Archival Review

[Senna Jawa]

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If this intrigues you, here's just one of many places with translations of Du Fu's poetry.

Thank you, LeBroz, for reading my poems. I am honored and always grateful, when you include any of them in your collection. You took on a grand task.

I am writing only now, and not earlier because it is awkward to write in such a situation (in particular, I don't want to influence your judgment, I don't want to make an impression that am I trying, etc.). So, I am writing on this occasion because of one more reason: I want to thank you for the very promising link to Du Fu's poems.

Best regards,

Senna Jawa

 

[LeBroz]

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Well SJ, some poems are a source of sensual pleasure while others fire up the readers' minds and set them to thinking. And sometimes I learn new things and share them here, as I did with the Du Fu link; it just opens a door of new possibilities.

Moving on, here's another episode of the Battle of the Titles. Just to get it right, the title may take as much work as the rest of the poem.


Duel for a Title
by normal jean©


I can’t write a poem without a title
“untitled” just seems so unfair
perhaps better-
an idea, as of yet unlabeled
or maybe even-
thoughts laid out
in barely a semblance of order

Words tend to overtake me
make me their own
I have no say as they grab me
they spin my thoughts towards oblivion
and twist me into shapes
that only they can recognize

A word smoothie? yes, that’s it!
all ingredients blended with care-
raspberries, low fat yogurt, tofu
bananas and a touch of sin-
amon

Yes, yes! those are all words
they work, but they are not a name
a title for this, this poem, a name
that’s where I was headed

A poem beheaded
by a bladeless guillotine-
There, I challenge you to a duel !
I’ll poke you with my phonic sword-
On guard!
Take the first line, you wordy hellion!
Take that one line
the one at the top, the one
with all the meaning
Just take it!
and I’ll take credit for all the rest
a syllable at a time

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[Senna Jawa]

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[...] sometimes I learn new things and share them here, as I did with the Du Fu link; it just opens a door of new possibilities.

That's what Basho and Buson did. They advised their students to study Chinese poetry, in particular Du Fu.

Moving on, here's another episode of the Battle of the Titles. Just to get it right, the title may take as much work as the rest of the poem.

A great fun poem (I would guillotine off its first line though ). There is that delighful arithmetical mean of

"sin--amen" and "cynamon" = sin-amon​

Thank you author, thank you reviewer.

***

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​

beheaded dance nameless dancer
how will i refer to you in the future
how will i remember dismembered dance
like a moonless night
coyotes seeking their shadow
and not a sound

the tall mount looms over the darkness with no head
what's your title to call me names
you did not study the salt of my sweat
the sweet years of my blood ages ago
in my childhood
i earned my title (friend)
but who cares
its not for display
not for sale --

behind the horizon
nothing else will remain

​

​

wh,
2007-11-28

Duel for a Title
by normal jean©

I can’t write a poem without a title
“untitled” just seems so unfair
perhaps better-
an idea, as of yet unlabeled
or maybe even-
thoughts laid out
in barely a semblance of order

Words tend to overtake me
make me their own
I have no say as they grab me
they spin my thoughts towards oblivion
and twist me into shapes
that only they can recognize

A word smoothie? yes, that’s it!
all ingredients blended with care-
raspberries, low fat yogurt, tofu
bananas and a touch of sin-
amon

Yes, yes! those are all words
they work, but they are not a name
a title for this, this poem, a name
that’s where I was headed

A poem beheaded
by a bladeless guillotine-
There, I challenge you to a duel !
I’ll poke you with my phonic sword-
On guard!
Take the first line, you wordy hellion!
Take that one line
the one at the top, the one
with all the meaning
Just take it!
and I’ll take credit for all the rest
a syllable at a time
​

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[LeBroz]

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Making the daily grind so unappealing.


dull and redundant
by smithpeter©


my tact is not sharp

it bounces off of that part

the thing on your sleeve

now limping in a circle we find our
peers peering down to us in the pit
we dig daily,

we are lopsided,
tilted and scratched,
leaning apart,
missing points at each
completed round,

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[LeBroz]

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Well, here's one way for her to get a rise out of her spouse.


Dunks
by MinorMonster©


He hates it
when she dunks her biscuits soft,
crumbles and halves drifting sadly
round and round in her lazy
Ceylon whirlpool.

She hates it too,
sad soggy wholemeal crackers,
primordial mud at the bottom
of the cup,

but dunks stubbornly on,

just to hear him speak, for once,
of something present,
anything at all,

instead of years stretching out
in merciless procession
behind.

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[LeBroz]

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Smooth and understated imagery lets the reader fill in greater details, making the scene truly resplendent.


Dusk's jewels
by tungtied2u©


Tipi perched on an emerald peak
Cotton candy perimeter
Wisps of pink
Spreading to the mountainside beyond
Catching it ablaze
Red ruby knolls and draws
Blessed by sunset
Dusk’s jewels
A perfect setting

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[LeBroz]

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It's not a misspelling but he sure does have fun playing with thoughts here.


