"spangled" poems
In the Midnight heaven's burning
Through the ethereal deeps afar
Once I watch'd with restless yearning
An alluring aureate star;
Ev'ry eve aloft returning
Gleaming nigh the Arctic Car.
Mystic waves of beauty blended
With the gorgeous golden rays
Phantasies of bliss descended
In a myrrh'd Elysian haze.
In the lyre-born chords extended
Harmonies of Lydian lays.
And (thought I) lies scenes of pleasure,
Where the free and blessed dwell,
And each moment bears a treasure,
Freighted with the lotos-spell,
And there floats a liquid measure
From the lute of Israfel.
There (I told myself) were shining
Worlds of happiness unknown,
Peace and Innocence entwining
By the Crowned Virtue's throne;
Men of light, their thoughts refining
Purer, fairer, than my own.
Thus I mus'd when o'er the vision
Crept a red delirious change;
Hope dissolving to derision,
Beauty to distortion strange;
Hymnic chords in weird collision,
Spectral sights in endless range….
Crimson burn'd the star of madness
As behind the beams I peer'd;
All was woe that seem'd but gladness
Ere my gaze with Truth was sear'd;
Cacodaemons, mir'd with madness,
Through the fever'd flick'ring leer'd….
Now I know the fiendish fable
The the golden glitter bore;
Now I shun the spangled sable
That I watch'd and lov'd before;
But the horror, set and stable,
Haunts my soul forevermore!
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Sun to set, to herald the arrival of my moon
Prepare my vessel for an odyssey, golden mast and all
Best be on my way, best be soon...
Done this a hundred times come every nightfall
This night, I wish it different, wish it otherwise
My head isn't where it's supposed to be
Swimming in the clouds, in the star spangled sky
Speaking of plans to which the heart would agree
Time is now, it's time to finally drift away
Let go of all worldly trepidations
Hold all unfounded apprehensions at bay
Be brave to pursue fantastical notions
This journey ahead, I want to immortalise
Don't think I'd want to turn back
Leave behind the pillow stifled cries
With the moon as my guide across an ocean of black
*"Close your eyes and just feel the drift
Know that the stars are protectively watching
Picture your moon; her hands bearing a gift
A gift you'd soon receive, after much longing"
"Feel the water, like a thousand hands propping you afloat
Passing you over to more hands that lay ahead
Lurching forward gently, this ethereal boat
Rest now upon your giant floating bed"*
I took that leap of faith... I'm sailing
Cresting and bobbing towards my moon
I hear the stars for they are singing
Lulling me by with a celestial tune
On my way, now on this nighttime adventure
Don't think I'll ever look back
Together this night would span forever
Floating endlessly in a sea of black
Sep 7, 2014
Sep 7, 2014 at 3:49 PM UTC
Oh, Acorn Park
Do you miss us there by your heart?
Where are your old trees and bench
That beckoned us way back then?
Now you've a stone surround.
No matter ~ new lovers will come
Your spring shines with silver spangled light
That is best when week's end is nigh.
Mar 6, 2015
Mar 6, 2015 at 1:53 PM UTC
How dull the wretch, whose philosophic mind
Disdains the pleasures of fantastic kind;
Whose prosy thoughts the joys of life exclude,
And wreck the solace of the poet's mood!
Young Zeno, practis'd in the Stoic's art,
Rejects the language of the glowing heart;
Dissolves sweet Nature to a mess of laws;
Condemns th' effect whilst looking for the cause;
Freezes poor Ovid in an iced review,
And sneers because his fables are untrue!
In search of hope the hopeful zealot goes,
But all the sadder tums, the more he knows!
Stay! Vandal sophist, whose deep lore would blast
The grateful legends of the storied past;
Whose tongue in censure flays th' embellish'd page,
And scorns the comforts of a dreary age:
Wouldst strip the foliage from the vital bough
Till all men grow as wisely dull as thou?
