Archival Review

[LeBroz]

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Here's an instructive piece — there's only a single piece of punctuation in the whole thing. Yet, since the line breaks work so well, the lack of punctuation's not a distraction as it is with pieces done by so many others. Oh, and in case you missed it, this revolves about checkers.


Checkered Twilight
by Angeline ©

Peace checkered small voice
and deep clicking red black

I'm in a bit of a pickle
red black black

getting darker out
twelve strings sliding
us into the night

There's places I can move
but I'm trying to think

about the moment
the very one right here
I can cakewalk it
straight up to the next
criss-cross over squares

I moved Dad
Ok I'll just read the board

or the window, the night
jumping into the sky, kinged

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[LeBroz]

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This is one of Art's better efforts done so well that it overcomes the odd hyphenations. It comes across with Alzheimers being dealt with so casually and in such a folksy manner that only after you've finished reading it do the horrors of the disease really strike you.


Chances are ...
by My Erotic Trail ©

Chances are...
He has 'Old-Timers'

He was here today
telling me about 'yester-year'
of when he was a boy
hunting 'snipe' for supper
loading his shot-gun barrel with broken glass
to increase his chances

chances are...
it was one of his most memorable yesterdays

Like yesterday
he asked 'where am I at?'
I said, 'Home!'
he asked, 'where is that?'
Mom says, 'Home is where the heart is'

chances are ...
he didn't remember that today

Today he toys with a fishing line
like he has forgotten what to do with it
family, the tie that binds
a rope with many strands
an old timer holds tightly to one

chances are...
he won't be here too many more tomorrows

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[LeBroz]

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Good grief! A form poem. Okay, technically a variant on a form, the pantoum. Here, instead of the 2nd and 4th line of each stanza appearing as the 1st and 3rd line of each succeeding stanza, she has the 1st and 3rd line of each stanza appearing as the 2nd and 4th line of each succeeding stanza. Still, it's a tricky task to undertake. Personally, I love that title.


Cherry Lemonade Picnic for Two
by ~hellbaby~ ©

(pantoum-ish)

We gave ourselves what life never granted
a cherry lemonade picnic for two
On thrones of sand we sat so enchanted
king and queen of a world no one else knew

When all we had was stripped away
we gave ourselves what life never granted
Even without a means to pay
on thrones of sand we sat enchanted

It was our love that pulled us through
when all we had was stripped away
We did whatever we wanted to
even without the means to pay

Whenever the road we took was rough
it was our love that pulled us through
Even when things got really tough
we did whatever we wanted to

We always helped each other along
whenever the road we took was rough
The bond we shared was deep and strong
even when things got really tough

The times when we did not agree
We always helped each other along
Anyone with eyes could clearly see
the bond we shared was deep and strong

We always helped each other along
On thrones of sand we sat enchanted
the bond we shared was deep and strong
We gave ourselves what life never granted

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[LeBroz]

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A brief piece seems in order and who better?


cliff
by Senna Jawa©

when falling off a cliff
let's enjoy the zooming sand
and hope for the merciful death
to catch us softly before we end​

wlodzimierz holsztynski ©
1985

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[LeBroz]

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A little senryu with which to start off the morning. She's not asking for much in a man, just everything.


Characteristics
by Svenskaflicka©


Adventures, safety,
love nest, haven, all entwined.
He's all that I want.

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[LeBroz]

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This is one of those poems where you don't understand the title until the end. It just doesn't click until the end and suddenly, it's not about the title anymore. The loss of a pet can be so sad.


Cherokee
by Remec©


a quiet night,
an empty yard,
security has fallen off
but the only thing on
my mind is
the spillled bowls and
lingering paw prints
reminding me of
golden locks gone
matted and muddy,
and of slow, labored
breaths
that still tried to
power challenges and hellos
that turned out to be
goodbyes,
making my eyes water
and my chest ache
at the unexpected discovery
that he was my dog too.

