Redding Poem 2
"Sacramento River WordScape"
These descendent waters swim like mad lagoon fish,
Heading decidedly south with a fiery mindless turn,
Their cool liquid urgencies reaching to all sides enticing
The bosomy turning earth and its pectoral indecencies,
With an impotent power unknown to anyone alive now,
As watery signatures knife their way into the crestfallen sand bars,
Adrift in an ambiguous undertow of death-marked reticences;
Swimming and floating lazily as a red lily floats downstream,
Enveloped cooly in blue clarity, absorbed by diamond sureness,
These arching trees lapping inward the reeking salmon atoms,
As rippling currents of heaving hands and wild bone sneezes,
Salvage the unsalvageable, and a solitary blue bird
Jiggling a crimson ring, as it bobs upon its ascended perch.
Crescent Time Breathing
There is no reach by which we as breathing creatures of crescent time,
Can ascertain the crouching intentions behind an elm tree with acorn outbursts,
Designed to scan the visions of the seething statues which stand upright in dark halls,
There is no grasping the dog tail complacencies by which we as mandrakes can navigate,
The crest-line urgencies behind drawn curtains which beggars a pittance of mild regret,
Absorbed obsessively with intense window flashings at noon with skin and lace,
3 o’clock connivances wearing nothing but a wistful grin seeking summits of perfumed ice,
There is no reach by which any living contrivance can mock the wags of crescent time,
We are ridiculous in our incessant acorn outbursts designed to scan the farthest atom.
Need
© Ben Burton 1-3-2015
A clash occurs where pride meets need
And dreams lose to reality
When givers then must takers be
Without the will to risk rejection
In solitude to watch the fall
The graceful walk becomes a crawl
Inside the heart a quiet squall
Which spreads the pain in each direction
The blessings of a thousand friends
With token words which will not mend
The isolation in the end
For need created mass defection
But dwell awhile on happy days
No urgencies to contemplate
Until that buckling from the weight
Demands escape with one injection
The Perfect Painting
They said he could not put his heart
on canvas, capture time in a timeless
moment, allow his passion to explode,
and yet contain it in the flicking of a brush.
What is it that she sees, and how does she
perceive such texture and detail, a tear
stained cheek, a wry smile, an eerie shadow.
The perfect painting is not a reflection it
is an intuition, an invitation to passersby
to slow, to look again, to linger. It is that
lover’s look - making eye contact – and
holding it for an infinite second. It is the
touch of a gentle hand distracting us from
the urgencies of the moment, allowing us
to feel the mist of raging breakers, smell
the heat off lilacs bloom, soar in the icy
winded canyons. How did he see it, feel
it, capture it in wild dashes and blobs of
paint, in passionate strokes of fire,
burn his image onto the canvas?
We stand in awe at the savagery
and softness of such beauty,
press closer to inspect the clarity
of line, the detail of an infants face.
Seeking perfection in a painting -
perfect - in its imperfection.
5/15/2014
for The Perfect Painting contest
My atomic lover, chemically induces me.
Transforms me into substances and breaks,
Down, my anatomy.
He starts with my mind, as complex as it may be
Changes my compound structure, my neurons
To transmitters, stop functioning naturally
I no longer can process, the capability to reason freely.
He interrupts my thought pattern, and emotionally challenges me.
After the mind is stimulated, he advances to my heart
A vital organ, made up of 4 chambers, this is the crucial part
My heart cannot transfer, what the mind is telling me
It races out of control, in all urgencies.
All my senses then awaken, with one single touch
My vital signs, are compromised, as a passionate persuasion erupts
My heart skips a beat, at the thought of his loving ways
So pacient kind, and understanding, never ceases to amaze
An ignition starts, that revives the heart. I can never give enough praise
My atomic lover, I will love you till my, departing days.
At the traffic dodged broken barrier
My clown eclipses pinholes gander
Reeked in the phallic sundust
Pouring out in putrid urgencies
Human beams of ghastly thought
Clinging to lucrative belly rings
Bastion of glowing hope tied to rope
Losing abundance in American swamps
As we creek our bells across the world
Drowning coca cola babies all the same
Puns, cliques, and gospel truants
I am fearless to step on statues
To heckle hairdos and smeckle bear feuds