Happy the man whose fresh, untainted eye
Discerns a Pantheon in the spangled sky;
Finds sylphs and dryads in the waving trees,
And spies soft Notus in the southern breeze
For whom the stream a cheering carol sings,
While reedy music by the fountain rings;
To whom the waves a Nereid tale confide
Till friendly presence fills the rising tide.
Happy is he, who void of learning's woes,
Th' ethereal life of bodied Nature knows;
I scorn the sage that tells me it but seems,
And flout his gravity in sunlight dreams!
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I'd heard about problems with police
hard to hear harder to believe
personally I never had a problem
oh a few well deserved speeding tickets
probably cut a break no definitely
I drove very fast especially in the turns
roll-the-tires fast in the turns
that was me
and the more I heard the faster I turned
as a young kid I applied and was accepted
to six colleges six for six piece of cake
why the stress my SAT score equated
to an I.Q. of 1 above plant life
accepted open arms those WASPs loved me
graduate school one for one
best in the country
bar none MBA with honors that was easy
they called it the golden passport yes
passports are even faster
I never had problems
with band-aids
the bank
the insurance company
the healthcare system
never turned down
for a credit card car loan
life insurance policy
or request for a specialist
experience is the best teacher
and the more I learned
the less I wanted to know
and the faster I turned
then I learned
about certain specifics
certain policies
with regard to traffic stops
bank loans rental property
heath care voting rights marriage
read the color purple
and then that invaluable government
syphilis experiment
that would have been inconceivable
even to doctor mengele
that the star spangled banner
has more than one stanza?
really there were four stanzas?
MY country ‘tis of ME
and it was making me feel *****
learned that no one
voluntarily held that flag up
that hellish night
o’er the ramparts WE watched
as slave and freedmen
were ordered
to their near certain death
with the threat of absolute
certain death
then I watched a cop
shoot a kid in the back
in cold blood
near a merry-go-round
on a playground
in baltimore maryland
I liked baltimore
fast very fast he emptied the 10 round clip
of a semi-automatic 9mm Glock 27
into THAT kid's back no hesitation ******
baltimore baltimore baltimore baltimore
I hit the brakes hard
on those fast decades and decades
generations generations generations
of turning
I slowed down way way way down
stopped
took a deep deep deeper breath
then did what I always did and do best
I turned turned turned I turned around
and as I turned I woke
to kneel
Mar 8, 2019
Mar 8, 2019 at 11:05 AM UTC
"Murica" "Murica" "Murica"
chants of patriotism ethnocentrism
nationalist sentiments lacquered in blue red white
spangled with stars and candy striped
"enemies both foreign and domestic"
the roar of jet engines accompanied by
crackling sparklers
summer sunlight
glamorous fireworks
red meat burning over charcoal because
the chef is being kissed
"life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness"
the roar of jet engines accompanied by
dying children
systematized ****
internment camps
the division along the 38th parallel because
the evil's communism not McCarthyism no never
"my government has a firm policy not to capitulate"
not to terrorists
not to the UN
not to common sense
not to popular opinion
not to love in all it's forms
but
to corruption
to the oil lobby
to racism
to ***
to the Almighty
dollar
"we have reason to believe Iraq has weapons of mass destruction."
No.
No, you don't.
Lying ********
You *******
You ruined everything.
*****
Sep 28, 2013
Sep 28, 2013 at 11:57 AM UTC
I like to stare listlessly
At the night sky for long
Durations of time, as if my
Gaze will compel the stars
To align to breathtaking ends.
Alas, they stay put,budge they
Don’t, a sneer streaks my
Face as my pride’s hurt.
And a tear droplet materializes
On the corner of my eye.
Maybe the moon prefers her
Star friends to remain as they’re.