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[LeBroz]

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The imagery here is perfect; you can feel yourself at this archeological dig, lured by the cooling temptation of that sinkhole with its own water pool.


Chichen Itza
by Angeline©


The Sun's eyes pierce the jungle.
Its hands are sensuous, deceitful,
cupping the Yucatan's untamed green.

Bushes unfurl tuberous leaves,
dense webs of fern bake, stretch
drooping languid fingers.

One iguana conquers Chac-Mool,
draped across the stone bowl,
barely moving, drunk with heat.
Its recticular lid ticks.

A whisper is pressed from lips
to ancient limestone, sacrificing
secrets, echoing on ball court walls.

Mystery is a cool cenote, thick,
littered with bones and death,
passing the quiet forever of time.

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[LeBroz]

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There's nothing as powerful as belief to shape a person's actions, especially when religious belief comes up against science and medicine. And in this case, nobody won.


Chiavo Chivalry
by dcpoet44©


CHIAVO CHIVALRY

romanticism-
unconditional
in every sense.
petals of fundamentalists
vivid in endless life
of which the politician
comes forth
in hopelessness.
extreme love
is in the thorns;
prickly emotions
left in eyes.
i am moved-
courtship aside
only brings to mind
that romanticism
be left behind
in pure chivalry:
a rose dies,
but in remembrance
of you in metaphor
as to your life,
*we all love you*
in our verse.

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[LeBroz]

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Tzara, this one's for you. Saw your post about mischievousgrin and went to check him out. Seems I've read only two of his pieces so far, but I was surprised I hadn't picked this piece — I actually liked it when I first read it. Must not have been having a good day that day as there's a piece from yui I missed {I'll get that one up this evening}. And everyone have a good Good Friday.


An Annoying Struggle With Three Little Words
by mischievousgrin©


As always, comments / criticisms / deconstructions are entirely welcome. Don't hold back.

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An Annoying Struggle With Three Little Words

She's in my bathtub.
Nipples just below the surface, so
lips and nose get a shock of hot water
as I lean in to kiss.

The words are in my mouth.
I keep my lips shut so they don't escape.
Those little monsters wriggle on my tongue
and tap on my teeth.
Sorry, it's not time yet.

She sighs and confesses:
No one's ever kissed my eyes before.
And her in her thirties!
What is wrong with this world?
Who are these other men?
I'm not so special, really.
But, jesus.
You men out there.
What is your problem?
Kiss those eyes, for god's sake.

Those words are back.
Let us out! Let us out!
I let them think they've won,
and then derail:
I love your neck.
I love your jaw.
I love what your upper teeth do when you smile.
The words are not happy.
They've been tricked.

I'm kissing her back.
I've got this idea for a poem.
I should be writing it down
but it doesn't seem so important.
She makes that sound she makes:
mm.
Not a gasp, not a moan, not mmm.
Three m's is too many.
mm.
The words want to answer.
They are demanding time for a response.

Listen, words!
Don't be so impatient.
When the time comes,
I will whisper you
to your heart's content.
I will write you on her skin.
I will set you free,
and you can show me
what you are made of.

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[LeBroz]

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Nicely descriptive piece. Brought so quickly to mind those hot Southern days and after a brief thundershower those ghosts arose so quickly, scattering in all directions.


An Army of Ghosts
by yui©


The fog rose up from the asphalt
So that it appeared to be an army of ghosts
Tattered and almost transparent

Guided by a wind I couldn’t see or feel
Marching right, some veering left,
Stragglers, confused, chasing to catch up

Standing above it,
The scene was so clearly what it wasn’t
Ghost rising from their graves beneath tar, sand, and gravel

Had I been walking with them, down there,
Among them
I wouldn’t have seen

I would have walked across their graves
Unknowingly
Blithely breathed their misty remains

And never realized that ghosts
Other than those in my head,
Walked in daylight

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[LeBroz]

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Here's a piece with desolation written all about it, about the child the woman has become.


