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Farewell to Lester Graybill
I never met a man, who could shake my hand, and make my heart feel like a hearth afire.I never met a man, who could smile so easy, real honest.
Three Poems and Paradise Lost [One for Hell, One for Heaven one for an Inca King]
The Torrents of HellHell's furnace-Likened to a chimneyVomits her torrentsOf flames-Into the airThrough earths crustAnd the earth's trembles-!Agitated, she projectsA thick curtain of smokeTo heat the feet of thoseWho provoke her every wish.Like molten ironShe waits for the soul(the moment)Then molds, into her enclosureHuman serpents?Out of savage flesh!No storm, no struggleNo eruption, no typhoon,Just a terrible phenomenon,Hell is capable of producing;And upon death,Back into the AbyssThey melt!.
The Merchant of Copan [In English and Spanish]
English VersionThe Merchant of Copan[480 AD]Advance: The ballgame at the Honduras courtyard in Copan, the year was 480 AD, Copan's 3rd ruler, Mat Head, whom succeeded Quetzal Macaw, whom was the founder of the city is now the new ruler. Mat Head, was a female, the spouse of Quetzal Macaw, and here is where the story begins.
Africa - Wheres The Profit?
A poetic comment that just welled up inside my head - why cant we just do something - before many more are dead?How pious those politicians are,When up there on T.V.
Ode to: The Ice Maiden of Ampatos Summit [now in: English and Spanish]
Dedícate to Antonio Castillo. L.
Ambiguity and Abstraction in Bob Dylan's Lyrics
To many people contemporary poetry is a turn-off. The reason for this is that the majority of these poems are boring.
Song of the Great Zimbabwe, and Silver and Inca Blood [Poems and notes]
"Song of the Great Zimbabwe"Across the African, winter's skyIn the Southern edge of ZimbabweLooking down from the Hill ComplexFrom on top, of an Ancient RockO'er the mountains steep-:A, vista I've longed to see, residesA site, I've longed to meet-;Thus, dwells, within this African Valley,Among the greatest of man's feats?The great, Great Zimbabwe (Enclosure).A million-stones, built these ancient wallsSome twelve-fathoms, fathoms highThat seems to reach unto the sky;Some say: a fortress, and palace, it is;And perhaps-, the legendary 'Ophir!'#747 7/2/05Silver and Inca BloodIn the Great Silver mines of Potosi-(Inca Indians)Conscripted mine workersCarryQuotas of ore-up hundreds of feetOf rope laddered-stepsFor don Francisco de ToledoAndKing Philip II, of Spain-;A farcified vision to becomeRich-off Inca blood,In the year-1571?#744 7/1/05Notes: (The Inca Empire): the assumption is often that the Inca Empire was a large enterprise of its self; a common mistake at best; complicated for sure; but for the most part, the Inca Empire was comprised of ethnic groups who were subjugated into the Inca Empire, similar to the Roman, which was a city nation [Empire] you might say, who subjugated the whole world into its Roman Empire; likewise, so did the Incas of South America.
Commuting Hell!
It's dark, it's cold, its' just six thirty,thoughts of sleep still dull my brain,As I huddle down, inside my coat,a commuter clone, just waiting for a train.Insidious rain, just drizzling down,through weak light of creeping dawn,Paper sandwich bags and old coffee cups,blowing past, look so forlorn.
The Cat
Truth is stranger than fiction according to many people who have seen what happens around me and to them, on many occasions. Sometimes I have had others affect me in the same way.
Testimony to the Night [In English and Spanish]
In the quiet of the arctic night-In its deep northern skies,Dim are the lights, in its coldEvening frost?!Even the stars of the arcticSeem silently stone frozen!Here, here is where you findPeace and the beast within-!Remote, no ears or wordsTo clutter the mindTo entrench the throat;Here, here is where you die?(for a moment).Here, the sky has eternal eyesEyes with cosmic tidesTides that never rest: they warWith the Universe-Likened to a dark deep abyss;Endless and never resting?Here my eyes seek and searchIn countless hours, ebbing andSweeping the heavens aboveNumbing, changeless-Are the cosmos, the heavens?Here resides a strange peace?Here, resides a strange peaceWith an army of stars to defeatShinning, silently in the darkThe ebbing, eldritch dark;Time has no relevance here,Here, resides a strange, peace?Cold and oddly numb are my feet,As I look up, upon the many bridgesOne star bridging the next-as if,If Kings and Queens wereGuarding them-the Hosts-O-Yes! A strange, strange peace?Ah! Praise, praise be to thee, to theeFlaming, blazing firmaments-ye,Ye, remind me not, of the wars I left,Of the foes, divine immortals?The enemies that never restAh! Praise, praise be to thee, to theeI hear music, harmony from afar (there)There are storms hidden in a storehouse,For tomorrow-war beyond, beyondOrion's dust?perpetual dust;There, there the sun is dim to bleak.
