Long Pumice Poems
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She stepped out in new-faded jeans.
Raindrops streaked through her hair.
Main Street lights kept breaking down,
Like stars that weren't quite there.
Her denim felt like old friends.
Soft where life had once been there.
Some where she wanted to be, over again.
As the night draped over the fire escapes
A young man watched her walking.
His own blues stark as night.
Sharp as Sunday morning shoes.
Not a crease or wrinkle in sight.
He said, "I like your old blue jeans."
She laughed, "Son, take another look"—
Half the fades seen better days;
Half the memories came forelooked."
She touched the fray on one knee.
Ran her hand along the seam.
"You can sand 'em down with pumice now.
Or stone-wash 'em to yesterday;
Fade 'em pale with lemon juice.
It's easier to drink a past,
Than slowly earn your own."
You can fake the faded colour...
You can't fake the miles.
The drunks were preaching heaven.
Like rent was never due.
A saxophone kept wailing.
To a blue cattle dog baying the moon.
The busker missed the heartache.
Someone missed their train.
Everything was wearing out—
Everything else was set on pretend.
In the driving rain.
You can fake the faded colour...
You can't fake a mile.
Nobody falls for brand-new faded denim.
Not from near or far, not for long.
The finest blues are weathered;
The deepest truths are all well-worn songs.
Some scars are stitched for fashion,
Some come one worn thread at a time.
You can fake a faded colour...
You can't fake a faded life.
Old faded blues
Faded lives, faded dreams.
Going at the seams,
Full of holes and stale tears.
Nothing's quite the way it seems—
Some fades take years.
Some hearts wear easy,
Some take years to blue.
You can buy the faded denim...
You can't buy what you've been through.
Sandbagged the walls to
insulate sound
Mercy Oh humbled men
who are mercy Bound
trumpeted muses amongest
the fray
wine drunked night
a sun filled day
Extrudtions of evening past
Scoria pumice
must you ask
then as weighted we
stand tall
amongest the needs
there beyond the brink
of thought
we gather than to
do our part
oh ye men
oh nobeled souls
the spirt of night must
unfold
the skirt whores
to chore than labor
to be characters of men
who wishes there favor
Those whores who
wish to attach to you
so other men
might feel
what they have is true
Labor ye
oh Extruded souls
labor ye
thy thinkest control
From now on, I depend on God* for my salvation
Jesus Christ is the only way to heaven’s mansion
He, thru His blood, paid for my redemption
As He reached down to me with His compassion.
Thus, I possess His eternal life geared for transformation!
From now on, I rely upon God for my growth’s progress
The Father feeds me with His provisions without stress
He leads me along His truth and righteousness’ fortress
As He nourishes me by His wondrous grace and divine caress.
Thus, I advance for His business, never His will to suppress!
From now on, I trust God for my pursuit toward holy living
The Lord cleanses my filthiness that makes my soul starving
He sanctifies me from my worldly, vain and carnal craving,
As He assures me that my sins He is constantly forgiving.
Thus, I, for His name’s sake, keep on virtuously striving!
From now on, I lean on God for my stability
The Savior strengthens me by His tenacity
He assures me His presence amidst any calamity
As He upholds me whenever I’m into adversity.
Thus, I’m clinging to His unwavering capacity!
From now on, I cleave to God for my contentment
The Spirit fills me with peace and encouragement
He satisfies me by His Word’s empowerment
As He secures me thru His perfect settlement.
Thus, I now rest in His promised victorious commitment!
From now on, I obey God in my stewardship and service
The Master called me to work in His great office
He guides me with wisdom that can biblically police
As He rewards my diligence with sacrifices’ pumice.
Thus, I’m now enjoying my labor, moved by earnest practice!
From now on, I entrust to God my welfare and future
The King fulfills His plan for me so I can virtuously mature
He prepares me well for heaven’s glorious grandeur
As He excites me on what to happen during the rapture.
