The voice of reason
A Jacobin susurrus
Yielding the billhook
That ablates a diverting moment
Of my feeling alive
The seasoned gaffer
Doling conformity
An ebony period
In this satire called a life
Rarely lived in the ellipsis
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the canvas laughs at me knowing
I hold the image of you,
sipping water from the fountain, in my head,
ready to transfer it from my memory to my canvas.
the cobalt and pthalo greens along with the terre verte
of the background foliage
the mixing of warm and cool grays for the fountain
were all easy choices
but now I’m down to you.
the canvas laughs at me knowing
ivory black, burnt umber and raw sienna?
for glossy dark locks of your hair,
the sweep of your brow, the curve of your lashes – yes.
oh, but where do I begin
for the deep rich tones that comprise all of your complexion?
burnt sienna might imbue the shadow in the curve of your dimples
maybe some yellow ochre deep to highlight your cheeks, hmm
the canvas laughs at me knowing
some titanium white to capture the hint of teeth showing as you smiled
won’t capture its mischievous gleam
but a touch of naples yellow light is perfect
in that the arc of the water drop reflecting sunlight
against the alizarin crimson
that is but one scant shade of the lushness of your lips
lips still wet from the water drank
not even seconds ago
an errant liquid drop is about to fall.
and the still unadorned canvas laughs at me knowing
there will never be a man-made hue,
that can rightly capture
the soul of you
I pick up my pallet anyway
What Makes A Person Photo by Andrew Wilmot
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At dVerse Victoria challenges us Word Artists to Grab a Brush and Write! something related to art technique. The attached photo is from Andrew Wilmot a painter, award winning screen-writer, author and above all a person I am honored to consider a friend, is the inspiration for my write.
dVerse ~ Poets Pub | Word Artists, Grab a Brush and Write!–dVerse Meeting the Bar
Across the bar, I saw you standing there
Just out of the light’s glare partly shaded
Struck by your beauty, all I could do was stare
And you stare back with intent, but I was jaded
From the same flowers, different weeds
We were a pair of living contradictions
Your alabaster skin versus my well tanned
But you aim your look at me with conviction
You started to say something to me
But realize the music is too loud
So you mimed to me your destination
And wound your way through the crowd
I follow through the din of partying bodies
To the bathroom down the end of the hall
You didn’t hesitate for even a moment
As you reached around me to lock the stall
I was filled with words, yet could say nothing
High as a kite from the essence of you
You smiled like the cat caught with the bag
And proceeded to make dreams come true
In a desire that so overwhelmed me
I mulled but one thought, to get inside
Of your heart, of your soul, inside of you
Totally stripped of that thing called pride
I was afraid you would think I was crazy
But your kiss removes all other thought
Tipping a pretend hat, as I reciprocate
In your kiss I’m held, entrapped, caught
I was so beyond any reason or caring
Held in your grip of the perfect feel of tight
By the time you spring your truth upon me
I was more than ready for your bite
I roared with the shock of the transition
And an ecstasy that blew away the rest
One swift move, I impaled you to the door
And gave you a nice dose of what I do best
Someone banged the door just as you moaned
And moan with each recoil as my retort
Still riding hard, I bring the banger into my fold
Knowing I’d just passed some test of sorts
It’s been decades since that glorious night
And I only smile when I’m having fun
My true enjoyment? Adding to our guild
So if you ever catch me smiling – run!
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What can I say? It’s almost Halloween…
Loquacious as stone she
Looks soft to the lonely
Listens to deep confides
Lifted in to the night
Likens their tears to tides
Lingering in the heart
Lost where to end or start
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Today at dVerse our host for this week, Vandana, asks us to create a Pleiades poem.
A Pleiades, invented in 1999, consists of seven lines of six syllables; each line starting with the same letter as the title. The title is a single word.
And as further challenge, our poem should reference to a celestial body in honor of the form inspired from a heavenly object.
