Notched ear, stealthy peer,
From trees you scare on landing,
Singing sorrowed songs.
Written: May 5th, 2025, for contest by Brian Strand
Painting by Peter Doig. A concise abstract on Abbey Road and its pivotal moment. He subsequently produced outstanding music. His music resembled pleasant dew cascading as melodic notes, like honey smeared on leavened bread.
******************
George Harrison
moving toward a liquid abyss
after Abbey Road--
where no sunlight can seep into the hall
surrounding the mirrored pool
he draws the guitar strings
with notched arrows
tipped in flint
striking sparks
like match heads ignited
on concrete sidewalks
during the golden hour
heavy with humid
condensation
coating every surface
with sweet dew
musical notes drip down
like honey spread
on warm yeasty bread
1)www.wikiart.org/en/joaqu-n-sorolla/church-roncal-stairs by
2)www.artgeek.io/exhibitions/5bfdb7a272a1460a46f77fab/5bfdb7a272a1460a46f77faa by T. C. Cannon
3)www.wikiart.org/en/johannes-vermeer/the-milkmaid
To draw the string back, with a notched arrow,
To sense the taut twine pull against and test
The strength of stiffed up shoulders and flexed chest—
But not to loose the arrow at the sparrow;
To aim, to wait, to track through the narrow
Cracks between webbed branches, to feel one’s breast
Beating boldly, and breath deep, slowed, suppressed—
But not to shoot the shot at the sparrow;
Oh the bitter pangs of deeds not done, thoughts
Unsaid—how viciously they gnash and gnaw!
And of duration, long and dreadful are
The laments of a pounding heart’s grim knots.
Ah, what work it is such ice then to thaw,
As that of one who’s soul has missed its star.
I dreamt of growing
As I was drowning
life was blocked with stones
I was just a vessel that turned
Sincerity would bring love
I thought that's the rule of the world
I leaned on opacity with unsolicited words
I chose the disgrace with no rewards
The nights notched me with a sharp hilt
Days kept becoming dark till I quit
The days were filled with cold and looked so gray
Sometimes cant even remember the words and the day
A piece of paper wasn't the reason
Walked for miles with no destination
A part of me shielded all of the harms
I searched for love in the wrong arms
I became the center of the joke
How I left my life on the nook
I became a puppet of the show
The circus disgraced all my value
My soldiers were badly harmed
yet I sent them to combat
7 years passed
The war yet last
They didn't realise untill the end
How I kept losing for them
I achieved a death with no respect
I left the battle tired and refuted
I'm drowning yet
I accept my cruel fate
let's escape tonight
leave this drum behind
without packing
without our phones
just take our scars
and sculptured bones
we notched upon each other
The afternoon sun
now clears the trees
and comes through the window
to where you are with your book,
deciphering the clues to reveal
who committed the crime.
Imbedded in the surrounds
are the rituals that connect
us to life and to each other,
the daily observances
notched in time.
If it were not for these
affirmations of love,
we would be lost somewhere
within ourselves,
me in the endless passageways
of a poem without windows
and doors, you in the forensics
of a crime scene,
communicating with each other
through a bullet or punch hole
we've left in our dreams.
A constant pain of rain.
The roll of tires through town.
The wipers dab my face -
Eye clouds suspended tears.
In Spring, I’ve lost my place.
A constant pain of rain.
The shock of scented air.
Grave roots push up, stem bends.
The sideways shower guts.
The heartbreak never ends.
A constant pain of rain.
I’m driving through the storm.
I squeeze raindrops, life-size -
In tribute, clutch mom’s cross.
Each Spring brings notched goodbyes.
The wood is too seasoned, the grain hoary.
the moppet has grown insane,
its wood now riddled with timeless lies.
A cat in a dark corner will not look at it.
Mice cower under its grim shadow.
In a twilit kitchen an old man mumbles
as he gums a boiled egg
while deranged eyes peer through walls.
Pinocchio is old,
he has been set on a hook.
fibrous sinews dangle
from his notched frame.
knotted veins grind together
inside the oaken cage of his chest.
Made to imitate and deceive
he has become what we dare not look upon:
a hollowness within a dead core.
