Katy Walker Aug 2010

The Jaguar sits
A regal pose
Even though
All spots exposed
He remains
Throughout—composed
Royalty suits
These kingly throes
Eyes so hungry
Fueled with woes
Darkness caress
His thoughts of more

All small fingers
Jabbing point
Smiles and scream
Not fear—delight
This is not
A place of fright
No place to hide
In broad daylight

Freedom calls
But is not heard
The thought is
Lurking—absurd
Escape has not occurred
Even to the captive birds

The noble Jaguar
Does not pace
He looks upon the crowd
Disgrace—
All those faces
Glass cannot erase
If only he could break
Out of this prison space

His deep imagination
Swirls and swells with thought
If only his true freedom
Could perhaps be bought
The first thing he would do
Is capture one said face
And use it as only
Claws could change—erase
He looks on
With animalistic intentions
Licks his chops
And opens his jaws
The crowd gasps as one
As the noble beast bares his teeth

—And yawns

The jaguar too kingly to stoop
To animalistic pursuits
He knows that he cannot escape
The beast so long ago was tamed
Long ago he lost his pride
On three square meals a day
—Inside

"Now did you mark a falcon,
  Sister dear, sister dear,
Flying toward my window
  In the morning cool and clear?
With jingling bells about her neck,
  But what beneath her wing?
It may have been a ribbon,
  Or it may have been a ring."--
      "I marked a falcon swooping
        At the break of day:
      And for your love, my sister dove,
        I 'frayed the thief away."--

"Or did you spy a ruddy hound,
  Sister fair and tall,
Went snuffing round my garden bound,
  Or crouched by my bower wall?
With a silken leash about his neck;
  But in his mouth may be
A chain of gold and silver links,
  Or a letter writ to me."--
      "I heard a hound, high-born sister,
        Stood baying at the moon:
      I rose and drove him from your wall
        Lest you should wake too soon."--

"Or did you meet a pretty page
  Sat swinging on the gate;
Sat whistling, whistling like a bird,
  Or may be slept too late:
With eaglets broidered on his cap,
  And eaglets on his glove?
If you had turned his pockets out,
  You had found some pledge of love."--
      "I met him at this daybreak,
        Scarce the east was red:
      Lest the creaking gate should anger you,
        I packed him home to bed."--

"O patience, sister. Did you see
  A young man tall and strong,
Swift-footed to uphold the right
  And to uproot the wrong,
Come home across the desolate sea
  To woo me for his wife?
And in his heart my heart is locked,
  And in his life my life."--
      "I met a nameless man, sister,
        Who loitered round our door:
      I said: Her husband loves her much.
        And yet she loves him more."--

"Fie, sister, fie, a wicked lie,
  A lie, a wicked lie;
I have none other love but him,
  Nor will have till I die.
And you have turned him from our door,
  And stabbed him with a lie:
I will go seek him thro' the world
  In sorrow till I die."--
      "Go seek in sorrow, sister,
        And find in sorrow too:
      If thus you shame our father's name
        My curse go forth with you."

ERR Jun 2011

Arthur Bellow was a mellow fellow who never asked for much
Only child to a land man and wife who worked the earth
Their self-sustaining ranch the heart of farm and winding wood
They raised their living stock under siege from thriving crops
A private clan, Mr. Bellow kept to his collection of books
His wife would weave, would also read, and would take their terrier for walks
Arthur tagged along, full of creative verve and eagerness
The river, forest, beasts and wind were friends; they often spoke
He attended local schooling but had trouble fitting in
The children who mocked him he envisioned as cold blooded lizards
His reptilian teacher reprimanded him for tutoring one on his test
Arthur left the building vowing never to return
Committed himself instead to the plow, hoe and plant
Back breaking labor from morning ‘til day’s end
In rest he walked with mother finding faces in the bark
The creatures kept him company when family was insufficient
Under a sunrise hotter than most tragedy struck the patriarch
Trembling and perspiring he dropped weak to his knees
His life muscle ceased its beat as he saw his flash of past
Arthur came running when he heard the music stop
Mrs. Bellow came stoic and pale, speaking only with her feet
Ordered her son to dig a ditch as deep as strength allowed
And once complete she lay her husband down and joined him in his sleep
Arthur begged and pleaded but she made him fill the hole
He bathed his mother in dirt like she had washed him as a babe
Sealed the grave with tears and sprinkled seeds like she’d instructed
His dog licked calloused, blistered hands to show not all was lost
He dropped the shovel and tried to yell, but yawp came forth as song
Arthur never left the farm or tended fallow fields
He managed what he could but the task demanded aid
A solitary man enjoys his island with friends he doesn’t call
A lonely man, however has no company at all
He caught a shrew-like thief one day with eggs he planned to steal
Being the only other human, he let him share a meal
The suspicious shrew fled through the now-unfriendly wood of lizard eye
Where the rumor speaking, mad old hermit seeking came to spy
Arthur had discovered he was not alone at all
A crepuscular couple returned to parley when the sun would fall
He found them in the library, alerted by the loyal one
Whose growl turned kind when wraith he’d find were family reunited
They visited quite often to keep him company in twilight hour
To praise him for his learning and kindness that he showed
For in their absence he had lived in books to replace all trace of school
And the seeds in the central grave that Arthur raised began to grow
His parents, very pleased, shared their otherworldly plot
Arthur was to release his goodness and knowledge to the air
Although no rewards would come to him, intrinsic deed be done
The forest heart would be reclaimed, and rest would come for flesh
In the next noon Arthur freed all beasts and let them walk away
Release from domestication, the mighty horse dark in tone
Turned golden as it left him, gorgeous and majestic
The terrier was last to leave, sad though it understood
Once empty, Arthur doused the house and then the barn in oil
Shattered his lantern and transferred the flame until they were engulfed
The local fighters came and did their best to end the burning
But despite all efforts the library sublimated in a cloud
When every page was turned to smoke he called upon the rain
To cool the glowing remains and give his friends a final drink
The men brought Arthur to custody for witchcraft and for arson
He smiled for even as he left the ground had grown more green
Immediately put to unfair trial, opposition ready
It would seem that the town in full demanded his demise
Arthur chose to represent himself as he supposed all men will do in time
He recognized the witnesses whose accusations boomed
The reptile claimed he was dishonest and a cheater
The little lizard spies said instead reclusive necromancer
The suspicious shrew told tales of Arthur luring him for murder
The fighters full of fear said a conjurer of the elements
Without a chance in the eyes of men he was taken to a cell
Feeling quite betrayed by the many he’d wished well
Arthur thought of his parents and wondered why he was alone
They appeared to him once more, apparating in his cage
My son they said in unison, you have been misunderstood
And spent a lifetime serving others for no benefit of self
For this your friends are free and the forest muscle flexed and hard
As blossoming beacon; in death the noble feel no pain at all
Upon hearing misplaced song echoing through damp stone structure
A guard investigated, preparing to beat the troublemaker
He came upon Arthur’s cage confused, head cocked and jaw dropped
The door was locked, yet the man he came to punish was no more

