AS THE MAN STANDS
Pretty flower
growing in this field,
wild weeds your shield
and the grass so high,
I have found you
and want to be your sky.
These petals,
so gentle to my hand,
have a sweetness
to finally understand
my power and my glory.
I’ll take you with me
to enhance my story.
growing in this field,
wild weeds your shield
and the grass so high,
I have found you
and want to be your sky.
These petals,
so gentle to my hand,
have a sweetness
to finally understand
my power and my glory.
I’ll take you with me
to enhance my story.
And the flower says,
oh fuck,
plucked.
oh fuck,
plucked.
NAVAL CONTEMPLATION OF A WOULD-BE POET
Some days it gets so hard to express
Wherever it is I am at.
I finally set aside a parcel of time
To poke around with thought and rhyme.
Wherever it is I am at.
I finally set aside a parcel of time
To poke around with thought and rhyme.
I lay back in a tepid tub.
A dog wails somewhere up above.
A digital timer set on the sink
Will monitor from this, my creative brink.
A dog wails somewhere up above.
A digital timer set on the sink
Will monitor from this, my creative brink.
But can I gift myself steadily
With daily corrals for poetry?
The dog barks on as over this I fret.
Can’t those damn neighbors control their pet?
With daily corrals for poetry?
The dog barks on as over this I fret.
Can’t those damn neighbors control their pet?
How, God, do I get so far adrift?
Wish I could put a stop to it.
The structure of my days it seems
Runs contrary to my literary dreams.
Wish I could put a stop to it.
The structure of my days it seems
Runs contrary to my literary dreams.
The telephone rings.
The machine will catch it.
My rate at returning calls
Is truly wretched.
The machine will catch it.
My rate at returning calls
Is truly wretched.
More hot water is required,
But the steam is making me uncomfortably tired.
The dog! The dog! Please make it stop.
Now I’ve gotten this tub too hot.
But the steam is making me uncomfortably tired.
The dog! The dog! Please make it stop.
Now I’ve gotten this tub too hot.
Back to defying the confines of space
And plumbing my inner deep through artistic grace.
The notebook is moistened; the ball-point withholding.
My cat enters the picture. Time for mealtime’s cajoling.
And plumbing my inner deep through artistic grace.
The notebook is moistened; the ball-point withholding.
My cat enters the picture. Time for mealtime’s cajoling.
Oh why can’t my Muse, upon command,
Grant me a moment to expand?
The timer beeps. The dog has stopped.
I’m inclined this line to end with “flopped.”
Grant me a moment to expand?
The timer beeps. The dog has stopped.
I’m inclined this line to end with “flopped.”
HORROR
Out from the shadows of a loveless void
springs boiling mean a knife-armed boy
onto his female victim to rip, rob, rape and pound,
while she pleads, “Stop,” “No,” “Please” between screams on the ground.
Such vicious desecration of spirit, flesh and bones.
The frantic raw girl in the moonlight now moans.
Fingering first the blood from the top of her head
she considers how easily the Monster just fled.
After, she’ll tell of this black death dream
to cops, nurses and doctors Fate’s cast in her scene.
Not TV drama or what she might read
but real life horror (it’s her mommy she needs).
At the ER she’s white-gowned, barefoot, purple-skinned
(not to mention ripped open from within).
Polite attendants efficiently probe their apparatus
with complete inattention to a Self’s shattered status.
Released into Life’s now-blighted garden with “at least you're alive”,
she joins the ranks of thousands, each having survived
the unspeakable evil of some random, sick creep,
chained to his sordid vision ever haunting their peace.
springs boiling mean a knife-armed boy
onto his female victim to rip, rob, rape and pound,
while she pleads, “Stop,” “No,” “Please” between screams on the ground.
Such vicious desecration of spirit, flesh and bones.
The frantic raw girl in the moonlight now moans.
Fingering first the blood from the top of her head
she considers how easily the Monster just fled.
After, she’ll tell of this black death dream
to cops, nurses and doctors Fate’s cast in her scene.
Not TV drama or what she might read
but real life horror (it’s her mommy she needs).
At the ER she’s white-gowned, barefoot, purple-skinned
(not to mention ripped open from within).
Polite attendants efficiently probe their apparatus
with complete inattention to a Self’s shattered status.
Released into Life’s now-blighted garden with “at least you're alive”,
she joins the ranks of thousands, each having survived
the unspeakable evil of some random, sick creep,
chained to his sordid vision ever haunting their peace.
AN ANTIDOTE
So pressured
could probably flood this day with tears,
I pause to recall
a long ago Fall
when harried, hurried and lost
crossing the Connecticut country
I stopped.
Emerged from the car bubble-non-reality
I was traveling in
to let a rain mist spray my face and skin
as quivering tongues of wildflowers and an easy wind
readily whispered their comfort –
all beside a languid lake
some lazy road (I’d been cursing) discovered.
I sat and inhaled the infinite beauty,
sensing God.
Suddenly some fast car, power frantic hot shot roared by
and thunder and lightning cracked open the sky
to a downpour.
Back to car and life (small L)
I fled.
Yet I worship the moment still,
that brief quiet thrill,
appreciating the picture whole,
empowered to refresh my soul.
could probably flood this day with tears,
I pause to recall
a long ago Fall
when harried, hurried and lost
crossing the Connecticut country
I stopped.
Emerged from the car bubble-non-reality
I was traveling in
to let a rain mist spray my face and skin
as quivering tongues of wildflowers and an easy wind
readily whispered their comfort –
all beside a languid lake
some lazy road (I’d been cursing) discovered.