Chateau Nice by Claudia Schoenfeld
Another dollar, another score
As the sun sets on another City day
It was all that I once wanted but not more
No my heart is now many miles away
And though you smile like it’s all right
I can see it in your eyes
You may be looking at the skyscrapers
But your heart is searching for open skies
Remembering late summer evenings, when the day’s work is done
Our feet up on the porch rail, a cold one in one hand,
With your hand with the other, those were times like no other
When it was all so simple, and yet so grand
Do you remember? And can we get back there again?
I remember my auntie yelling for getting the floors gritty
Man, that red clay is tougher than this city’s hustle and flow
Yeah, the skyscrapers at night look so pretty
But when’s the last time I saw fireflies glow?
I miss how the riverbank sparkles on a bright sunny day
The sound of crickets in the midnight air
How the smell of dinner wafts every which way
And how there always seemed to be haystack straw in our hair
Oh we spent so many years wishing to get away
Now we’re wishing for anything just to get back
Remembering late summer evenings, after all the work is done
Our feet up on the porch rail, cold ones in our hand
How we drop everything when we heard that dinner bell ring
It was all so simple and yet so grand
Do you remember? Let’s get back there again.
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Today Mary challenges us to “Sketch it Out” in words with the lovely artwork of our own Claudia Schoenfeld as inspiration.
.
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I am minded of candles, of then
of love, simple, sound
of love deep beneath stars
Your fiery temple beside mine
The strength of Luna’s pull
Our chief alibi for the seed’s planting
A new growth begun in a crevice
We watch bloom into full flora
Peace falls upon us
Waking in dawn’s gilded light
Trades in golden finish
A nimbus, it falls around me and you
Speech fails and I fall hard
And yours fail as souls combine
You do not fear, prepared for the roar
My heart, once pieces, now whole
I am minded of candles, of then
of love, simple, sound
of love deep beneath stars
Your fiery temple beside mine
Seeing between light, dark
Afterglow in silver, gold
Cosmos mine timed in forever
Your heavens have no end
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Today at dVerse, Marina Sofia challenges us to try a homophonic translation of a Romanian poem by Lucian Blaga and see what we come up with.
Having no idea what the original poem translates to, my interpretation is a combination of phonetics and (VERY) loose translations of Latin/Romance language based words I gleaned. It’s a little disjointed, as some things really do get lost in translation. I hope you still find it readable.
“Searching for Adventure”
Joel Robinson Photography
http://joelrobison.com/index.php/
Upon the sea I want to be
Through oceans mild or gales hearty
Wave upon wave beckons to me
Aye, I want to be, upon the sea
But you’re a lass I’m sure they’ll cry
Who gives a damn! be my reply
Within my sight, new ports of call
The variety keeps me in thrall
I’d no stay more than a fortnight
New ports of call, within my sight
My Da knows that its pull is strong
I’d drown on earth without whale song
When back on land I’ll be churlish
I’ll do what I must, then off with a flourish
It’s more than my patience can stand
I’ll be churlish, when back on land
And oh the salty words that I’ll hurl
Should they dare treat me like some girl!
They call my soul, the emerald seas
My heart eases in the breeze
Ship in full kilter, at the control
The emerald seas, they call my soul
The lace and parasol life is not me
A seafarer true that’s what I will be
Oh you nae believe? Just watch the sea
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dVerse invites us to engage in a poetic flight of fancy via the whimsical and imaginative photography of Joel Robinson.
.
.
In summer’s time I think of you
In summer’s time I think of you
I know your touch is soon to come
I know your touch is soon to come
I think summer’s come to know of you
Your touch in time is soon
Foreign and yet familiar, I feel the thoughts break in
Foreign and yet familiar, I feel the thoughts break in
Still I do not wish to give them form
Still I do not wish to give them form
And the familiar thoughts I feel break the wish
I, in foreign form, still do not give to them yet
Drifting, they skip and tumble my soul
Drifting, they skip and tumble my soul
A piercing fall of chills in the midst of Sol’s sultry hold
A piercing fall of chills in the midst of Sol’s sultry hold
Drifting of sultry Sol’s hold, they skip, tumble,
And chills a piercing fall in the midst of my soul
I do know I feel Sol’s familiar touch
Yet foreign thoughts come drifting
And break my wish to not think of you
They skip the fall time and give to them form
Still in the midst of summer’s sultry hold
A tumble of piercing chills is soon in my soul
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Because when it comes to forms I am a masochist and Brian over at dVerse finds one of the most convoluted ones out there for us to take a whack at.
