(Spanish poet Rafael Alberti was not happy
when his daughter became a Catholic nun:
here is his poem [translated] on the theme)
For you, I left my woodlands, secret groves,
my sleepless dogs, my exiled cityscapes.
For you, passed over all life’s sweetest grapes,
abandoned steepling cliffs and cool, dark coves.
I left behind a shiver, for your sake. And I left
the savage splendour of wild, untameable fire,
and left behind my shadow on the pyre,
and the hollow, bleeding eyes of the bereft.
I walked away from doves, sad by the water,
abandoned horses stamping on hot sand,
the welcome stinging breeze from off the brine.
For you, I gave up all was ever mine.
So give me, Rome, something at least as grand
as what I lost when I became your daughter.
Miss Georgia O'Keeffe
many genre happily were never brief
From cityscapes to close-up still life*
simple,intense sans strife
*https://www.georgiaokeeffe.org
Outside drives of dude ranches or of hobby farms
Cast statues of horses bred from Cortez' runaways.
They stand in basket planted ferns to camouflage their hooves,
Or rear atop a barn as though to jump into a circus pool.
More at home on green way cityscapes.
A scattered cavalry would save us from ourselves.
With piercing stares, their riders try to rally troops
To rout the rest, leave us solitary soldiers of the field.
Frontage roads and roundabouts
Out flank them and surround them.
Traffic blinded how they might retreat,
Or charge, they wait in disarray.
The only value now a century of late
Is a centaur kind of horsemanship:
One goal between an animal and man.
Graffiti by the day adds to epaulets of pigeon .
Mobs would have them roped and quartered down,
Hauled to salvage parks unseen revision of our past.
To those casting heroes into bronze, "Be discreet,
Bronze lasts longer than human judgements do."
into the wilderness haunted by ghost-towns
And ancient bloodstains
and lost history of scars
we wander the borderlands
between the weakening dreams
and cities a neon seams
Burning into the American night like lanterns
An empire in a wilderness mad with desire
like the eyes of a God in vast Valhalla, a fire
out here, out here into the void
Into the world
The wild wilderness of one
A great rocker once said,
“Out here along the perimeter…”
“No stars…out here we (are) stoned Immaculate”
Cooled by the coming dawns frost…
a soft death lingers Cascades
In history scars
Mark by the ancient stains
into the wilderness of haunted ghost towns
and native lands history sears
Deep between dreams of neon
it burns black into the abyss
of broken cityscapes and fears
asleep along the horizon rim
Fire like lanterns adrift on the cool breeze,
Into the wilderness
of some mad American empire…
“No stars…out here we (are) stoned Immaculate”
Thanks Jim…
--*)COL!LID*ING(*--
cityscapes
DiSsoNanT
dreamscapes
lonely
landscapes
I kissed my little rainbow goodbye today
yet I could not hide my tears
for in my heart I begged her to stay
but she just had to go away
so very far away, across the countryside.
Her light blue eyes were innocent and pure
she did not understand my sad tears
or the dreams I had, of time, of years
when I thought she would be ever near
so very near to me.
Will I ever understand their chosen path
from carefree days and endless skies
to crowded streets and cityscapes
as they take these precious babes away
to such a different life?
And oh, so many miles, with no one in between
the ache of loss, the pain within my heart
for the dream is gone
it is time for my sweet little rainbow
to fly away from me.
Yet, someday I will see my little rainbow again
for I will always hope, as I temper my reality
and though I may see her only now and again
I will celebrate our times together
and be happy, for her sake
for in those times, we will make
new memories
and happy rainbows, together.
11/1/2021
striking cityscapes
a focus of symmetry
in slicked surroundings
wet with salty tears
escape in views
solitaire existence; crowded
path to the unknown
follow at your own risk
Crumbling worlds before emotional eyes lamenting,
Rumbling ruins through mortified masses repenting…
Abandoned cityscapes amongst vigorous viral venom,
Saddened silenced souls searching becoming benumb…
Within idol isolations irreversible tears turning to rust,
Mortal sin of evil endeavors amidst escalating mistrust…
Pandemic proportions within penetrating potential,
Systemic society enduring ever-evolving exponential…
Calling all upon Angels armored warring with swords,
Brawling battles brewing with running overlords…
Loving erupting from goodhearted women and men,
Shoving evil through oblivions arising once again.
...this poem can also be read backward~from right to left...