child with no future
by catmajica©


her craving is insatiable
like the unseen passion
of sun dried sponges
their thirst never quenched

she smiles dimly...her
stained teeth showing
between lips painted red
by dime store rouge

everything seems empty
her stomach moans
and argues with her all day
her head seems hollow

the itch starts from her toes
and doesn't end till it jumps
from the broken ends of her hair

"one more taste", she thinks to herself
"one more taste and then i can sleep"
but there is nothing left

she could make a soup of tears
add memories from a darkened basement
of an abandoned, broken home
maybe some rice as hard as the rain
that would fill up the cracks of her
parents loveless marriage

no end was in sight, though,
for her particular hunger
this is how it has always been...
she was once a child with no future
and now is a woman with no past

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[LeBroz]

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A little innocent sensory overload, before we had guilt drilled into us and denied ourselves the pleasures of the senses. Look at how all the senses are explored.


Childhood Sensuality
by ashkara©


Raspberry cordial,
Thick, honeyed syrup,
No water, coating my tongue
With its cloying seduction.

Glace cherries
Straight from the fridge,
Sticky on my fingers,
Eaten out of sight.

Dancing in nighttime rain,
Naked in the yard,
Cold pinpricks drilling
Through the layers of my skin.

Hidden in a closet,
Smelling violet perfume
Upon black velvet
That lies against my cheek.

Pricking fingertips so gently
With my mother's silver pins,
Running hands through needles
In her sewing drawer.

Smelling sap that's trickling
From the gum tree's bark,
Hugging close the roughness
Pressing hard beneath my hands.

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[LeBroz]

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A stark piece describing homeless life on the streets.


choices
by champagne1982©



a pale face
beneath a recycled
stocking cap
no pompom, that's gone
with the colours
of Christmas

begrudging every calorie
burned to move on
find a different door
a new patch of concrete
thief, of the lowest sort,
stealing from the poor

noises from an alley
slapping wetness
voiceless mews
whining in discomfort
submit to tricks
already sold out
to a harsher master

the needle doesn't hurt
not as much as a gut
wrenched tight with need

blank stares easier
on the eyes than tears
feigned unconcern
don't care
it's better that way.

Inspired by Neil Young's lyrics, "Rockin' In The Free World"

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[BooMerengue]

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This is one of those poems where you don't understand the title until the end. It just doesn't click until the end and suddenly, it's not about the title anymore. The loss of a pet can be so sad.


Cherokee
by Remec©


a quiet night,
an empty yard,
security has fallen off
but the only thing on
my mind is
the spillled bowls and
lingering paw prints
reminding me of
golden locks gone
matted and muddy,
and of slow, labored
breaths
that still tried to
power challenges and hellos
that turned out to be
goodbyes,
making my eyes water
and my chest ache
at the unexpected discovery
that he was my dog too.

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The last 4 lines got me- was it the kids dog, Remec? Oh jesus, how bittersweet!

 

[LeBroz]

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I just looked and it's snowing ~ again. A White Easter? We've more snow than at Christmas. In that spirit, in this mixed up season, we can break out the tissues for this father's Christmas tale.


Christmas without Mommy
by Stryderthorongil©


Christmas Without Mommy

“T’was the night before Christmas” or so the poem goes
For 15 years our Christmas Eves ended with this prose
Our children all snuggled in close on our laps
Their last story before their long winters naps
I remember the twinkle in your bright hazel eyes,
As you thought of “Santa’s” morning surprise
How the kids would rise early and give a loud shout
As they ran to the Christmas tree where the gifts were laid out.

But this night is different than those come before,
As I look at our children, finishing the story once more.
My son on my lap, my daughter at my side
All feeling emotions that we can’t simply hide.
I look at my son and he looks up at me
And whispers three words “I miss mommy.”

With tears in our eyes, I tuck them in bed
Walk down the steps shaking my head
Remembering, how things used to be
How happy we were being you and me
But two weeks have passed since you left with the car
I stare out the window, not knowing where you are.

