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PJ Poesy May 2016
}I{
“Sinuhe”

King Khety is blinking madly
Haruspex has left him ominous oracle
Sinuhe is on his return, fugitive no more
Sinuhe brings with him enemy’s daughter
Not prize, Nefru his wife and Libyan lore
Sinuhe from slavery came, poet she did adore

Egyptian tombs do tell in detail
Hieroglyphic tales, this juncture of peril
Khety not King, but Sinuhe’s noble brother
Knows true King come to claim throne
Sinuhe the nobler, knows a life of none other
Than slave sold by Odious, the step-mother

Yes Queen Odious, deep in den of asps
Collected poison venom to undue her marriage
To Sinuhe’s father Merikare, Pharaoh of Moon
Odious’ ghastly act nearly tore Egypt in two
Her derangement sent Sinuhe far across sand dune
Odious took crown, added gilded teeth of baboon

Made her son King, though he did implore
Khety saw insanity and for what, he was in store
Khety remembers his Great Father’s words
“The heart of someone who listens to his temper
Is doomed to follow the stink of camel herds
Better to let heart fly upon sky, as do birds”

Yet by years tormented, Khety became undone
More like his mother and even more sniveling
Than the Odious one, so he did as he was told
Incessant dribbling marked a life for him
He minded his words lest he knew he’d be sold
Mother’s high priest Abhorus was bitter and cold

Sinuhe’s struggles were unknown to King Khety
Years of near starvation and wearisome labor
Made Sinuhe the better man, as he did never forget
Assurances of his noblest Father, Pharaoh Merikare
Virtue ascribed, Sinuhe kept valor in each trial met
Furthermore, his noblest task still to come as of yet



}II{
“Numidian Queen”

Nefru, Numidian Queen to Land of Libya
Recalls young slave Sinuhe’s hostility to captivity
His intelligence overcoming, who once would be King
Of Egypt had not violent arm but ferocious mind
Using wit to overcome adversity and words he did sing
To free his self of internment and all oddity it did bring

Nefru looks upon loyal husband Sinuhe
It is an arduous journey this man has taken
Her commitment be bound now by ivory ring
Loyalty to this man before all forsaken
It is spring, and amongst abundant life come dead things
Fledgling birds first flight failed or so siblings did fling

Now swept into his pilgrimage, Nefru perceives
All adversity Sinuhe did overcome so nobly
To her, he is chukar, partridge of rare plumage
It is to the ground, which this bird be bound
Never reaching sky, low brush be its’ *******
Though its’ song give to her heart an anlage

Freedom from slavery, is Sinuhe’s triumph
Vindication of crown be the mark of new flight
He prays to Horus Behudety, Winged Sun God
Nefru knows of her husband’s will and might
She gifts to him her father’s pinioned golden rod
Scepter of enslaver Mehru, and his feathered shod

It was not of great agreement by Mehru
Should his daughter Nefru marry a slave?
Much less to son of Merikare, an arch enemy
Yet he be so brave, impressions of Sinuhe’s strength
Be made so to change, very nature Sinuhe’s destiny
So much so, Mehru did lament in Merikare’s elegy

So it came to be, a slave marries Queen
Sinuhe and Nefru’s love broke all patterns
Such a love to win hearts of, Gods and Goddess’ unseen
Who rule other worlds and all rings of Saturn
History had never known affection so purely clean
Gatherings from far off fields came to witness such glean



}III{
“Haruspex And Detritus”

Haruspex, soothsayer speaks in half-truths
King Khety believes only small contingent
Be on way to Byblos, presently approaching Qedem
Little does he know, armies of Elephant in tow
Masses of feathered and golden archer’s stem
Blessed by breath of Bat, Goddess and her phlegm

Detritus, Animal Man, hired scout to King Khety
Possesses claws and hair of lion, his home Serengeti
Animal Man’s mane is thrashed in thorns and rubble
Smells of cat ***** but has nose that knows much
Such why Detritus be tolerated, though be much trouble
Haruspex twists tale of tailed man, speaks of him double

Calls him lazy, shiftless, yet Haruspex be cryptic mess
Detritus be banal yes, but true to Khety none the less
Knew his father well, Merikare be his master
It was always Queen Odious, Detritus distrusted
Knowing her demonic betrayal and Egypt’s disaster
She kept him in gypsum cave, scratching alabaster

