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st64 Dec 2013
the farewell of the magical-masque
           the dance of the whirlwind
           the twist in valediction
a pantomime of comedy dripping in life’s heat, its tragedy blooms forlorn
silently the mountain-ranges stare
the sky-face won’t relent and contemplates the open-disease in homes*


1.
disguised as simple relief – rescue lies cooing in the palm
     crumbling in blue-ash beside your grinding-palate
     you reach for pen and paper to appease an entity unknown
shrouded in grey, no scavenger can touch the head of one
who carries blessings in the scabbard – the present worthy of now

stairs are slippery, fish are mouthing, anger grows
     symbols hop along outrageous, so stylised and signs come in decisive
     all at once, almost
there is some purchase in the widening-valley
when climbing-feet need to rest on your narrow angular-will
and wait.. (before them chips rain down)
until the merry-turnstile comes in view


2.
the worm-wheel goes blank a while
and out tunes a dastard-and-devilish prank, courtesy of blunted-fate
sacred-fillies get hacked at by small silver things and they lie slaughtered on stark-plains
and the orb dips in reverse this time
a sooty-traveller from the western-flank
               glances out at massive-figures at supine-rest
               gets startled by the rude ***-fire
eyes slit and pates distort in hostile-fever
at the starling-ingénue in mock-fatigues and fake-epaulettes
but cheering up with wry-humour makes your feet
           a touch too slow to react in time
           and the halberd comes crashing down
well, the last thought you hold before your next one
is how utterly beautiful she looked at the station
long, black hair – silky-shining in your eyes and gay-dancing in the wind
when she passed you all her sweet-love from eyes so wet and smile so quiet
and selected dried-fruit in redolent-parcel
                                   a sealed pelt-skin of unmixed-whiskey
along with fresh-baked raisin-bread in cotton-cloth
                    coarse-sliced and buttered so generous
and
a semi-rusted dry-tin rattling its bounty of macaroons through that smudgy, ***** window
what sweet-victuals to keep alive . . .



man, that journey is a long one!


                             (I’M STANDING HERE        oh, you just know I am here

AND YES -- I’M WATCHING YOU                        
                                                                ­               and no use looking round now..
      YOU CANNOT SEE NOR HEAR ME  
                                                                ­               or begging a purty-release
                                                                 ­                                             
                                  oh easy, boy.. EASY!!)                                                          ­                            
                                                                ­                                             
                   ­                                          


3.
once more, the worm wriggles in microbial-distaste
and the season’s wheel comes dangerously close to being undone
IT DOES
and seconds later, cogs fly hard in every fool’s direction
and luckily.. you catch some in your face.. mouth agape
        crushing your tongue
        splintering all your dental-treasure
        smashing half your reason
no time for moaning.. or eroded-regret.. or even to feel your lips in ribbons
for, when they turn their backs, you will know
what to do..


because you’ve picked some pearls the hard-way..
that atonement could well appear in spells
of any shape
or size




not so?





S T, 30 dec 2013
beautiful in the mountains.. Jupiter enjoys the odd (but needed) breeze along with sweetness of Nature’s sounds  :)



sub-entry: ten times

you get ten times to refract your pain
mind your head now
the ceiling’s low
the parchment’s dry
and then some..

wait a little while.. it all comes round :)
st64 Dec 2013
standing at water's edge
good-bye, momma - I'll always love your straight-face discipline
goodbye, poppa - whose handsomeness I never knew nor saw




nobody'll see me camp out alone on the common
tiny-tent to keep my limbs from cramping morning-mist
maybe some stray-mutt to be (f)ears to intruders
perked-up coffee in tin-***
and baked-beans from a tin, I'll share my bounty
with the dog and bramble-bush




