who isn’t you
wise readers
will know the difference
I want a narrator
more unsettling
than Nabokov created
for ‘Lolita’
I want a narrator
to cringe at
while sympathizing with
I need “milk plus”
from ‘Clockwork Orange’
while I learn the dialect
of Anthony Burgess
before I ruin Beethoven
It takes sustained energy
to hate a character
while never forgetting them
“My vanity
was the cause
of it”
I still wink at you,
Moll Flanders
a woman too clever
for shallow understanding
My “androgynous mind”
will have to be enough
for adequate love,
Virginia Woolf
I have all the worst intentions:
devious dialog
with peppered,
cutting
fashion statements
to make phantom readers
laugh and scowl
Cruella Deville
taught me everything
one late afternoon
in August
while we hunted swans
over toast points
and caviar
I will always hate the colour orange. Consider:
Last meeting was on promoting sales of necklaces,
The folder given was orange.
Going home was a one-lane affair,
An orange sign stated, “Works Ahead”.
Orange traffic cones lined the lane on each side.
Arriving home I found my wife had installed orange curtains.
By this time I began to have some shivers.
Dinner began: orange pumpkin soup with orange buffalo wings.
“Come dear have some orange juice laced with orange vitamin pills.”
Opening TV and orange Garfield appeared.
Even the Cheetos and Utz Cheese Balls were orange.
Turning to a book what do I get?
A Clockwork Orange by Anthony Burgess.
That’s when I began to really hate the colour
For even the goldfish had the same colour.
“Is it possible in this world it’s all orange?”
My wife thought about that and said:
“Oh no my dear, there’s salmon, carrot, coral, titian….”
Disgusted I left the house towards a verdant park.
Some folks like to say that life’s a beach
Build our castles in the sand and then we dive
But there are few who care enough to reach
And pull us back from the ever rising tide
When we’re content to stroll along the surf
Delighting in the treasures that we find
No one else can tell us what they’re worth
Or how much we’ll regret those left behind
When we cast off from the old, familiar docks
And venture forth into waters yet unknown
It’s your loving light that spares us from the rocks
Your warm glow that guides us safely home
And even in the darkest of our nights
When all seems lost, we will still look to you
And although we no longer see your light
We still feel your presence, strong and true.
In loving memory of
Truman Burgess
1940 - 2023
They say that love is like the sun
Lighting up the moon
Two hearts eclipse and beat as one
On an evening late in June
In azure skies where stars are strung
Like jasmine vines in bloom
A gentle breeze, like love, has come
To hum a little tune
On beaches where the waves are flung
At high tide and high noon
A sea of blissful tears will run
Among love’s sandy dunes
In a little house where hope is hung
Like a wreath in every room
Love’s made a home, life’s just begun
For a lucky bride and groom
And he will be her shining sun
And she, his gleaming moon
Two hearts eclipse and beat as one
On an evening late in June.
For my brother, Blake Burgess
and his wife Krystal
on their wedding day
June 30th, 2018
Sprawling, against a backlit Sun. Magenta
the Clockwork of Time
and its infinite antinominies
..................of timeless aimlessness
and Void of Time
fades as a memory
the pulse and rhythm of each staccato stroke
against the clockwork springs
and fine-tuned apparatus
the pendulum swing
and weighted balance strokes
Masses of Fixed, orbital constructs
and circadian heartbeat pulses
conforming to some Final End
of Morbid Alarm
or Eternal Awakening
the surreal bending of metronome reflection
twists the Absolute structure of melody
(notwithstanding it's momentary cadence,
and sequence of endless notes
Cascading
backwards in patch-work puzzlement,
like Shostakovich having a break before the
Symphony begins
and lets out Piano-Forte brash
as if in dissonant protest
to the scandal of patterned, and ordered
Tablature
Freedom is the green grass where the antelope roam
It’s the darndest yarn of cotton
It’s the bottom feed for human basics
Freedom is the buttress of the Moths wing
It’s the smile you give me
when you're in clover
Freedom is the languid river
And it’s the caterpillar’s prayer
And the hero’s scythe thrashing the tall weeds
I see a glade
for freedoms chance of burgess
To the boy who battled dragons
In the mists of yesteryear
Did you ever imagine
That you’d be standing here?