April.25.2020
Wild Poetry
Sponsored by: Anthony Slausin
N/A for Contest
Impressive
behemoths
iconic eyefuls
clutter its
cortex that
is of the
manmade
plateau as
it rises from
end to end
sloping in
its outstretched
suburbia that
is hunkered
down as its
supportive
role model
surrounding
the panoramic
scope of its
hub, the
lifeline both as
survivors in their
own respective
appearances,
branching
outwardly made
up of smaller
towns and
villages of
cul-de-sacs,
mom & pop stores,
schools, and
playgrounds
that sorts out
as a piece of
a miniature
Americana
being its
salvation
from a workday
to a night play
a microcosm
of endless
tearing down
and building
up in this
city of lights
a metro-cosmos
that never sleeps
amidst tomorrow
eyes . . .
2020 January 26
Cityscape Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Julia Ward
My blood calculated
The width and diversity of my body
My hopeless spirit level
My anchor placing sunken paws
Into the grips of the dirty earth.
I have grown like good stock
And unhinged myself of
My restraints and set foot
Before foot and conquored a gait.
My body all the while
A little box
Full of grey bric-a-brac.
I have manipulated my mouth
To mutter animal sounds
And pieces of precious code
That the others can understand.
These pictures fluctuate and flutter
Painted inside my head
A screen of endless manufacture
And invisible machines which
Surely stand higher than a god.
My blood calculated
And my evolution continues
Locked and stifled
On the sacred ancient ground
Where we bury our dead
And build our cityscapes.
In a world of chaos cascading, calamitous and crude,
Two birds in flight, amongst the vultures breeding brood...
They fly above majestic mountains and seductive cityscapes,
As they avoid predators with elusive elaborate escapes.
They then settle a while on bowing bending branches,
Against the wondrous wind and take comfort in their chances...
Their freedom finds them battling with the grinding grain,
With warring wounds as they fight and flutter to abstain.
The trusting trembling trees sustain a savory silent serene,
As they anxiously await their perching King and Queen...
Like the efficacious eloquent eagle and divine diving dove,
Two birds in passion, binding within their longing lasting love.
(((((Happy Spring Soupers)))))
May.11.2019
Epic Ethereal Poetry
Sponsored by: William Kekaula
Placed 10'th...Thank You
Hurtling clumsily through dark layers of sky --
Unwelcome residue of engorged, menacing clouds --
Gathering momentum, bulking up as they descend
To stab the helpless ground with their frigid edges
Few brave this nasty turn of events -- by which
Peaceful cityscapes are transformed into cold infernos
Of fiery ice -- to greet them, to acknowledge their
Triumph over once-soft, once-pliant 'Mother Earth'...
Like bullets from b-b guns or darts from tasers
They burrow into the earth, into snowdrifts, into
Snowbanks, slashing their way -- howling through the
Clogged arteries of a grating metropolis, grinding her gears
A winter's evening darkly glows
Midst freshly fallen flakes of snow
Cityscapes sparkle, and glisten
Music's everywhere, just listen
Night springs to life, traffic snarls and darts
As horse-drawn carriages, white stallions smart
and dapper trot briskly by on moonlit stones
While nearby tides rush in on thrones
Just then it is my thoughts set sail
O'er waves of delicate, deep desires
Passion's vessels lifted higher...
And there will be no candled moon,
No bones picked clean by virtue's rage
Against all sins left un-forgiven.
Lovers left in limbo-light at dawn
Shall stand as statues stand,
Alone, as broken martyrs
Cast in marbled majesty.
When death destroys our sacredness
All sorrows of the soul are spread
Like seeds across a barren field.
A whale-eyed sailor sings
The hymns of his contrition,
To banished angels caged beneath
A deep and wind-swept sea.
They rise again to wail
Against the shackled straps
Around their proud and pompous souls.
Their dripping teeth are bared
And black with rot of time.
The Vultures hover over
Decimated cityscapes.
Cold moon of winter rising;
Hoar-frost clinging fast
To withered vines.
Fields once fertile now are fallow,
Planters scatter seed for naught,
Their holy harvest stolen
By embittered little gods
Who grope with hope that nature will succumb
And soon become but scuttled rubble - charred!
A world grown old - no longer born anew,
Is stripped and ripped with overkill
Of things once cherished and are cherished still.
In the days of mystic Merlin and captivating Celtic lore
The Ancient Druids danced and exuberantly did explore
The Celtic Circles of cityscapes and festive furthermore
They gathered ritually round their sacred scenic stones
Like super Stonehenge sites of zodiacal zenithal zones
Within the Galic gates of the great universal unknowns
Celebrating the Summer Solstice of Natures living law
Through cosmic energy the Druid Duir of ancient awe
Of Celtic clans with sapiential symbols of a Shangri-La
The Celtic Cross still remains within our scintillant sight
Tuatha De Danann tribes of the gods of ritualistic rite
Their stories and teachings amalgamate in a Wizards night.
May.02.2017
YGGDRASIL ME - Contest
Sponsored by: White Wolf
Illustration by same poet...
Markers on white board...
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