
well apart from one tiny mistake
on my diet of pear
gently poached in fresh air
I should soon be as thin as a rake
But my efforts were sadly in vain
My wobbly bits were for stayin
They just wouldn’t budge
So I brought out the fudge
ate it all, now I’m praying for rain
Pope embarassed, clergy disgraced,
twenty year mission, lost in space
Angels discovered, (LGBT group with wings)
warm in the stable, cherubim sings
Turin Shroud faker, waits pearly gate,
will his deception, decide a grim fate?
NASA confounded, confused and reeling,
funding withdrawn for project supreme being
Millions starve while archbishops get fatter,
martyrs revive, to discuss the latter
TV preachers line their pockets, blaming
zion for failing rockets
Somewhere, nowhere Jehovah watches,
smiling strong at earthly botches
Sends down for men, new commandments,
guilded words without transendence
Only one instead of ten, simple words
etched out for men, read quite clear the
Meaning’s plain,
DON’T SEND UP A ROCKET AGAIN!
The grey mists of a sleeping dawn, cosetting birds still
wrapped up warm in bed, watch a stoat emerge from
its burrow and sprint across his meadow, like a caterpillar
making humped back bridges in Concertina motion
The stoat approaches the discarded shape and sniffs it
for signs of danger, life and food. In that order. Looming
like mountains on the ground and covered in a Turin
Shroud of frost, are a child's pair of crumpled denim blue
jeans, vapoured brittle-stiff with ice crystals overnight from
the nearby stream . Which still wends it's course beneath
ice-capped plates, upon which faux steam rises up like
volcanic springs.
The shape also manifests a pair of very small dumpster boots,
made for the tough little boy of tomorrow. The set is
completed by a vibrant red jumper, a little too big for the lifeless
form it covers. This hoar, this frost of disjointed frozen dendrites,
rests calmly upon this physical testament to the now peaceful
soul that lies within. Whose lungs beneath lie dormant and past
caring, whether or not the air is fresh and cold on its failed
breath. Alibaster-marbeled skin profers one hand raised in a
Post mortem wave. And a lid's refusal to fully shut one eye,
desperate to remain in contact with a living world and deny
the truth of having passed. What the eye has really become is
a dull reflective mirror for the twitching movements of an inquisitive
proboscis. This draws the eye of a man, standing at a man's
full height, able to see across two hundred paces of a frost
bitten meadow and light upon the vivid colour of red, set against
a backdrop of rime white. Eventually, a voice from the ether
confirms the location by a frozen stream and supports the
recommendation to keep the mother away. The devastation
of a hundred heart-stopping caught breaths yet to be lived.
Before the tears can flow and the utter destruction begin
The startled stoat runs away from its own reflection. Back
to the warmth and safety of its hole, in the bank on the Stream.
And the grey mists sadly watch the final act, before its last few
screaming tendrils are burned away on the coming sun
Moss Cowed Covenant I Keep Putin Off...
For preservation, salvation,
and veneration, though with hold
ding temptation two mike
pence sieve lee clear,
to immoral majority mold
toot hoods, (those bajillion
Americans unanimously polled)
did want me to broadcast, communicate,
and declare, sans mock cut up fold
drawl migrant accent,
(no matter I'm getting old),
nonetheless Ivana trumpet from Taj Mahal
straight to Mar-A-Lago) all told,
plus thank commensurate Republicans
(past or present), who extolled,
an invisible grandiose fire walled
barricade (donning, enclosing,
and fortifying) against Carl mauled
din lookalike hackers,
despite one sporting "FAKE"
hook nosed, hunchbacked
donned with torn (Turin) shawled,
shrouded, and disguised vagrant, indigent,
double chinned agent – bald
(except for being bewigged),
viz flowing locks of "FAKE" gold
in toe with Amazon heavily funded
unbridled trailing retinue
chanting appellation Matthew
Scott Harris alias Oswald),
no matter said faux
renegade twittering lobbyists
flock (like lemmings) within his fold,
and will happily, laughably parody
any vigilantes spot on cold,
what with his bugs
bunny eyed (What's up Doc)
intent reader rabbit stare,
that doth playfully scold
any Bare Ladies scantily
linkedin, NOT nsync
with netiquette politesse mold
dinned communication, (asper
my pork chopped message
higglety pigglety divulged)
obeying tacit gold
din rule to hoodwink public, nonetheless
lemme exemplify, how
Democrats plan to hold
world web hostage
by secret Ransomware sold,
thru dark web bitcoin blockchain trolled
to collude with "crooked Hillary"
under Ponzi scheme auspices doled
courtesy, sans spongebobsquarepants
omnipotent NON GMO
gluten CRISPR rolled
oat sized INTEL nanobots,
no bigger than mold
spores heavily scrutinizing,
policing, monitoring and
fortifying electronic Internet scaffold.
A monochrome of boho days
segue one another surreptitiously.
Endless pantomimes of idle chatter flutter by.
Cantilever bridge, a one stop halting site for gossip and suspense.
