Long Autobiography Poems
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When I gaze into this realm, I see more than the dazzling array
of golden starbursts floating in a cosmic sea of blue-green-gray,
photoreceptors painting post-Impressionistic explosions of colors,
fibers and dilator muscles servicing your ocular aperture.
I see distinctive melanin patterns of a truly original individual -
a retinal scan of exceptional singularity,
each nebula unique, every supernova peculiar,
no quasar like any other.
I passionately absorb with one brief glance
an infinity of nuance,
an eternity of historical archives,
a heaven and earth of emotional journeys.
I am reading your autobiography, the encyclopedia of you.
I remain a student of your sclera,
a pupil of your pupils,
a Vincent of your irises,
going half-mad with the dizzying vastness
of the starry night within your eyes.
William Wordsworth born in 7 April 1770
at Cockermouth in the English lakes
this man had great love of nature
inspiring him for poetic stakes
Losing his parents in early childhood
his sister Dorothy became a real friend
after school moving to university
gaining his BA before Cambridge did end
In 1790 travelling around Europe
for three months touring
with only a small case on hand
visiting France and Switzerland on route
Composing his masterpieces walking by the lakes
having Dorothy to do his dictation
in 1795 met his great friend to be
Samuel Coleridge together at same station
When later returning to France
met Annette became an affair
when 'Vaudracour and Julia' was penned
from this came Anne Caroline by the pair
Wordsworth was the master of the classics
such as his autobiography 'The Prelude'
as well as 'wandered lonely as a cloud'
something to suit whatever your mood
Meeting Mary they got wed in 1807
living at Grasmere at Dove Cottage
in 1913 moved to Ambleside's Rydal Mount
lived there till dying at 80 years of age
Today you can visit his museum
at Dove Cottage in Grasmere
with lovely gardens on view
being inspired into poetic gear
From the moment we are born…when we first open our eyes to see
we begin writing a book…an album…our autobiography.
As we grow…as each minute, hour and day goes by
our book gets filled with our joys…our sorrows…our laughter…and our cries.
Just look at all our families…from the moment a new family dawns
think of all the writing every minute that goes on.
The funny thing is as each new day…out upon the world we look
we are also being written into other people’s books.
The good news is as we grow up, make new friends perhaps start a family of our own
since we are in the pages of so many books…we need never feel alone.
However…as our family has new experiences and have new people whom they meet
there is a part of this whole process I find a little bittersweet.
When our children are young…at a very early stage…
when we look into their book…I can be found on every page.
But as they grow up…move away…and continue writing on their own…
as they’re meant to do
I find myself relegated to an occasional mention…
in a page…or in a chapter…maybe two.
But I’m okay with this…which is why…on this Thanksgiving day
as I think about our son who long ago…
and now our grandson and his wife…who recently moved away.
I’m thankful and it makes me smile remembering a time
where everywhere I looked
I could be found on almost every page…certainly every chapter in their books.
And though I may not show up in their books as often now…
I smile and am still thankful when….
I am mentioned on a page or in a chapter…
every now and then.
Best case scenario -
my fame walking on two legs
wearing a golden helmet
(I made a bowl which I hammered
out of a lump of copper in workshop-class
aged 14, not good,
but all is golden now, for he who comes after me
has written an autobiography
that has left-out most of my failed handiworks).
He speaks from the empty shell
of a hermit crab. Distant stars love him.
He continues restoring my poems
long after they have crashed
into brick walls.
Or, he may come as the woman,
the one I have been seeking
in that frosted window of a past life,
She who I can only recall
when drunk on Blue Nun wine,
a Liebfraumilch that knits
all star-crossed lovers together
as they write themselves
quietly out of history.
In that almost land
my beloved unveils herself,
waits for my mind to open
like a blushing coral
sea anemone.
On the other hand,
he who comes after me
that man who watched my life
as if my body were at the bottom of a cliff,
he who also goads me to tinker with words,
converting them into land-mines
that sometimes maim.
If he shows up after my life
then I am going to haunt him
because he deserves to be scared
of a guy like me.
