Long Remnants Poems
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Drop cloth dreams
It has been found that given enough time
failure will find this destined loser
lurking in gallery tints
and watercolor fault lines
semi gloss replaced by flat
Painting abstract nothings
on a canvas made of words
Broken brushes stain the existing
balance with a voice that collects the remnants
speaking tarnished silver when silence should be golden
Pop art wastelands of dotted balloons
float above the ground where his face falls,
shamed and hidden, in plain sight
with eyes holding quarters of bygone years
melting clocks keep time with his idiocy
Impressionists laugh at his existence
in muted tone chuckles and turpentine snickers
Stretched on easels of dislodged glances
with splattered smocks tied in double knots
one size fits all
This palette of mixed memories
resting on mainstream notions, waits
for the end is sure to come
finding him alone with an empty imagination
and nothing but drop cloth dreams
6/1/17
For the JUNE PREMIERE CONTEST Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Brian Strand
North Side of Town
Wind brushing treetops
sings a song of silence.
The stillness of morning
recalls its own meaning.
Remnants of prairie land
remember another life.
The final stretch of a city street
leads to a winding county road.
North of city limits
spreads a landscape
of towering silos
and aging barns.
Aging barns north of town
recall another time
while wind brushing treetops
sings a peaceful song.
No edifice harbors more profound silence than this,
Each door creaks with a mournful cadence as if bearing the weight of years.
The stairs emit a plaintive screech, echoing the passage of time.
All that once flourished now lies entombed in layers of dust,
Save for the painting adorning the whitewashed living room wall,
And the old man, ensconced in his wheelchair, who still blinks, albeit infrequently.
He departed this realm years ago,
Yet someone else had forsaken him first,
The woman in the painting, her smile haunting, her beauty transcendent,
Her essence seeping from canvas to soul, ensnaring his gaze.
He waits, as he promised he would,
Pondering if perchance his warranty has been extended,
Or if Heaven reserves his solitary existence as a form of penance.
Now he resides within the painting,
His prolonged stare transmuting into a serene smile,
For he is seated beside the woman on the wall,
Enraptured by a dream, hypnotized by her presence,
No longer shedding tears for a love lost.
I presumed him long departed, as we all moved forward with life,
How ironic is death, and the remnants it leaves behind.
As I removed the painting, I watched his eyes glaze over,
What a price to pay for a lifelong devotion.
If this act seals his fate,
Then, with a smash to the ground, I slain his love again.
*~~~~~*~~~~~*~~~~~*~~~~~*~~~~~*~~~~~*~~~~~*~~~~~*
Words numb the mind whilst on paper,
idleness advocates,
a lost quill to favor a floor;
tossing profits to err,
that challenges remnants respite,
from energies spirits,
their internal venous chambers,
timely formulation.
Bach, nay Beethoven symphony,
caress the ears to muse,
a muted voice moistens lips, drains,
the endless sands of time,
as its host, vaporous spirits,
engages a review,
of Cherubs galloped chariots,
steads Athena’s harp plays,
illumes familial revue.
Sadden and laughter, exposes,
the stillness mummified,
as the blanketed sinks down low,
perchance a remedy,
will enlighten the slumbered gist,
as seasons in transit,
regulates targeted gamut,
palls nightmares, enhanced dreams.
