Polish-French Marie (1867 – 1934)
and French Pierre (1859 – 1906) Curie
physicists and chemists
conducting pioneering research on 'radioactivity'
(a term she coined)
won the 1911 Nobel Prize in Chemistry
by the isolation of radium
for the discovery
of the element Polonium
elementary (possibly hyperbole)
recovery even so
a short poem on atomic number 84 is
'Po'
Mr. Donner asked, "how'd you like to go
to California to make some dough?"
"Sure, Mr. Donner, I'll come along.
After all, what could go wrong?"
The wind said, "Spring is coming soon"
and launched a trial balloon.
That zephyr that blew soft
bore a pioneering seed aloft.
A flower sprouted from the ground,
Others followed. They now abound.
Endearing Ms Eilish not willy nilly a silly Billie got her wish despite the stares
Crys of why guys are there any let alone so many glutton button billionaires?
Not adhering to age old sage adage share if you've enough stuff to spare
Uncouth domineering untruths sold smearing sleuths as society tears
Sneering about profiteering mining shining spiting climate crisis scares
Cheering racketeering careering all about that flocks stocks & shares
Leering snares creatives gold left bereft fearing they're not their flair heirs
Persevering with cold jeering at hearing protests that then fold no one cares
Scold civic critics nearing the facts spearing by acts.. pacts & unfair flares
Cost of disappearing rare species now just pieces of faeces in their lost lairs
Searing temperatures rearing still somehow our despairs never even airs
Gearing up for the veering apocalypse peering as the sun stun gun glares
Must be bold steering pioneering derring do clearing these nightmares
Who dares volunteering to stop the interfering engineering by the billionaires?
In Battery Point, two centuries stayed
Settlers’ cottage, compact, sandstone stoic
Paired attic windows see civility made
From grim past pioneering treachery awoke
Piston motion push n pull combustion
Cloudy tea cups cultivate cow cud, churn
Tangible treaties are carved, thrusting
Structure schools crops convened return
Stood in a line, life dictates we press
Our progenies - dominoes, foretell demise
Dots identify, dark remains nameless
Two sided story - twists a spritely surprise
Federation funds finds plenty plausible
Bundled under blankets, cash in chest reserve
Heritage heirloom has relic resourceful
Epic ends agony against environment of verve
18th April
Ate what our ancestors Sprinkled
How writing song in tribute to Van Gogh
strikes me, to think that with strokes of his brush
on canvas he evoked the world to show
fields, countrysides, a starry sky that's flush
with vibrant color, comets, light effects,
and galaxies! But genius took its time.
Opposed to novelty, without perfect
sense, peers decried Van Gogh's pioneering prime.
Still, beauty poured out from his suffering mind,
which bled and perished to incarnate art.
To Van Gogh's tortured brilliance, grief enshrined,
and blessed, the spirit of his enormous heart!
To me, his “Starry Night” haunts the soul today,
a Zeitgeist, ghost, which calls from far away.
He is on his riding mower.
He looks like me,
only he owns a rich man's house,
a garden measured in acres -
his skin is better.
No picket fences: this is upscale America.
Long drives and old stone walls; gated.
A cultural dream
pioneering into new luxury,
the way covered wagons once did,
canvas closed, oxen quietly moving on
into territory that's hard to imagine.
I see him standing
near his wide columned front door,
he is smiling the way I smile
when I think no one is looking.
I like him, and imagine his beautiful
wife in my arms.
He left the wagon train,
to strike out on his own.
They found the green valley,
gold seams under their feet,
and the land already posted,
to keep others out.
Rolling clouds over rolling hills.
Kentucky is winding it roads out in endless curves.
No hurry,
this journey drives me
through its curling landscape
as a self-reading picture book of racial memories.
Born in a far way place, I feel rooted now
to these unfolding boonies and hollers,
backwoods and backroad, places
that speak to my very bones.
A small town ahead, a clapperboard store
a gas station and a 7-11. Despite being modern
they have that tumbledown structure
that is native to these rural backwaters.
The shanty tilt of well-worn porches,
dusty front yards flagged with
the fading banners of old glory.
The sun will be going down soon,
I'm driving slow, meandering into a history
I recognize as my own.
The fields are threaded with deer
as evening paints the gleaming creeks gold.
I'm told
that perfection is a pocketsize piece of scenery
no one has discovered yet,
a place just right, one just now
appearing as my memorable soul.
You left at the first flicker of dawn
as the pioneering rays of Sun
diluted the chaotic dark of night
and the morass of words exchanged.
I would have, if not for my dead legs
followed, at least crawled
but you had gone before, and returned.
Dragging my cold body toward the switches
I should have considered you lost,
but time is an endless breeze
that blows over the ghosts of steam
avenging that which our tempers kill,
and leaving in its wake, just the regret
of those two words that needn't have been said.
I should have considered you lost
even as my stomach rumbled in angst,
silenced by the cool dread of the sight
of the idle lemony shade on the doorway
without a singular shadow to break it
nor even your voice to let me know
I shall have you with me tonight.
. for public domain
At first the Light was overwhelming,
no sense of self was found there dwelling,
no sense of end, and no beginning,
bright whirls only of endless spinning.
Gradually, a sense of self returned,
unscathed, unbounded, unburned.
Together with the Light it churned,
and both were one when we returned.
And now, neither one domineering,
and neither one found interfering,
we, blended as one, are pioneering
the blissful future we are steering.
Charlie and Louis
John and Miles
Bebop to Modal
Two different styles
Soul passions blowing
Harmonically through horns
Notes and chords flowing
One world and two forms
Two different times
Pioneering colossal movements
Mind-blowing lines
Luminating transitional attunements
Woodwind to brass
Saxing and trumpeting
Sweet music long last
Four sultans jazzing
A pioneering Expressionist Emil Nolde
whose is uniquely bold
Painting with artistic flair
simple & sana a care
William Robertsan individualist
yet a homely art modernist
Originally doing poster design
so pioneering Vorticist was just fine
It barely vanquishes my quenchless spirit of inquiry.
To what exactly reason have I sledded so wildly?
Boasters and swindlers sprang up a treaty vigorously.
People are queuing to sway slated on a promontory.
It's plodding to incite thugs by misleading people.
Your genuine assertion is both witless and guileful.
By discerning purport, you may be pioneering.
As though a doleful mistrust was typically unfurling.
Why is it crucial to recur an idyllic shade?
It's time to hoard the dart and glittering blade.
Valorous braves are slogging toward the staid.
Everlasting zest is not a squib and never fades.
Yet we must swither in waging truth and moral virtue.
Truth and equity can't alter insight on specific bestow.
Written: December 24, 2021
The first time ever I saw your face
a pioneering heart began to race,
the first time ever I saw your smile
long journey but worth every single mile,
the first time ever your magical touch
sparks the memory I remember so much,
the first time ever a glimpse of your eyes
those that shamed the blueness of godly skies,
the first time ever in warm embrace
the sweetness of your breath one could taste.
The first time ever to hold you in dance
we held on tight in true loves romance,
beneath the moonlight to “This song is Blue”
yes together we dance just me just you.
The first time ever we said goodbye
the trial the tribulations of the saddest eye,
transferred to one’s sentiment does lend
this to vow this love will never end!
© Harry J Horsman 2013
Reposted 2021
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