not a biography
certainly not an
autobiography
but an audio
biography
here i am with her
dancing though
i don't dance
but my ears
do due to
her words
play me
pluck me
like a harp
a note's
worth a
letter so
a chord
forms
a word
tritones begin
the basics of
baby stepping
nursery rhyme
lettered words
BIG and in
colored blocks
so let's play
on and build up
on
these
and
add
a
seventh
an eleventh
even a thirt
eenth but
think about
the implications
instrumentation
interestingly
as
interesting
shapes
form
and
run
off
the
page in rages of
improvisation in
an attempt to
imitate but
self create
that which what
combines
seeing
feeling
smelling
a
note
no
ting the
texture
between
the teeth
Hendrix trying
to eat his guitar
applying plyability
with playability
pairing of food
with wine
white with
fish and xy
lophone bones
a dry red rib cage
played with merlot
and a mallet and
while at it
try hitting that
high hat at
a
n
a
n
g
e
L
w
i
t
h the
s
i
d
e
of your drum
stick to get
more of a
ticking tapping
time telling yet
not a reaction
but a fraction
of a refraction
of light
magnIF FIED
MAGNIFIED
i can now find
where she and
i have stopped
dancing since
i've stepped on
her toes once
too many times
but the orchestra
plays on and only
the conductor is
keeping the score
our new year's ball
ends before we beg
in the start of what i
hope will never nnnd
Form:
I stand on this plot of ground
thinking about my life
the good I have done the bad I have done
the love I have created the hate that I stirred
My autobiography is filled with happy moments
painful moments
The world I see before me is not the same
neither am I
God seems so close at times yet at times so far away
An anxious mind creates restless thoughts sleepless nights
Time is now...the past is but a memory
hazy and biased good or bad replayed with a new script
some scenes better left on the cutting floor
This world I helped create...helped to create me
regrets have become my drinking companion
I stand on this plot of ground breathing in
and breathing out the life I have lived
I have seen sadness and joy both can be misguided
when I was a child I looked to the future
now that I am old I replay the past
I have walked on this tightrope swaying side to side
balancing these frisky emotions never looking down
having faith the safety net has always been there
Frank (Black) Blacharczyk
Despite all the political upheaval we still live in the best country around
Having the freedom to live our lives the way we want keeps us firmly on the ground
Many unique opportunities will cross our path along the way
Find things that will positively change your life while keeping negativity at bay
Reach out and find the one thing that is going to make you happy
Put your heart and soul into everything you do,even though it may not be easy
Life is for living and that is what you exactly need to do
Be the best you can be, set goals for yourself, and be sure to follow through
Challenge yourself every day to do the things you most desire
Knowing you are in charge of your destiny, go out and see what you can acquire
If someone wrote your autobiography, what would it say
Truly a person that respected life and what it had to offer every single day
I'm thinking about rhyme and meter
but also my kidneys and my liver.
The nation-state and the failed state
and whether killers should be executed
or forgiven. Meditate on this: Thy
will be done. Do what has to be done
don't ask why. Clean the dishes and the house.
Will I be left to my own resources
or will all be given? Nevermind
what you can't imagine. Living's
life's priority. Friends are merely friendly,
they're in the majority. Loneliness
is the default position. Rain happens.
We supply the reasons.
How do people process their lives without art?
By caring not.
Ignore
yr autobiography.
In olden days, if you couldn't stand to pee
the family buried you under the pecan tree.
Without a word - you speak to me through particles of pigmentation
For centuries held within the grip of linseed oil
Where now I gaze upon the many faces that you wore
And their beauty shakes me to the very core
For in each one I see and feel the life you lived
All the different stages - on which you played
Each faze of life - portrayed in raw emotion
So powerfully and brilliantly displayed:
Surprise, confusion, anger and mockery,
Humbleness, arrogance and gaiety
Contentment, resentment, agitation and condemnation
Impatience, sadness, bitterness, and sorrow
And finally resignation all conveyed -
In vibrant shades of autumn leaves
That without a word, so loudly and profoundly - speak to me.
~~~~
Written: July 8, 2011 - 0:03 a.m.
Inspired By Brian Strand’s contest:
POETA -ANY FORM/ THEME max 15 lines
Awarded: 1st Place
~~~~~~
Note from author as taken from Time Life Library of Art:
No artist has left a loftier of more penetrating persoanal testament
than Rembrant van Rijn. In more than 90 portraits of
himself that date from the outset of his career in the 1620's
to the year of his death in 1669, he created an
autobiography in art that is the equal of the finest ever produced
in literature---even of the intimately analytical Confessions of St. Augustine.
Seedier media’s spewed a lot of late
Crude is all about lewd Bazball’s fate
Ben eschewed then stewed had to wait
On Stokes & ECB feud did concentrate
A tomfoolery catapult at a summer fete
Deranged but change won’t contemplate
Glummer fans can berate but no debate
Won’t halt dumber all out assault template
Fawn this new dawn to thrill will facilitate
Once did reinvigorate now does agitate
Ban this bland brand just a T20 ingratiate
Test tragics thirst perverse curse won’t sate
Hiss Brook took the piss & will aggravate
Ben we no longer trust and must castigate
When he then lost his zen & did denigrate
His men & all the plaudits he did generate
As Test cricket’s saviour we didn’t hesitate
Defending best sort of our sport appreciate
Stopping unwise franchise rise we participate
Tests out of date follow a reprobate mandate
Cogitate let's all just trust Bazball & meditate
New chapter couldn't create must abbreviate
Lust did rust so deviate to your ego capitulate
Ben did abrogate before he then did abdicate
You bled said in red Tests would emancipate
New autobiography a publisher did ingratiate
Was a helluva scheme to your team castrate
Then on Test cricket you literally did defecate
From embers lets remember when did venerate
Rule of cool cats & sexy sultry strut of their gait
We did anticipate how they did titillate & titivate
In the thrall of the gall as Bazball did captivate
Is this the future of Test cricket we did ruminate
Rid of Covid new bid to stop the skid scintillate
Calling card is freeing the old guard to salivate
Enjoy the game again as wins did demonstrate
The swagger turned to stagger did defenestrate
Of course horse bolted.. before closed the gate
We’re entertainers the reason they did extenuate
Facts and their foolhardy acts will still repudiate
Our chagrin as on seriously thin ice they do skate
The plain disdain for the WTC did really infuriate
England is in such a state has enough on its plate
From the ruins nothing to excavate as we excoriate
But blunder here and down under won't exonerate
Uncouth truth can’t be hid from livid fans who hate
Bazball gesticulate just a cheap buzz like amyl nitrate