Key Largo - Frater Albertus
Key Largo:The fans turn lazily in front of the doorThey open wide showing mangroves galoreAn egret in the everglades stalks its preyHaltingly it walks along its wayOn another bright and sunny dayA woman's floppy hat shades her beauty not so brittleThe silken scarf that holds the hat flutters just a littleShe pauses in the threshold of the doorSurveying what she's looking forShe is looking straight at meHer beauty flaunted all to see.'Where are you from?' while noticing I had a frownOn the other couch she elegantly sits downIn the small hotel lobby bar'A city north and very far.
Two Poems Written During Recovery
Since my wife and I are moving, or preparing to move, we've been going through our things as most people must, to prepare for the new location, and in doing so, I found two poems, ones I wrote in 1990, now 15-years old, never published, and so I'd like to publish them today. I was a heavy drinker up to 1984 (some twenty years drinking), when I quite, and so these poems must have something to do with it, a slight reflection perhaps.
House of the Goblin [Part Two of Three/with notes]
House of the Goblin[Part Two of Three]Here is where, where the air is stillAnd the mountains shadows disappear!Here is where, unnumbered spirits dwellWhere harp and memory expire?Where the rainbow-leaps, from itsStoreroom-keep, and cries; And the sands along the oceans coastEcho then die?as in sleep?;And where enchantment turns into ghouls!..
Tale of the Brick Maker, of San Jeronimo, Peru [In English and Spanish]
Tale of the Brick Maker, Of San Jerónimo, Peru[A Cup of Sorrow]-1In the Andean mountains, within theMantaro Valley region of Peru, Isolated, secluded, tranquil, is the littlevillage of San Jerónimo.Near the village, here lay the fertile valleywith bent-grass, and hugeMountains stretching northbound,And heading towards the ocean's coast.
Life is a Fantasy
LIFE IS A FANTASY!A pink-eyed rabbit, fuzzy whiteHops in bedrooms filled with frightA child of six with much to knowHer father's basest feelings showShe knows of LOVE, only through himHe satisfies his every whimHe leaves, she wipes himfrom her chin!Her mother NEEDS to see the bestHe answered her God requestTo have a roof to comfort bringA yard where all the birdies singTell me how she could really knowWhat source for learning could she go?Her mother regularly beaten if not worseThe cycle of violence - a woman's curseConflicting visions, dependenciesOne can endure many idiosyncrasiesShe could not make him defendant beDenial, avoidance? she disbelievesThe rabbit hides beneath tall trees.At thirteen a step-grandfatha'Finds a well-trained girl that oughta'Do what powerful men requestNever knowing what is bestAnd run away she does at lastFreedom can be such a 'blast'A rabbit's foot upon a chainThe FANTASY her 'safe' domainHow long in life must it remain?To protect her from these menWho always for her lips, do 'yen'A state trooper in Tennessee Like every other man does see Her lips so full and luscious red Through the bars, not in a bed.
