Long Model Poems
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Contest: Ode to Cat 2.
JCB Brul, Sponsor
Looking back, I ask myself, "Why?"
My grandson's cat just stood there.
I walked right on past him as if he
Wasn't there. He, Midnight, knew
That it was time for breakfast.
And I was swept away by nature;
Rushed to feast on the early morning.
The morning sights and early sounds.
The eastern sunrise and the gentle wind.
Why did I put Midnight last and not first?
Was it because he was so very quiet that
I overlooked him? Did the birds and the
Bees and my obsession with mother
Nature arrest and capture me at the
expense of Midnight's breakfast?
Anyway, there's no excuse for the magnitude
Of my forgetting. Midnight was far more
forgiving than I ever could have been. CATS.
They should be coveted for such graces as
Gentleness and patience. My grandson's cat
was a real model.
the 1934 model 40 B Fordor deluxe sedan idled outside the gas station
Inside was Clyde Barrow, who was robbing the place
His moll, Bonnie Parker, sat inside the car, holding a shotgun
these notorious robbers were deemed “Robin hood figures”
This was the Great Depression; their crime spree teased imaginations
Stories and rumors followed them from Texas to Missouri
They took their gangster car to Oklahoma and New Mexico
Robbing gas stations, and small town banks
People liked watching them shoot things up and act wild
They were famous for their daring and their pizzazz
Bonnie was only twenty four when she died
Clyde was twenty-five, but they are remembered
and weirdly revered, even though they were gangsters
who terrorized people and small town bankers
they outsmarted the police for twenty-one months
their crime spree was a subject of books and a movie
which has continued their legacy; making them forever famous.
Violet dreams drenched and soaked in fantasy, vapors of the most imaginative kind.
In this fantasmal Universe live little magical volatile people, both sentient and blue.
Carpeted with lawns that respire and breathe in the middle of night, stand unusual trees capable of reviving their foliage at the speed of light.
Dark vultures of karmic lineage live pre-cautiously inside the crevices of this long abandoned moon.
Magical runes spiel inside and around tiny silver makeshift orbs, spinning they imitate what was once a functional moon rotating on its axis.
Today this model moon is used as a place where people go to access their dreams and turn them into reality.
to be continued...
All Things Galore
by Michael R. Burch
(for my grandfathers George Edwin Hurt Sr. and Paul Ray Burch, Sr.)
Grandfather,
now in your gray presence
you are
somehow more near
and remind me that,
once, upon a star,
you taught me
wish
that ululate soft phrase,
that hopeful phrase!
and everywhere above, each hopeful star
gleamed down
and seemed to speak of times before
when you clasped my small glad hand
in your wise paw
and taught me heaven, omen, meteor ...
Keywords/Tags: family, grandfather, grandparents, grandchild, grandson, teacher, mentor, example, guide, guidance, guru, sage, wise man, instructor, model, archetype
I did not plan to be a single cell amoeba
or this me, a conglomerate jigsaw of a being
a million times removed from primordial goo.
I was peacefully inanimate at times
endowed only with a little foggy awareness and contentment.
At one time I was George Washington’s commode,
Shortly before that, King Georges Whoopi cushion,
yet there was never any great blueprint
for my random appearances on this fat round globe.
No design, only once in a while,
an accidental hominine arrival
panting from a million journeys, a similitude
of what a human could be - given very much more time.
Reincarnation is a flawed theoretical conundrum.
No one ever claims to have been something made
by a bored passing tinkerer, yet creation is creation
after all.
Hundreds of times has Cleopatra
been lived-in like an old recliner in a nursing home,
is it any wonder that her image now
sags like a broken concertina?
I once (maybe several times) was a dog,
once a dogs dinner dish.
animation is often overrated; being stoically stiff
has its own rewards.
Dogs on the other hand,
are pretty good prototypes of a model human being.
Many ladies have been inhabited
by my wolfish lechery,
alas only I do not recall those pleasantries.
It’s not easy being a multicellular organism
I long for simpler times,
however I can do this, I may even devise a plan
to jump a generation or two of aspiring exemplars,
but I must wait for my brain to stop swelling
then shrinking like a bullfrogs throat
which recalls to mind a time
spent wallowing in Mississippi mud -
passionate nights I remember all too well.
AI is the ultimate plagiarist
mimicking patterns in human devised data.
Its models needs training on high quality data,
billions and billions of bits and bytes
of high-quality human derived thoughts and information.
But, AI output, with its hallucinations and flaws,
now has begun to flood into the data sources themselves.
Just like inbreeding,
the training becomes regurgitative,
feeding off its own output recycled.
With no way to tell the difference
between original and AI derived stuff,
the models become dumber and dumber
as each model learns from the previous one.
Rehashing the trash, disgorging, re-eating its own sick.
AI is its own Tower of Babel, the omniscient fountain of all insight, capable of all and anything, is fundamentally flawed and inbred.