F
A
T
H
E
R
                       WHAT
           D
           O
           E
           S

THIS

                                                        ­  WORD

MEAN?



IT MEANS

           CHALLENGE

STRENGTH

                               C O N N E C T I O N
                                                       H
                                                       R
                                                       O
                                                       U
                                                       G
                                                       H

LOVE



                                       BUT
                                    NOT
                     ­            LIKE
                              MOTHERS
                      ­           LOVE
                          

                              ­                       DAD
                                                     LOVE
IS

            DIFFERENT



HARDER                                          ­TO

                                  SP
                        ­         OT

CONTAINED

                               C O N T
                                           A
                                    G     I
                                    N I N

HARDER

                                       LIKE
                                       A
                                       WALL


BUT THERE  N O N E  T H E  L E S S

like a flowing river

THAT LEADS TO THE SEA

         TO THE ANCESTORS

                   TO THE  S O U L

                            OF A MAN

So often misunderstood
Hallerz Jul 2016

I am not so noble that I would give up my life for someone else
Nor am I so forgiving that I would sit by and allow someone to trample me
I am selfish…
And self righteous
I’m arrogant
But not so much that I’d irresponsibly save someone just to brag about it

jeffrey robin Jul 2010

nobility assaulted

how do we judge eachother......what IS
...........a MAN?

we may talk of "time and space" and all of its dimensions

but

what is OUR paradigm?

why are we  so
"twisted?"

the defining activity

TO SIMPLY BREATHE!

and no one knows it after these millions or billions of years!

day after day ......dribbles by

as we write love songs!!!!!

(love songs to lovers now strangers
AFTER they have gone!)

well......DEEP BREATHERS!

time for the LONG HARD ONE!

but , for this one time

let us "put it ALL"
on the line

and, whatever is there "at the end"

let us be THAT, my friends

deanena tierney Jul 2010

Pauper prophet stands amid nobility's raucious crowd.
Beckoned forth, mocked for faith, punishingly proud.

Beams are set, noose is hung, gallant dress is donned.
The noble man, on pedestal, is smugly looking on.

Trumpets hasten allotted time; judgement,error-free.
Noble man; mortal witness, of the paupers' eternity.

Mydriasis Jan 2014

Here I chronicle these noble tales,
Though you might ask
what is so noble
about a group of teens committing such acts?
We did trespass, deface, vandalize and mace all manner of things, frequently, selflessly
What is noble in fact? The non-aristocratic definition:
"having or showing fine personal qualities
or high moral principles". I saw both
in places you'd never suspect,
Anything abandoned and everything unintended
In faces I came to greatly respect,
All those friends who moved us towards the transcended
In choices I don't (and cannot) regret.
In what I consumed and with whom I slept
It amazed me,
That dusk sky
It stays with me;
My longing mind
What I witnessed,
From way up high
What I experienced;
Life and/or death
I never would have guessed
I could be a part of living like this.
For that I am blessed,
Even if only temporary
it's bliss nonetheless.
Shivers down the back of my neck
But enough,
What tales have I to tell?
I fear mere words would be woefully inept
at describing how I feel about the times we've kept;
My city and I, and the people we adore.

