"calpurnia" poems
The scientist-psychiatrist
the psychologic sociologist
has proved with his statistics
and his data-riddled literates
that nothing will be crippled
if they sweep the city clean
if they slay not only Tybalt
but the whole Verona scene
so they ****** it from our hands
from our brains and those to come
as the Ravens sear across the lands
and bindings come undone
They watch the pages flitter by
and cackle with delight
as the populace of fiction
by their hands is ripped alight
The licking of the laces
by the hungry tongues of flame
will ravage on the characters
you've come to know by name
Montag barrels forth and finds
the Fahrenheit has risen
Hester screams and claws her mind
out of this hellish prison
and Dorian will clamber up
to sit atop the pile
and weep for Pictures yet to sup
upon his looks and guile
And you'll watch as they obliterate
the city from within
de-storying our Paradise
so it won't be Lost again.
But I, Calpurnia? I warned you
that the fiery clouds would rain
I told you all, fictitious youth,
but you called me insane.
Apr 27, 2010
Apr 27, 2010 at 1:52 PM UTC
The swing set was an old thing
like the brittle bones of an elephant
so worn that it had started to forget;
that's what her Gramma said, at least.
But Calpurnia Gray loved it
sat in it
till the seat sagged before she sat down
inviting her to rest.
Calpurnia Gray preferred the city
but the suburbs were what she got
and the swing set looked over some deep gulch of the woods
where even the suburbs ended.
Wilderness.
It filled her with such strange fantasies
of leaping through the trees like an ape
tearing off her clothes
and chasing down game
like some odd Tarzan with cobalt blue painted toe nails.
That would be the life for her if only she could go back
back
to the wilderness on the other side of the suburbs.
To the place where concrete monoliths lit up the sky at night
and rivers of asphalt carved always changing paths
for some intrepid explorer
to find a new bookstore
or museum
or something strange.
But Calpurnia didn't have either.
She had the suburbs.
And the swing set.
The swing set that always sat there, that never got away
the swing set that was crumbling with time and stagnation
but at least it was what she knew.
May 17, 2013
May 17, 2013 at 9:21 PM UTC
Dear Calpurnia Mockingbird, was it you I lately heard, singing in the night.
You sang so soft, so sweet and low-yet to the high c's you could go. and all below. You sang as in a dream, dark as chocolate- smooth as cream.
A wordless song-yet full of love.
What star gave you birth to sing-to sing your song to men on earth,
dispelling all complacency, and false worth.
Humbled now I will review and try to hone my skills anew.
Jun 15, 2014
Jun 15, 2014 at 5:13 AM UTC
Trends come and go,
friends remain forever.
Friendship transcends love.
Family, are genetically bonded.
Friends, are experience bonded.
Both are needed, both are loved.
Family and friends both pay dividends.
Richer to be loved by friends that become family,
than hated by family that pretend to love.
Sep 19, 2014
Sep 19, 2014 at 7:36 PM UTC
Cassandra,
I see you in the words
of Greta Thunberg:
Filled with passion, warnings, truth.
Not believed.
Cassandra,
I see you in the dreams
of Calpurnia;
warning Caesar, bloodied earth
Not believed.
Cassandra,
I see you in the protections
of Tony Stark;
made with fear, love
Not believed.
Did they tell you to smile more?
Ask you why you’ve “gotten involved”?
Did they belittle your prophecy,
Ignore warning after warning?
Ignore you?
Mad woman, hysterical.
You, angered Apollo
Or
Was he always angry?
Did he believe himself so worthy
of your love that he cursed
not having it?
I don’t know.
You probably told someone
We know how that would have ended,
Cassandra,
I see you in the testimonies
of Christine Blasey Ford,
so hurt, pained, strong.
Not believed.
Were you told to sit quietly, mind your place?
When you were attacked was it your body
She defended
Or
Her own desiccated image?
Maybe you told the trees of
Ajex’s sins, because even if
the men listened,
A statue protected him from justice.
Cassandra,
I see you in the words
of impassioned protestors
so bright, so young.
Not believed.
Maybe if you told them lies
they'd believe the truth.
Maybe if you told the truth
they'd believe the lies.
Believe anything you said.
Darling Cassandra
possible bride of Apollo.
definite belonging of King Agamemnon.
Did his children believe you?
Are you a warning to women?
Love who you are told to.
Bow to authority or
Never give up.
Are you a criticism of men?
Demanding of love.
Expecting subservience.
Justice not served.
Cassandra,
I see you in myself,
the pain they caused
the light going out
I am not believed.
Cassandra,
Does it get better?
Have you received the peace you so deserve?
Or are you still
Not believed.
