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alfredo_buscatti

alfredo_buscatti

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Reading through the long thread in this section called "Writers," I was struck by how many members write poetry. Although I'm aware that of all written forms, poetry has the biggest reputation for being attempted by what the poetic cognoscenti regard as dilettantes, or worse, and that the male ethic has yet to award full male membership to poets, it is my hope that we can transcend such prejudice.

If you wish to post, your BoB id will identify you; include whatever copyright you have and the date of the composition, or whatever you please, although items other than the poem are arbitrary. Please post multiple poems separately. If you wish feedback say so.
 
Forks
© Mike Smith
06/2011

Some for truth
while most cut timber for a hide;
woody fork echos future’s cry.

Wisdom walks through stumps of rectitude,
while seekers’ halting gait finds stride;
a jackal’s hope hunts the hide.

Smothered feelings stalk the juncture’s trees,
ensorcell roots of might could be:
wanton wood, starves the human need.

The crust of cold ejects the dying leaves,
cradle for a winter’s hidden sleep;
while seekers dig their stumps of grief.

Feedback, please.
 
The Ties that Bind
© Mike Smith
09/2011

The ties that bind in molten cords,
that lie awake in sweaty sheets,
put focus of the family’s beaks
upon the sorry brows of lines
that fill the face of need.

The bonds that break will splinter love,
dig into flesh and bleed
a song of sad flowers
regretting dusk and fractured hearts,
whose petals close in evening showers.

We seek the ties
whose paean lives affection’s root,
and watch the springs of aqua blue
whose ripples tread
by the push of love that waters the heart.

Feedback please.
 
07/2011
© Mike Smith
Eddies of Thought

Sifted words
remain in eddies of thought
and purple sky that sets the day.

Some words spill the bowl;
life and breath, love and death;
click of heels echos down the doorless hall.

Some appropriate the day,
prune and peel it;
then juice for immortality.

Always days
require summit’s joy;
but the crevasse licks at boots.

Feedback please.
 
I don't write poetry any more, I just never got the hang of it. Sometimes I enjoy reading it.

Your stuff is keen, Alfredo. The last one is especially clear and concise, and I dig it--obvious strains and struggles. The rest kind of lost me; I'm not into super flowery-worded poems. I'm probably not that smart, either--that's come to my attention more than once. :lol:

Oddly enough, Facebook has been training me. They give you a box with limited characters, and to say a lot within that limit is challenging. No one reads them, of course. So I usually collect them like short quips of thought and prose.

 
I wrote this poem some time back...

Onoxious in its wait for sustenance,
Which isn’t waiting at all.
Gaping mouth breaking surface tension,
Beady eyes staring up,
The sounds of pointless sucking.
Chewing haphazardly at displaced flora,
Laying sideways to chew on rocks.
A swimming golfball,
Wearing a miniature wedding dress.
An apple cap of brilliant red.
Delighted at any persons presence
When entering the room.
The promise of more food--

Have some dignity, goldfish.
 
..I can't believe I'm digging this dreck up... *laughs* ...ah, the days of yore...

Wings of scorn, wrongfully so
Captured and taken, thought food
Bounce haste toward the end
Fly waste toward in mend
Afraid denizens, ahold of few

Feet so solid, blatantly go
Purpose canon quite mislead
Skip and run gamuts of fire
Trip and stunned amongst desire
Dusted ghosts, in grass wind

Hands broken, disturbed flow
Dirge contrast sung in color
Waned growth, stuck afar
Feigned host, morning star
Mind shattereds, begging more
 
Is there a nobler weed on earth
Than fair Embarcadero ?
Fairy stuff from Rivendell
Perhaps, that, like "Bolero"
Mesmerises with a spell
Both subtle and entrancing
Wiping worldly woes away
And setting spirits dancing.

Noble Red Virginia with
His arm around his love,
Coy Izmir who snuggles near and
Fits him like a glove.
Happy they who two, are one
It passes comprehension.
Happier this -- a pipeweed bliss
Where art transcends invention !

Only fair Sheherezade
Suffices for example
Charming sultans with a smile
That shows the merest sample
Of delights that wait in store,
Diaph'nously arrayed,
'til love-locked, irresistably,
Are the master and the maid.

Let this hurley-burley world
Go chasing its illusions
Never satisfied until
It's multiplied confusions.
Leave me here in reverie
With my Embarcadero
Thoroughly contented -- yea,
Enraptured to the marrow.

:face:
 
Nice tetrameter, Yak! Strict, but not to the point of sacrificing the words on the altar of formalism.

Here's the best I can do for an ode to a blend:

An intrepid young Captain named Black
Sought to market his fav'rite tobac--
But it burned hot and sweet as
Napalm diabetes
And caused many a briar to crack.
 
I'll have to dig around for one or two of my own, but I wanted to post this link for anyone who loves poetry.

http://www.americanlifeinpoetry.org/email.html

It's hosted by former US Poet Laureate Ted Kooser, an outstanding gentleman from my own home state. If you sign up then every Monday a short poem will show up in your email. The poems are from assorted poets and Ted introduces it with a couple of thoughts on why he chose it for the poem of the week.

For me it's a great way to start the week and it's nice to sign up for something that doesn't try to sell you anything and doesn't bombard you with useless messages. Just one inspiring and enjoyable email a week.
 
The Amateur Artist
by Dr T, @1999​
Bad art is hard to share,
People soon learn to beware
The bad artist, canvas in hand,
Sneaking up behind them
To show them distorted land
And figures, all in light so dim
They should be hidden in a dark lair.
Yes, bad art is hard to share!
 
