A BRITTLE RETROSPECTIVE
provocative
innovative
sensibilities
seminal
decorous
imitations
experiments
impeccably
ingenious
determination
of
febrile
serendipity
in
possibilities
of
myriad
perspectives
The Worst Grief
I believe the worst grief you can feel,
Is the grief you feel for people that hurt you.
You paint pictures of all people in your mind.
But pain dealt to you doesn’t give you time to paint into that picture.
Pain taints your oils, your pigments and acrylics.
And the portrait is distorted,
Burned and burdened with blood spilled out of your own fingers.
But in the rearview you can’t see those smaller smears.
You see the face of the person you cared about one day and an age ago.
The poison only shows back up when you back up —
Take a closer look into that painting.
Its an optical illusion,
Occlusion clouding conscious thought.
That one last “I should text him.” Or that one last “he’s better now, surely.”
You built up walls to keep them out.
So why do we keep opening the gate when they come back?
A chick plucked off its wing
Down the tall oak branches it sung
A song sung nigh free of yearning
Down the hazy amber elm til its life hung
Near the shore, a kindred spirit melted its last candle
Melted under the dark night sky, its damping light drew him closer
Resuscitating his clockwork, its hand ticked, he threw himself in the shore, without a single ripple
A short-lived sight of a light that chose to fly away, and away, further, and further
I took a stroll down an old park, visited by a dream ever so distant
With ideals buried asunder, I selfishly blew those old autumn roses, greenheads who lost their vigor
I dare not to turn back, a bent world was left with carvings reduced to a remnant
With time and life that will soon disappear, I yearn that lost feeling of fervor
Oiled and preened
Plucked and tucked
Everything as it should, no
As they see it should be
Plied with cloths of gold
Piled high with gems and stones
Their shroud of protection being more like a weight of confinement.
Taking all your strength to place a single foot in front of the other.
None left to flee
None left to even turn away.
As they force me to take those last few steps
I now know what this was all for
Its not a lavish wedding, filled with drink and high spirits.
Its my wake as I am to be traded for lands and titles.
Why would they lie?
Did they not know I would sacrifice all, if just asked?
Then I see them, the one I am to be traded to.
Hollow eyes.
Stiff back.
Not a sign of a smile.
Yet gilded in gold and encrusted in jewels.
What thing did they sell me to?
Will I be tormented?
What must I do to be free?
I must be weak, I heard them say.
So weak that I’m looking for escape before it even begins.
But didn’t they know, the torment started the second they lied.
RETROSpPECTIVES
unfinished
&separating
now
returning
to the allure
of an
invigorating
sunburst
of colour
in memories
surfacing
becomin
complicit
involved
& questioning
dominated by
& inspired by
a setting
so incarnates s
by something haunting
&engaging
so very different
&in
lovable images
depicting
as if suggesting
a vulnerable
shyness
doubting yet
embracing
tradition
remaking
on different terms
Constant Impossible Retrospective Fridge
Constant impossible retrospective
On national margarita day
Empty booze bottles
Lie in front of me
fridge poem
The world is full of so much angst,
insecurity, doubt and pain.
I want to scream and shout it out,
there are dragons here to be slain.
In introspective, crushing worlds,
walls are built and barriers wrought,
monoliths of the troubled mind
where battles real and imagined are fought.
And who are we to say it's not so,
that the drugs will make it all go away?
When a friendly smile and a minute of your
time may be all that's needed today.
Disability comes in many forms,
the seen and the surreptitious,
and these actions we see outside the norm
make us wary and suspicious.
What we all need is the thought and the deed,
action preferred to the word.
For what is the choice for these folk with no voice
who are crying out to be heard.
bemusement
mismatched
in a backward glance
the worst if times
demystified
in transition
s focal point
magnified in spritual images
perceptions of sincerity
of
freewheeling precepts
uniquely
connected
then
apopriated
in
glimpses of the beyond
once conflicted
now
embraced
needful..
seeking quiet:
to wind
down,
pass through
fatigue-
to forget
phobias
and fear..
await...
the trusted
elements
of life-
for today
will surely
pass
Yesterday it seemed so easy then
Making love and having fun without end
Life was lived in the sun
With nothing sad to focus on
They say that life is what happens when your busy
Going along at a pace that’s dizzy
Now time has passed and I look back on it all
Time to sit back while I contemplate the recall.
a re-post inspired by Janice's contest
WINTER '47
Jumpers, darned with wool
Trousers, patched for school;
Shoes scuffed,left unlaced
Teeth framed in metal brace;
Dripping noses and chilblains,
Scarfs and finger mitts
Ears muffled against the chill
Free milk solid on the sill.
All day, upon the bench she sat
a winter face, neath summer hat;
beneath, the source of her complaint
a scribbled sign; beware - wet paint.
beef ribs, baked beans, and baby croissants drenched in butter
skewered shrimp, corn on the cob, and a loaded baked potato drenched in butter
baked chicken, bacon shells and cheese, and a taco salad with a dollop of sour cream
for dessert, two scoops of pecan praline ice cream on a freshly made waffle cone
give me about five essential oldies on my mind....let me see.....
....I Want Candy by The Strangeloves....Talk Talk by The Music Machine....
....There Is A Mountain by Donovan....You talk Too Much by Joe Jones....
....If You Wanna Be Happy For The Rest Of Your Life by Jimmy Soul....an
honorable mention here will be Love (Can Make You Happy) by Mercy....
you see, simplicity to me
is like making a wish under the apple tree
the heat in the shade does not matter
if the coolness of the day's feeling makes you yourself feel gladder
even if rain decides to fall,
being totally drenched will not halt your joy at all
for it is the love of yourself within you that takes the lead
and the relaxing rhythm of a natural prosperity that is similar to your noble steed
cover me as i go downtown
where we used to go and
play pinball
so many lifetimes have past
since those magical moments
of feeling older in my era of
childhood youth
if i was a painter with a rare
gift of magic, i would paint the
reason back into life and order
a sprite with a cherry in the
middle
as i think about all the heatwaves,
deluges, and snowstorms that have
come and gone, i think about a time
when 6am to 2pm on saturdays were
the golden time of day
as i close my eyes and get lost in the taste
of this push-up, i think back to a time when
certain cities were safe havens of serene
simplicity
i guess every birthday that passes makes me
miss it all even more....then again, as time makes
time forget time, it seems even more like that
particular time did not even exist....until those
retrospectives creep into my mind and bring back
time machine memories of benevolent bliss
i have prolonged making my wish enough
i guess i will go on and blow out the candles now
praise the Lord for the Gift of another year....
Emotion & feelings,active, no
longer passing fads of intervening years.
A latter day passion,now fading from
view along a different path I now stride.
Hastened by love,poignant,as a moth
to a flame to paraphrase a truth.Willing
to take a risk,each aspect leaves its mark
as sunlight upon the mundane.
phrasis from my 2007-9 PS blogs
Hear me recite this phrasis on youtube under my pen name ichthyschiro
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