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MORE RESOURCES:
Poetry contest deadlineWicked Local Middleton, MA - 22 hours agoBy Staff reports The deadline for the annual Naomi Cherkofsky Memorial Poetry contest, sponsored by the North Shore Poets’ Forum, is March 10, 2009. ... |
Peter Bennet on his latest poetryJournal Live, UK - 18 hours agoShortlisted for poetry’s most prestigious award, Peter Bennet’s latest collection invokes a world of mysteries, spirits and alchmey. ... |
"Poetry Out Loud," Student Poetry Contest SlatedAppalachian Independent, MD - 4 hours agoThe next round of the Allegany County "Poetry Out Loud" competition will take place Monday, January 12 at 6 pm in the Allegany Arts Council's Community Room ... |
Poetry on stikers, walls fills cityJakarta Post, Indonesia - 34 minutes ago10 at 4 pm at Menteng Park in Central Jakarta. The event is scheduled to present a poetry recital, with free stickers and T-shirts being distributed. |
Library to feature new poetry groupThe Tribune, TX - 10 hours agoAfter approaching Krippel with the possibility of having a poetry group, he researched and developed a blueprint for a group that will hold its first ... |
Poetry champ to be crownedBethany Beach Wave, DE - 18 hours agoBy Susan Canfora • January 6, 2009 Poetry, wrote philosopher and poet Kahlil Gibran, "is not an opinion expressed. It is a song that rises from a bleeding ... |
Discover How Poetry Can Heal YouBlackNews.com (press release), OH - 11 hours agoHis poem, Looking through a Window, has certified him as a Semi-finalist in the International Open Poetry contest of June 2008. ... |
Poetry - Google News
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RELATED ARTICLES
House of the Goblin [Part Two of Three/with notes]
House of the Goblin[Part Two of Three]Here is where, where the air is stillAnd the mountains shadows disappear!Here is where, unnumbered spirits dwellWhere harp and memory expire?Where the rainbow-leaps, from itsStoreroom-keep, and cries; And the sands along the oceans coastEcho then die?as in sleep?;And where enchantment turns into ghouls!..
Joined
JOINEDHeart beat of manpounding - yet unheardjoined becomes thebeat of a nation.Words of man written - yetunreadjoinedbecomes a proclamation.
Find the Magic
FIND the MAGICFind the MagicAs you release old bondage Come out of hidingAnd see the starsFind the MagicAs you expose the painLet the tears flowAnd find beauty in your bodyFind the MagicAs you scream from the beatingRun from the threatsAnd feel the warmth of a hugFind the MagicAs the little girl is silencedTold she is too smart for her own goodAnd she finds her place of honor as she speaks her mindFind the MagicAs the ghosts creep into dreamHaunt your daily lifeAnd you meet them at the crossroads and move onFind the MagicAs you drift out of your body, avoiding the angerObserve the separationAnd you join the body temple once again to rejoice in this unique wonderFind the MagicAs you listen to the conflicts andWatch in horrorAnd emerge from the water whole and beautiful in a rainbow of colorsFind the Magic, For you are whole once again© 2004 Susan BaconSusan Bacon is an researcher, teacher and author. Contact her through her web site http://www.
The Spirits de Copan
Part oneI see them in the skiesI hear them in their hellsThey whisper and they moanAnd never are alone-The Spirits and the Ghouls?The Spirits de Copan!They are shadows in my worldEchoes in my dreamsA mystery and a forceTo a cosmic happening!The Spirits and the Ghouls?The Spirits de Copan!..
RISK
Do not be afraid to shine.This world needs what you have to give.
Exalted Poetry; Two poem [and commentary]
Bells for Belphegor!..
Africa
AFRICA(to africans in diaspora)africa here i come, africaafrica of the black soul the soul of an ancient culture the culture of your timid tribes.its your voice i hear africa your voice of the talking drumsyour beaded drums and the royal trumpeterthe metal gong of your town crieri have come to see your music dance i have heard of your ageless minstrelshave i not heard of your swinging hips!i have heard enough and have come to watchwouldn't you dance for me africaafrica here i come africa would you not show me to your tribesthe timid tribes of your sweetened tongues the varied tongues of your virtuous menafrica, black soul africa tell me about your gods your gods of the sky and of the mother earthyour gods of the hills and of the rivers aboundshow me to your kings africayour kings of the ancient dynastythe ancient dynasty of rusted spear and shieldafrica, here i come africaHEAVENLY GUESTheavenly guest heralding thunderously in its own awakepelting on men as well, the godsgathering itself drop by drop.
The Time Has Come and Buzzing
Most of my poems are written late at night, often, as this one was, after I have turned out the lights to go to sleep. It seems that is the time when I am most creative.