Drizzle descended on the park's benches
but foul weather couldn't stop
our journey through the intoxicants

The night was cold but she was warm,
Under gushing orange lamplight
we were in each other's arms


All what happened and set forth is but a fraction of a shard
of that which occurred, beyond a sonder veil,
Yet I fear even this shall remain an unspoken tale.

Allow me to regale you with what truly captured my gaze:
It was not the drugs I have come to glorify
nor the girls that caught my roaming eye,
It was the communality of it all; identifiable to the teenage.
We formed clans, we became family;
Then we grow up and blow away. I do miss those subtle days

I saw things that would change your heart,
I could scarcely convey such memories as art;
For this is who I am, who I was and who will be.
Jake Calle Oct 2014

Memento Mori.

Remember,
my dear  
friends, and
listen well. 

One day,
we will 
all die.

You are
all pieces
of shit.

JadedSoul Sep 2014

I used to dream
of being a great man
a heroic man
the kind that songs are sung of
stories are written of

The kind of man that leads people to victory
that sacrifices for the greater good
noble, honourable and courageous

But I realise now;
I am none of that - but;
I am a content man,
I am a happy man
In the end, I think I prefer to be happy
I think...

brooke Mar 2013

I don't mind the cold
mornings or the piano
music that plays in the
shower, it's okay here
with the sweaters on
the floor and the
candles that do
not burn
anymore
because at
night my feet
are warm as I learn how
to be on my own and the
piano music plays, drops
the piano music plays
when I cover my face
with wet hair and
ask questions
in front of
the tile
like

hello
hello
are you
there?

(c) Brooke Otto
Leaetta May Jun 2015

Her hand rested slight
Upon the book she'd found
Her bag across her shoulder
She was waiting for the sound
Of the door alarm at the B & N

I mean after all it was
Fifty nine volumes
On how to build a bomb
Found none to soon  
On a shelf at the B & N

Abandoned by her lover
After too many fights
That was five years ago
A lot of lonely nights
Casing the B & N

Screaming out loud
At rush hour on the train
Was not an option
Nor was cocaine
Snorted at the B & N


Finally people milling round
She quietly lifted the solution
To her ravaged heart
All fifty nine on revolution
S
    l
        i
           p
              p
                 e
                    d
Into her bag at the B & N



Head down and weighted down
She walked to the exit
Waiting for someone
No one to prevent it
Except security at the B & N

At last the perfect patsy
Alarm rang, the man froze
And our spurned lover
To the opportunity arose
Ran out of the B & N

Ran to the parking lot
Her VW bug
Opened the door
Threw in what she'd lugged
59 looted at the B & N

Key from the drink holder
In her shaking hand
er  rhrh  rhrh vah-room
Such a brazen plan
Perpetrated at the B & N

Her eyes glowed wicked
With rage and revenge
Someone would pay
All would attend
This crime hatched at the B & N

The deed was done
She clung to the wheel
The accelerator floored           
The tires squealed
Away, away from the B & N

I.

Today she peruses
the poetry section,
fingers rolling over
O'Hara, Parker, Pinsky
and I have a crazy idea,
a real crazy idea,
what if we both
went for coffee sometime?
The girl and the guy
from that bookshop
sipping drinks...
oh, who I am kidding?
She's bound to be too young,
but look at those lips,
a rich strawberry red,
same colour as her bag.
A student from nearby I'd say,
a name like Rosie or Rachel
who reads what Sylvia
had to say under the duvet
via the light of her phone.
She spoke to me last week,
green jeans, woollen jumper,
nasally east coast accent,
thirty bucks for five books
and I got a crazy idea again,
a real wild one,
I'll write in the next one,
the next book, any page,
tell her who I am
and hope she doesn't rise
with her red hair
and eat me like air.

II.

I can see him
look at me
with those moss green eyes
as I search for a new copy
of Ariel, the one
with the blue cover,
we're studying it
and my brother's copy
is all yellow and crinkly
like a week-old newspaper.
My mind's been jumbled lately,
a pile of dead wires,
inspiration no longer
bubbles within my brain,
all my words
are wet, are cold,
still I write about him
five, no six months on
and although I say
get a grip girl,
it never happens,
it never happens.
God, stop looking over,
he’s what, twenty-five?
Cute I suppose, but,
no way, no way,
buy these poems and leave,
read them tonight
when everyone else is in bed.
As I walk over,
I wonder why
she chose the oven.

III.

I ask her name, it's Robin.
Robin, Robin.
I only have a pencil to hand
so I shuffle under the desk
for a carrier bag
but instead flick to a page,
'Fever 103°',
scribble my name, number,
'coffee??'
I don't tell her I've read this book
many times,
know the first word
of the first poem is love.
She smiles an awkward smile
and departs.
I don't know what I've started.
I don't know if I've started
anything.

Written: April 2013.
Explanation: A poem written in my own time, not based on real events. Contains references to poets Frank O'Hara, Dorothy Parker and Robert Pinsky, as well as Sylvia Plath (the 'red hair / ... eat me like hair' is a slight re-wording of a quote from 'Lady Lazarus.') I like to think something similar to what occurs in this poem happens in real life.
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