It happens
as if stirred by some
deep prompting rising up
out of a common soul,
a voice in search of a language
to write its existence
across the pages
of a passing mind.
The soft morning light
pooling beneath hurrying feet,
the cypress trees
along the foreshore time frozen
in their wind bent posture,
the motion of waves
withering into a slow soak
up the beach -
all seem to have something
to say.
I have felt a pen press
upon my mind, struggle
to find a space free
from the cramp of my own self
on which to record
the shape and sounds
of a joy or give form
to a longing freed
from the grip of shadow.
I have felt the cry
of things trapped
in the hollows of words
like empty sea shells held
to the ear and tried faithfully
to transcribe what was said.
In my solitude I have
called out hoping
for a reply only to hear
the sound of my own pulse
punctuate a terrible silence
Day in Night
Starlit diamonds pinprick opaque night
and planets punctuate darkness. The Milky
Way in clear desert skies traverses a distant
galaxy. The perfect orb moon, earth’s companion
refuses to surrender her bright beacon at night,
does so only reluctantly, in fingernail phases.
Her lunar light pierces clouds to kiss moving
waves, cast shadows on all she may touch.
Fireflies flicker, snowy owls hoot, cream blanches
coffee, till dawn reclaims cerulean skies.
Star-dusts punctuate the dwindling daylight.
The moon enkindles the nooks of the skies.
Restless charcoal clouds yearn to be quiet.
The fog-clad blossoms still seek the sunrise.
As foretold by the mystics and sages
His advent is an act of upheaval.
He rewrites the history's ripped-up pages.
His strife is between the good and evil.
He pitches his tent among meek humans.
He blows as silent as the tender breeze.
Cosmos, into lustrous light, illumines.
Creatures, in adoration, bend their knees.
Creation, at his descend, stands astounded.
Times in timelessness stand suspended.
TEXAS PRAIRIE PARADISE
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
here, where the horizon bends.
the morning sun spills its warmth.
the Texas prairie stretches~
a vast unbroken beauty where
golden grasses sway.
the air, thick with the scent of sage,
wraps around me like a familiar embrace.
dust motes dance in the light,
tiny galaxies suspended
in the quiet splendor of morning.
cacti punctuate the landscape
these sentinels of resilience,
their spines reminding me
that life thrives in the harshest of places,
and wildflowers burst forth, fragile yet fierce.
here, the earth breathes differently.
my heart learns to listen
to the distant call of a hawk,
to the rustle of a rabbit, and
to the soft sighs of the prairie.
the hawk circles high above me,
its shadow gliding across the land,
a guardian of this sprawling solitude,
reminds me of the freedom,
of the vastness within and without.
I stand rooted in this stillness, finding clarity.
in the expanse, I find belonging.
beneath the wide-open sky,
I am both lost
and found.
How do you do, Point of Exclamation?!
We love your disposition of hooray,
We bask in your uplifting sensation,
Without you words would dry up in dismay.
“Oh thank you, I’m fantastic! Awesome! Great!
I thrive indeed on fulsome words of praise,
My final punch is not to punctuate -
My one and only goal is to amaze!”
You sure run on a brighter sunny side,
One mark and we jolt to your vivid vibe!
What would ameliorate your cheerful pride,
And turn your tone into a jesting jibe?
“Oh Boy! I fear my joyful cover blown!
Oh well! Though I appreciate the wit,
I hate when used for monotonous tone
With an assumption that I can fix it.”
You stand alone but carry so much weight,
How do you strut your stature straight and proud?
“By adding zeal and zest to what you state,
I smile, chuckle, grin and laugh out loud!”
Your punctual purpose clearly beats the rest
Where from you generate your spunky spark?
“Oops! My attention span isn’t the best!
Too many queries, ask a question mark!”
Carpal tunnel twinges
punctuate a torpid afternoon,
as row on row we line the aisles
and stare at nothing
with the guarded anonymity
of urinating men.
My thumb is on the lever,
moving almost imperceptibly,
as marbles rocket into space
and filter down
through obstacles designed
to keep the management in business.
The captive of a chain reaction
freed from craving by acceptance
of the preordained,
I decompose, am compromised,
incorporated by the convolutions
of this artificial universe.
But something breaks
the moment I let go.
The single thread
that holds the world in place is cut,
and once again I fall away
with all my individual needs exposed.
Japan, 1968
Previous version published in Outposts, England
Violently mimic the wind,
stay salty yet flow like water;
With an attitude stay thick skinned,
violently mimic the wind;
Keep poetry neat and well penned,
then punctuate it to slaughter;
Violently mimic the wind,
stay salty yet flow like water.
Dreams and Reflections
As dreamers, we awaken to find disappointments. Each of us dreams, but on different planes. Today, I still harbor the dream of owning a place—a safe haven, my wildest fantasy. While many aspire to be boss ladies, I revel in being the captain of my own soul. My situation remains deferred; I require no rescue. Surrounded by a few friends, I am a free-spirited poet lost in words. I copulate with illusions, my natural ritual—alone with my thoughts, fulfilling my soul. Thankfully, none of your spirits infiltrate my inner sanctum.
Goodbyes punctuate my relationships; loneliness, my chosen weakness. Like Lady Moses, I ascend the mountain of self-reflection, glimpsing my tomorrows before aiding others.
summary:
In essence, the poem encourages us to embrace our dreams, face disappointments with resilience, and seek clarity within ourselves before extending help to others. Life, like poetry, is a journey of exploration and understanding.