Thus, I now await His coming in my spiritual adventure!
*Psalm 25:5 Lead me in thy truth, and teach me: for thou art the God of my salvation; on thee do I wait all the day.
May 9, 2018
Edited on May 23, 2018
5th place, "From Now On" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Nayda Ivette Negron; judged on 6/9/2018.
Sleeping volcano
Volcano in slumber state, now at rest seems inert inactive,
but can erupt at any moment becoming reactive,
even may act instantaneous, spontaneous.
Sleeping volcano may be furious like Vesuvius
that showed last days of Pompei.
Walked along the charcoal blended rim of burnt ashes
on boundary of crater formed as bye-product pf last explosion.
Felt heat of molten lava as if still oozing.
Here and there scattered pieces of porous pumice rock.
I sat on the brim of a tarn full of clean clear water.
The day was chilled in late December.
Yet, I sensed hot fumes to visualize nightmare of catastrophe.
Presently comatose volcano may be benign,
whether in deep sleep or apparent stop gap,
or slowly initiating volcanic convulsion in deep chasm, not sure.
Current status static, all quiet,tranquil.
Sudden outburst may cause devastation.
I will just vanish with my muse and imagery.
Sleeping Volcano may wake up next nanosecond
to exhibit its vigorous violence.
01/12/19
Third Place
'Sleeping Volcano' Contest by Eve Roper.
Late JAN 2019 Contest by Brian Strand
I didn't think anyone would ever argue that I am broken
Life has thrown up one too many challenges to me
I survived but I suppose i am more like magma from
Volcano
I am like molten rock that's been aerated by fire
I am to be fertile soil eventually
I still have fire in my soul but my substance has been burnt out
I lack beauty
I am ash
I'm told Ash makes great fertilizer
Perhaps I can fertilize your soil
with words
Tired and accelerated ... exhilarated
it rises
and I see it cresting through my window.
And as it does
I feel as if I am brand new
Granite and limestone
and I am gold
I am frankincense and I am Mir
Lines on the mountains
I am a million years old
I am 600 million years old
I am worn but I'm like that white rock you find on the beach
You can't help but respect the beauty of the lines that show up in a rock
jostled and beaten and tormented by the sea
I am purely round and all of my edges are gone
I am no fairy tale nor whimsical dream
this small white rock "knows"
pumice that from Volcano was born
only to become ash and then to become soil
and then become the fodder
forth from
new life
Small rock
Big Story
He appeared out of nowhere and convinced me to sit with him for a drink.
His eyes were wide and glistening, his brow - of the knowledge within.
I asked him his name and where he had been living and his reply made me feel something somehow unnerving!
‘Gaius, Pompeii’ came over the table and he saw my eyebrows raise. Then, before I had chance to question he conftinued with ‘in the early days’
I thought that this joke was to see if I’d crack a smile. But then he said that the ‘ash fell like soft flakes and darkened the day into night’ he said he’d just been there to talk to a friend who he knew would die.
I asked what year this had been and his reply: ‘you think this is a lie?’
He stood and left through the front door and I followed to wish him well.
As I opened the door to the street I saw nothing of the man I’d just met. I instantly felt some sorrow and some regret.
Then a shadow commanded my eye. I approached to see the silhouette of a shaped man burnt into the wall and could not believe my sight! For a mound of pumice and warm ash was at the foot of the image burned into the wall!
I stood back and could see the silhouette of the frame of the man I’d just seen before!
Facula, flash fulgorous.
Chime, chorus, sharply in.
Pumice stone, rough and porous?
Blood below the skin.
Mantle of the harpsichord?
Wraps around the core.
Reptile complex, tooth or sword?
Either way it's gore.
Moreover, hellfire. Killing fields.
Floor slaughterhouse, tiled.
Yield or come home on thy shields.
As before, poor. Riled.
Hurricane, thy beginning.
What will seed thee, storm?
Ululate, underpinning.