Kindness had left this Kingdom sometime ago
When Odious and Abhorus overthrew rule
Merikare Moon Pharaoh mummy cry from tomb
Sinuhe ripped from his side by Abhorus
His funeral a very mockery and Detritus’ doom
Haruspex made way from Libya, eyes mucous rheum

Planted by Mehru, Haruspex be sent through desert
King of Libya be wise, sent this oracle as disguise
Not soothsayer at all but spy of opposition
King Mehru knew upon Moon Pharaoh’s death
Peace upon land would not soon come to position
Quickly he sent Haruspex, strangest magician

Detritus knew by the first smell of him
Haruspex came from earth west, not with best
Intentions to natural order of land and sky
And this test of two egos be quite perplexed
With each other and another reason why
This brawny epic riled through years gone by



}IV{
“Ode ‘O’ Odious”

Motioning her battalions, priests and beasts
Evil Queen who overthrow, joins Abhorus’ feast
Beldams be this clergy, **** all about Odious
Snapping of rabbits heads in cacophony of blood
Plunking chalices of malice’s, sacrifices melodious
All in dark chamber halls in depth’s commodious

Stretching of intestine to fine tune harp
Butchers waylay innards with daggers sharp
Mawkish music be Odious’ fame
Concavity’s entrance a perilous scarp
Passers-by enticed by bergamot oil’s flame
Fall to their death to be eaten by dame

Ode ‘O’ Odious, Ode ‘O’ Odious
Drunken mayhap through day and nightcap
She rumpus muck, she ruckus all luck
Ode ‘O’ Odious, Ode ‘O’ Odious
Chambers fill with all matter of bile guck
Bites cobra tails, hooded heads protrude to ****

Death be her power to innocence’s pain
Queen Odious oblivious to her own danger
Seems unstoppable to submissive subjugates
Spinning her terror, cackle calls to maidens
Fem ferocious, how ‘O’ Odious undulates
Casualties collected in long hundredweights

Probity of her high priest be none
Abhorus puppets Odious and will be done
With her second rare blue water lilies run out
The Nile produces this flower of intoxication
Extinction of it is of all certainty, no doubt
Named after her, O Odious flora beguiles lout

Ode ‘O’ Odious, Ode ‘O’ Odious
It is Evil Sorceress and midnight blue flower
Power of it be all in her high flighty head
She misuses its’ tincture to her own final hour
Harvesting it foolishly, nearly till it is dead
And when it is, it will be to all worlds’ dread



}V{
“Oasis In Iaa”

Sinuhe receives word elephants parched
Water need be found, arduous trek campaigned
Nefru never witness such worry, Sinuhe’s face
Ox tail be split to drain nourishment from beasts
No water for miles, no sea birds upon sky to trace
Sinuhe prays, “Montu, God of War find oasis to race!”

Sekhmet, Archer Goddess visits Nefru
Great Lady is besieged by dessert’s spell
Hallucinations bring mirage to Nefru’s sight
Transfixed on dessert’s horizon her eyes
Contingents warriors, bands of archer’s fright
Paths set forth, only to journey by starlit night

At dawn Sinuhe strands his band
Takes his most devoted men of arms
Bhaktu, Parsi, Rhaktu, follow their Lord
Each having faith in man and his wisdom
Eastward they find Syrian tribe in horde
They are welcomed, none need draw sword

Master of Syrian tribe Abu Sefa
Understands who Sinuhe is and was
Orders falconers to find Nefru and throng
Apprises Sinuhe of oasis beyond hummocks
All are soon joined together in wine and song
Oasis found, Iaa, fruited land and lagoon long

Khety is warned of revelry in Iaa
Sends legions Egyptian arms, by order Odious
Anubis, jackal head God given zebra sacrifice
Detritus employed for battle with spears
Copper shields, mediocrity will not suffice
All swords be sharpened by order thrice

Lifeblood battle of Egypt ensues
Sinuhe taken off guard in Iaa,
Elephant screams to be heard for miles
Bhaktu cut down, Rhaktu not found
Parsi’s archers never saw such trials
From lagoons come seething crocodiles



}VI{
Twist Of Fate

Rensi was chosen by Abhorus to speak for Khety
As High Priest, Abhorus did most doling of employs
This proxy Rensi though, be mockery of King
His speech more stammered than Khety’s noise
Grossly disfigured as well, soundings as mice sing
Rensi aware of this, musters all dignity he may bring