In the potbellied stove,
logs pray with crackling flames
hope to never become that thing
that hangs and glares,
a wood wormed ruination,
its painted adolescence flaking now
to a crackbrained fantoccini
gone feral.
Pictograph Biography
David J Walker
If asked
He might or might not
Remember the past
The old man had notched the days
By the thousands in his trek
Around the sun
Each marking its path as a
Tattooed etching by the
Laser edge of history in his skin
Of every day and every place
he had ever been
And even if he cannot
remember them
The pictographs tell the
Story of everyone who had
Touched him
KITE
Graceful buoyant in flight
Me the black-breasted Kite
Broad in structure, yet body light.
Loner am I, love to soar high
Slowly steadily waggling flapping
long narrow angled-back wings
with notched tail to propel
gliding swooping on kinetic dive.
On insects, rodents, reptiles I wish to thrive
mostly alive.
Sometimes snails for a break.
Slow-moving creatures at stake,
cannot escape.
Expert to pick up prey
with wavy-edged mandible beak
at the very opportune moment
directed by my sharp keen eyesight.
Me the black-breasted Kite.
When the sun starts shining little longer
Perky, beautiful, round, yellow flowers sprout up
Being in deep love with the sun and its energy,
They appear anywhere even in small cracks of dirt
In gardens, behind rocks, on hillsides or on roof tops
On gleaming carpets of prairies and grasslands
With toothy green leaves deeply notched
Swaying merrily in spring breezes “Hello” say dandelions
Some call them pesky weeds,
Some call them stubborn breeds that never seem to leave
To some, they are edible herbs and treats
With various health benefits
Loaded with antioxidants, vitamins and minerals
Low in calories, rich in carbohydrates and fiber
After petals drop from ripen flower
Ball of parachute carrying seeds opens into a full sphere
Having rather gypsy feet after development is complete
Seeds of fluffy parachutes travel quite a bit
Gliding by air stream disperse to propagate
Turning into flowers after finding any little space
Charismatic, brilliant dandelions
Symbol of strength, optimism and eternal joy
Reminder to fight against adversities
And survive through challenges of life
While staying humble and upbeat
early caramel morning sunrise
melt orchid sky as offspring arise;
nature's breath ignites the earth's beauty
notched in red velvet rose for just thee.
1/30/2019
O half-broke wing-back, wind buoyed Kite --
Thou is beautiful! Thou'st cruelly conspired:-
An all conquering indifference - yours a tyrant's ire!
Yours the mewing notes of the notched pipe...
You lent it out to give the reed high-pitched form;
And, reflected in its final, crashing flight,
Yours is the Phoenix's terrible, blazing silhouette!
Long I have marveled at some other lines...and yet,
Although awed at such perfect efficiency, upon sight
Of one particular viciousness I felt forewarned
Of a dreadful act soon to be committed; but might
Well we excuse all murderous intent, for the higher
Art of killing is not ours alone: all what we admire
In war contained in a dart; even the night
Will never have known such a terror! Then a solitary
Bird tumbling down to tear at the rotting carrion....
But not before the crackling voice pleads: "we must
Soldier on, we must soldier on, we must soldier on"..........
Welcome back to you my misery
played out for all the world to see
bright lights and caricature circling
even buzzards want a piece of me
Shifts shred the tempo shallow troubles
bellow in a chamber broken down below
emptiness echoes from beyond the mouth
with the bass a drown recluse obo hum
Moving with mountains a sound enjoyed
matted brush and worn-out weathered trails
can only guide so far missing the post
birch tree beauty notched and polished
Carry me on home Delilah
as the night wanders alone
Come all ye faithful and gather around the fire place
Relieve your stress if good cheer you wish to embrace
Arctic weather can bring frost bite upon your face
Cold weather can be comforted by the blazing fire
Kids get in snowball fights and need to perspire
Let’s surround with soft music and cozy warm attire
Icicles hang from the roof and in the back yard you’d find
Notched wood wrapped in rope ready to be unbind
Growing up I thought Santa would burn his big behind!
Freezing cold winter should be eased by the comfy blaze
I watch the kids run around the couch in an innocent haze
Rustling inside the fuzzy blanket is where my puppy plays
Every year around the fireplace we celebrate the winter days
Winter acrostic Poem Contest
December 30, 2016
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