.
'twuz just az y'all
imagined
i hang mineself for such
thuh think
in fact
more than
a thousand timez
yet again
mine kneck
snaps
"hern stood tall ('mong
thuh wild grass
and flowerz)
in thuh blue
scrim
frock
in the sun's
path
and i furtively
not far the cast
hern shadow
waiting with straw
twixt her teeth
waiting for her
knight"
She smilez
Az 'neath mine
plants
speak
Thrice
Hot spring
Early summer
Chilly low season
How could i (not bella)
Forget such bloom (twice in june)
Front i
Certainly
The neighborz
Through the scrim
Front mine eyne (count mine torso'z pounding)
moundz
'top uv
moundz
The glow 'bout mine face (bella'z)
Them roses
those thornz
Ballet of the Stars
Breath of the galaxy spins the night sky
Over the magic of midsummer dreams
Legends, lovers, pirouette through the night
Sculptures of fire carved with airy light beams
Dances l’etoile sparkle winter rondeaus
Gossamer nebulas leave stardust veils
Ensembles of stars in stellar tableaus
Costumed in lightness made of starry faille
Astral ballets dance on ebony stage
Patterns of stars in place in this dark space
Stage left then stage right arrangements change place
Celestial performance – rotating grace
Star-spangled glitter on star twinkle toes
Scrim curtain rises on nighttime’s light show.
5-18-23
Contest: Sonnet Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Sotto Poet
Syllables checked with www.howmanysyllables
Celestial – 3 syllables
Performance – 3 syllables
Rapture
Alleluia approaches
Emerging from Eternity’s gauzy scrim
Rehearsing its lines
Through trampled palm branches
Iron nails
Thorns
And cross beams
Raised between pure Heaven
And haunted earth
To shatter rocks of primeval time
Into stony dust
That bows before
The Prince of Heaven
Wrapped in life’s breath again
Victory’s rapture
Exuberant and ecstatic entwined
Passion’s passionate transformation
Anointed joy walks once more
Among the lepers and the lame
On nail-scarred feet
In the forever season
Shouting
ALLELUIA!!!
4-4-23
Contest: Writing Challenge “R” Words
Sponsor: Constance LaFrance
3rd Place
4-4-23
Contest: Free Submission
Sponsor: Sotto Poet
the homeless people
alive in cracks we avoid.
each displays no grace nor glory.
We turn our backs, are so annoyed.
Worn overcoats over scrim pajamas,
angled hair and leather-ed skin,
bags and bottles are their bangles,
we’ve become loveless manikins.
some have singing voices.
souls beautiful yet never heard.
some lay choice-less
all have only what we deserve.
there are angels among them
Sent to check on you and me.
watching, waiting for any kindness
To save us from what we deserve.
What do we know about the homeless people?
Sleeping in the cracks that we avoid?
Those who seem to have no grace or glory.
We turn our backs we’re so annoyed.
John K. O’Zemko
Revised 01-13-2023
02-19-2009
The stars are lighting up dusk’s aftermath
With a million Christmases’ twinkling light
Tiny dots to be connected in a serigraph
Covering the earth with a dome of white
To show us the Milky Way’s chalky path.
A full moon rises bursting with reflection
To illuminate the scene on a muslin scrim
Together nuanced in a perfect confection
Horizon to horizon, spilling over the rim
Meriting telescopic exploratory inspection.
Mysteries hide in these kaleidoscopic universes
Only dimly glimpsed by earth’s passersby
Golden coins in a cosmos of satin purses
Collectibles in the Creator’s successful try
Light of the heavens far beyond disburses.
FIRST PLACE WINNER
Written November 16, 2022
Submitted to "Beauty of Night" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Sotto Poet
Beyond the Black Fence
By Sy Roth
The land lay fallow
Beyond the black fence.
Growth once dressed in a white blanket of hoar in winter landscapes
Lush in summer months
Deer speckled backdrop
Munched all day behind a scrim of lush camouflage
And black birds rested on the scrub
Coupled with the land and each other
A fornucopia of perpetuation.