Welcome to the Paradelle
Invented by Billy Collins as a parody to the strict structure of most form poetry, the paradelle is a 4-stanza poem, where each stanza consists of 6 lines.
For the first 3 stanzas, the 1st and 2nd lines should be the same; the 3rd and 4th lines should also be the same; and the 5th and 6th lines should be composed of all the words from the 1st and 3rd lines and only the words from the 1st and 3rd lines.
The final stanza should be composed of all the words in the 5th and 6th lines of the first three stanzas and only the words from the 5th and 6th lines of the first three stanzas.
Thanks Billy, and Brian, this was fun! <– SARCASM
dVerse ~ Poets Pub : MeetingTheBar ~ FormForAll: Paradelles (i have obviously lost my mind)
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First look up and down she seems cool
Someone urban, yet proud with a touch of sass
She chooses a sofa over a stool
For the main support of her ample mass
Some truths settle in so cruel
You just know she is no vapid, hoity-toity lass
Her maquillage is a multihued blend
Colors not in vogue for a human face to adorn
Velvet yards seemingly without end
Feather a figure where it really shouldn’t be worn
A seam or two will soon need a mend
But what will mend her expression so forlorn?
There’s a distant pain in her eyes
That feels like no amount of warmth can overcome
Merged with an air of deep despise
Red talons sift between rest and a hard tapping drum
On the table top as smooth her most painful lies
Yeah, you recognize that kind of hurt and then some
Was this hurt from just yesterday
Or precious moments trampled in her distant past
Was she plotting on viable ways to pay
Or wondering if ever again she’ll laugh last
Then somewhere a piano starts to play
A chord that hurdles through her sorrows vast
You watch her venture to the stage
As she take the mike her rouged lips starts to quiver
The notes cradle her gritty voice of rage
In a vernacular that causes the soul’s core to shiver
It takes berth as both fresh and sage
Through heartbreaks where she was never the giver
Her look now seems less like a sin
In the glaring spotlight it’s subtle not cheap or crass
Still sipping inspiration through her gin
Reminding you of all the pain you’re trying to pass
Still you think, as you feel it all within
She’s the saddest girl to ever hold a martini glass
She takes you ‘to the river’ in tears owned
Her voice filling the virtual vacuum of her surrounds
As she layers Janis on Billy in tone
Her notes vary rising high only to vale to the ground
You wonder is it the song or a true moan
Notes you’ll hear days later when there’s no one around
She sings a provocative mix
Watching the audience eat out the palm of her hand
For you know it’s how she gets her kicks
By taking you on this tearful journey she’s planned
But for now you sit totally transfixed
Leaving only when the pain is more than you can stand
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I was at a jazz club in Harlem with a heartbroken friend. Usually there is upbeat jazz, fusion bands, the perfect thing to help start the healing, but that night. That night the Fates decided clearly more wallowing was needed. It was not the night for the melancholy to be there. The above is a poetic rendition of how one singer broke nearly everyone there down. I had started this poem that night while we were still there. The above is the end result.
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I watch her walk away
Admire her hips’ swing
The heat of her strong gait
The clink of her bracelets
Her back solid and straight
I watch her walk away
Her dress I guess is silk
It melts like second skin
Then vales in gentle folds
Accents all held within
I watch her walk away
Her looks water my knees
There’s one chance left to take
“Miss Wait!” I want to yell
Instead hear my heart break
I watch her walk away
And do not say a word
Inside I start to cry
Too shy to say hello
I’ve sealed the deal goodbye
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My take on the dVerse prompt on when words fail…
Raivenne-lations 