*~~~~~*~~~~~*~~~~~*~~~~~*~~~~~*~~~~~*~~~~~*~~~~~*
I am a pine cone tree in the Evergreen state of Washington
My lower branches hang downward, that slap the unwary with pine needles, pine cones, and a hidden —squirrel
The mid branches stretch out for birds to congregate for their nesting
While the upper branches in its smaller gamut reach for the sun
We rally together in the face of windstorms
Albeit, we stand helpless as our forgiving aged remnants tend beneath our girth as the drying summer —heat threatens us
The beast's droppings enrich our soil
Rainwater nourishes us for the furtherance
We exalt in the sands' host of its endless pour through time
And revel in the promise of our pine cone familial forest, assuring our survival's worth
I feel something
I do, I do
the comfort in the ache
salting the cut of my lip
the blood and her drip
sleepless nights
atoned and attested
the trials
tying me in knots
held captive
allowed only
to swing from her gallows
her hallows of eve
as hollow as they seem
and I see thru the blackness
nothingness
blinded by the barren brush
as the breeze blows
her winter's snow
and I am cold
so very cold
a weathering rock of stone
with frozen crystals as my bones
and never, never
have I felt so all alone
a breach in the existence of time
unable to speak
unable to reach
silenced, drown
in invisibility
lingering
in lifeless remnants of blue
(in anapestic tetrameter)
As it rolled through the darkness and grinned through the trees,
where the shadows lay crawling and scratching the ground -
the last remnants of summer now shook in the breeze,
on this evening of Hallows that crept all around.
On the hearth and the hilltops, the fires burned bright,
through the dark, as the spirits so restlessly flew,
like the sparks of their souls that were lost in the night.
While disguised midst the living, the timid withdrew.
Yet the masks and their measure in masquerade mists
were exposed in the light of the hallowed full moon
and now joyously danced 'til the sun's morning kissed
a lost day that portends an impetuous noon.
So misplaced is our leisure that our rapture has flown
from a garden of worship to an evil unknown...
Rigors of weary battle long abated
The haze and smoke linger; the
fallen obfuscated
Ignominiously deposited; in death's
unseemly clutches graded
Gradually emanating from the
debacles' debris taut, ghastly forms
emaciated
Battle's residual fodder on spent
ground masqueraded
With the accoutrement's of nature
and nurture now attenuated
Unrequited carcases posthumously
paraded
Only the malingering sun palls the
hulls now jaded
At dusk, dark shadows girdle the
remnants of slaughter dated
Anon, with the eery sounds of
bewitching night serenaded
Death's awning a patchwork of
gleaming stars cascaded
By bleary, mortal shadows in
quilted tents shaded
Waiting for morn's truce, their valor
with honor to be equated
A Leaf in the Woods 8-6-26
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A Leaf in the Woods
From high above the quiet forest floor
I see the memoirs of the summers passed
Frost eaten veins reveal forevermore
The remnants of a supple life’s repast.
The leaves of maples, umber oak and birch,
Here blend into a testament of life
Prophets gone, tell of once gloried church,
Their voices speak of icy winter’s strife.
Yet I still drink the saps of summer dreams
When galaxies spin through each solstice night
Their symphonies lament the lost moonbeams
Remembering their souls through forest light.
And, when for me this summer passes by
I pray my life to grace will testify.
prolonging pain
ongoing insane
subverting hurting
ain't working
dodging the day
gets me no pay
prices up wages flat
elect a democrat
who does better than
what's done by republican
spending more
on making war
apolitical is political
just gonna be inhospitable
give me drug to raise me up
and take me down wine in cup
was gonna say
everything go away
cats meow
neal meal now
no time poetry
gotta let it be
maybe later
check this incubator
used to care
for peace everywhere
became a methodist
only matters can boys kiss
and lesbians bliss
oh say can you sing
with wesleyan wing
a silent song of war
while we ignore
poverty bankruptcy
of non jubilee
duopoly economy
thought Jesus was
more than a buzz
of sweet sky pie
for when we die
but I reckon not
so I keep my spot
infer never new birth
meek really shall inherit earth
keep using currency
of private debt and usury
believe lie called scarcity
wink the eye at complicity
can grace restrain
leak from my brain
may hope restore
and better more
the garden in
new jerusalem
will holiness
that cannot bless
any hour wholly mess
unless we confess
we bottle the Spirit
and at Her we spit
will never let Her out
for She might shout
and take no more
unending culture war
running victory laps
on pseudo martyr maps
the fight must go on
til all earth left gone
maybe remnants rise
seizing ceaseless paradise
bridegroom become the bride
city come down no place to hide