I sit by the phone awaiting your call
Check email daily, spend hours pacing the hall
I think of the strain of your daily life
Blame myself for causing much of the strife
Long hours at the office, no time for dates
Ignoring your words until it was too late

So now I sit here on Christmas Eve hating the night
Wrapping the presents you left just before you took flight
Signing the labels with “From Mommy and Daddy”
Wishing you were here to help me place them under the tree.

The emptiness I feel, the guilt, the despair
Wishing you in my arms, telling you how much I care.
I stand in front of our large picture window.
Staring out at the magic of fresh falling snow
I make my last Christmas Eve wish.
Then return to the kitchen, I clean the last dish.



I do not remember falling asleep that night
I tried staying awake with all of my might
The hope that my Christmas Eve wish would come true
That Christmas day would come and I would share it with you.
Just as I feel my heart starting to sink
I hear a small noise that starts me to think.
My heart beating faster I move toward the door
I reach down to open it, then stare at the floor.
Listening, are my ears playing tricks?
I open the door, what I see makes me sick.
An empty front stoop, empty space with no care.
But suddenly, a familiar sound moves through the air.

I turn toward the drive, the snow forming a mist
Then I see you, bags held tightly in each fist.
At first I just stand there, not knowing what to do
Not sure at first, that it is really you.

I move down the steps, your eyes starting to tear
As I move closer, do I also see fear?
That you would not be welcome
To this place you call home?
Seeing this sight is more than I can bear
I pull you into my arms and just hold you there.

Taking the bags and holding your hand
I walk with you slowly, as careful as I can
As if afraid I will break you if I move to fast
We move down the walk reaching the door at last

Slowly we enter and hear a small sigh
And I catch the form of our son in the corner of my eye.
Moving faster than I had ever seen before
He moves by the door
And pushes past me
Grabbing hold tight to his Mommy.

I help you off with your coat, our son holding tight
Our daughter stands on the stairs, her eyes looking for a fight.
I move to her side and give her a hug
Playing the mediator, never the thug
Slowly she moves down the stairs toward her mother
Gives her a hug, and also hugs her brother



We spent that Christmas day, unlike any other
We slowed down, hugged each other, and didn’t visit your mother
As Christmas day ended, the kids sent to bed
We sat close together, I cradled your head.
We talked of our love, watched each other cry
And now we know how much harder we must try.

We learned that though Christmas gives us love for a season.
We must slow down and love, for no other reason
Than knowing that time given to us to love and to play
Is growing shorter and shorter with each passing day.


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[LeBroz]

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Here's a little look at life's everyday geometry.


Circling the Square's Block
by My Erotic Trail©


Circling the Square's Block

To ship a box
around this sphere
I drove to Circle Street's Square

Watched a ball rise
above the horizontal line
saw a flying triangle in the air

I ended up boxed in
from going directly into a u-turn
now I am square in a 'round about' way

Bounce my thoughts
thought outside of the box
circling the Square's block, I wave

(6/12/06) Art ~

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[LeBroz]

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Now here's a little odd form, an embodiment of circularity.


circularism
by BooMerengue©


Lips parted
breath softened;
a child sleeps

a child sleeps
eyelids flutter
new worlds entered

new worlds entered
un-named colors
impossible songs

impossible songs
drawing forward
smiling assent

smiling assent
children gambol
free of burden

free of burden
hearts joy filled
eyes wide open

eyes wide open
knowing all
laughing gaily

laughing gaily
shade trees beckon
a child rests

lips parted
breath softened;
a child sleeps.


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[LeBroz]

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A city day today, starting with this almost timeless view of the city. Its flow seems almost effortless, making its reading such a pleasure.


City Gift
by Angeline©


Someday
at the Library Hotel,
I'll show you a balcony
and the stone lion view
across the avenue.
They've seen everything,
but don't crack a fang.