Jun 9, 2017
Jun 9, 2017 at 3:35 AM UTC
let me paint you a picture
in shades of black and white
in shades of those who ****
and those who fight
this is what racism looks like
black men with paper hearts
armed with cardboard swords
white men dipped in ivory steel
white men born armed with skin
it's a black man with hands
raised to the heavens
and seeing hell as his last sight
this is what racism feels like
it's your black breath
being ****** out of your lungs
by white hands of white men
dressed in blue gilded in gold
this is what racism sounds like
it's an 18-year old's last words
it's a mother's cry at a police station
it's a bullet racing through the air
this is what racism is
it is not poetry
it's a black man wearing a red shirt
and getting shot six times
this is no crusade
there is no holy purpose
this is the star-spangled truth
a flag drenched in black blood
this is the truth bared in ink
and no poetry can save it
Jul 8, 2016
Jul 8, 2016 at 2:03 PM UTC
There is a very secret place
That exists between day and night
If you're patient then some day
You may see the land of Twilight.
The gates to enter are so slight
If you see them it may seem
A trick of the sunset's light
A fairy's passing dream
So pay heed to the change of time
For lilac hues of coming night
Truly love to pantomime
The secret land of Twilight
You'll know when you've timed it right
For the spangled fairy wings
Will lend a softly shimmering light
To a host of other things
Pregnant dew drops standing by
Patiently awaiting night
Stars twinkling a lullaby
Before they take their dazzling flight
The creatures of the dark that bite
Are sharpening their pointy teeth
On the last of sunset's shards of light
Surveying what's beneath
Should the Moon, empress of this land
See you taking in these sights
She will take you by the hand
And lead you gently into night
And you'll wonder all your life
Was it real or just a dream
For in the secret land of Twilight
Things aren't ever as they seem.
Oct 13, 2014
Oct 13, 2014 at 8:02 AM UTC
Dear Santa
all i want for Christmas is a penny lover
a women that enjoys the small things in life
the lincolns instead of the benjamins
thrift instead of trendy
peanut butter instead of steak
my bottom shelf written poems instead of polish
the small things in life, Santa
the small things
is that too much to ask for
your gift to me
sans the star spangled spangled
the fireworks
the silver, glitter and confetti
i would endear
can you help me Santa
i dream
i dream real
a simple snowfall
me with her on the bunny trail
doing the bunny hop
later sharing a hot cocoa
borrowing heat, and time
Santa in my dream
i can see my mirror
a pincher
a thinker
wrapped pretty
maybe in ancient ski gear and attire
but together
and maybe in love
santa, in retrospect
i ask for a lot
because my heart would be filled
Merry Christmas
Logan Robertson
12/3/17
Dec 3, 2017
Dec 3, 2017 at 7:45 PM UTC
-Light up a cliche under a streetlight
while singing "the Star Spangled Banner"
and receiving oral from a trans-woman.
**** in the drive-thru of an Arby's.
-Fist fight a bear that people
find much uglier than myself.
Made a bucket list of ****
I think might be legitimately worth doing;
haven't run it by my girlfriend yet.
Speaking of which,
she deserves a round of applause
for dealing with my melodramatic ********
-Strike a police officer,
after robbing a bank with a water pistol.
I wanted to call her to let her know
I'd chased a bird till it crossed the street
and tweeted at me in anger or excitement.
Flipping the bird "the bird", I shouted,
**** YOU BIRD!"
and continued home.
-Throw a rock at a train.
-Toss a Molotov Cocktail at a moving car,
and cook a hot dog in the flames.
She deserves a million dollars
and a ******* Nobel peace prize.
-Call one of those panhandling
money worshiping televangelists
a **** bird, and offer them to ****
themselves [the ugliest people I can think of].
-Wear a habit over a burka.
I don't believe in souls, soul mates,
anything supernatural or special,
but I love that woman,
and that's why I believe in love.
-Not die alone.
Jun 15, 2014
Jun 15, 2014 at 12:51 PM UTC
Stretching and shouldering night away a sun crouches
to birth black's ousting
by one more empty circle of dark's hollowed pouches
then outs in sparkling showers.