I'm not afraid if the dark
   which waits in timely-blocks
   never overwhelms
I'll meet that sky at midnight and greet the stars in bloom
   their twinkling-smiles will warm my eyes
   and scoop away all lone thoughts
I'll siphon inspiration from the sighs of flora
   inaudible yet felt
I'll huddle not away from any lesson
             *even second-hand





my weapon will be prayer
mouth-***** tests the waters
sends a tentative trill into heightened-silence
      rippling on surface
      embracing the dark
Joe felt that God was there.. the boss
fussing over all his creation
yet, he felt alone on the pier that day
with not one soul..
        to stop the tides from swallowing his tired-life
        to love the gauche-grit inside his gifted-cage
        to hear the silent-scream of fretless-agony
        to sense the dripped-disparity of favour
turning face upwards and smelling fresh sea-salt
he closed his eyes so slowly
and let the wind rip it away from him..




nobody had heard him play Bach on his guitar
finest poignant tone
all the suites and minuets in glory to the one
    yet among the many passing, there was one listener
    a quiet boy whose senses touched celestial-note
most mothers warned their children to stay away from Joe
save this lad to inherit misunderstood genius-scribbles
as Joe's blue book held more than just music of old-siècle
to be legacy in the talent-hand of open-heart apprentice



and my penciled-in landscape grows incisors
from the sharpness of your colour
as I camouflage my strained-song
in seeming-vibrancy of words
merely purloined from the deepest
of
your quiet-sighs



S T - 20 December 2013
so much of brilliance remains undiscovered.. shine on, you crazy-diamond :)
st64 Dec 2013
for the growing angel came to visit Earth


1.
beautiful wing-span of such width, white and strong
with powerful-light in the eyes beaming out gentle-rays
hover in the sky’s energy who welcomes this pacific-source

wondrous-silence of the trees and the splendour of the sun
merry-chirping of birds and the secret-gift of the breeze

whispering messages in air-passages Man can no more sense
the angel looks forward to see more of God’s *beautiful creation
….


2.
and the (lucky) angel is granted the benefit of several landings…..


(on school-grounds)
click.. click.. the sound carries beyond the window
hoisting upward, the bright-light climbs onto the ledge
strange sight to see a grown man taking pictures of a boy
oh, perhaps he is a photographer
but why then, the boy with fear in eyes, has no clothes on.. ?


(on college-grounds)
kick.. kick.. spit.. spit..
young people tumbling around on the ground
perhaps it is a game
no, why then blood on the girl and many sneer-faces beating with brooms.. ?


(at end-of-year party)
presents gaily-bowed are exchanged and smiles offered
but silent-sniggering as the semi-inebriated time the punch-moment
perhaps, this is all jolly, yet some end up hurt and run in shame
no, why engage in harm as this sick-comedy prank gone wrong..?


(in a darkening alleyway)
two young women rush to catch the train ...


(in a young child’s bedroom)
an aged-man makes a routine visit...


(in a moving vehicle carrying a family of four)
vicious arguing in front of children… car veers off…


(in a kitchen where a single-parent feeds two kids)
communication to one kid via another....


(on a construction-site where dust lives comfy in lungs)
on the back of poverty, the well-to-do whip some more.....


(in an overcrowded crèche, gummed-eyes of innocence look up to keepers)
hasty-feeding in queues and abed thin-blankets on cold-floors....


(outside a liquor-store, them who succumb to numbing-promise)
many cold down-the-nose stares on the passed-out ....


(in a geriatric-home, hours before her family turns up)
squeaky rubber-shoes get reminded to do offhanded-cleaning of *****-smells....



3.
angel, you learn much… fast



4.
the boy looks to the window, prays this comes to end
how many more months of this horror
couldn’t even tell his mother of the stern-teacher....
did he sense a grace-light there.. by the window?
(he cannot be sure)
when lightning strikes one heart of one


the girl finds a higher-voice in the grit of courage
redeeming others before their pending-fall
by breaking the ugly-code of silence



5.
(we are gathered here today, dear mourners
to remember our esteemed colleague…)


(what a massive turn-around for that bully-group..
no-one can believe their many sudden-good deeds.. )

and..