AI is destined to become a rabble,
a Babel babble, incoherent, useless flotsam and jetsam.
My father, he's not only my father
But my role model and my best friend
We sit together, and do everything together
Whether it's a function to attend, a person to offend
A argument to defend, or money to spend
Oh my father, my love towards you will never end
My mother, she is the queen of the house
All laws are formulated by her
And everyone is bound to follow
Whether me, my siblings, my father
Or just a random fellow
Someone from whom even my father is afraid
Everyone in our house is her slave( just kidding)
If newton or einstein would have lived in my house
Because of fear they would have to act like a mouse
They wouldn't be able to make the laws of
Relativity, speed, motion or wave
Coz our house don't follow the laws of physics
But what my mother makes
But still, My mother truly is special
Someone for whom no sacrifise is greater
Whether it's giving up her cookies or favorite makeup
Who will do everything for me
Whether to fight with someone or even part the sea
In return she just want one thing from me
To study hard and prosper in my life
I might love my father more than her, or maybe not
Come on people don't think me wrong
I have written their name on my heart's wall
Oh my parents on you I'm willing to sacrifice
My wealth, my heart my life
My faith, my love, my future wife
Will even refuse every defeat, will love you
No matter what shall be the price
Will willingly die if given the alternate
Between you and my this life
I just want to hear one thing
One thing from my parent's mouth
That O our son, you have made us proud
Without my parents I'm a night totally dark
For me they are the moon and the stars
Someone who bring light in my life
Showing me the right way, stopping from fight
To overcome my fears and my frights
Telling me everytime that everything shall be fine
Just like the sky and land are incomplete
without each other
Similarly my soul is incomplete
Without my father and my mother
14 May 2018
The look, the laugh, and the loves of a coming baby,
None ever foretells: not dad, not mum, not the world.
But its manners--now that's never a surprise!
It shows in its parents,
Planted in them perhaps by God,
That mum in dad's big baby self
And dad in mum's big baby self
May find the lessons of little baby care.
It's their baby selves out on schooling duty
When expectant mum lists a thousand craves
And dad, for his part, won't clean up after himself:
Little Nancy is on her way;
Through mum comes notice of her thousand wish lists,
And through dad notice of her messy ways,
Their little world to ready for its little guest.
It's still their baby selves on schooling duty
When expectant mum waxes petulant
And dad oft waxes helpless till sweet mum's about
the house:
Little Tommy is a-coming;
Through mum he sends notice of his fragile temper
And through dad notice of his mama need.
Yes, there're parts of us that must babies be if sometime
we'll parents be:
A side of me and a side of you.
Not by our wish but by Heaven's design
We model the baby to come,
Each other to ready for its entry
With storm and stars into this our world.
To my mother
From perspective of a son
How could I forget
the pain she took for me,
Bringing me into this world
to savour life in glee,
Fed on her blood and milk
as I opened my eyes,
Her heavenly smile erased
my tears and intense cry,
Nurtured with selfless love
I was no more a boy,
She is still my dream girl
though her youth has passed by,
Gracious grey hair
maturity of thoughts,
We recall fun and giggles
on many funny plots,
She knows all my wants
and every moment I sigh,
Strong emotional bond
always been my pride,
Her one touch
and mountains can move,
Possible without wings
flight she can prove,
Salute to all women
as I grow into a man,
Mother, the procreator
His best creative plan,
X of her strength I inherit
in my each cell,
My role model she is
inspires me to excel!
Written Sept 10th, 2015
For contest of Silent one
Men only
Gender sensitive contest ?
Entered for Judy's "Tell us about your mother" contest
It was written from perspective of a son since Silent one's contest was only for men, but I was tempted to enter, although I was not considered.
Awarded 1st place win
My mind draws a blank when referring to Thanksgiving Day
as I was growing up as a child. I only remember the season at the end of the harvest each year as we looked toward Christmas. But moving some 15 years forward and 2000 miles west, from the time that I left home, I readily recall thanksgiving memories fit for the ages,
for kings and queens, and for my three dear kids.
Uncle George and aunt Fanny invited numerous of people, both
relatives and friends to feast of goodness and great fellowship.
Some would have classified them as the millionaires next door,
self-made no less, but George and Fanny knew that the source
of their success was God. They could have written a book on the meaning of Thanksgiving.
The food may have been the great attraction because we would be
hard pressed to find a better cook than aunt Fanny, but the memory
was something far more lasting and sustaining. Their home was
filled with people and an abundance of all kinds of foods,
but everyone was consumed with and digested two hearts of gold and
goodwill demonstrating so selflessly what it means to give back
By sharing from God's bounty.
Presently, at our Thanksgiving dinner table, if our adult children were asked
about memorable Thanksgivings, Uncle George and Aunt Fanny would without
doubt be at the top of their list. Those great souls are no longer with us, but they left behind a model to remember, and a life worth imitating, so enriching and inspiring.
102519PoSoupContest, Thanksgiving Memory, Regina Riddle; 4P