But like time
It marched in to war on its own turf--
The cranes, yellow tractor-footed creatures
Tore at the soil and formed mountains of dirt
That wild (plants?) draped over
And the long-necked (?) concrete spreaders
Filled the gaping foundations with its gray slush
And the deer fled
And the black birds had resting places on the open rooftops
And the last trees crumbled to the diesel monsters
Where future houses will stack itself with the firewood
Of septuagenarians and those who aspire to end that race.
Incessant noise of change
A cock-a-doodle-doo alarm
On the other side of the black fence
My side where I find comfort in a book
And a drink to whet my appetite
And conjure up the images of the verdant green that once was
And the hoary land that once was my winter vista
The scent of a boiled, fruit steamed pudding being made
evoked memories of my grandmother;
when I was a child.
home-making hers , in a scrim-cloth
on the open-range...
brought home to me
how much I loved her then
and miss her now.
49 years , touched me like yesterday
and I cried for her loss
all over again.
Elizabeth alexander 24/12/2015
UNSUPPORTED CODE
i am surrounded by a blaze of flaming colors in God's garden.
autumn happily creating with her palette in hand the September scape.
a thousand shades of reds, yellows, browns, earth tones spread,
blended perfectly by the artist's loving hand, a sensual delight.
a masterpiece, sketched against a bark colored scrim of nature's flesh.
with my eyes opened wide and my body clothed in autumns light
quenched but still wanting, unwillingly i stagger away, drunk from exposure.
Maurice Yvonne
September 2 2014
hanging on the tree like red ripe apples snow scrim postcards view winter
COTTAGE IN THE WOODS
It’s hazy
A scrim tints all shades the same – like the
Washed-yellow flowers fronting a shallow pond –
Making ghostly the cozy, little cottage beyond,
Which rises from the rushes and wild cover,
Nearly hidden by jack pine
And so dense – one, the foremost, in sad decline.
I pause, delay, to pick some wayward blooms,
Grown curious what lay within the cottage rooms
Oh, it’s a summer thing this soulful bliss,
Thatched roof and potted-window muse,
Snow White and dwarfs, a true love’s kiss
A sudden, fishy plash, though, disturbs my reverie -
The weedy pond, all ripples reflection -
The whole become some cubist fantasy
It’s the phantom window cleaner
He’s a man who’s built for speed
You should see him cleaning windows
He’s extremely fast indeed
If you watch him climb his ladder
With his squeegee and his scrim
Then you will not be surprised
That there’s not too much of him
He won’t slow down his pace
It’s such a disconcerting habit
Like a ferret up a pipe, or
A whippet, chasing rabbit
But wait till Friday night
When he is serving at the bar
It’s a total transformation
He’s the slowest one by far
OLDEN TIME CHASE
Hear them shout!
Voices carried on olden winds
Young faces peering round trees
Round the corner of old houses
Seen through a scrim clouding memory
Oh there are Redskins!
There are bandits!
Guns whittled out of orange crates
Horses fashioned up from movie image
Hear them whinny
Alive through the mouths of children
Kids focused ‘neath a giant cottonwood
Near the alley on a vacant lot
Not a lot really
But a dusty stage for many exciting plots
Hear them shout!
How the horses stir the dust
How the Indians whoop!
I hear the summer chase
On sunny days
When there’s not a thing to do
With the glut of sounds fixed within the book of expressions
I cause the dearth in mine carve ‘pon slip for the eager to ponder
A poet compelled yet tactful with scribe as a view thru scrim
ALIENS?
From another planet?
OR
Another dimension?
That thin scrim-of-mind
strains to penetrate!
The Master has counseled -
“Many Mansions”
Perhaps…………..
all depends
on developing-imagination
Of……………….
Coming out of body
filtering through that thin scrim
resting just back of the eyes
Yes!
Just back of the eyes but
galaxies deep!
“Go into your closet”
counseled the Master
Yes!
that “closet” beyond the stars
beyond physical need
beyond fear
beyond beyond
That we see aliens might be proof
proof that the window to beyond may be opened
Are a few allowed to see to visit?
What world undetected whirls around me
as I write?
.........................................................
For Carolyn Devonshire, my mystic friend.
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