CONTRASTS (a tanka phrasis)
flight flutter
on stuccoed wings
a butterfly blaze-
on graffiti walls
freedom calls
I am grateful for Cyndi's permission to select from her mosai pairing. in her butterfly picture thereon in her 'tag it' blog
Categories:
stuccoed, inspiration, poetry,
Form: Tanka
Off the stuccoed walls, the shells peel
The wounded babes bleed
There is a story of harrowing kind
To every war
This one is no different to others
The babes die in Syria
The world maintain the stony silence
Mothers' hearts shattered to pieces
Meanwhile
by both the forces of Assad and Isis.
The lucky few hit the countries of peace
braving the oceans
And the deadly shells
Seeking shelter from us.
Yet a hysteria breaks
In heartless media
Demanding the samples of DNAs
They are not one of us
We must kick them back to the jungle
And have them deported to their lands
Bombed.
We won't offer no succor
Let them be tortured
Let their bones get fractured
Let their mothers’ hearts shattered
They are not one of us.
These kids need a right old kicking
The heartless Trump shouts
We listen
And hold our heads in shame
Powerless:
On the face of demonization of the victims
Of the war
Where is our tolerance?
Where is our compassion gone?
Categories:
stuccoed, anger, children, people, planet,
Form: Rhyme
Off the stuccoed walls, the shells peel
The wounded babes bleed
There is a story of harrowing kind
To every war
This one is no different to others
The babes die in Aleppo
The world maintain the stony silence
Mothers' hearts shattered to pieces
Meanwhile
by both the forces of Assad and Isis.
The lucky few hit the jungle
In Calais
braving the oceans
And the deadly shells
Seeking shelter from us.
Yet a hysteria breaks
In heartless media
Demanding the samples of DNAs
They are not one of us
We must kick them back to the jungle
And have them deported to their lands
Bombed.
We won't offer no succor
Let them be tortured
Let their bones get fractured
Let their mothers’ hearts shattered
They are not one of us.
These kids need a right old kicking
The heartless whores of tabloid shout.
We listen
And hold our heads in shame
Powerless:
On the face of demonization of the victims
Of the war
Where is our tolerance?
Where is our compassion gone?
Categories:
stuccoed, baby, child, courage, humanity,
Form: Free verse
I'm sure this hill is where it stood.
Amazing shapes of stuccoed wood.
A glass-brick, neon stream-lined place.
As if it flew from outer space,
A swing band auditorium,
An Art Deco emporium,
When romance, innocent in pace,
From dancing to a teasing chase.
The town grew west in modern haste
And down it came, without a trace.
The war and culture's change in taste,
Predestined doom, the past erased.
The future sighs, with solemn face
The wrecking ball, the glittered waste
No plaque to read "Historic Sight".
The swirling dust, a dance goodnight.
Gene Bourne
08-01-14
.
Categories:
stuccoed, allegory, allusion, analogy, color,
Form: Rhyme
Her single bouquet
of white roses
slowly expire,
in a cheap crystal vase,
atop a dust-laden
bookshelf.
Petals crying
a lover’s lament
are overheard by
out-patients of Eros
and other
nameless receivers.
She scrapes
her flushed face
against the claws
of a stuccoed wall.
Hidden cutlery
shares space
with buried photographs.
Scores of broken nails
and bleached hair follicles
float so neatly
in rusty brass tureens
filled with tears
of disgust.
Cursing pervades
heavy black corners,
piercing ozone canvas –
breaking codes
of respected silence
and calm.
Desirable wishes
remain empty
and pitifully abandoned;
a Levolor drawn
across the sun’s eyes.
She yelps
a mournful vendetta
against an elusive fate
and a cheated Genesis.
A regurgitated revenge -
a counter play towards
many things…
Inclement weather
and rain-slicked lanes
speeding Hummers
and Hennessey -
chauffeurs and Chivas -
as a limousine bids farewell
to a church filled with ecstatic
onlookers.
Categories:
stuccoed, loss
Form: Free verse