Spangled with myriad star-labour unfolding membranes,
like numberless leaves
dreamers listen to soft serenades as the universe favours
lullaby-songs to deep breathing.
Silvered surface shivers with night-eyes as glittery dust
follows with dart-swift
flight each soul's winged journey while murmuring such
mysteries to those sleeping still.
Glimmers on sightless horizon reveal light's celebration
while untrodden dew
newly writhing in close-capped life waits inertia's frame
stirring to shake before rising.
Piercing the brain time's needle regathers worn threads
and remembers that more
sown seed means now-grown grain needs re-collection
in daylight's mind-aware storage.
Open-eyed, naught is over as hinging on less or more,
sun, with slumber done,
now hurries to open the thin partition between yawns
of torpidity to more hours won.
Mar 4, 2017
Mar 4, 2017 at 5:12 PM UTC
Summer night, moon and her white cloud
frolic on the star spangled bed
You come to me, flames of passion lighting both eyes,
moon incarnate, why your lips uncontrollably tremble?
Aug 18, 2013
Aug 18, 2013 at 9:51 PM UTC
I see a pattern Everywhere:
Circles and globes (three dimensional circles);
Shiny rings of fire.
Countless manifestations of this same shape.
Star-spangled galaxies wheeling through the sky:
That half-globe dome.
Earth, in circular orbit (more or less) around the Sun,
Escorted by the Moon.
Days give way to seasons,
Repeating every year.
Groundhog Days becoming
Groundhog Creations
Perhaps.
The list seems endless:
Hopkins’ dapples,
Planets, craters, cyclones, anti-cyclones, sea currents,
***** apples, oranges, nuts, potatoes,
Teardrops, heads, faces, eyes, mouths,
Holes!
Coins, bin lids, and plates;
Sunflowers, daisies, pansies,
Rings of mushrooms,
Circling birds of prey,
A cat curled in a circle,
Like a foetus.
Life as we know it
Is a circle
And a cycle too.
Birth, Death, Blossom, Wilt.
Reincarnation?
Renewal?
Clock-faced Time itself.
Eternity might be a circle,
Infinity the same.
Maybe even God,
Some way.
Perhaps we still are building God,
For Him or Her to travel back through time
Like Doctor Who
To Create The Big Bang,
And form this expanding Universe,
Thus taking us full circle.
Or maybe the Universe will fold back in upon itself,
Producing yet one more Big Bang,
In an endless cycle,
Of Big Bangs,
Amongst this ever circling
Multiverse.
Paul Butters
© PB, 14th February, 2011 at 14.00, in Humberside.
Mar 29, 2011
Mar 29, 2011 at 4:14 AM UTC
Legend goes there is a lake
Made of the darkness of the night
Spangled with stars a comets' wake
Lit by pale silver moonshine.
This lake is said to be surrounded by trees
Rising their black boney fingers to the sky
Groaning, shivering in the breeze
Barely alive and waiting to die
When the full moon casts a ray
Upon the ---
Jan 13, 2023
Jan 13, 2023 at 6:44 AM UTC
VACUUM CLEANER TANGO
---Lyrics by Jonathan Caswell
(Some misspellings are due to rhythm keeping)
The Vac…cuum Clea…ner Tango,
Is like…a juicy…mango,
Those fi…bers will…entangle
Your teeth or brushes, pretty quick!
The girls…who do…the cleaning,
Are ev…ver so…well-meaning,
To move…around…guys leaning,
That watch…and approve…the show!
Plugs must…be changed…more frequently,
If lon…ger hallways…decently,
Are cleaned…the most…expediently,
It’s all…a part of…the dance!
The vac…cuum clea…ner tango,
A dai…ly chore…is wrangled,
By clea…ners star…spangled,
Perfor…ming it with…extra class!
