I don't like to brag, but I've seen it all
The virginal Springs, the legends of Fall
Where whispering pines, meet towering peaks
And raging rivers, raise babbling creeks
A fresh forest glade, festooned with fauna
Hot bubbling waters, nature's own sauna
Swam the Tasman Sea, hiked along the Nile
Even met a wretch, walking "his" green mile
Once I played the Met, and jammed with the Stones
Then won a big bet, while rolling the bones
Met the self-righteous, who claims to be right
And basked with the meek, who shines a true light
From Rome's Rotunda and Phlegraean Fields
To Chinese lanterns and Japanese shields
Sailed the Seven Seas, been around the Horn
Watched a nation die, watched a nation born.
I've seen followers and leaders of men
I've met the Pope, forgiving my sin
Saw too many rich, degrading the poor
I've stood at Hell's gate, passed through Heaven's door
I've traveled the moon, the stars in the sky
I've charmed the Devil, making Angels cry
Like I said before, I don't like to brag
Here's a toast to ME, waving my own flag!
Cabernet wings fluttering
in a house of mirrors.
The rotunda of cheers,
just below the lip,
above the murkiness
of a hospitality sip.
Double dip nights,
halfway through
conversation of the past;
the sate of emotional till;
tears flutter unexpectedly.
Wings of quietude,
coalesce inside the glass,
humoring an aunt and niece.
Chasing away this insect-bird,
this apparition of Green Valley.
Kin covers the glasses
with smiles, lips and palms.
Harrowing moments attach
themselves to memories,
cleverly; the moment itself
vanishes, or does it remain
an infinity ring,
a nimbus of forever light
and love in a holy place.
Q: Who is the current Chief of Staff?
A: The resident President.
Q: What is an old, lame, deaf, half-blind Sherlock Holmes?
A: A defective detective.
Q: Who is the magician who ate all the pasta when no one was looking?
A: The linguini Houdini.
Q: What is a day in the life depiction of the First Family on view in the rotunda of the White House?
A: An Obama diorama.
Q: What is a doctor who operates on a big fish to remove the roe?
A: A sturgeon surgeon.
Q: What disease did the star of "Veep" get from drinking unbottled water when she was in India?
A: Julia Louis-Dreyfus typhus.
Q: What is a debutante dance for snakes, alligators, etc.?
A: A reptilian cotillion.
Q: How do people in third-world countries view America's "open door" policy?
A: As an immigration invitation.
Q: Selfridge's was a fine example of what kind of department store?
A: A Victorian emporium.
Q: Where would you be if you found yourself trapped between this world and another?
A: In dimension suspension.
Raft branch buoyed in canopy crossroad
Ocelot pillow paws rail rainforest rotunda
Yataghan claws trail trunk, track cathode
Assailant arouse pounces, stiff tail rudder
Lithe, while night looms, lightspeed silent
Ogling exotic shores - she yanks anchor
Centipede nimble Queen needs her tiara
Evermore adorned, baubles bean arabica
Lustrous pearl dozes on dark décolletage
Opulent moon mother of tides, sly tyrant
Tortures subordinates to claim her island
Iridescent iris treasure hunt sailor ocelot
Spotted sea captain keeps snake for halo
Lapis lazuli exclusively steers royal yacht
Asphyxiating prey, Casper crouch lay low
Navigating her way to throne, puss pirate
Drapes cashmere ears in conquest crown
Nautical Nineteenth November
Everything seems to fit
into this morning's
vast mosaic as if each
piece has been shaped
to occupy a given place.
Even the broken sea shells
that first appeared redundant,
strewn haphazardly
along the beach
now give pause and interest
to the sands otherwise
featureless reach.
Trees occupy their allotted
space, the rotunda claims
its usual ground and clouds drift
the wide freedom of the sky.
Silence cups like an ear
to receive the days
waking sounds and in a corner
where the pier slots so neatly
into the sea, small boats bob
about in their moorings
overlooked by a hollow made
in air that seems to fit
my contours just perfectly.