The junkie jugglers
and chessmen in Washington Square
will barely notice us
though we'll fly into Manhattan singing
the George Washington Bridge song.

I'll feed you pistachio gelato,
and jazz will dawn at sunset
in St Peters. I'll light a candle
for Prez and Papa Jo,
my swing saint guardian cats.

Gershwin's ghost will smile
on us from an invisible
all-night coffee shop
in Tin Pan Alley.

Books will whisper goodnight
from the snuggery of their shelves.

Sweet dreams, you timeless lovers,
drooping wide-eyed,
fallen into the blare
of sleepy night sleepy beats.

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[LeBroz]

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The second city poem of the day describes a scene in such simple terms that it's easy to miss all that's going on here.


city moment
by smithpeter©


I think
of standing next to you
on a street corner
in busy city
trying hard to think

what to say-
and why-
could be your hair
could be your stance
could be your stare at center line
or slight glance into my right eye

it just happened that there was a snow flake
melting on your shoulder
that I alert you to,
so you say, "thanks"

it turns green

__________________

was Detroit in 1971

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[LeBroz]

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And the third city poem of the day, almost sounding musical in the way its descriptions seem to bounce around NYC.


City Heart
by Angeline©


Concrete poured and steel
beamed the only grass here
parked central to a thousand
glass eyes watching the world
half-lidded rectangulated

behind terra-cotta flowerpots
car ballets dance en glissade
symphonies beep conducted
in red green blinks changing
faces come go but keep

moving talk like belonging
somewhere so Pippa passes
and God's in an after hours
club on 52nd Street waiting
drinking Campari and Soda

I don't know meadows canyons
horses trot steaming past
dawn and brownstone stoops
rain shined the patently black
avenues slicked and squeaking

down to caverns to turnstiles
tokens pass the day swallowed up
roaring forward I don't know
the nature of open sky I know
cityscape geography I know you.

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[LeBroz]

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Don't know how this'll look; will have to white-dot it to try to keep the original appearance. Just these few brief words sound better than any sound I ever made on the thing.


Clarinet
by jthserra©


Clarinet

b-flat
....reed flux harmony
..deep black
........satin
....and glitter pads
................in soft
....................slow-note
............dreams

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[LeBroz]

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A certain macabre humor in this one that makes sense if you grew up with rabbit ears atop the TV. Even in the South that's what they were called, though you'd sooner see a possum smeared alongside the road.


clear as a bell
by normal jean©


Roadside grassy, damp with dew
bunny laid flat, pointing northward
seems to beg the question,

M. Bunny,

How is your reception?

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[LeBroz]

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Got to run, so here's something a little less macabre. There's nothing like a bit of clerihew humor.


Clerihew Girl
by evelyn_carroll©


Madame Marie Curie
Loved both racing and tomato puree.
So, one day – on her way to the stadium –
Because of this, invented radium.

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[LeBroz]

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Here's a piece I've described as austere, lean, and taut. In some ways it reminds me of smithpeter's style. Give it a thought.


Clearing The Land
by Barushko©


CLEARING THE LAND

By BARUSHKO © 2004


Saber-snap on bone, sere-sharp
white, soap-smooth
glisten, the

skull in the killing field
spear-pointed
up into the mist of this
Indian place, fishing net

cobwebs

over this burial

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[LeBroz]

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Life calls again; have some errands to run. Here's a piece to think upon that compares the edge of a cliff's dangers to that of a woman's allure. Personally I think the edge of a woman's more stimulating and rewarding.


Cliffside
by Belegon©


I walk the edge of the precipice
wet grass teasing me
with a long slide down
to the stream below.
My thoughts, as always,
are of you.
Of passion and experience:
you threaten me as much as the cliff.
The fall into you more perilous
than threat of life or limb.
How can I maintain
my tenuous grip
on this gentle sanity
with the promise of you pulling me
towards the edge of the extreme?



...with thanks to Impressive and Biplaymate420 for their valued input.

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