'Haiku' inspired by New Orleans
by Dr T @1999​
Take the sudafed
And just look at the colors!
Green New Orleans spring.

Ah, humidity!
New Orleans drips with its sounds
And quietly rusts.

Metairie Christmas:
When security lighting
Turns 'bright red and green'.


 
Marty Pulvers":fdlc676o said:
Ode to Thanksgiving

Turkey Time is here again,
The year has gone so fast.
So, we'll be closed on Thursday,
To have a grand repast.

We'll also close on Friday,
Business will be dead.
What a simply fine excuse
To laze around in bed.

We hope your weekend's
Just as good.
It's you we want to thank,
Our customers so loyal and true
(with....occasionally....a crank).

Your time off should be splendid,
Your tummy all content.
Please come and visit Monday
(We gotta pay the rent).
Click to expand...
http://pulversbriar.com

:face:
 
I almost faltered dear, I almost gave him hope, I almost betrayed myself, I almost broke your heart
It’s hurting you I fear, I’m sure I couldn’t cope, a clean conscience is true wealth and I have done my part
I like the fact I cried, It made me sure I care, I feel so hollow still, no love to call my own
I never could have lied, I would have felt despair, for such a wanton thrill, I’d rather be alone
I can look in to your eyes, please look back at mine, don’t make me feel the weight, though gladly is it born
Don’t seem too surprised, if they lack their usual shine, misery doth create, self pity and philanthropic scorn
I can write this still, guilt is beaten back, my honour still in tact
To heavy is the bill, too gruesome is the rack, to break this solemn pact
 
Would that I had
but a smidgeon
of her liquor
to hold
and abide
by.

(c) Mr. Doody
 
A lot of mine are pretty long, and don't necessarily follow the typically poetry style, so be warned. Typically when I write I write to help get emotions or thoughts out in front of me. Usually I want those thoughts out when I'm going through a tough time, so these aren't exactly flowers and butterflies.

For the religiously minded:
A chasing of the wind is all these things are, works of our hands left to another. Our eyes see and hearts want, from God we fall farther. Ever since we partook of that golden fruit our roots began to uproot, come up out of the ground, future filled with clouds and stormy skies. Eyes tear up whenever we trip up, lips say God has abandoned me, heart begins to feel lonely but refocus your gaze, change your desires. You cannot ignite fires within the hearts of man. No plan of yours will ever get you far. Who created the stars, formed you inside the womb, made the ant building up, storing up treasures for the future? Remember we are more than an ant. God created us for more than storing up treasures for the future, for more than memories in statues. Naked I came into this world and naked I shall leave. Please Lord greet me into your kingdom with open arms, let my holy preparation get me far in your sight. Long has been the night, difficult has been the path in order to attain righteousness, but it is all still for naught for my best is but soiled rags in your eyes. I flee from sin but still find myself in its grip. From a poison cup I sip because I am still imperfection at its best. My heart fills with distress at the thought that you would turn yourself from me. Can it be you would truly die for a life lived so destructively? How great is your love to lay down your perfect life, become tainted and ruined. All this, just so you could be my friend. In the end where is my heart standing? I hold so tightly to these material things, chase the wind, live in sin, again and again and again and again. I remember however who gave me desire, who gave me wind to chase, who gave me life and so I must give it all up to Christ.

Through a hard time:
Hello there, Mr. Jesus.
I'm here on bruised knees with
one small, humble request.

Won't you heal this broken heart?
I'm in need of a fresh start and
I need to get some things off of my chest.

You're like a geenie in a bottle.
I'm wishing for tomorrow
and I'm just waiting for the day to end.

And when I finally go to bed with
that thunderstorm in my head,
the questions will all cloud my mind.

Did I miss the lesson,
commit too many transgressions?
Did I forgive those that tresspassed against me?

Blessed are the meek.
I guess a bit less is what I need.
I'd love to see what's commin 'round the bend.

I keep rubbing the side of this lamp yet
still alone here I stand and
I can't help but say out loud

"where are you now?" and
"I feel lost in the crowd."
"Hey, have you forgotten who I am?"

Fill up this empty soul, Lord.
Come and make me whole.
My cup needs to runneth over.

I'm tired of being spiritually sober.
Give me the command and I'll be your sower.
It's been so long since I've seen your face.

Please don't keep me here waiting
as I'm always contemplating
the direction that you want me to go.

I just want some assurance
that my life has some purpose.
I'm not here to waste anyone's time, so

Hello there, Mr. Jesus.
I'm here on bruised knees with
one small, humble reuqest.

Don't really know where this one came from:
Just a finite solution is all we need
For one more day
Our lives on repeat
We’ll relive the same moments over and over again
Learning something new each time we’re brought back to this place
A finite solution to cover up these problems
They’re so miniscule in the grand scheme of things
The grand scheme of life
A finite solution
Wouldn’t that be nice?
If only it were so easy
Life would be a breeze
Nothing could stand in our way
We could conquer the world
Get that feeling back
You know, the one we had on the day of our union
This finite solution is a result of our treason
A temporary means to an end
The end being a peaceful relationship
A finite solution
 
Second Chance

Sting my flesh O winter air
and show my breath in subtle light
while a lonely train speaks afar
the pines above me weep

With a gentle breeze
comes the scent of rain,
dusty sweet
stirring thoughts of him
a young man whom I have slain

I've no remorse in what I've done
for he could never be the man I am
I live to tell that he is no more
though I once was he who is dead


Ken Graybill


 
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