colour
supposed
recorded
experienced
with
vibrations
of pleasure
surrounded
in
textured
frescos
conceived
as
fantastic
reproductions
in my mind
in
two
dimensions
of space
more or less
put
into words
as
part
of the charm
of thought
from
layered
effects
of calm
in this
my Saturday
of
domestic
tranquillity
Categories:
reproductions, poetry, word play,
Form: Free verse
My father died when I was seven.
Like a girl in a museum I'm drawn to his pictures - those inadequate reproductions hypnotize me
What can pictures give? Coal-blue eyes, a knowing look. They exist, for me, like Cassandra of Troy, full of endless secrets that can never be told.
A snowy, ice slickened, twilight-blue rush hour parade - hundreds of grimy cars rushing, rushing ... somewhere.
Why do the details I can't remember haunt me so?
A flash of light, the tearing of metal like the screaming of dogs in a reeling, devouring dance of energy.
The nuclear family detonating with death inches away.
Everyone was asking, "What do you remember?"
"I don't know," 7 year old me said.
Sometimes, as I fall asleep, memories of him - which I hold dear - come to me like the ghosts of departed friends. Image after image in the embracing dark.
Why is it the further away you get, the more I need you?
Those images and that voice are strangely silent in the morning as I'm, once again, awakened to a world I'd rather reassemble.
Categories:
reproductions, 11th grade, absence, car,
Form: Free verse
TESTING THE EDGE
unsheathed razorsharp
doubledged crimsonbled
dark holes feed blue moles
underneath dirt they skirt
claws braced throats cursed
testing the edge
in mythical maddening moments
Unicorns stab their Mermaids
laying their own sea beds of
shameful ancient slaughter
testing the edge
bloodbeating brainscreaming
red smoldering screens
blindfolded shielded against
past discretions obscene
unseen mock reproductions
artificial redraged dreams
double edged crimsonbled
testing the edge
while stupidly they stare
and do not dare interfere
protecting clean blueveined
wrists not stained red by
unsheathed razorsharp
brazened blades
testing the edge
© Kim van Breda—1 October 2015
Categories:
reproductions, suicide,
Form: Prose Poetry
There is no pain
that is unaccompanied
by light blinding
or translucent like seeing
the sun through a flame or another's petite morte
as you climax,
and heap in rubbled bodies,
others cast in panoptic stone
by the suffocating beauty of the soldiered
rose-blossoms.
They cry, cry out in ineffable joy at the sky
or lips fall heavy to the dust
as they climax,
and entwined in fervent bodies
we all come to know what makes us bare another
sadness swaddled in marble arms.
Categories:
reproductions, political, social, soldier, war,
Form: Free verse
Antiques and Other Lies
By Elton Camp
In the antique store, you had better beware
Often, it’s just used items being sold there
By all of the experts we are firmly told
To be antique, it must be 100 years old
So at that so-called antique, look twice
It may be junk and not worth the price
Is it a well-made item and really rare
Owned and kept up by those who care?
Oh, and look on the shelves over there
At the beautiful “collectible” glassware
Before with your money, you do part
Make sure it wasn’t bought at Wal-Mart
Reproductions are all too easy to do
Don’t end up with a thing you’ll rue
What is sold as valuable may be wrong
If the sticker on bottom says “Hong Kong”
Can you actually tell real Fostoria at all
Thus, be certain that isn’t Whitehall?
“Crystal” is used to describe any glass
If not a savvy buyer, better let it pass
The collection of Pez belongs in the trash
Don’t let a faker part you from your cash
Buying antiques, a great thing you got?
Most of the time, almost certainly not
Categories:
reproductions, funny, may,
Form: Rhyme
As light envelopes the eastern sky
And scatters in all directions
Darkness is born within the light
In the form of soulless reflections
The light commands the darkness
To hide upon the ground
And to move among the living
Where ever the light is found
The darkness is taught to follow
Whatever the light decrees
And in soulless reproductions
To mimic what it sees
But the darkness has an enemy
That causes it to wane
The light is always washed away
Each time it starts to rain
But when the light regains its place
And shines across the earth
The darkness once again is born
As shadows are given birth
Categories:
reproductions, life, nature, light, light,
Form: Rhyme