Small talk, bespoke winged creature, Combe of pleuron.
Turin shroud spotter in the mise en scene melting pot.
The spirited stride of pavement strollers prompted by
agenda.
Metatarsals on the march.
Street vendor’s spooky cry with banjo beating busker at his side.
Dirt pan bellow and brittle strum about the
orange alert ahead.
Crowded car park, careening bus, frustrated taxi driver rank and file.
Backstreet Barney or kerfuffle on the lawn.
Swing sign overhead, a pawn in every trending breeze.
Office block malarkey cutting capers for the press.
New age ante-fix, the cover tile for corruption.
Whistle blowing wag inside the
city centre fault line.
Brass neck
reservoir of hoodwink high and low.
Harassed mother, barefoot beggar
nervously extends her rusted tin.
Guilt edge coin as bandage to our shoddy scruple.
Bag lady on the fringe of some haute couture complex.
Stasi-like security whose bluff veneer belies an inner
bludgeon.
Crouton salad diner has his finger on the pulse but not his pulse rate!
Tycoon in transition with an open brief!
Teflon tyrant
back to the future.
Ambulance chaser …. legal eagle…..with fortune in misfortune their calling card .
To the limit and beyond like an offshore Ansbacher.
Noonday bell
interloper at the scuttlebutt tavern.
Seconds out,
moments out,
hours in a hari kari haze.
Sensei’s of the left filling void with vacuum.
Laboured diatribe against dynasty, trite slogans, empty rhetoric, mannah from heaven?
All this from the cadres of social despotism!
Passage, the
pollinating insect of aroha.
Behind the rhythm of the grind a broad leaf grain of hope may sprout.
Green shoots of bounty.
Latent sidewalk bloomer.
Blossom by default or tender impulse
Bring down the curtain on this stage
to avoid shouts of dissent and rage:
favoritism is a terrible thought so appalling;
the worthiness of honor is to be deserving!
How perfidious and how cruel a city can be,
never amending itself and redeem its conscience,
never admitting it was the cause of all pain,
of all grief: soldiers burning towns down and raping women;
did their royalty to a vicious king bring them peace?
Many ships anchored in the harbor of a turbulent sea...
to invade a free land made up of people of goodwill,
who could stop soldiers that were ordered to pillage and kill?
Bring down the curtain on this stage
to avoid the shouts of dissent and rage;
favoritism is a terrible thought so appalling:
the worthiness of honor is to be deserving!
Turin lays beneath the Alps where Southerners rebels
were held in a huge prison of misery, cold and endless agony;
they knew they would die never seeing their adored land again!
Turin has a museum of horrors where skulls and faces
of the dead are displayed and the hurried passerby stares
and doesn't realize that human beings aren't objects of derision!
Turin, brutal Turin, can you wash
the guilt away and retain the bloody hands
of the crimes you committed stealing a treasure belonging
to people who earned it with the sweat
of their foreheads until the blaring sun went down?
Turin, cruel Turin shut down the museum of the horrors,
look deep down and earnestly ask
for forgiveness without stirring any doubt;
it's the only way to redeem yourself and not frown,
and finally, make peace with the South!
Bring down the curtain on this stage
to avoid the shouts of dissent and rage;
favoritism is a horrible thought so appalling:
the worthiness of honor is to be deserving!
Ekphrasis on, The Spinners
(Las Hilanderas) artist, Diego Velazquez
colors, fabric missing painter's glaze
spun within moonbeam's glow
threads entangled in beautiful gaze
majestic, with heart-sought truth in tow
by mortal flesh and heart-sights thus sewn
born- sky, water and land
expressions, vanity's undertones
imagination, from spinning hands
from earth, cascading heavenly clouds
windows - life's wondrous stage
Turin, mystery and famous shroud
digital world, techno all the rage
wondrous explosion, breathtaking scenes
hope, mankind's fleeing race
dark's blight, Gods births, depths obscene
humanity searching - divine grace
spirals of color, artistic flair
three spinners- flowing skies
imagination, beyond compare
artists, weavers and spirited eyes.
Robert J. Lindley , 6-01-2021
Ekphrasis on, The Spinners,
Artist- Diego Velazquez
This creation, inspired by my having read JCB Brul's poem,
"Ekphrasis on House of Parliament At Sunset"- of Claude Monet's
famed painting series , 1899--1901….
******
Note:
This is the first of the three poems on my new blog.
Again giving thanks to the very fine author of that
inspirational poem- , JCB Brul...
The young must know that they are loved
For there is goodness in every young person
Give me souls--the souls of young people
These boys are not bad, these boys, they need me
In their midst I feel completely at home
I learned the hardships of an orphans life
In this new town where I had to support myself
Laboring in everything from being a blacksmith
And as a tailor, waiting as a waiter and shoemaker
All that to ease my mother's burden
Every Sunday I'd meet the boys in a different place
It didn't matter that it was a city church,
a cemetery chapel, or an empty lot
And during the week i'd tour the city shops,
Making sure my boys hadn't forgotten my instructions
I bought an empty lot and a dilapidated shed
Next door was a saloon, across ,a hotel of shady reputation
but what did it matter to me the oratory ground was sacred,
for it later came to me in a dream
That it was the burial ground of the Martyrs of Turin.