Apr 9, 2020
Apr 9, 2020 at 9:01 PM UTC
~
Illumined by a seamless crescent moon
suspended above our heart’s desire
Breaths filter through wisteria dreams
as silhouettes embrace against a background
of fireflies and pine needle whispers
A scented breeze through whispers moves
as hearts entwine at midnight's call
with gentle hand to lead the way
and silent smile to loving eye
For in this gaze I know a shimmer,
to taste these lips, soft of twilight wine
Lost now within this dark abandon,
the scent of jasmine feeds the air as
passion grows in dewdrop longings
and there, discovered by the dawn
to purest love our hearts succumb
no more to dwell amongst the lonely
our faith restored we lay, unmoving~
Forever here, forever one
Jul 14, 2014
Jul 14, 2014 at 12:42 PM UTC
collaboration with calpurnia mockingbird
Bite me, muse
You night time lover
fairweather fickle demon of writes
you shake your stuff in my direction
then run off laughing in the night.
Up yours, muse,
you wanton harlot
spewing fragments, bits of rhymes
take your teasing from my doorstep
sorry ***** don't have the time.
**** off, muse
you stinking skiprat
get to steppin' set me free
you mock my gaze with great affection
help me out or leave me be!
**** you muse, my new expression
take your words and shove them there
your sun don't shine in my direction
this poems **** but I don't care.
Jul 9, 2014
Jul 9, 2014 at 5:06 PM UTC
a collaboration with Calpurnia Mockingbird
If you have something to say, say it. Don't bite your tongue, swallow those words down, set them free.
Set them free that I may hear them, feel them crashing into my consciousness and lifting up my eyes to yours.
Make a wish as candles gutter, wish for me, for us, for an end to this mess of limbs and longing.
Say your prayers, kneel before all that you've ever wanted and plead for remorse.
Sing your song, others may dance to the melody but the rhythm will always be ours alone.
Write me a letter in indelible ink, that those words will always stain my world and sting my eyes.
Take my hand, my beating heart within your palm, so the world may know that once, we loved.
Jul 19, 2014
Jul 19, 2014 at 9:03 AM UTC
The Ides of March had come
but its Sun was not yet cold
when Spurinna reminded me
what his augury had foretold
Some good men tried to warn me
About the risks I take-
But Caesar has no need of guards
I look Death in the face.
Calpurnia asked me not to go
Based on her silly dream
But the Parthian war won’t be derailed
By some Republican’s scheme
The supplicants surround me with petitions,
Bur I, impatient, moved to turn away.
Casca grabbed the draping of my toga
and bared me, awkwardly, to start the fray.
The first dagger found my flesh
and left a superficial wound.
I wrested the dagger from his hands
and swept the blade to clear some room.
They are too many that surround me.
Too many of their thrusts strike home
Brutus my son, “Et Tu, Brute”
I cover my face to die alone.
Bleeding, powerless, dying,
No one must see me as I lay.
My dignity must be preserved
for I am uncommon clay.
Dec 15, 2011
Dec 15, 2011 at 8:26 PM UTC
"You can do this"- I tell myself
I gasp for breath,
I am amazed and dazed,
Let me rephrase-
"You can do this"- I lie to myself,
(Oh, what a compulsive liar I am.)
I rush to my desk,
And my hands wait to be knighted.
Take it, feel it- and run it
D o w n,
Your beautiful wrists,
What a shame of your personhood.
My desk has seen the unabashed,
People call me a ******
People call me a maze.
My mind sinks in turmoil,
And my hands seem like Calpurnia's dream,
It's terrifying.
But beautiful.
Mar 5, 2017
Mar 5, 2017 at 5:07 AM UTC
~
The sun of morning finds your face
a’ glowing sheen on tear swept eyes
Still lost in darkness sad to trace
beneath these azure painted skies
~
To walk alone in sorrow’s fields
with merely but a shadow’s play
This love from deep within now yields,
to hold you as you make your way
~
A simple touch, a soft caress,
upon your cheek in silent feel
Whispered words of true confess
of happiness to soon reveal
~
Feel my arms now hold you near,
falling close around your heart
Gently to reverse your fear
and thunderclouds which now depart
~
To lift a mockingbird this day,
so she may spread her wings afar
In wondrous full of life display,
enough to touch the furthest star
~
Now standing ‘fore this weathered weave,
to break the chains of sad refrain
So that your weary eyes may see,
you’ll never walk alone again
~
Jun 19, 2014
Jun 19, 2014 at 9:58 AM UTC
a collaboration with Calpurnia Mockingbird
Write for you
let words pour fourth
for the good of a smile,
to release the pressure,
to dry the tears.
Write for you
because you feel it.
Not for the lightening,
the exclamations at clever rhyming
nor the coloured heart that marks your triumph.
Write for you
for love, for joy, for fun
let your souls soar with the majesty of eagles
upon the freedom of a blank page.
Write for you.
your desires and dreams.
Your wishes and doubts
may echo in the lives of others
but that is not their worth.
Write for you
because it is how you breathe,
how you let go,
be soothed by the flow of ink
for it is your only stillness in an ever spinning world.
Write for you.
Only you.
Always.
Jan 7, 2015
Jan 7, 2015 at 5:35 AM UTC
Cesar awakens with the crow of the roosters,
and he leans over a basin,
and he drenches his temples,
and he curses the Roman summer.
He sees his mocking reflection in the troubled water.
He barely recognizes himself.
He doesn't realize how tired he is.
From another room
comes the muffled whimper of a woman.