Perigee moon at present, o howling now
Hyena laughing at dissertation of Khety’s proxy
Ill ease overcomes this Rensi, an impediment
Speech undone on terrestrial stairs to Memphis
Escalades flora, fauna; monsoons washing sediment
Tefnut, great rain goddess turns world to excrement

This not so illustrious disquisition muted
By torrent winds and torrential liquid compounds
Tefnut’s tears plunk upon all, turning mud blood
Looking out from his great house Khety embroiled
Bares soul to Sobek-Re, Crocodile God; Sun and Crud
Sobek-Re answers prayer, suspending flash flood

In Iaa, as gore of battle ensues, fate lose
As twist of tale find new bemuse and worlds infuse
Detritus sees his lost master Sinuhe encroaching peril
This recognition swells an emotion deep and confuse
Detritus bent in memories flash reacts nobly not feral
With a roar to be heard over all, clamor become sterile

Sounds of battle cease and gaze of majesty
Sinuhe seeing Detritus is overcome by sensibility
Two old beloved friends stare upon each other
Dragging swords behind each move to indemnity
Embrace of each other; secures allegiance another
Sinuhe kisses feet of Detritus; calls him “brother”

As witness to such, all weary legions unite
Moon turn blue, assured sign of Pharaoh Merikare
Mehru’s star battalions federate Moon Pharaoh’s armies
Together as one to Memphis they shall siege Khety
Overthrow Queen Odious and her sinister parties
This mainly being High Priest Abhorus’ autocracies



}VII{
Epitaph Of Detritus

Odious in lair drinks tinctures blue water lilies
Abhorus her advisor suggests only more intoxicants
Khety is shrilling at sight of this deceptive lure
Haruspex makes prophesy of Detritus’ betrayal
Khety sends hunters to trace Animal Man’s spoor
Abhorus finds more legions of archers to procure

Leaving Iaa and moving toward Memphis
Detritus is fitted by Nefru’s maidens new armor
Embroidered with gold, a striped khat is made to adorn
Detritus is humbled by Sinuhe and Nefru’s gifts
His body is perfumed and oiled; his mane then shorn
Beholden to the true King of Egypt, Detritus is sworn

Two men of different lands, both once slaves
Overcome their adversities and rise upon sun
Sinuhe and Detritus’ bond is legitimately noble
Wearing of these worlds bare them new providence
Seemingly this union appears fortuitous global
Keeping steadfast of Abhorus’s archers now mobile

In Sakkara, south of Memphis come tempest
Raining arrows as if raindrops, Sinuhe’s challenge
Detritus’ valor finds reckoning to his last will
Defending Sinuhe, Detritus falls to cumulating
By strength this virtue witnessed, Sinuhe rise still
Throwing down legions of archers, making his ****

Abhorus, Odious, and Khety with no troops left
Surrender to Sinuhe upon his return to Memphis
Odious drinks last vials blue lily tincture, expires
Abhorus struck dead by hand of Khety in resolve
Khety bows to Sinuhe and his Queen as requires
King Sinuhe , Queen Nefru read parchments and fliers

In honor of great Detritus and his noble deeds
Commissioned is greatest sculpture Animal Man
During its’ long construction, most joyful jinks
Song and dance to honor a great warrior true
Each artisan so proud to have heritage to links
Of Animal Man, Detritus, now known as Sphinx
This is my adaptation of The Tale Of Sinuhe. It is the oldest known work of Egyptian literature. This epic poem was written by me with the intent of creating a puppet opera. I hope to collaborate with other poets, musicians, artists and puppeteers to see this come to life. Between each chorus should be arias which embellish the plot and theme. If you may be interested in working on this piece, please let me know via private message. I hope to make it a collaborative work.
They fly through the air- notes-
Better than birds ever could
Humming and Hovering and Harmonizing

Music is everything
beautiful
powerful
tender
terrifying
comforting
It is the universal language.

Can I tell you a secret?

I can't write it. 
I could whirl off a thousand songs
-tickling the ivories til they gleam-
Somehow it continually and eternally eludes me.

That's why I write poetry.

Poetry is a song without music. 
Sometimes beautiful.
But a song without music is like a body without a soul.

And a picture may be worth a thousand words,
but music is worth a thousand pictures.
I could write a novel about a
single Beethoven chord.
So I'll keep plunking, 
plunking, 
plunking
away
Trying to describe
the music.            
     within                my soul.