It is enough that you are young
And for you I give my life
bound by one rule, dedicated
to the double task of self-sanctification & care of youth
But first tell the devil to rest, and then I'll rest too
Do all the good you can
Thats why while I have time, I must work
My dear sir I tell you you are a good friend of mine,
but God comes first, first of all Don Bosco is a priest
So give me the souls, take away the rest
My mother would say when I become a priest
If ever became rich, she shall never enter my house!"
Thats why I am poor, penniless Don Bosco, a shepherd boy of the hills.
I have lived poor and shall die poor
I have only one wish, to see you happy and in the next
"I have been an instrument in the hands of Mary. She has done everything. Had I been a worthier instrument, I would have accomplished a great deal more."
The PO£T
Turin, Italy the
Home of the athletes, 2006
Extreme performances,
Wipeouts are
Immiment,
Nation against nation,
Timing is everything,
Excelling to the challenge,
Rallying behind their own ,
Only the best,
Legends they will become,
Years of training and preparation,
Medals of gold, silver, bronze on
Podiums wait, embedded
In memories forever,
Congratulations to all the
Stars of the Winter Olympics!
Stephen used to have sprinter Richard Whitehead,
As a team member when he did play ice hockey,
Before he became a sonar sailor, the water to wed,
In disability sport, the key was his sporting degree.
He played for the under 18 Wales rugby union team,
Because he lives in Bridgend, from Ogmore Valley,
Then he contracted meningoccal septicaemia, deem,
‘Cos this amputated his legs to make everything ok.
His ice hockey team did well coming third in Turin,
And in Athens at the World’s his team got a bronze,
Then in Beijing they came sixth in that hot condition,
But was disappointed at London by penalty neons.
O my Lord I try and understand
as I gaze upon your shroud
where you became a being of light
ascending to heaven upon a cloud...
I see bloodstained image of crucified man
who wore crown on thorns upon His head
a face of such peaceful slumber
every pain you suffered can be read..
O my Lord much like you
love has left me crucified
I wear my own crown of thorns
I search for love and have been denied..
I see the face of death's giving
true I have loved and lost
send me a woman among the living
my arms around her spread like a cross..
Lead me out of this garden tomb
alone in my bed of impregnated linen
praying for love and my sins forgiven
and a love to be forever shrouded in Turin..
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Upon (die) re rhea ding previous poem
All In The Name Of "Progress" zen
a glaring, leering,
and twittering left par wren
dared to a right (i.e. bribe)
corrective punctuation measure
slyly slipping Special Ops symbol ")"
for so many yen,
thus see slipped thru my excellent
proof reading, when
lo and behold consternation,
inconsideration, and perturbation
I thought to take a page
from playbook of Sylvia Plath,
and stick my head in the oven
but lo, a sardine recipe
(though a bit fishy),
could be found necessitating cauldron
only available for purchase in Turin
thus donned with a shrouded cape,
aye didst make whoosh,
hence, went there and came back
and frankly tubby earnest,
thence began stir'n
a bubbling concoction brew
though duration for perfect consistency
aye lacked any clue
thus, needed to contact
Hannibal the cannibal
asper what to do
in order (I explained)
to sever livingsocial,
and forever hang my head in shame
cuz, accidentally omitting
one right parenthesis too few
hence, esteemed flawless glory,
(sans error free grammarian
reputation pitched downward
where careless evinced
Kamikaze nosedive, where
matter of fact gross humiliation
instantaneously grew
and the only viable option
forced me to hew
admitting to egregious, fatuous, abhorent
and readily confesses
compunction viz, grievously
blatant Anglo Saxon
Horrifying transgression
involving backward curved "C" sin bent
a most execrable,
incorrigible, and unforgivable
literary faux pas incurring
major cosmic event
stripped of title special
Das Scribe double bubble "A" gent!
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Upon complying never to err again
Matthew Scott Harris since
accepted plea bargain
accepting sentence resting his chin
til indelible necklaced "U" lettered grin
forever visible to kith and kin.
Richard Whitehead is really a marathon runner,
But when he wanted to compete in the stunner,
In the London Marathon in 2012, he found battle,
So had to turn to para sprinting with his bottle.
So in the Paralympics of London city in 2012,
He ran in the T42 category, the 200m stealth,
When he seemed behind until the very end,
Until he won in 24.38secs round the bend.
In his earlier career he competed at the 2006,
Winter Paralympics in Turin when he did mix,
With the ice sledge hockey players dexterous,
Without his prosthetics, and he was ambitious.
Whitehead is the first ever appointed patron,
Of Sarcoma UK, for bone and tissue action;
He looks after PE in the borough of Gedling,
And hopes to run Britain’s length, for his bing.