a young mother breast-feeds her baby
a father teaches his son to read
a teen helps a crippled-man cross the road
an artist inspires ghetto-kids with free-tuition
a politician privately oversees a park for kids
an addict finds his answers in time
an adult uncovers vital-clues in his deceased-parents' albums
a doctor goes beyond duty's call
a neighbour eases suffering of beloved-pet




6.
dear angel.. / / / what have you learnt?
hazard lurks on the edges of existence


dear God.. / / / was I once there?
oh, what have you created?


dear human.. / / / no words, only benedictions
for tears don't feed the poor




and once, an angel came to lift the grail-heart of purity
thank you, angel

you poor thing.. see how you lift off on heavy singed-wings and..
fly home to grace









S T, 18 dec 2013
hmmm, yes.. perhaps angels can bear the face of anyone ------- who will be the wiser?




sub-entry: mercy-walk

mercy me, oh mercy my..
please.. come take a soporific-walk with me?

oh, mercy be walkin' with me.

:)
st64 Dec 2013
she wanted to be a blade
of grass amid the fields
but he wouldn't agree
to be a dandelion

she wanted to be a robin singing
through the leaves
but he refused to be
her tree

she spun herself into a web
and    looking for a place to rest
turned to him
but he stood straight
declining to be her corner

she tried to be a book
but he wouldn't read

she turned herself into a bulb
but he wouldn't let her grow

she decided to become
a woman
and though he still refused
to be a man
she decided it was all
right


by Nikki Giovanni






S T  ..... two's-day :) 17 dec 2013
a tad windy on this day.. it tries to rip me thoughts away.. lol



sub-entry: slight-breeze

raking the corners of probable guess-work
the slight-breeze plays up and renders all bowing
dust in eyes, is it?

if pain be the currency of pleasure, welcome to the ever-teasing elements
of all the gems decked out from the universe's treasure-chest
you will always be..
the finest theft
I almost ever got right

bright and bold
the moon spins round
and dances on in good hope
into the arms of flail'd-amnesty
st64 Dec 2013
such a cool dude



1. on believing
There are those who scoff at the schoolboy, calling him frivolous and shallow. Yet it was the schoolboy who said "Faith is believing what you know ain't so."



2. on genius
Thousands of geniuses live and die undiscovered-- either by themselves or by others.



3. on bereavement
A man's house burns down. The smoking wreckage represents only a ruined home that was dear through years of use and pleasant associations. By and by, as the days and weeks go on, first he misses this, then that, then the other thing. And when he casts about for it he finds that it was in that house. Always it is an essential-- there was but one of its kind. It cannot be replaced. It was in that house. It is irrevocably lost.... It will be years before the tale of lost essentials is complete, and not till then can he truly know the magnitude of his disaster.



4. on mischief
I see that every man that went in had his pockets bulging, or something muffled up under his coat--and I see it warn't no perfumery either, not by a long sight.
I smelt sickly eggs by the barrel, and rotten cabbages, and such things; and if I know the signs of a dead cat being around, and I bet I do, there was sixty-four of them went in. I shoved in there for a minute, but it was too various for me, I couldn't stand it.



4. on conscience
I thought a minute, and says to myself, hold on -- s'pose you'd a done right and give Jim up; would you felt better than what you do now? No, says I, I'd feel bad-- I'd feel just the same way I do now.
Well, then, says I, what's the use you learning to do right, when it's troublesome to do right and ain't no trouble to do wrong, and the wages is just the same?



5. on superstition
I've always reckoned that looking at the new moon over your left shoulder is one of the carelessest and foolishest things a body can do. Old Hank Bunker done it once, and bragged about it; and in less than two years he got drunk and fell off of the shot tower and spread himself out so that he was just a kind of layer, as you may say; and they slid him edgeways between two barn doors for a coffin, and buried him so, so they say, but I didn't see it. Pap told me. But anyway, it all come of looking at the moon that way, like a fool.



6. on escape
I reckon I got to light out for the Territory ahead of the rest, because Aunt Sally she's going to adopt me and sivilize me and I can't stand it. I been there before.



