. for public domain
[Allusions to Matthew 5:26, Luke 12:54]
I heard the church bell ring,
saw neighbors go in and sing,
felt forgiveness of the Lord
course through my sinful veins.
I was freed from the pains
I caused everyone for living,
and I moved on down the road.
Soon, a car pulled up by my side.
The Old Man asked, "Need a ride?"
"No thank you, Satan." I replied.
"I'm on my way to the Cross.
My suffering is no great loss,
nor my death a great surprise
to the righteous yonder, I surmise."
"Your choice, but please remember,
I am always at your service."
His demeanor made me nervous.
I replied, "Your service costs too much.
Better you be in my service
than any soul be in yours",
and I hied on down the road
Taking Coleridge at his word,
I hied me to a rural scene
To leave behind the madding herd
For where Titania reigns the queen.
Ah! ‘Tis hard to wax romantic,
Though bees hum and boughs do sway,
To close the mind to all the frantic
Things that jostle us each day.
No more the gentle rustic peasant,
No more the green wood wild and free.
This national park, however pleasant,
Some how’s a substitute to me.
What the elm, the oak, the fir,
O what yon flowery slopes to win,
And all that Nature’s beauties stir
Is marred by that blooming Cola tin.
These eyes absorbing and receptive
Scan the prospect domed with blue,
Yet that unsightly thing rejected
Does little to enhance the view.
Would Wordsworth's cloud lift my powers,
lest these powers should sag.
In lieu of glorious yellow flowers
I spy but a wandering plastic bag.
And though you find your Eldorado
By some far-off golden shore,
Whiles yet you munch your avocado
Above the chartered Jumbos roar.
Back then to the grind of duty,
Congested roads, polluted air.
From such as these fashion beauty.
New Millennial Baudelaire.
Bewitched by Madonna assay to last
The grief once felt was hard to past
And drew her innocence with tone
To never leave a sights inside frawn
For an art no similar exist, will never
Leonardo have loved a prise not any
Hied he to win her, petals never late
Love then sapped his past long greif
Manifested art hence in every belief
In answer to his kind comments
I wandered into his domain.
Devouring words leapt out at me.
I feared I’d not get out again.
With phrases hanging in the air
And meanings hard to comprehend
I struggled mightily to free
My mind from his inanity.
I stopped to lend a helping hand
To others enmeshed in his snare.
Blank gazes showed I was too late.
To save myself I hied from there.
If flattered by unctuous words
Into his other-worldly lair,
Dear poet stop to hear my plea
And do not take his deadly dare.
8/29/12
From heaven I fell in drop to swell,
Upon the waves of Loch Fyne.
From rain to girl, sand born in pearl
thus formed was I divine.
When first formed, I was Unicorn
And no name had such as I
But then the moon, the belewe moon
appeared and Rain rose I.
From rain, to pearl to Unicorn
to maid of Rain who cried.
Who rose, once more, a woman
at edge of ocean’s tide.
Upon the strand two horses ran,
two stallions side by side
each whiter than the abalone
the shell where she’d reside.
No longer could she race with them
all across the ocean's side,
she’d lost her horn and been reborn
in frailer form she hied.
Now, forelorn she rides astride
like a nyph, or virgin bride,
until that ole betrayer moon
returns she'll be not satisfied.
Contest/ Rain, The Story
By Debbie Guzzi
* A Blue moon is an extra full moon in a year.
Often there are many years between one blue/blewe
"betrayer" moon and the next.
All the poets I invited.
"Mull over Beauty". I asked.
To their waiting inkpots they hied.
On their prolific imagination they relied.
The senses they all becomingly exploited.
Awe- inspiring tropes they invented.
Fetchingly, tuneful rhymes they produced.
Pompously, their musical verses they chanted
"Stop it! Stop it!" I shouted, discontented.
None of their odes, my feelings, awakened
To the curtain I walked and the 'beauty' I unveiled
Speechless,they all stood,totally affected.
When they talked, they hardly babbled.
Their muse, they furiously cursed.
The soul-stirring poet I praised.
The lord who your beauty he molded.
Oh little rose, why do you weep?
"I did not my honor keep!
And he who long had honored me
Now's hied away and set me free.
Free to taste of pleasures bold-
Youth grants me this, and he is old,
But now, strange pain amidst the play-
How could I such love betray?
Now he no longer waits for me
Whom a time too many my whim did flee-
And ne'er shall I hold again
The Prince's love that I knew then...