Reading fridge magnets; surprised how interesting,
the world is when stamped into rubber decals.
Rome, Ankara, both Buda and Pest.
Watching a colorful rolling diorama,
pictographs tumbling over a flat white-scape.
Images recalling airport loudspeakers,
beeping taxi cabs and swaying camels.
I nod at a graphic depiction of a flight of pelicans,
bombing Florida,
imagine Sarasota sheltering under torrents of guano.
There is a decal from Mongolia, the magnet reads:
“Welcome to sunny Ulan Bator!" China is reduced to a
bowl of rice with dragons swooping for crumbs
much like London pidgins.
The Roman colosseum nudges Egyptian pyramids,
old lovers, slowly crumbling away.
I don’t see one for Ohio; maybe they only sell them
in Michigan…for target practice.
The fridge is a travel guide for those that sip morning coffee,
and wonder should they even get dressed today.
Categories:
pictographs, poetry,
Form: Free verse
the speak of the ancestors
thats made with their pictographs
from a place called sacred ground
a quiet and haunting place
in a dry dusty canyon
you can hear voices chanting
accompanied by the wind
explaining cryptic symbols
that can solve the mysteries
what a man comes here to do
and that our lives we must lose
this we must give our regards
but what becomes of the love
does it really ever end
maybe love is who we are
just for the giving away
Categories:
pictographs, love,
Form: Free verse
Daydream Matinee
David J Walker
What were these visions planted
Within my head
In my bed
So young a sleep
But not so deep as unconscious exclusion
Was it only the illusion of a 7-year-olds
Imagination
The silent hands of messengers drawing
Motion pictographs on the walls of my
Subconsciousness
I see them clearly and completely
As if a nights sleep at 7 still showing
The Daydream Matinee
Naming me on the Marque
And only me as the audience
Messages left for later interpretation
Categories:
pictographs, dream,
Form: Rhyme
The Color of Lightning
David J Walker
After the funeral
With the solo sung and hung
in the confines of the chapel
Staining the main
pictographs windows of
Forgotten sins and saints
The flowers were claimed by
blind and lame mourners whose aim
it was to sell them on the once
busy downtown street corners
Where only the ghosts and mourners of
well-dressed shoppers and
shoe-shined businessmen in
the then visible and lively viable
Small town commercial centers
of American prosperity
Where they met to eat at the
Drug Store lunch counters
Just as well
To sell the trappings of a
perfect Methodist funeral in
far away heaven or hell
I remember him describing
The color of lightning
Purple and blue, and violate hues
Are common in thunderstorms
But yellow is the color of the
Cooler strikes we know so well
Filtered by the fine dust found on
The Plains
It is where we buried his remains
Wrapped in a Veterans Flag
In that fine dust
Under the cooler strikes of lightning
On the Plains
Categories:
pictographs, allegory, analogy, funeral, metaphor,
Form: Rhyme
Knowing That I Am
David J Walker
I’ve tried to keep my memories
Of seasons in separate shoeboxes
As time lapsed photographs of
Of Summers and Falls
Winters and Springs
So that all might be compared and
Shared as the layered things in a
Lifetime of meanings
Pictographs etched into whatever
Is left of my DNA
Holograms to be reviewed
One day from every angle
And they will say that I am
Categories:
pictographs, allegory, time,
Form: Rhyme
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
Categories:
pictographs, age,
Form: Rhyme
F or years as a child he had dark, fitful dreams
O f narrow, closed passages, places unseen
O ften he mused, they were unfounded fears
T ormented thoughts that would bring him to tears
F orboding terrors and feelings of dread
A puzzling scenario that loomed in his head
L ately the tide in his mind seemed to turn
L ooking ahead for adventure he yearned
S o one day he set out to explore a cavern.
O ld, unique crystals, grand formations he found
F ossils and rocks, pictographs underground.
F or awhile he was thrilled, quite engaged in his quest
A ll fear forgotten, then lamp died, he cried out in protest
T oo panicked to think, he ran, stumbled and fell
E nsuring his fate, plunged down a deep well...into cold hell.
Written on 3/8/2018
Categories:
pictographs, dark, fate, fear,
Form: Acrostic
A strange collage of images dance on a poster board,
layout of pictographs, stories that move and shout discord;
some sway left, some stand still, some sway alt right
while tweet and twitter ping on the scoreboard lights.
Wonder what's going on in old DC
with democratic and republicans on knees;
today they say this, tomorrow who knows
will the emperor take off his clothes?
Categories:
pictographs, america, irony,
Form: Quatrain
Walls stripped bare of time.
Symbols shinning through
moon phases
piled as sand.
Carvings of past hunters
speak a bewildering code,
of lives washed from history.
Meaning vanished.
Impression conveyed.
Time has left the message,
and betrayed the creator.
His flesh gone
language scattered.
A people swallowed by disease,
and famine,
storm and drought,
war and disunity.
The only evidence of heritage
streaks placed on canyon walls.
undeciphered pictographs of
anonymous origin.
And yet I have expectations
of meeting the author
around a river bend.
Hunting the same prey,
cleansing in the same stream,
tending mutual crops,
sheltering similar families,
chiseling with ancient tools,
upon cliffs of dazzling, pounded sand.
Categories:
pictographs, culture, language, native american,
Form: Free verse
Pictographs concoct
Quaint flavors
An appetite blooms
Ginger locks descend
Passion skates
A micro death sparks
Pixels synthesize
Collections
Of synchronized whines
Lips laced with temptation
Eyes descending sunsets
Elements of resolution
Categories:
pictographs, fantasy, imagination,
Form: Verse
Love Poem, 2011
V. Ortiz Vazquez
I am no slam poetry poet
No love story reside within my pencil
Strawberries, tossed salad has no residency
Smooth skin, deep breath, loud moans
Non existent
Bleeding pen draws away
The thought, idea of love making through ink
Passion flow with no identifiable destination
Taking not borrowing, lines begin to form spectacles of no love
My pen-pencil, tools entrusted to absentees’ pictographs
Images of lost, missed, forgotten times
Tried by many
Explore by few
Spit by few too many
Hardship with frown for a smile
I am no slam poetry poet
No love story lies within my pages
Notion of impossible curves
Sweet nectar, delicious lips
Absent
Day dreams resettle night dreams
Suddenly awaken rushing to fall asleep once again
Return to…where did it go?
Relax muscles
Swollen vessels
Dimmit!! No longer asleep
I am no slam poetry poet
No love poem here
No
Love
Poem
Here
Categories:
pictographs, love, slam, love, poetry,
Form: Free verse
Willow patterns chase around a bowl
Through pictographs of bluest tide,
Paper tigers and some bitter rice
When you became some others’ bride.
Sampan glides across a lily pond,
Ornamental and pristine,
Crimson dragons and a sky-ward kite
Their tails of envy brightest green.
Pagoda structures set against the sun,
A concubine salves in my head,
Scents of winter and an ending day,
The far horizon glowing red.
I search the coastline but you never come,
Just haunting trace of memories,
So I recline within my paper dreams
And sail away on China seas.
Ok, ok, it's rubbish. This is what happens when you drink Kronenbourg 1664 on
a dismal Sunday evening and then try and write something. So let that be a
warning to you all. Still, oddly enough I quite like it. My god, have I really drunk that
much? Must have - I've posted it as well.
Categories:
pictographs, lost love, sad,
Form: Verse