Feb 5, 2012
Feb 5, 2012 at 2:45 AM UTC
..and talking of snow which you know I adore
I went out snowboarding
with the old lady next door.
She came out all dressed in a parka and trews
and wore green spangled stockings with six inch heel shoes.
We raced along alleyways which we made into trackways,
then she turns and says,
'where are the brakes?'
I said,I don't know
and so we carried on skateboarding the snow.
Sep 22, 2013
Sep 22, 2013 at 4:30 AM UTC
In the distance, outside the door to
your basement, a crowd
la-la's
the Star Spangled Banner.
All swirl-eyed, and promising water,
a circled-hiss, a lie.
Fox-headed, and painting Old Glory
onto his chest, to the amazement
of even the millionaires.
In a dark room, eyes roll back,
towards Wellesley. Eternally, hung
on the wall. The
patriarch, shaking the hands of
your grandfather.
Dreaming of the
late 1960s.
The mountain, surrounded by
clouds.
The Gods throw bolts, and
fireworks, at-You, through the
television set.
From the cinder, on the lawn,
of a house, on-fire and crumbling,
the kids
are catching flame.
And if all goes as planned then
the bonfire's a beacon,
we're not going anywhere.
We are the rocket's red glare.
Garnering hope from those
driving to work.
Hitting the light switch, to
see the results.
Trying to look for America.
Bernie 2016
Mar 1, 2016
Mar 1, 2016 at 12:40 PM UTC
232
The Sun—just touched the Morning—
The Morning—Happy thing—
Supposed that He had come to dwell—
And Life would all be Spring!
She felt herself supremer—
A Raised—Ethereal Thing!
Henceforth—for Her—What Holiday!
Meanwhile—Her wheeling King—
Trailed—slow—along the Orchards—
His haughty—spangled Hems—
Leaving a new necessity!
The want of Diadems!
The Morning—fluttered—staggered—
Felt feebly—for Her Crown—
Her unanointed forehead—
Henceforth—Her only One!
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Down to the deep south
I trudge
down through the snow
with the pink,
pink clouds
scattering their
effervescence
over spangled, darkened
farms and hay bales.
Across early orange
styles and frosted
footprints, into
fielded horizons.
Aug 1, 2014
Aug 1, 2014 at 5:50 AM UTC
Lincoln Highway moved
more like a dance than a road
It drifted like the wind
corroded the earth
to guide me home.
The colors of the coming autumn
careened down, painting
the asphalt canvas below.
I had left Latrobe less than an hour ago
but crossed into a distant world
where the overgrown homes of old
remained among the ancient trees
breathing and watching me.
Weathered red paint running down
dilapidated barns like wax
melting from a candle's wick.
So star spangled Americana
it would not do it justice
to refer to it as just the sticks.
There was something profound happening;
the "American Dream" was dying here
and I was to bear witness
as the shinning city on the hill
fell into the metaphorical sea.
Spellbound in this catastrophe,
my ego still finds a way
to make it all about me.
I could not help but wonder
if Andy would remember
our talk about technology;
if Eamon and Bridgette would forget us three
walking hand in hand through the wood
and down the tracks,
battling back the inebriation
in the cold, hard black of a September night.
If these moments meant anything
to anyone but me.
My eyes locked on the horizon line
that rested atop a mountain peak.
I thought about how I left you,
left you three words short
of having me complete.
And I'd be lying if I didn't say
I contemplated running back to you
to speak what went unsaid
because home is not a place
but a thought in one's head.
You were home but I kept on driving
past the bones of a dying dream
letting my dreams die a little too
quietly inside of me.
Oct 1, 2013
Oct 1, 2013 at 5:25 PM UTC
Come, Madam, come, all rest my powers defy,
Until I labour, I in labour lie.
The foe oft-times having the foe in sight,
Is tired with standing though they never fight.
Off with that girdle, like heaven's zone glistering,
But a far fairer world encompassing.
Unpin that spangled breastplate which you wear,
That th' eyes of busy fools may be stopped there.