Because (I'm sure every potential artist feels this way) I know my music could stir souls
heal hearts
beautify and cleanse the world

And baby
  If I could write you a song to make you fall in   love I would already have you under my arm.
The last line is from Mike Posnee's Cooler Than Me
In the languid flow of eight in the morning
she scurries beneath the lethargic settling
of the chill of great October
Learning much
teaching everything
and saying nothing
she hasn't heard before
The dull encroachment of winter
pulls our eyes down
like the flowers come to wilt
under the heavy frosts
In summer!
Summer!
We were alive
and now it is a fight to move our legs
oh we of the winter mountains
and sweaters drawn tight around ourselves
awaiting the spring again with baited breath
The savage runners
beneath the snow
waiting with painted faces
behind classroom walls
spears of longing
for longer days
and Chopin plunking desperately
on a piano played two hundred years ago.
I am a child of Saturn,
of death and the winter months
but so too am I a keeper of this earth
freezing over like the stones in the ground
and begging for some warmth to touch me
This thaw cannot come soon enough,
for i fear that we shall all die alone in the snow
with hardly the energy to punch through the ice
to see the sun again.
this poem is about both winter and dying love
i hope it doesn't happen again
when i'm in his arms, the sun keeps me warm
but if i leave them for just a second
the leaves all start to turn
and i am left to wonder
if the sun was there at all
Kagami Nov 2013
Same cycle, turning wheels and whirring motors
Running my life, mechanic.
Sleep and time are my loves, and I am Poe:
They were taken from me, my sleep is dead.

Sleep is eternally sleeping.

The dead spider under the refrigerator,
The crushed centipede on the bathroom wall,
Crawly things: crawlersout the dead skin you refuse to
Scrape off.
Skin sleeps and melts: drip on the floor, paint stains from the living room walls.
It has been the same color for years, the exact color I despise.
It reminds me of Mondays and Sundays.
The steriotypicality.
It goes in circles, everybody hates them
But they are me favorite shape. Not then arrows guide
In the forever, never ending march forward.
An army of automatons, gears screeching and crying, but most of us are so emotionless, faceless.
Drinking not the water or bubblies at party's, but the crude oil emitted from the ground.
And it turns their skin orange, no one likes the fake ness, caked on
Tar that you think make your eyes shine.
And the gossip, squeaky voices that talk endlessly about everything but reality.
I want to **** them all, the lies.
And I want to sleep forever, escape from everything I have ever despised,
And I want him to join me. Wrap me in a hot quilt that he formed with his own physique.
Somehow make me forget about everything but that.

But no, it doesn't fit in this never ending waterwheel. Not enough grooves to
Scoop up the sand of my life and give me a mission.
But we can defy the sand, the horrid hourglass that ticks away, the sound of pebbles
Plunking into a river.
Throw them off of a bridge and jump with them, as some people do.
Ignore them, or help them. Most are too blinded by themselves.
They can't stand change, but it shapes them. A unique shape other than the rounded
The rest are.
But I am lost. No clue where to go, what I am saying, I should be put away,
Blank white room or a steel table in a morgue.

Hallowed ground means nothing to me. Coffins are cramped, horrid boxes of sadness,
I will not die that way. No crying, tears will soil your handsome clothes.
I was reborn. You still have me close; my form changed. A circle
Does not define me anymore. I put another notch in my medicine wheel, another
Cure to my disease. Another way to say as much as I do.

But the walls are still the same dreary color. Skin just cooling, but splattered on the floor;
Cover it with a rug. Distract from the blank walls, no expression. Never changing.
Or write on them with colored pen. Carve things into them.
Change yourself. Put yourself away because inside that thick skull
Is an asylum of your own.
Leah Wetterau Oct 2012
You falter,
one foot
dangling seamlessly
in midair
before
dropping;

the moment of the fall,
the transcendence of it
makes me wonder if I could go
ahead;

could I explode
into a million
glittering
pieces
and launch myself
past the stars into the
mass gyrating grave of
four million suns?

into a dark not even
light
can escape?

Could I just
suspend there,
at the edge of the
gyre,
feeling my body
lull
into
half-time.

Could I watch, then,
as the Earth spun
in real-time,
allowing me a very
modest
amount of years for
life to settle;
returning when the
time is
right.

My body,
compounding
back into solid flesh,
plunking back to Earth,
just as I had left,
a weeping puppet,
and I’d pretend
as if I’d been there
all this time.
This poem is definitely not finished. If you have any critiques, please share.
Brent Kincaid Dec 2015
I once dated a ******
And I loaned him money.
I laughed out loud in church.
Well! I found it all so funny.
I bought a used Chevy van
Without the proper paperwork.
I tried to get my money back
And the guy called ME a ****.