A period here. a question mark there?
A handful of commas,,,tossed in the air
To fall all willy-nilly but he doesn't care.
Then he closes his eyes so he never sees,
And does it again with apostrophe's.
Next colons: and semis; are put through their paces,
And are frequently found in the oddest of places.
Quotations are more than just dressing or stuffing,
Yet often appear when "nobody said nuffing".
It makes reading a chore just to try to adhere
To a writer's directions of what to do where,
But you barrel on through 'til you get to the end,
Give your eyes time to uncross,
And then try it again.
Some poets abjure punctuation, for sure,
And though not a big fan,
I'm a reasonable man.
e e cummings, for example,
Responds to the call
By using little or no punctuation at all.
Author's note: To quote the author Cormac McCarthy: "If you write properly you shouldn't have to punctuate." Poets such as e e cummings, et al, apparently took him up on that. Please understand, dear reader, that this piece is punctuated incorrectly to make a point. And I blush to admit that I, myself, am overly fond of "quotation marks" and…ellipses.
The spring awakens
From beneath frost the earth warms
As sun rays alight on the rocky surface.
Dormant and waiting, so patient,
Just biding time until it's right,
Embryonic shoots break through
Blinking in the bright, clear air of revival,
after winter's stark fingers laced the land with ice.
Petals punctuate the burgeoning grasses.
Soil recovering from frozen depths,
As winter's kiss becomes a distant memory.
As our ancestors 'afore,
the women who fought with
The purple the white the green
And at her centre, in the image of the weak sun.
Our star cimbing across the southern sky
Brings hope to the eye of the day,
Widening, following and closing,
As the day ends so the daisy closes her eye
Once more to sleep, yet tomorrow comes soon, And her eye once again shows the soul of the earth,
Her window opening through the petals.
Tired of the mind stuff.
It's hard to be free
of all those words
that drag behind like a long chain,
clinking in the silence.
Each weighted step leaves evidence,
deep prints beyond the reach
of waves and tide. They stay,
fossilized in stone, stretched back
across time, hanging on
to the heel and added to
by every taken step.
Think of wading out to the line
of breakers, feeling water
burrow into the eardrum,
offering oceans and fathomless
depths where only the light
from exotic creatures punctuate
the dark with their luminescence
pulsing along tentacles or dangled
in front of ferocious mouths.
These are the guardians
of forgetfulness, custodians
of dreamless sleep in which
even words dissolve
and wait in a nowhere
to become something
or nothing at all.
CONFIGURATIONS
excitment
in gestural
figurative
emotive
motifs
highlighted
moments
becoming
reasons
&
influences
of
existential
purposets
incorporating
themes
taking stock
events
in
polar
opposites
to ruminate
over
&
acknowledge
imagination
uncover
see
&remember
so
open
& free
a
collaborative
harmony
as a
starting point
punctuate
&
entrench
a
recurring
optical
effect
of
an
unknown
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
I wonder will I know when I’ve written my last poem
Will I write that last line and punctuate it with a sigh
Or suddenly go without a line until I arrive at home?
Perhaps I’ll not write a last poem, at all, but simply fly
The body of my work standing unattended by sympathy
Will I write that last line and punctuate it with a sigh?
To leave without saying farewell seems lacking courtesy
Still I am convinced that my work tells my best stories
The body of my work standing unattended by sympathy.
Of all things, leaving this world is slightest of my worries
I shall merely say, I hope the same can be said for you
Still, I am convinced that my work tells my best stories.
After all, leaving this world is opportunity to begin anew
I wonder will I know when I’ve written my last poem?
I shall merely say, I hope the same can be said of you,
Or suddenly go without a line, until I arrive at home.
written May 24, 2022
A Shout into the Void
A shout into the colorless void between Eden and exile,
Between exile and eternity,
By the eternal hero
Like faith leaping milestones from the lion’s head
In the conjugal joining of Heaven’s sighs
In Hosanna’s Glorias
In the midnight where my wandering spirit
Leaves no footprints in blank shadows
Now no room in this vacuum for nothing
But the triumphant yell of grace.
Mute words once swallowed
A living exclamation point
To punctuate a tiny cry
From the jewel of the creator’s creation
Shattering emptiness
In a wink from the everlasting Genesis
Anticipation in waiting
Leaping into my fractal space
To catch my hurtling free fall
Into bottomless vast valleys of lost gravity.
Nativity spreads white wings
In expressions of prophetic prophecy
Between two distant edges
Devoid of destination and of definition,
Only silhouettes of fleeting emptiness,
Until
Mercy’s advent
Swaddles teardrops turned into crystal gems
Of everlasting joy
Echoing in the shattered void.
12-27-21
Contest: Pick a Title
Theme chosen: A shout into the Void
Sponsor: Edward Ibeh
FEVER DREAMS
a synergy
of senses
pose
simply
in
anticipation
a fascination
fills the air & lures
a suggestive ambiguity
amplified
&suspended in time
often
speculate &interact
participate
punctuate then resonate
& celebrate
then
delineate
the lyrical
atmosphere
THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE without grammatical symbols the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and respond thus making the form a two way interplay and often a unique interpretation by the enigma so derived
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