Unlace yourself, for that harmonious chime
Tells me from you, that now 'tis your bed time.
Off with that happy busk, which I envy,
That still can be, and still can stand so nigh.
Your gown going off, such beauteous state reveals,
As when from flowery meads th' hill's shadow steals.
Off with that wiry coronet and show
The hairy diadem which on you doth grow;
Now off with those shoes, and then safely tread
In this love's hallowed temple, this soft bed.
In such white robes heaven's angels used to be
Received by men; thou angel bring'st with thee
A heaven like Mahomet's paradise; and though
Ill spirits walk in white, we easily know
By this these angels from an evil sprite,
Those set our hairs, but these our flesh upright.
License my roving hands, and let them go
Before, behind, between, above, below.
O my America, my new found land,
My kingdom, safeliest when with one man manned,
My mine of precious stones, my empery,
How blessed am I in this discovering thee!
To enter in these bonds, is to be free;
Then where my hand is set, my seal shall be.
Full nakedness, all joys are due to thee
As souls unbodied, bodies unclothed must be,
To taste whole joys. Gems which you women use
Are like Atlanta's ***** cast in men's views,
That when a fool's eye lighteth on a gem,
His earthly soul may covet theirs, not them.
Like pictures, or like books' gay coverings made
For laymen, are all women thus arrayed;
Themselves are mystic books, which only we
Whom their imputed grace will dignify
Must see revealed. Then since I may know,
As liberally, as to a midwife, show
Thyself: cast all, yea, this white linen hence,
Here is no penance, much less innocence.
To teach thee, I am naked first, why then
What needst thou have more covering than a man.
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To…
My best friend and lover.
Protector of my lies
…You rescued me
And ****** me to my fate.
Spiralled the dopamine to brilliance
In my mind.
To spangled halls of light,
Reflective light, and calm.
A golden calm
Of energised, invincible intensity……
Addiction is thy name.
Compulsion is thy talent
Up, up the trammelled pathway
From the innocence of a ****
To the chaotic expense of ****
Then to the dreamy, smoked Opiates,
And the scars of the needles
And magic of Coke & big H ?
And ultimately…
It’s all not enough!
The hollow inadequacy of it all
When finally…..
Nothing,
Nothing achieves flight.
Nothing attains the heights.
Nothing satisfies
Like it used to…..
No amount of money
Buys satisfaction!
Hopelessly
Into the Black Hole.
Down, down the trammelled pathway
And the body is wasted, thin
And the mind in misery,
And broke, utterly penniless,
Exhausted and spent,
Estranged and abandoned,
Alone, so alone.
Down the trammelled pathway
To the inevitable retreat
Into failure’s squalid,
numbing, bitter
End.
M.
May 31 2014
From the outside looking in.
May 30, 2014
May 30, 2014 at 6:04 PM UTC
The Star-Spangled Banner are Our Mangled Mannerisms
© Matthew Harlovic
Oct 28, 2014
Oct 28, 2014 at 9:34 PM UTC
He sleeps on the top of a mast. - Bunyan
He sleeps on the top of a mast
with his eyes fast closed.
The sails fall away below him
like the sheets of his bed,
leaving out in the air of the night the sleeper's head.
Asleep he was transported there,
asleep he curled
in a gilded ball on the mast's top,
or climbed inside
a gilded bird, or blindly seated himself astride.
"I am founded on marble pillars,"
said a cloud. "I never move.
See the pillars there in the sea?"
Secure in introspection
he peers at the watery pillars of his reflection.
A gull had wings under his
and remarked that the air
was "like marble." He said: "Up here
I tower through the sky
for the marble wings on my tower-top fly."
But he sleeps on the top of his mast
with his eyes closed tight.
The gull inquired into his dream,
which was, "I must not fall.
The spangled sea below wants me to fall.
It is hard as diamonds; it wants to destroy us all."
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