To the man who’s made of stardust
Our brightest son and sun
Will your light shine the farthest
When all is said and done?
To the boy who built his castle
In the once-upon-a-time
On the day you turn your tassel
Did you know how bright you’d shine?
To the man who’s making history
As you light the way for others
Is it really a mystery
That I’m proud to call you brother?
*For my brother
Blake Burgess
All within the taiga glade,
Their raiments gilt in comely shades,
The burgess shrives vagrant souls.
A garth of god for men alow.
Whereinto the roots may grow,
We wayfarers may never know,
For we waltz twixt sky and earth-
Domain of beast and realm of birds.
The elders of the greenwood lie,
On earth when once they kissed the sky,
And glowered at the rover’s romp,
Through lodgings filled with trunk and stump.
Or shrove to lonesome wretched wights,
Flying from their fearsome frights;
Seeking presence with burgesses,
Of taiga glade, the earth, the trees.
But now they lie upon the ground,
Now shod their garb, and lost their crowns,
Ne’er again will readorn,
Unlike their kin who stand and mourn.
We pass into the land of love,
For pleasant autumn leaves above;
To revel or repent alone,
To contemplate or to atone?
I wake from a bad dream
Hey there new man
That’s what they said to me
Hey there how’s it been lately?
I stand, look and see
Elvis, Martin Luther King and John Lennon walk on by so casually.
Roy Orbison and Freddie Mercury harmonising with Liberace as the queen mother watches whilst sipping tea
As I walk what looks like on nothing
I see Winston Churchill talking with Audie Murphy as Lewis Collins stares at me
I say hello to Marylyn Monroe or Norma Jean as Tony Curtis politely corrects me
Burgess Meredith tells me to do push ups, James Mason steadies me. Richard Burton drinking with Roger Moore on one round table and on the table next to them John Thaw doing a crossword - difficultly!
I walk on aimlessly as I see Bruce Lee training ferociously. Clark Gable playing cards with Humphrey Bogart and General Custer sipping whiskey with Einstein, Herriot, Tolkien and Agatha Christie - something too mind bending to me!
I walk through some glass doors and a whole world of familiar faces turns to see.
I wake up suddenly.
I sit up and can’t believe how real that felt to me.
Corky Withers was a Very talented performer,
leaving audiences Excited and mystified
with his magic acts Night after night.
More mesmerizing Than the sleight of hand
was his sidekick, the Raucous, rude dummy, Fats,
through which (whom) he Illustrated his ability
to speak through dead-still Lips. All eyes were on Fats.
Then—well, Fats took Over, so to speak.
Corky, by then Quite mad, ended up killing two people.
Seemingly unassuming and shy, he was Under the spell
of the evil, controlling Fats—Corky’s true Id manifested.
I vividly remember some Scenes from Magic (1978)--
to me, a truly Terrifying movie.
Magic starred Anthony Hopkins, Ann-Margret, and Burgess Meredith.
June 17, 2018, entered in Anthony Slausen's Ventriloquist Poetry Contest
My name is Axon Burgess
I am broken and thin
I went to fight for glory and right
but only drank more gin
Before he died
my friend would confide
about his sister's beauty
if her eyes did look at me
her eyes would look right through me
What are you doing in this town?
Who are you looking for,sir?
The girl who's face launched many a ship
I am looking for her
What are you doing in this town?
Who are you looking for,sir?
The girl who is a cathedral of butterflies
I am looking for her
What are you doing in this town?
Who are you looking for,sir?
The girl who walks as gentle as a fawn
I am looking for her
Having felt the true awareness beauty brings
Here blindly corresponding' overdue,
Leaves sentiment for daydreams to review
Whilst pondering on thoughts of lovely things,
Like you, whose effervescence shines so bright,
As lily pads, complete me like the clouds
Where every need with perseverance, light
Shows godly, the intentions wrapped in shrouds
They're woven from your loveliness, delight!
Though death, may have composed the lullaby,
To sleep with you majestically laments
A heavenly abode, so commonsense
Can teach me what is beautiful, I die.
The remnants of a life-time play pretend
Conceived in new beginnings, not the end.
also at:
http://allpoetry.com/poem/4288353
A poem for a lovely girl http//:allpoetry.com/Burgess
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.