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Ben Throne Poem
an elephant sitting on my brain--and telling me to like it
Copyright © Ben Throne | Year Posted 2023
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Ben Throne Poem
Everyone loves the Turtle Dove.
Our hearts thrum for the Hummingbird!
But have you heard of the Humphingbird?
With each failure and success
He exhibits neither joy nor stress.
Whether he finds loss or triumph
He greets both with a bored “Harrumph”.
Beyond that I have naught a word
To say about the Humphingbird.
Copyright © Ben Throne | Year Posted 2023
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Ben Throne Poem
Particles of the air you breathed,
all that now remains.
Caught in sunlight, filtered down,
and rendered into dust;
faded red lipstick stains,
the record of your lust.
Copyright © Ben Throne | Year Posted 2023
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Ben Throne Poem
The quacksalver’s quicksilver cure--
slathering a salt salve or quaffing mercury--
might sound like quatsch, a bad wine
of qually quality, but remember a time
when faith aligned with alchemy,
before the querical became the enemy
of the clerical, the quisquous nature
of faith mirrored that viscous commodity;
when quiddities were not quisby oddities
and to quop and quob before mysteries
did not portend holy querimony
but recognition of the quintessence divine.
Copyright © Ben Throne | Year Posted 2023
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Ben Throne Poem
“Your cone's so thick, can I have a lick?”
(Bill, surprised, dropped his wad on the brick!)
Not any vanilla,
nary a scintilla,
did poor Susie’s sweet tongue get to flick.
Copyright © Ben Throne | Year Posted 2023
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Ben Throne Poem
Representative Lauren Boebert
said to her date that her boob hurt;
the poor chap only gave her a hand,
and for that they both got banned.
Copyright © Ben Throne | Year Posted 2023
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Ben Throne Poem
“All a man really wants, is a girl who looks good in a bikini.”—Jack Freestone
All a “man” really wants is a “girl”
who looks good in a bikini?
All a woman wants is someone
who really doesn’t care, or is it
just to feel warm sea-side air
caress her chest instead of nylon
and play once again, summer child,
outside a body of which she’s too aware,
alive in movements unbound by eyes
and unweighted by prudish gravity,
to wade into the froth of waves breaking wild
around her, an improvised dance that swirls
in cadence to life’s rhythms, wise
to no man’s guile, unresponsive to his gambit.
Copyright © Ben Throne | Year Posted 2023
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Ben Throne Poem
Strange, after living so long apart
the things that resurrect the memory of your touch;
a vanilla-scented candle, the taste of Turkish coffee;
or the way flower petals graze my skin so softly;
the feel of waves beneath my feet,
the light of a parking garage…
the aching’s almost too much.
Sometimes I think I see you and set my eyes to follow after;
but it’s just ardor’s chimera, just a cruel mirage,
summoned by someone else’s laughter,
sounding from someone else’s street.
When I close my eyes the hundreds
of miles melt in my mind
to a single point in time.
We can’t see the water lap around us
but we hear its suggestions,
and sighing fold in on each other
like a glowing paper crane
nesting in the waters of the sky.
Once again I think I see your face--
the moon wreathed in penumbra--
And numbly grab a pen,
recording your ghost’s fading trace
in journals of sinew and cartilage.
Copyright © Ben Throne | Year Posted 2023
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Ben Throne Poem
There once was a fish kept in a bowl.
In his little sphere he had control.
But then that damn cat
Knocked it over—splat!
And proceeded to gobble him whole.
Copyright © Ben Throne | Year Posted 2023
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Ben Throne Poem
Abundant wisdom appears to be lacking
Behind the halls of our venerable House.
Could it be our seers are slacking,
Drowned in the spittle of an untenable grouse,
Even now as our country falters?
Fickle spats and t.v. preening
Gives away reason’s Coventry, alters
Honorable tradition and the very meaning
Invoked by so-called “civil discourse”.
“Just us” is their constituency. But we all
Know this strident discord’s source.
Lions of Justice, indeed! See this pride, its fall
Moving near, scramble to avoid the cliff
Now looming. Must we repeat this farce again?!
Oh, if only Congress were devoid of stiff
Posturing, and was replete with compromise and bargain!
Quislings risk our Republic to sate a demagogue,
Recklessly, owing true loyalty only to their
State of dysfunction, their demigod, and a catalogue
Tallying the grievances of populist royalty. The heir
Unrepentant! Looking into the mirror’s reflection,
Vapid faces greet them, their lord’s superficial facsimile,
What do you call reps who see threats in every direction?
Xenophobes dependent on fresh fear. Look around and see
Young and old manipulated to act out of anxiety and sadness.
Zealotry is our cross to bear, our unending madness.
Copyright © Ben Throne | Year Posted 2023
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