Cesar approaches.
Spread eagled over the bronze bed,
Calpurnia is sleeping.
Just as the previous night,
as every other night
she is having a bad dream.
Cesar remembers
the stillness of her gaze in the afternoon,
after they laid together,
when she begged him not to leave the house this morning
(I've had a bad omen, his wife said)
and smiles.
He loves her,
and he pities her.
He places his hand over that warm, milky skin.
Calpurnia has stopped moving.
Cesar walks away quietly,
without looking back.
He wears a spotless purple robe,
and some worn out sandals
that used to know Spain.
He gets down to his study
and takes breakfast standing.
His secretary, a sparse bearded Greek,
is waiting for him with a quill in his hand.
Cesar would like to handle
the excruciating minutiae
that come along with ruling an empire,
but a crucible of memories
has run aground in his mind
since he last saw that stranger
looking at him from the basin,
and won't let go:
The mosaics of Jupiter's temple,
The face of a crucified pirate,
The weeping of the daughters of the Gauls,
The roar of the Rubicon he left behind,
The hollow eye sockets in Pompey's head,
The Nile under the light of the stars.
Suddenly,
his loneliness overwhelms him
he doubts of everything,
and wonders if so much blood,
so much iron,
so much fire,
were really worth his while,
if it wouldn't have been better
to end his days as a feast for the crows
within the dust of Pharsalia.
That weakness lasts but a moment.
He then remembers Calpurnia's fears
and smiles for a second time.
He goes out to the street.
The morning is catching fire.
He starts walking towards the Roman forum.
Feb 5, 2019
Feb 5, 2019 at 10:01 PM UTC
For Calpurnia
You say you're getting old
the years are flying by
your hair is slowly greying
and there's wrinkles round your eyes.
Those wrinkles made by laughter
just add to your collection
of all the little things that show
the depth of your affection.
Let today be filled with laughter
and let tomorrow pay
get loud, get drunk, get rowdy
I've seen how hard you play!
Life begins at 40
for you I'm sure it's true
I'll raise a glass and hope to have
40 more years of you.
Oct 1, 2014
Oct 1, 2014 at 2:28 AM UTC
Dear Mr. Finch
I fear I’m just like Aunty
Dissappointed, so it’d seem
The need to scold and rid myself
Of good, encouraging things
Calpurnia would not approve
My earnest and impatience
‘ve been left behind, fell out of line
Feel cold sweat as my heart races
Crushed my own hopes;
Sent far away my own dreams
Wallowed in my own despair
Lacked to care for all the needs
Confess t’ you; am I Mayella now?
All of this was my own doing
And now we face the coin flip
My luck being his killing
I could hardly breathe
I couldn’t dine
My conscience could not clear
In time
Today I finally realized;
It took me too much time
That I had killed a mocking bird
A simple, humid-aired crime
He’s innocent and suffers
And here I am.
Mar 10, 2018
Mar 10, 2018 at 12:38 PM UTC
~°~°~°~
The rosy bride didn't pace the hall,
Nor was there a wedding ball.
No bridesmaids, no flower girls,
Nor did I wear my mothers pearls.
For without the groom,
Playeth not the loud bassoon,
Tis the words that played,
While my heart like thunder relayed.
Melancholy, like Caesar, did I feel,
Piercing eyes, put forth the deal,
Closer to a faint, did I reel,
And like Calpurnia, I now kneel.
Hoping you'll read this through,
Hardly ebbing the feelings, I grew.
~°~°~°~
Commit I, what I detest,
& leave you culprit, like in Gone Girl.
Painful thoughts, my mind did protest,
To new ventures, it would whirl.
A letter of love & apology,
on the very last day.
bearing, like Juliet's analogy,
Concealed beneath the fray.
'What ifs' sadly got the better,
But letter, tis the right way!
Or so I thought, while my mind did fetter,
To take action, a letter will I lay...
Sans number or address,
To test you, cuz love finds a way.
But this too, did I redress,
The masts somewhere else will sway.
"Don't be so hard on him,
Leave your number deep within."
"No, no, that'll make him dim,
give not even the pin."
Yet another did say,
"Leave clues, in & out,
work em woe till the gray."
These nasty devils dashed about.
~°~°~°~
At last did I none,
But write this terrific pun.
I know you know what I did
last summer. That has rid,
All that went on for the past 3 years?
Reality had become my fears,
Alas you believe the deed is done,
But you're right, you weren't the one.
If you had the patience,
To read this till the end.
Sans showing indifference,
Gratitude, I do extend.
By now, far away I'll be,
If Shrek could reach, so could you to me,
But there's a reason, it's a fantasy.
So goodbye, cuz I see,
Life has bigger plans for me.
~°~°~°~
Jan 5, 2021
Jan 5, 2021 at 2:28 AM UTC
Let's **** Caesar and call it a day.
Brutus is laughing and Mark Antony is crying.
Calpurnia cries and Portia rejoices.
The people sing and some weep.
Wow, what a great day it is to be a Roman.
Dec 20, 2018
Dec 20, 2018 at 11:34 AM UTC