I know a fine gent named Bartholomew
Quite a literati, I promise you
He always finds a way
To read ten books a day
Barth, how can we possibly honor you
Ricardo wrote poetry with much flair
the literati later,were to declare
One hundred love sonnets we now see
and essay "Toward an Impure Poetry”
Plus the honour of a Nobel prize winner chair
formidable
absolute
sieved
&
aloof
a
literati
structure
framed
in
a
teeming
luxuriant
reminiscent
backdrops
exuberance
in
a recapture
glowing
coagulation
once
splintered
& withered
~ Life Is a Kaleidoscope ~
5/25/2026
Life is a game, so, which role do you choose to play?
In lifes’s cacophony of human hearts on display?
What is your role in this drama of millions of metrical, truth-sayers?
I ask myself this, whenver a poem, in moonlight mist, I conjure up to post.
Not expecting a comment from anyone, or to be lauded,
at a literati roast!
I’d much prefer to write poet songs, home alone about
the glory, or angst of relationships.
These are the songs, that dreams are made of, in the moonglowing-sapphiric experience.
Forever dreaming of soft, magical, deep verbiage and longing to hear love’s tender, calls.
The ecstasy, the dreaming, of kissing his expectant
lips, beneath rainbow-misted,of lit gentle, waterfalls.
Do we shape the poem,verily,or..does the magic of a
poem shape us?
Are we here to impress, or dare we try to really connect with another’s spititus?
when poetry is
obsessive… compulsive… argghh
... transactional
___________________________
Selected reviews:
. Bullseye, Wolf! ~ Mad Magazine
. Cuckoo, bro! ~ Jack Nicholson
. echoes of Donald ~ Hillary Clinton
. settler-colonizer whitey words ~ Ilhan Omer
. (Add one of your own! lol)
A literati once told me
the difference between a peasant
and a pheasant is only 'H'
I replied, the difference between
symbols and cymbals is known only
by 'a' literati 'ess,' you 'c'
~ as I crashed those cymbals in front of he
Only Today’s Poems We Read?
Why is it , that we, literati only read,
The latest poem……is it just for speed?
You might find gems from a poet’s past,
Written in great beauty, that forever lasts.
Even, the most transcendent poets of all time,
Were not poetry machines!
I wrote close to three-thousand, which in retrospect,
I find, grossly obscene!
Great quality, learning true, classical forms
is my new norm.
I was akin to a craven college student in a dorm!
Was popularity only my woebegone daily bread?
What was crawling in my hagiographic head?
Honours to my poet-mentor, I have finally
calmed down.
There is no joy for me, being a winner in
poetry town.
Life breezes by like an Eagle, then, alas, soon ends.
Poetry, by august writers, awaits me, tween my bookends.
Tribute to my mentor ~ Happy Birthday
10/26/2022
We all desire to be poets
we were born to write wanting this
be the Poe that we find so strange
be Emile with her enchantment
Being Brecht in definitive elucubrations
Being romantic realistic as Rousseau
or even internet literati,
minor court drama writers from our districts...
Well-known, consecrated poets
award winners...
We discovered that we are simple, mortal... not all dreams
take place...
But don't be discouraged
life is not just here and in this world...!
Listen to the forest in the depth
of one’s mind and craft
arresting soundscapes
from within.
Gaze into a spectral morning
dazzling anew and watch
those scales that slither
from one’s eyes,
Utter silken threads that pulse each vein
with choral church bells ascending
thru a literati conduit.
Wallow in the cascade of an oceanic blue
and cherish every vital sea green moment
Posted : 30th March 2022
I can't type anymore
My fingers are sore
from typing too many poems
So I'm buying a boat
I pedal, it floats
My fingers in lotion I'll stow 'em
Who wants to be tired
Caffeine keeps me wired
Tell the literati that I will show 'em
How to escape
sans Houdini-black cape
With a DIY cruise on the ocean
Listen to the forest in the depth of one’s mind
and craft arresting soundscapes from within.
Gaze into a spectral morning
dazzling anew and
watch those scales
that slither from one’s eyes.
Utter silken threads that pulse
each vein with choral church bells
ascending thru a literati conduit.
Wallow in the cascade of an oceanic
blue and cherish
every vital sea green moment.
No penance need be paid by the insular artisan
admonished for seeking an oral platinum quota.
Under furlough! Tuck their perfume in a bureau,
then intermittently release the poise to up-start
inferiority complexes who'll quote of the literati,
and then in the very same breath
naysay a quiver of emotion from word devotion…
Integral quandary - quaint ale or styled daiquiri?
Can phenomenal language fade in the simplistic?
Eloquence is gauche! So pilings of a quay erode…
(2/10/2021: DMS)
I.
Ode the thrill of a tango
curled in clutches sleek
Elegance, a prerequisite
Add on a spun euphoria
Nimble is a turgid swoon!
Arms conduct to the aria
New skin, feels no tocsin
It's deeply in a you and i
Glazed, to the tightening
and a strangling organza
Necked into a suffocation
So go the tunnel deaths…
(1/27/2021: '02 Silverton MY; Alameda ...contest theme was murder in the tunnel)
II.
Ornately, I gild over my days a’ la fresco
Carefully, I wield molten gold, enigmatic
Elaborate must these life undulations be
as metallic sheen screens all insipid aura
New cantankerous crack? Just weld upon
and smooth the jagged with flowing flora
Now the feckless plaster sparkles golden
I spurn mawkish, like the silvered literati
glossing my craven, to caverns gleaming
Aurum weaves, in its narcissistic miasma
Nothing malodorous in self-love / loathin’
So imperious my bombastic art, it glazes!
(8.17.21 Redone at Willow Berm and DBW; theme was Craig’s Broken contest relating to Kintsugi)
worst types of people in the world
my mother had opinions
about everything under the sun
dividing the world
into those that bored her
amused her or charmed her
dividing the world in those that knew
and those that did not know
she had particular scorn
for so called experts
saying a PHD
meant BS piled high and deep
never trust an expert
she would expertly assert
her greatest scorn
her greatest scorn
was for reformed drunks
calling them the worst
of the lot
they should shut up
and have a drink already
she smiled as she drank
and pontificated
about the political class
she had enough of them all
berkeley hill liberals bored her
bored her silly
with their endless games
among the literati set
Why don't poets write poems about stocks?
Well, they're unromantic for sure, like the innards of clocks
Ofttimes stock prices rise or fall on the strength of company reports
Which most poets can't make hide or hair of, be they long or they short
Then all those myriad ratios investors are so good at flaunting
Price to Sale, Dividend Yield, Price Earnings, they all seem so daunting
And when they published that book, "Stocks for Dummies"
Literati like you and me felt really, really crummy
So, to sum up the reasons why there are no poems on stocks
They're as aesthetically appealing as a high tech black box
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