7. on hypocrisy and religion
We all went to church, about three mile, everybody a-horseback. The men took their guns along, so did Buck, and kept them between their knees or stood them handy against the wall.
The Shepherdson's done the same. It was pretty ornery preaching -- all about brotherly love, and such-like tiresomeness; but everybody said it was a good sermon, and they all talked it over going home, and had such a powerful lot to say about faith, and good works, and free grace, and preforeordestination, and I don't know what all, that it did seem to me to be one of the roughest Sundays I had run across yet.



8. on simplicity
Jim said bees wouldn't sting idiots; but I didn't believe that, because I had tried them lots of times myself, and they wouldn't sting me.



9. on humanity
Let us consider that we are all partially insane. It will explain us to each other; it will unriddle many riddles; it will make clear and simple many things which are involved in haunting and harassing difficulties and obscurities now.



10. on army
That's what an army is -- a mob; they don't fight with courage that's born in them, but with courage that's borrowed from their mass, and from their officers.




                                                            ­                                       *by Mark Twain








S T - 16 dec 13
love the boldness of Twain.

not everybody's cuppa.. but hey, see me crying? nah :)






sub-entry: unicorn

a knock at the door
grey figure opens.. very, very tall

1.
slits of tall-eyes concierge perusing hooded-newcomer bearing gift
furtive-eyes in a head over-drilled with equations
the visitor waits and watches
intently catching the distant-tinkling of a child's laughter
peeps round the bend..
twinkling-eyed gramps giving gifts to grand-kids round the tall-tree

2.
silver-hair leads the way slowly up plush carpet-steps, all deep-red
not aware how regal-opulence glares at the hungry-livraison
of ornate wood-patterns etched into the sides of the box
a single hair-strand is the currency to secret-entry
the most unlikely-key stands in the doorway
upon the head of the child, it needs but one length
with tweezers, silver-head places in painstaking-tremors
there's a light-whirring deep inside and click, click, click..
the sides flay open like tiny-wings
and then, it's right there.. it's opening up its secrets
the old man, who waited all his life to see this.. almost has a glimpse
when something happens..

oh my, what is it ? ? ?     (gaping in disbelief)
it's........ the unicorn
oh! you may leave now, thank you
but a swift-stab leaves silver-head spluttering
holding onto his neck as his life-force spurts away, uncontrollable
                                        in violent-spasms
tall-eyes quick-senses an iota amiss within its radar-view
from the running-steps down the muted red-stairs, cy-dog barks
out the front-door, in pursuit of dodger-stealer who drops the flick-knife
into wide road, sudden-bus whacks him down
tall-eyes look down into the eyes of a dying man
(what have I done?  I needed only two minutes more to.....)
now, quick....get away, get away... !


3.
mythical twist as plot thickens
the box lies there, distant-sirens wail
eyes slit, instantly calculating
hot on heels of this reliable lean-machine
cops push the limit and close the corners
a volley of shots and he.. falls
box tumbling to the ground, rolling a bit.. then stops
red-lights flash remotely, like a dream caught in cold-syrup

with one shoulder now missing and half his head on the sidewalk
he hobbles with the gift to the bridge, his sensors pick up the bleat of the ferry
and he manages to...
...........................and throw it in the frozen-lake
its weight breaks the cracked-surface
                and sinks.. slowly.. down
                                  down
                     down
          down
down
                                               d o w n..

there, it rests in peace
till..


one year later, a young boy tests the safety of that frozen-water
stomping feet to keep warm and face clad in half-balaclava
a sight unlike any other meets his eyes.. and..
(when) he stoops to reach for it..
st64 Dec 2013
crackle.. crackle..
flicker-flicker
auburn-licks in tiny-spits
roast a pail on terra firma
then ask.. how steady ground-nutmeg falls in drizzles of mercurial-flow