I sat and inhaled the infinite beauty,
sensing God.
Suddenly some fast car, power frantic hot shot roared by
and thunder and lightning cracked open the sky
to a downpour.
Back to car and life (small L)
I fled.
Yet I worship the moment still,
that brief quiet thrill,
appreciating the picture whole,
empowered to refresh my soul.
What the bath couldn't do the car ride did. Although....if I may, I might leave the third piece "Horror" from the other three. It has a different power. Can I give you 4 R's here L cause you've earned them. :D
Libby, I don't know how to comment on your other long, erudite posts, so I often read and admire your ideas and expression; but these poems are something else. Each is full of its own merit although the last is my favorite for many reasons, including its theme. Briefly, your diction echoes the meaning, and I really enjoyed them all. Thank you for sharing.
R♥
R♥
Thank you for the poetic journey, Libby. I enjoyed the navel.contemplation so much--as writers, I think we can all relate to the feelings expressed. The poem about the girl who was raped ("ripped open from within" is a perfect phrase) and the "at least you're alive" is so resonant and gut-wrenching. I always enjoy seeing this other side of you. Best, Erica
Versatile you are dear.
Each poem different. I give you a big WOW.
Each poem different. I give you a big WOW.
I felt as if I were turning pages in LIFE's magazine. Powerful poems about the randomness of life. I agree that the third one is a stand alone piece. It reeks with terror. Poe/like. Actually amazing. r
I read Horror and came to the conclusion that you were raped. Great job if you weren’t and great job if you were, very visual.
The chuckling that started with "fuck, plucked" continue thru to "flopped" (I think best in the tub, too) but then, when the next one hit me full on, abruptly stopped. I'm still smiling with admiration of the fourth. Good day with the Muse for you!
tg within -- thanks so much for your appreciation. again, high praise from you whose poetry I respect so.
FusunA - thanks so much for stopping by for the poetry! I kind of launch it breathlessly and prayerfully. One thing to rail against the system in my pol blogs but extending the poetry is more a personal ego risk. I am so gratified you appreciated them. Happy you liked my road trip where I managed to stop and inhale life, big L, if only for a new york city minute, but it stayed with me!!! :)
FusunA - thanks so much for stopping by for the poetry! I kind of launch it breathlessly and prayerfully. One thing to rail against the system in my pol blogs but extending the poetry is more a personal ego risk. I am so gratified you appreciated them. Happy you liked my road trip where I managed to stop and inhale life, big L, if only for a new york city minute, but it stayed with me!!! :)
Erica, Thanks so much for commenting so generously once again. You know, the bath one is a guilty pleasure one that I have not shown to many people. It tickles me and it kind of wrote itself one day, since I was trying to make a silk purse out of a sow's ear situation in not feeling in a creative "zone" that day among many, not being embraced by my Muse! It tickles me that you enjoyed it and related to it!
The Horror one is intense for sure. I once shared that with a poetry class and got some angry blowback that the rhythm and rhyme was discordant with the subject matter. I said EXACTLY! I was trying to make the point with the pace of the poem that life can be horrifyingly discordant to an individual suddenly... the trauma happens ... and you, wounded and broken, get swept along in life's ongoing pace kind of mercilessly, to try to regain your bearings even when the worst of the worst happens. Anyway, that was my thinking on that one.
The Horror one is intense for sure. I once shared that with a poetry class and got some angry blowback that the rhythm and rhyme was discordant with the subject matter. I said EXACTLY! I was trying to make the point with the pace of the poem that life can be horrifyingly discordant to an individual suddenly... the trauma happens ... and you, wounded and broken, get swept along in life's ongoing pace kind of mercilessly, to try to regain your bearings even when the worst of the worst happens. Anyway, that was my thinking on that one.
Mission, thanks for your continuing TLC! :-)
Ande, thank you for taking my efforts so seriously! means a lot. yes, the Horror one is unsettling. Calling it Poe-like is high praise! The rhythm and rhyme as I commented to erica above is a counterpoint to the heaviness of the subject matter. Trying to give it a stronger whammy by taking that kind of a risk.
Ande, thank you for taking my efforts so seriously! means a lot. yes, the Horror one is unsettling. Calling it Poe-like is high praise! The rhythm and rhyme as I commented to erica above is a counterpoint to the heaviness of the subject matter. Trying to give it a stronger whammy by taking that kind of a risk.
Jack, I have not had to endure that horror in my life, but I did have to face down an intruder with a knife who broke into my home. Thanks for your appreciation.
toritto/F- yes, many of us librul commie-radicals are poetic bleeding heart poets it would seem. :-)
Chicken maaan! Thanks for your appreciation and stopping by once again! :-) May the Muse be with us all!!!! You obviously have a close relationship with yours. I am coaxing mine to visit more often! My open salon friends such as you inspire me as well.
toritto/F- yes, many of us librul commie-radicals are poetic bleeding heart poets it would seem. :-)
Chicken maaan! Thanks for your appreciation and stopping by once again! :-) May the Muse be with us all!!!! You obviously have a close relationship with yours. I am coaxing mine to visit more often! My open salon friends such as you inspire me as well.
re the tub writing one, I had just read that Agatha C. wrote her mysteries while in the tub and eating green apples. Thought I'd give it a whirl.
I often write in the tub because it forces me to say in one place. In other parts of the house I am too tempted by distractions.
Stuart, thanks for the visit. Yeah, the bath-womb! Makes sense for it to be a place of primal grounding for writing. Sure works for you and Agatha, clearly! :) best, libby
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