Breaking the silence at Summer's end,
the crackling crunch of leaves can be heard.
And the wind wails at trees that won't bend,
proclaiming such resistance absurd.
Songbird chicks have fledged and spread their wings,
while their songs have all but petered out.
For no longer bound, time cut their strings,
and gave them feathers to fly about.
The honking calls of migrating geese,
resonate as they fly south in flocks.
And late in the Fall, their honks increase,
in response to calendars and clocks.
Winter approaches as a light snow
falls to gently cover Autumn's dead.
But soon, flurries aggressively blow,
burying everything that hasn't fled.
And now let’s speak of Paparazzi
Who show us things that we should not see
They think they are so hotsy-totsy
Let Mama have the job
Yes, I’d prefer the Mamarazzi
I’m sure they’d show us how to not be
They’d surely take a better shot, see
As Papa’s such a slob
But now let’s move to Billygoats
Why can’t they be called Millygoats
They then would not be silly goats
Let’s give the girls a chance
And what of Lazysusan’s fate
Not fair, though now it’s much to late
I think that Lazypeter’s great
They’d have a fine romance
Unless he is all Petered out
As I am with this goofy bout
More gender benders left to scout
But now I’m tired, so Sue me
Saint Patrice day
In 1957 my ship docked in the town of Cork (Ireland)
If you think that is a long time ago, you are probably right
but in my head, it was yesterday.
Life was slower back then, cargo was lowered into
donkey carts, there were many mules waiting
we went to a pub, a stone a throwaway and drank Guinness
Never did I tell my mother, but I told her of the Irish girl
I was going to marry had red hair and green eyes
she had the aroma of an angel.
Leisureliness has ended ships leave as ships do
On the shore, she waved, we cried, and people smiled
they didn’t know; no one had loved so deeply as us.
Our letter writing petered out, so many adventures for young
minds I met a girl in Amsterdam, she had a bike.
My mother asked about the Irish girl. Her name was Catlin.
WHITE LIGHT
daylight
coming in
intrusive
caught sight
of
the
minimal
after-images
hanging
in the air
time
become
often
a
beginning
unstretched
uneven
or
discarded
curls
in
layered
texture
a consistent
touch
of
traces
of
actions a
come together
a residue
of
the
unfinished
thoughts
petered out
dwindled to
an excerpt
&
a
sigh
a
faltered
interruption
barely begun
delectable
yet
truncated&
improvised
suddenness
a feeling
of arrival
a
reassembled
happening
a
boundary
overrun
&unfocused
throughout
NOTE:THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE using spaces&breaks without grammatical symbols ,the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and responds thus making this enigmatic form a two way interplay & interpretatIon unique to the moment& changing according to mood is inherently variable.
Copyright © Brian Strand
Corsican sand
on the Rio Grande
Simon Bolivar weeps
the night asleep
Renegade cycles
hogs gone mild
Gehinnom's Mayor
Timothy Leary's child
Zebras abound
in Peppermint Land
Alan Ginsberg howls
from primal jowls
Leopold Bloom
did not predict ZOOM
Cosmic collisions silent
without Daniel Boone
Country music
Mix in Ragtime
from Alexander's Band
to Motown Rhyme
Andy Warhol's mind
spilled out in soup cans
Campbell's pork and beans
Welsh Rarebit also-ran
When free association
Met psychic gestalt
The resultant metastasis
Petered out beneath salt
Stream of Consciousness is out
New Age Meaninglessness is sin
Wherever Narcissism reigns
Foot Worship rushes in
The best poems at night
often come unbidden
J. Cricket fervently wished
This one hadn't been written
I dubbed a first year my room mate
Upon arrival into our teacher training college
To baptize him. His pride in quick order I did decimate
Taking him at high celerity on a binge
Initiating him into traditional beer
In a nearby shanty compound
Where I got his head into God’s fear
Whereby upon returning the greenhorn couldn’t push anyone around
The special welcome made him the follower
I desired
Having diminished his self-concept and self-esteem lower
Than he aspired but higher than he perspired
I proceeded to indoctrinate him into elocution parlance
As best as I could
Ensuring he possessed a college etiquette lance
That would
Not upstage Special
Whom he soon began to emulate
With artificial
Manners to dissimulate
The nascent confidence he feared might offend me
If he grew overconfident
More than I could agree
If he became less diffident
But he played the good boy
Obedient like a lapdog
Happy to enjoy a bone for a new toy
Like a contented warthog
When my training petered out
Satisfaction smiled
In my bosom without any shadow of doubt that my clout
Tamed the greenhorn who wouldn’t succeed in getting me riled.
You could say spring was in the air
When his ballpoint pen flew apart
Arthur took charge of it's repair
So that made it a work of art!
Declaring that, he felt compelled
To write something down with it
Frowning his brow, with said pen held
He channeled his humor and wit
When she looked over his shoulder
Every thought he had petered out
She seemed surprised when he told her
Peter problems is what it's about!
There once was a blizzard named Stella
Too powerful for an umbrella
But she petered out
Losing all of her clout
Like a post-midnight-clothed Cinderella.
Her wind is still whipping around
But as for the snow on the ground
It’s in inches, not feet
Which must be bittersweet
For the ones who hoped she’d be renowned.
I’m a man whose tired and worn
Empty and dead on my feet,
Petered out, played out, pooped and torn
Burn out, broke down and beat.
Drowsy, droopy, drooping drained
Dog tired, done in, done for,
Exasperated, enervated empty faint
Overtaxed, overworked and bored
Sick of, sleepy, spent and stale
Haggard, run down, all in
Consumed, collapsing, asleep, annoyed
Exhausted, bygone and barren
Ramshackle, rickety, run-down and frail
Bedraggled, broken-down and creaky
Threadbare, tottering, tired and used
Feeble, fragile and flimsy
Out of shape, out of gas, done in and feeble
Gone to seed, soft, incapacitated
Listless, washed out, weakened, on the ropes
Undermined, fatigued, prostrated.
Discontented, dissatisfied, tacky and dull
Jaded, glum and gloomy
Sick and tired, up to here, driveling, drab
Sated, down and weary
Befuddled, unsteady, wobbly and faint
Pallid, pale and lean
Stupefied, staggering, slaphappy, subdued
Oh damn I got to go pee.
Engine On My Plane
Engine on my plane petered out
What I did know without a doubt
After hearing a sputtering sound
Soon hard would hit the ground
So had hot dogs with sauerkraut.
Plane had been shot down over
Germany.
James Thomas Horn
Retired Veteran and Poet
http://www.poetrysoup.com/poets/top_100_poets_most_poems_all_time.aspx
I must be -- me
to be not, would be
contradictions more foul than those in D.C.
irrelevant, you chastise
make your feelings relate
to be a poet
but is not the message
created by my pen
poetically fulfilling for me?
if my precepts
offer no memorable revelation
for you
you may not understand
now
or ever
never having viewed the Alps
illustrated travel folders
generate no sighs
yet pen in hand
drawing in a deep breath of truth
feelings
your mind
camera candidly clicking
world exposed in free style
awaken
meter petered out with cursed verse
confined rhyme
precept message
a goal sought
sometimes conveyed
spare the structure; paint the picture
sharp strokes of emotion
live through the Creator
*For John Freeman’s “Your Free Verse Precept” Contest
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