I'm Canadian eh! from the frozen tundra
Stored food for the winter, so I'm a little rotunda
Not worried a bit
Soon be back in fit
How I made it though winter, it's a wond-a
Twig twists intersect then spread victory
Receptors sprout cat waving paws
Fold fruit bowl foliage, branch tributary
Lump eye timber columns support
Steer me clear of thatch caged cluster
Cheerleader twirling ribbons sizzle
Shifted to soft focus forest, fairy dusted
In drifting dandelion seed celestial
Thrown down overlap of toasty tobacco
Crinkle constant joke cracked faces
Humour grants razor slim grasses tackle
Unused nests during seasons' phases
Basket interweave splice strap sun poke
Probes timid shade a radiating halo
Lathered limbs in blossom shampoo soak
Crown me neath ghostly citrine glow
Sombre trots towards her restful rotunda
Floating pollen fluff Snugglepot ego
Fingers spring flags of woodland wonder
Grip ant gazette trail to safe gazebo
6th March
Exists in the middle
EXTRAVAGANZA
designed
to
illuminate
a spectacle
or
into
a
visual
metaphor
of spaces
within
experience
spectacles
of
comparable
phenomena
circle
a panorama
of of
melodramatic
rotunda
a prominent
pantomine
of instinct
preserved
an accessory
to
augment
reality
&
motivate
a
narrative
conception
in
a
perfect
tangible
tactile
replica
in
all
dimensions
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
Chalice of Darkness
Buried deep inside the blinded eye of midnight
My fugitive heart,
Homeless in winter’s frozen wrath,
Seeks an abyss with rotund borders –
A rounded vault of endorphic sacredness
Overflowing with elixirs of metamorphosis
Born from dark dry crystals of crisis –
Angles of anxiety –
Dark womb no sepulcher for magic of wonder.
Rotunda made with sacred walls of purple heart
Where stamens and pistils entwine,
Ferment to maturity in a lightless vessel,
To press against the wholeness of their birthing cup
In a goblet of a chrysalis catacomb
Ecstasy bidding my weeds of mourning
Flame within the grail of martyrs
To pollinate, despite shades of gloom,
Blooms rising above this cupola of blessings.
1-24-21
Contest: Chalice of Darkness
Sponsor: Chantelle Anne Cooke
Purple heart is a hardwood that when cut reveals a nature purple color.
A chalice is a cup. It is also the interior shape of a flower.
Charm the waves,
Entail algorithms of templates,
Subclass the seasonal stripes,
Smash this tasteless flame stitch.
A chevron turning into an imperial damask.
Intarsia the charming argyle in this rotunda.
Rub the blotch off the bull's eye,
Collage the camouflage in this calico assemblage.
Chintz in the heart, chequer in the mind,
Charming Patterns.
with words we will say
for someone who went away
respects had pay.
Regarding rotunda funeral service.
I'm Canadian eh! from the frozen tundra
Stored food for the winter, so I'm a little rotunda
Not worried a bit
Soon be back in fit
How I make it though winter, it's a wondra
I don’t miss the city,
the metropolis I once knew was built
on the edge of a never-never land.
I miss just this: a green half-acre,
a cultivated fenced enclosure
with a round bandstand; a Victorian structure
surrounded by a bed of carnations –
prodigious red carnation.
That small public garden
exists now as a child’s memory.
I am told that the wooden rotunda,
the pleasant plot, the carnations,
the velvety carnations,
have all been expunged by the expungers.
In that charmed place, a ten-year-old girl
once talked to my ten-year-old body
as if it were much older.
It was then that I saw,
coming over a distant horizon,
my post-adolescent puberty
driving a superannuated Morris Oxford.
The car and the girl
have probably been erased
by those whose job
will always be to erase lovely things,
but I should like to go back there
before my body forgets
to treasure the inconsequential.
Now with my thread-bare mind,
I return again
to that wrought-iron,
railed patch, of green city space;
to be among the deep red carnations,
the long since bloomed
carnations.
An Oxford Sonnet
We came again to city of spires and dreams
There: were England's aspirations built and carved
In honeyed stone of Jurassic coral seas
Where minds are sculpted, nurtured and preserved
From ancient college, fount of Nation's learning
Beyond oak doors, The High tells tale in stone
The buildings speak eloquence of spirits' yearning
In stately palace and in humble home
In the sun wide eyed emperors gaze in bewildered senescence
By Sheldonian and Clarendon, symbols of human elation
And in night darkened square the Camera's massive presence
Is viscerally discerned as of primal creation
Here we sought to kindle embers and to start
The fires of invention in youthful hearts
Notes
'The High' = The High Street, lined with historic architecture.
The 'emperors' = the series of sculpted heads on pillars that fence The Sheldonian Theatre.
The Clarendon Building = a fine and noble example of English Baroque.
The Radcliffe Camera = Iconic large Rotunda housing a library
Contest entered with NA : Cityscape
11 Jan 2020
THE WAYRA ROTUNDA
nascent electric,
mint rotunda reds and blues —
spiffy underground tunnel.
subway smoke infiltrates. . .
the fauvism of clickety clack
8/15/2019
SECOND EDITION OF WAYRA Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Nette Onclaud
checked by howmanysyllables.com
57768
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