A friend told me I could buy ****
From a guy on the edge of Watts.
Eleven o’clock at night on his porch
Me, a stranger, waiting. Stupid ****.
Once I knew another guy, not well.
He wanted some dope from me.
I agreed to sell it, then realized
The fellow worked for the FCC.

I let a gal move in with me
A hippie from Haight Ashbury.
She drank my *****, ate my food
Then stole all she could carry.
It was just the kind of thing,
The sixties games we played.
Free love, open heart and then
After all that, I didn’t get laid.

A guy was selling hot TVs
From my place of employ.
A fool and money, you know
Is all about a gullible boy.
And, since the crook was a gal
I fell for it, because naturally,
A nice lady would never, ever
Try to swindle the sweet young me.

A guy was plunking his guitar
With a sign that said he was blind.
I gave him my last buck and
Figured I was just being kind.
At five o’clock, he got up to go
And I thanked my lucky star
That I was not blind like he was
Then I saw him drive away in his car.

Doing stupid things does not mean
That a person it a certifiable idiot.
It can mean that we trust too much
Or that we’re greedy and don’t admit it.
We see a chance to get a profit
Or even to do something nice
Then get stupid, do what we know
Is contrary to all good advice.
Cyril Blythe Oct 2012
The way your skin prickled -tight- over your hips
and the plunking -wet- noise of water
                   forced out of a cave
are what I remember about that December, lovely, oh, lovely.

Your -blonde- hair rippled and shook loose
with each ramming pulsation and throb -stab-
but your hair -curled- tight was rough. -Unmoving.-
                below,       dripped More, now, more.

Your toenails felt like ice -pink, red, buff- on my calf
they drew dragons between the forests of my -leg- hair
circling around, bumping –bruising- and chanting,
                           Be full, full.