Lava, keep them warm.
Rush. Volcanic power, crush.
Dragon, heard that thrush?
Crocodile, wildebeest. Such.
Cloud, the rainbow's touch.
Fire in my heart, burn ice cold.
Ashes, fall around.
Trillium flower, poison sold.
Salve healing, thy bound.
Gadarene, black gabion.
Galant, galago.
Gallimaufry? Gallion.
Goetic the grow.
Fulmineous, fumarole?
Not exactly matched.
Ground to powder, golden bowl?
Toll the tallest thatched...
There are circumstances in life
that frighten people from finding new thresholds
as the random footstep trepidates the mellow rabbit,
the immense,monumental,momentous achievements of our lives
oft commence with common & innocuous prevails
over mild and trite tribulations,
impulsions,risks,spontenieaties
are the instruments of the gallant,
the anxiety of the meek,and the ruin of the impetuous,
as discretion is the anvil of Justice,
the sage & accomplished do not seek out the epic
because they are well tempered like the hammer of Justice,
the courageously wise kiss the epic twist,
the tough,tenacious & triumphant need the epic
like stars require the dark for shine,
a castle without seige is just a large lonely home,
epic provides aspirations,
epic emotions, epic companionships, epic animosities
throw us into pits of peril and the satisfaction of survival,
inspiration,creation are Godsends not habbit,
epic pain, epic joy, epic heartache & hardship, epic strength
are the fruits of the lightning struck tree,
let the crows,and eagles rest on thee, golden habitat,
adore epic dreams, epic fidelity, epic failure and epic resuscitations,
heed the sqwuak of the shy scavangers
who mock,jeer & hide from epic presentations,
let your Soul require epic strain,stress and salvation,
without Epic there is only starving eagerness for existence
which will grind spirit upon stone of pumice -
J.A.B.
CATULLUS TRANSLATIONS
Catullus LXXXV: 'Odi et Amo'
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
1.
I hate. I love.
You ask, 'Why not refrain?'
I wish I could explain.
I can't, but feel the pain.
2.
I hate. I love.
Why? Heavens above!
I wish I could explain.
I can't, but feel the pain.
3.
I hate. I love.
How can that be, turtledove?
I wish I could explain.
I can't, but feel the pain.
Catullus CVI: 'That Boy'
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
See that young boy, by the auctioneer?
He's so pretty he sells himself, I fear!
Catullus LI: 'That Man'
This is Catullus's translation of a poem by Sappho of Lesbos
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
I'd call that man the equal of the gods,
or,
could it be forgiven
in heaven,
their superior,
because to him space is given
to bask in your divine presence,
to gaze upon you, smile, and listen
to your ambrosial laughter
which leaves men senseless
here and hereafter.
Meanwhile, in my misery,
I'm left speechless.
Lesbia, there's nothing left of me
but a voiceless tongue grown thick in my mouth
and a thin flame running south...
My limbs tingle, my ears ring, my eyes water
till they swim in darkness.
Call it leisure, Catullus, or call it idleness,
whatever it is that incapacitates you.
By any other name it's the nemesis
fallen kings, empires and cities rue.
Catullus 1 ('cui dono lepidum novum libellum')
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
To whom do I dedicate this novel book
polished drily with a pumice stone?
To you, Cornelius, for you would look
content, as if my scribblings took
the cake, when in truth you alone
unfolded Italian history in three scrolls,
as learned as Jupiter in your labors.
Therefore, this little book is yours,
whatever it is, which, O patron Maiden,
I pray will last more than my lifetime!
Catullus XLIX: 'A Toast to Cicero'
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Cicero, please confess:
You're drunk on your success!
All men of good taste attest
That you're the very best—
At making speeches, first class!
While I'm the dregs of the glass.
Keywords/Tags: Catullus, Latin, English Translation, Rome, Roman, hate, love, pain, man, boy, Cicero, novel, book, books, god, gods, heaven