A Case of The Fears
Chicken Soup is good for a coldSleep is good for the FluWhen I get a case of the FearsWhat is a person to do?It is not bacteriaAlthough it can eat away my soulIt is not a virusYet, it can keep me from feeling wholeI know what will do the trick,What will put me back on top,A great big bowl of Ice CreamWill really hit the spotThat was great and now I am doneOne bowl just won't doIf one is good, then more is greatAnd now I have eaten two.Bowls three, four, five and sixCame and then they wentI think my case of the fears are fixedLook at how my time was spentI am getting sleepyIt is time to go to bedMy fears are no longer in my stomachNow they are in my headI close my eyes and I can seeThe Fears I want to killI will do, whatever it takesTo keep the monsters still.
The Power of Eating Disorders
I want to get closeI am afraid.Afraid of what you might see.
A Hundred and Fifty Dead [Korean War--l952]
There I sat, ninety-five degree weatherOutside; the bookstore café, was cool.An Old Timer stood by me, explaining:"There were two-hundred of us on the Island,Near North Korea, back in '52-We guarded 16,000-prisners?"All of a sudden, all hell broke looseThree-hundred North Koreans cameOver the bob-wired fence, in pursuit"It all happened in a matter of secondsThe machineguns killed 150-of themThat's all I saw in the war of '52.
The King and Delka & Moiromma: the Cold Planet [Parts 25 and 26]
#25The King and Delka[Split Mawkishness-on Moiromma /Part V]Sickly SentimentalityI have sought out friendsOnly to find rawnessOf their passion;And the uniformity Of their vision.Who out there can knowMy cerebral verve?(Only the long dead)By King Moir I[Of Moiromma]Ah! the aimless cosmos come back to his mind as he stands on his balcony looking up into he eerie dark.
San Francisco [Almost a Sonnet]
(The city by the bay of Northern California, near which the Pacific Ocean resides; the year is 1967)Mid October seemed like some spring day,When through the poised waters, dry as lead, The ferry, like vague shadows that stand the dead,Slipped down the curved coast of Frisco bay,Rounded the Golden Gate,-and San Francisco lay,Before me, that gay city, pink and red,Hippies covered Haigh Asbury's homeless head,-My home, to be, I found stirring and grey.The waves busted on the wooden-sides; fishermenNearby with long necks, looked and cast again.
Why I enjoy Writing?
During interviews and general conversations with the public,one of the most difficult questions for me to answer(timely and thoroughly) is,"Why do you enjoy writing"?So due to the challenge manifested in such a question,I pondered on creating an answer. Many reasons came to mind,but after digesting much"time for thought",I managed to condense my response to three items.
Growing
Growing hurts sometimes;saying goodbye to friends,to things you've known and doneto things you wanted to do. Growing heals sometimesthe shattered dreams and hopesof a life you once knewleading you to a new knowledge of yourself.
Eight Poems
Out of the eight poems provided here [all previously unpublished], four are Poetic Prose, a few Visionary [what I call Vsionary anyhow], a few Free Verse, and a few with more form and structure, more closely to the Auden style of: stanza, metrical rhythm, and rhyme. In saying that, I do believe all the poems are conveying a rich network of meaning, some of them painfully close bond between pleasure and destruction.
Two Poems: Black Poncho, and Spirits of de Copan [in English and Spanish]
English Version12) Black Poncho(of Saint Cosme Hill, by Lima, Peru)Lost in the grottos of Peru-By the hills of HuancayoBlack Poncho was given A treasure of gold?;By none other than, Demonic goblins!?in the form of scorching fruit;Hence, Black Poncho fooled The goblins of oldBy using his poncho to pullThe sizzling golden fruitThrough the Andes to Lima, Peru!?Henceforward, he was swindledBy a jeweler of dire repute.Thus, his life changed (as so often they do);And now he lives with:Thirty-five dogs, on San Cosme Hill.
Preserving Dignity
No one should have to beg or crawl before humanity. No one should have to scheme to procure philanthropy.
Listen as I Share: WE
You speak simple, completley understandablejustificationsI respect them, respect you, honor what you tell meand even though I know where you're coming from,I just wanted to share with you, let you hear:my heart..
Looking Out the Rear Window
The funeral rite concludedWith the pastor shaking hands,Offering words of comfortI didn't quite understand.The undertakers came forthAnd summoned pallbearers' four.
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