Until –after- we lay limp and glistening in -love- dew
the floors creak and winds scratch -outside- too loud, -empty-
   but,
                     We, -thought- *we are whole.
Nat Lipstadt Dec 2015
~~~

dislocation/punk'd


hey baby,
put one forward,
faking baby steps.

life is hard in different ways,
for so many of us, the days say,
each year of us, walks a unique maze,
hands on the wall, unavoidable tripping on
speed bumps that make one crazed
and that you even see

coming

but inevitable is the red,
swelling, bruises, cutting,
the side effects of what gets said,
the falling-downs of words that are

dislocating

things get said, and you get paid
in eerie and weary,
and the loss of balance,
as if you are just the warm water,
water that slips over the side,
not the body inside,
and when you slip up,
that wet, warm beat-up,
That empty feeling of being is

displacing

you know, well advanced,
that parts of you,
moving around inside,
sources of internal dizziness,
the curve ***** thrown in slow mo
that so mesmerize you
into watching but not swinging,
accepting that the arc,
provides burns skinning,
and you go down 'n out

striking

what ya gonna do?

dust off and upstanding accept,
that some pitches are just **** ******* us,
we the swingers, often miss the ball,
wide of the mark,
sometimes we just stand, mouth agape,
watching the ball coming right at us,
even foreseeing the incoming

paining

what hurts,
is not those rosy red ridge reminders,
the after party of being hit,
but that when getting punk'd,
chewed up, spit out,
you get used to it, and to survive,
to keep your wits,
you spend time convincing yourself,
that you don't even care,
but you find your thinking is all about

rhyming

so when poetry get complicated,
ya get back to where ya
once before where,
keeping it simple,
roses red, violets blue,
what ya gonna do,
but your sense of smell
shot to hell,
what the hell,
thinking just another wet plunking
thinking no big dealing
this one mo' punking,
there will be more

but wonder why
you can no longer make your
simple, confused words to be reduced
by right

rhyming
Dec 2~3, 2015
nyc
a poem that transversed midnight
Renee Apr 2017
I hear the plunking of the rain
as I sit alone
once again
looking through the
big window in English
as it is
pouring the rain.
What even is rain?
Some say God's tears,
others say it's simply science.
Maybe it's the tears of the angels
looking down at the pitiful world.
Maybe it is my feelings poured out
in a way I don't control
helpless and inconsistent
Drip drop, the rain is done,
and I'm still sitting alone,
over and over again.
Zemyachis May 2013
There is a fountain flowing,
a thin, pure stream of melody
unbedazzled by cymbals and trumpets
rather,
the bending of willow boughs
the strain of violins
stringing away at my heart
drops of ivory, plunking
wet and dewy on the ground
a song laid naked, exposed
the longest sigh
that billows off precipices
into an abandoning
breath of clarity.
Provoked to put some sort of thick concrete in my mouth.
All my teeth are now stuck together
as I tongue around to try and pick the glue off.
they teeter and totter on their last gum strings.
heavier now due to the concrete.
In My dream A girl says: "I know I am a sewing machine."
When I wake up, I realize she meant Piano.

I dreamed the man who glued my teeth together
looked like Biff from back to the future.
and was my brother.
and was an *******.
When I woke up
I had to Google "bully from Back to the future"
so i could write it in this poem.
because I forgot his name.
I'm bad at names.

I dreamt not having the money to go to the dentist.
also Not having time to go see the dentist.
I didn't have to dream very hard.
I'm really broke right now.

My teeth go numb and pop off their strings.
my gums are stacked cubes of honey combs
They too fall out one by one
like single falling Tetris pieces

Girl says: "What would I do If I couldn't sew?"
"I'd be nothing!"
In the dream, She still hasn't realized she's a piano
I think: "What would I do if i couldn't sing?
Couldn't Write.
Breathe."

One day I knew exactly what it was like not to breathe.
a few times, I knew exactly what it was like not to sing too.

This dream felt a lot like that.

I dreamt the life of a liquid diet.
Denchers sitting in off-yellow sanitizing containers on a porcelain sink
This other older woman, who is clearly supposed to represent my mother.
looks at me with "I told you so, Eyes"
I think she's here so I can't find any comfort in my dream.
She knows this has to be a nightmare.
If I see my real mother, I'll get some comfort.
so instead I see this slum queen who looks down and says:
"go to bed sweetie, we'll call the doctor in the morning."
as flies buzz around her filthy Hutt body
as I catch my last block of honey comb gum from my mouth.
My teeth spill, Tumbling out of my hands.

I woke up in the middle of the night terrified
Feeling at my gums.
Because Biff snuck concrete into my mouth as I was sleeping.
When my eyes opened, I reached for pen and paper.
As I wrote down my dream
My First thought was: she wouldn't be a sewing machine, she'd be a piano.

Even though I was alone.
You were my first Thought.
I didn't even notice if I had any teeth.

The doctor Told Her She couldn't play an instrument for awhile.
She sent a picture doing it anyway.
because it made her happy.
see, in the real world, She knew she was a Piano.
I wonder if she had nightmares of teeth falling out
Of keys falling from a piano one by one
Ivory rectangles plunking,
Tap
against the black and white checkered tile floor of a diner.
Where we share The worlds scariest Beautiful nightmare: Life.

We get brunch
There are Pancakes
scrambled eggs.
I told-you-so's
Going to the doctor
being fairly broke.
Waking up terrified
but always with each other.
whether we're really there or not.
Playing a piano that's missing a few teeth.
Even though the doctor said not too
Even though it doesn't sound so good anymore with the missing notes.
Playing because it makes us happy to run our fingers over the old ivory.

this is a world we don't visit.