1.
school girl gets pulled off her books
sorry, gypsy-girl.. but *you no welcome here

   free-style don't cut it here
we give you cash to make like a cow
and go home
surprise as youth stand up against old-guns
then folk get called names and puppets turn ugly
as terms like demografix get flung
like a band-aid over an open-wound

when diva is denied a croc
out of the blue.. plop!
three apples fall to the ground
and cheap bar-lines seem catchy
but get raucous laughter echoing from hay-strewn tree-top rafters
mocking-tirades.. lazy-suitor, hard-recruiter

women wearing missiles on their faces
induce a fear like no man has seen
earth-quaking in boots of unreasonable-fear
near ponds of web-toed frog-giveness
catching the sing of plastic-ridged bullets in eternal-flight


2.
you can work your crafty-*** off
and still be without water or a roof

teabaggers get tagged
and innocence is frisked
while a good man dies
and the world mourns
very few know the real-hardship  
of those soldiers
who served duty-bound years
yet swallow anguish for long whiles after

now learning comes fettered
with resistant-glass to ward off
ricochets of unwanted-strays
and tax is almost everyone's burden
interest defeats pure-growth
as indigent-footsteps keep crawling
while high-flyers keep raking it in.....
on the backs of hoi-polloi

bursaries offer step-up to some
but so many fall along the side
thanks to the malice of profiling
as your mail is leaked to bots and ads
another gun-shot goes off..
and affluenza gets you a cosier cell
as the lesson is sad-skipped
and rats keep lining 'em pockets with fewer parolees
so, who will really bat an eye-flip
when a judge breaks the law?


3.
so correct
it's all rather crazy upside-umop
adolescent-boy remains adamant against expectations
will not cede a kidney
to his father's burst one
drink, daddy.. yes, drink some more!




stoke the embers to keep lit
that which begs life







S T, 15 dec 13
oh, how 'enlightening' the news, at times
oft, I take a deliberate break from news-reads
just to ease the over-raked eye.. a tad :)
.......to.. to.. to style in some harmony in rare muse-curls
even by a full or half-day later

something I read, though.. a touch positive
not to wait for leaders to emerge to effect change.. but to be part of that.. be it.
prends la parole!



sub-entry: hello poetry

hello, poetry
good-bye, doldrums

or is it.. see ya later?
ha!
st64 Dec 2013
..



You whom I could not save

Listen to me.  

Try to understand this simple speech as I would be ashamed of another.  

I swear, there is in me no wizardry of words.  

I speak to you with silence like a cloud or a tree.


What strengthened me, for you was lethal.  

You mixed up farewell to an epoch with the beginning of a new one,  

Inspiration of hatred with lyrical beauty;  

Blind force with accomplished shape.


Here is a valley of shallow Polish rivers. And an immense bridge  

Going into white fog. Here is a broken city;  

And the wind throws the screams of gulls on your grave  

When I am talking with you.


What is poetry which does not save  

Nations or people?  

A connivance with official lies,  

A song of drunkards whose throats will be cut in a moment,  

Readings for sophomore girls.

That I wanted good poetry without knowing it,  

That I discovered, late, its salutary aim,  

In this and only this I find salvation.


They used to pour millet on graves or poppy seeds  

To feed the dead who would come disguised as birds.  

I put this book here for you, who once lived  

So that you should visit us no more.  




                                                                                         Warsaw, 1945

                                                                                        
- by Czeslaw Milosz






st, 13 dec 13
Czeslaw Milosz, "Dedication" from The Collected Poems: 1931-1987.
Copyright © 1988 by Czeslaw Milosz Royalties, Inc.
Used by permission of HarperCollins Publishers.

Source: The Collected Poems: 1931-1987 (The Ecco Press, 1988)


BIOGRAPHY:
http://www.poetryfoundation.org/bio/czeslaw-milosz?utm_medium=email&utm;_campaign=Daily+Poem+of+the+Day&utm;_content=Daily+Poem+of+the+Day+CID_40e77fec0b32160b20d7ec324dce37ed&utm;_source=Campaign+Monitor&utm;_term=Biography
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