My friend comes through and talks to me,
With their stuck nails being all I can see.
Instead of listening further,
I get my wrench and try to loosen the nails,
Trying to make them no longer be a problem.
However, what I couldn’t see,
Was that my wrench was damaging the nails,
The ones in my friend,
And they were only getting tighter in their flesh.
I reflect on my wrench, and I feel it’s broken.
But when I reflect some more, I realize it’s not broken.
Wrenches aren’t able to get nails out.
They would’ve asked for my nail puller if they wanted me to do that.
Even then, the pain of the nail would still be there from the force.
If I listened more to my friend, and stopped putting fixing their problems up to me,
Maybe the nails would’ve actually come a bit looser less forcefully,
And this, because I love them, I wish I could see.
Your beauty perfect
through arid existence I chase
in the flashes of mirage.
The desert dew pearls
on lone sands of dune I draw
with the sinking sun's spectrum.
FIGURATIVE FINGERTIPS
a talent
to dabble
with
profligacy
in different styles
brilliant&
fluent
subtle&
muted palette
phase
of the
immediate
liberated
in a
suggestive
genre
an attractive
template
flitting between
subjects
never alighting
with a
tendency to
marginalise
artistic
encounters
&
to manipulate
scenery
of substance
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
Frost and horse stopped by the woods
Kilmer wrote of God and trees
Nash would spoof with billboard trash
Yet trees figured first in Genesis.
In the garden of Eden
trees abounded all but two -
One the tree of life and then
the tree of knowledge, good and evil
March 9, 2022
My first attempt at the Lind30SU form
on the use of trees in literature.
with appreciation to Robert Frost, Stopping by the Woods;
Joyce Kilmer, Trees; Ogden Nash, I Think I Shall Never
See a Billboard Lovely as a Tree and Moses, Genesis.
"See for yourself"
It is obvious that -if only- we were to list the functions of the eyes,
we would need a lot of time to get to see.
... The pen is mightier than the sword ...
The poet knight went off to war
To prove his valor true.
Sir Arthur Berk, the troubadour,
Knew he had much to do
For he had found a greater sword
To strike his foes down dead.
He swore to fight invading horde
And make their ink spill red.
Each lord, farm hand and tavern maid,
Had often heard him tell
The fierceness of his secret blade
And all the foes it fell.
Of dragons and of armies past
He'd read this weapon killed.
The legend of his sword was vast;
The ink would soon be spilled.
Soon rival horde had come again
All took up sword and shield.
The armies prepped for battle then
Were met upon the field.
They yelled and brandished spear and dirk
But soon were silent when
All held their breath to watch Sir Berk
As he unsheathed his ... pen?
He rushed in sure and unconcerned
But fell at the first blow,
And what new truth he might have learned
I guess we'll never know.
But if, perhaps, he'd been more keen
Sir Berk might still yet live;
Too late he learned the difference 'tween
Literal and Figurative.
9.13.18
Contest: Unsheathe Your Sword
Under the paint, beneath the layers,
Before the brush had arrived,
She was drawn all in grey, sort of straight lines,
And she was bound to be blind,
There where all types of shades covering her world,
Her world so vividly real,
Shades for the mystery to be secretly deep,
Shades that would help us all feel,
Then the paint walked on in, taking over the scene,
The paint in the darkest of black,
And filled all the spaces between all her lines,
Filling her vague to abstract,
She began as a line beneath all the paint,
Forever on this flat she is trapped,
Trapped by the hand of her dominant lover,
With her eyes bound tight with a strap.
Figurative Eyes
Trees waltz as wind storms pass them by
in words of verse by poets that sigh
to see the world with beauty and grace
not just a plain, old ordinary place.
6/8/18
aabb
When a fourth line helps it to rhyme! Sponsored by Silent One
I miss him i do, because theres so very few
boys like him he was like a rare gem
I told him my life shared with him my fears
shared my happy times and drowned him with my tears
He was my confident the only one I could talk to
now that hes gone i dont know what I will do
He was my very best friend.. he promised to love me to the end
but I guess he just stopped caring, I guess thats why Im staring
looking out the window wishing he was right beside me
telling me how much he loves me, telling me that he'd always be
my best friend for eternity
But I guess that he has better things to do...thats the reason the calls became few
he told me he was ok, when in reality he was slowly dying every day
I dont know what he did and truthfully Im afraid to know
because if I found out I dont know how it would go
All I want is for him to return, because for him my heart does yearn
The pain that Iam feeling he will never know
because to him my feelings I can no longer show
Im writing this poem..maybe when he comes back he can read it
but what if he never comes back..will i be able to deal with it?