whenever we think about it our teeth fall out.
Funny, I started writing about a nightmare
How you turned it into a poem.
A documentation of a nightmare I had that I turned into a poem because why not?
Lexie Apr 2019
Drag my fears to altar
Sacrificing sleep to make peace
With shadows dancing on the walls
Penance is a costly coin
I count sins like pennies in a jar
Plunking copper in vain
In a well that has not run dry
A well that knows nothing of my sins
No knowledge of my wishes

My temple is crumbling
Age has never met mercy
Time's cohorts know no pity
These pillars hold up shambles of a roof
Holding together is a dry hope for heavy skies

Will you lay with me
On the coolness of the stone
When the final hour awakens
Creeping in to steal the heat of your skin
Finding bashfulness looking upon the stars
This is the same sky
I see in the dark part of your eyes

I have longed for these constellations an eon and a half
Concrete in my reasoning
A stone knife on a stone table
The world is not as you know her
Or as she seems
Her spinning does not dizzy you
You crave stability
Do not leave footprints in the sand

This incense is unburnt in my lungs
Light me up once again
Can I unbreathe your memory
To unlearn threads
Unwound in my tapestries
I wait, unpatiently
For your silken voice to whisper
"Come to the light"

Promises whispered in the dark
Kept beneath the moon
Rafters of my temple an accord
The trembling of my foundation will not strike
You cannot move a stone mind
As all things are made
They can be undone
Your apologies sway them not
Jake Spacey Mar 2013
your mother's chickens
that bawk; that shamelessly take her food
that she soothes; then fly away
full of her kindness, flightless and weighed down
out of the nest she built with her own jaws,
clumsily plunking to the ground.

your mother's children
that walk, that bawk; that she'll lose too
snapping their beaks, using their words as weapons
like hatchets they never sharpen
left inaudible but volatile,
and impatiently toss away
aimless, 'til their throats are sore
final squawks spent in defiance,
axes ricocheting like bullets
back in their mouths.

she can't help but smile at the
thought- there will be no
flying south,
not this winter-
not ever.
figuring someone out
Megan Rose Feb 2015
Remember the shoes sitting
alone in the corner of your room.
The worn black leather
and the velcro straps.
Those shoes that you wore
to the picture day when you
were six.
Remember the way you sat
on your piano with your feet swinging.
You plunking out of tune notes
that sounded like a song.
How about those two butterfly
necklaces you and your sister bought?
Didn't they turn your necks
a hue of green?
But you still loved them.
Are they still tucked in your jewelry box?
Remember the happiness you
felt when Dad came home at six.
Remember that the only thing that
scared you besides the
monsters in your closet was
when Marley appeared in A Christmas Carol.
Remember the feelings,
the trials, the happiness,
the laughter, the innocence.
Of you as a child.
Onoma May 2017
At land end's trembling lip,
passed eye's can-can't see, at the
sky-sea line where vessels dreamt
of falling from.
The king of the animals was bit by
a pair of star-studded teeth, to
dispel the myth of water.
Wild with wilder strokes, their
plunking slip slaps, nowhere-fasting.
Slogging away at ancient rains,
beating their surface round, showing
droplets what they were.
Body to body of water, weightless
upon where great floods got drunk.
Pulled in by the call to insignificance
through the dereliction of duties,
unscrambling the doubling deep's face.
The how of the humbling left to the
king of the animals, back floating...
with the lo-upturned eyes of a saint.
PK Wakefield Feb 2011
a short america is gruffly and shouting with the britain who's is owns the metal caffeine *** dull and shiny they suckle about and like to rambling  about the weather and the whethers and they clump to safely dryness by the wall at the little under of the eave plunking out the serious angle of its chin walloping the rain and makes a pleasant patch. they 2, the america and the britain, spitting at each others ears their voices they like to hear
pretty white
pages inked

with all I've got
in black, sticky words

I'm here
for you, always

even when I'm not

I know you hear me -
echoing through your
bones plunking
lonely chords

energy works in rising
falling, harmonizing
and we make music
on lips and skin adrift
and I know

we are
one

no matter
how far or
weird

it all
becomes

because I
still feel you
surging inside
my ribbed space
Ilene Bauer Feb 2018
This poem doesn’t want to get written.
It’s fighting with all that it’s got.
Apostrophes, commas,
Their daddies and mamas
Are joining to give it a shot.

I’m dragging each word that’s resisting
And plunking it down on the page.
So every letter
I’ve forced, with a fetter,
To take its place up on the stage.

This poem didn’t want to get written.
Its protests were ***** and loud
But the pencil I wield
Made hostilities yield
For the poet’s compulsion’s unbowed.
Whit Howland Sep 2019
A phonograph
or
an object

more poetic
say
a Victrola

a metronome
accordion
a Dictaphone

whatever the device
you're in there
pulling wires

plunking keys
blowing wolf tones
anything to skunk up the works

and if I were smart
I'd brace myself
for your ghostly visit

your
attempt to cramp
my style

to drag me clawing
gnashing
to the junkyard of naked language

to make me face
the paint and music
like you always did

but there's a problem
it's small
but very significant

I don't believe in ghosts
nor do I think you
to be one

and if you do come
it won't to by the light
of a beastly moon

nor will you be bathed
in spooky green
glowing paint

but
with a presence
better than the one I knew you by

one with
even more depth
and perception

and you will
bear
just a soft

new brush
fresh cans
of paint

simple
nothing more
nothing less

© Whit Howland 2019
Meh! It was important to write this in my own style and my own words so it was not an homage to Robert Creeley.

— The End —