Dustiny
by smithpeter©


It's not for us to judge,
The ceremony of others,

We want to be a Shaman,
When we grow up,
A group Shaman,

With trademarked© thin lips,
We ride into town in dust,
Mysteriously concealed in our pockets,

This is not science,
It is dust,
Concealed in our pockets,





~Rider~

Avoid conjunctions,
But, do not ignore them,
Treat them as unwelcome guests,
A consequence,

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[LeBroz]

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An interesting view of your end, in an urn, stored in the back of a dark closet. Found this to be one of RR's clearer poems; so many seem to be so obscure and thought provoking.


Dusty Urns
by RazzRajen©


Smiling faces
what about clouded urns
filled to brimming.
Those ornate gilt-edged
flasks,
some tawdry, some beautiful,
..........................................Most with memories
enclosed

Dust and embers,
fragments and fissures,
Bony, calcified .
Will the eons take them away
change to dust and make
those stratified live
like beacons

Pull the way
On, slip into the abyss
Watch as soiled colors of My life
unfold.

meandering byways ,
broken sighs
Boughs, bent and twisted,
her form aligned then put back
together
A hastily re-arranged akimbo
of twigs and sticks

whose will is taken ,
whose will is spoken,
whose will is changed.

He cloaks in that deepening
Night.

And she puts the urn
Back in the
Closet.


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[LeBroz]

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This one is a really fascinating little piece, seemingly packed with thoughts and feeling. I get a sense of almost mystical frustration at the koi pond, despite its implied serenity and later a feel of life's turmoil at all the choices presented and made.


Dyppan
by ghost_girl©


dyppan

do you ever feel as wasted as I do
by unwavering thirst for the morrow
or do you enjoy the flat saccharin after taste
of yesterday's delirious
i-think-i'm-in-love-with-you lies?

single sentence postcards
cancelled by frustration
delivered on wings of invisible winds;
I know they are there because I can hear them
tickling the chimes by my koi pond


undulate! diverge! dip! rise!
touch all the places you wished you could
when you squandered the chances you never took
evade, fly straight, no detours
no! not through her wood

don't you know you lose part of your soul
when you force yourself to split and moan
or deviate past a single limb
so you can go on
pretending your breath is nothing more
than a subtle summer breeze


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[LeBroz]

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Canadian forecasters are calling for the coldest winter in 15 years while American forecasters predict a warmer winter than average; my money's on the Canadians. In the meantime, here's a Canadian with a tale of the cold, no doubt from too much experience, though bedtime companionship can take the edge off any cold. Very picturesque.


Early Freeze
by champagne1982©


Leaves turning and it's only September.
I wonder when the frost fell.
One evening beneath the covers
oblivious to the world,
or the weather?
Did the aurora dance gleefully
across the starlit sky,
as the cold front slipped in beneath
the glowing mantle
flung across her shoulders?
The moon, Autumn's mistress,
must have seen.
The birch, lording it over the back yard,
must have shivered.
I want to be lost again
between the sheets of awareness
and only be aware
of you.

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[LeBroz]

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Holiday season in full tilt so here's a fitting piece of poetry lite, where the 'awwww' factor overwhelms. It's rhyming and cute, won't strain the brain, but, like I said, it's the holiday season. Something to follow a day full of shopping.


Early One Christmas Morning
by DreamCatcherPoet©


EARLY ONE CHRISTMAS MORNING


Early one morning
In the still of the night,
I came upon
A joyous sight.

It was my child
As he peacefully slept.
For some time during the night
Down the stairs he crept.

For he thought he'd see
Old Santa this night,
As he made his entrance
Thru the fireplace so tight.

But as he waited patiently
For that jolly old man,
Sleep had filled his eyes
And ruined his plan.

But early that morning
When he finally did wake,
He saw the presents under the tree
And quickly forgot his mistake...BWL


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[LeBroz]

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With the snow flying again, let's look ahead to that day that brings on the warming, Earth Day, and the nature loving women communing with the earth and the things she'll do to get him involved. It's as erotic as you choose to make it.


Earth Day Women
by smithpeter©


Flannel in shorts
Planting trees, stooping
Gathering while men recline

Lost seeds, found dirt and approval
Discussing mold, chores to hold
Teeth and masonry

Strapping the lover to promises
Lapping the tooled gloves 'round
Shanks sturdy or need of nourish

Poor shank, there is light in our tunnel

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[LeBroz]

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Great imagery, comfort, and love throbbing in this one. And it's done with so few words!


ease the transition
by annaswirls©


I will not become the loft
where cats come to die
far away from their loved ones.

Yet here you curl in my shade,
stretch in my comfort.
Again I pour my love like milk
into a chipped platter
and wait.

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[LeBroz]

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Here's one so simple, yet creates such a strong feel, that in my mind I'm able to see and hear what's been here described.


East of Malange
by flyte©


naked children
run beside our jeep
crying
"sweets?
sweets?
sweets?"
like little birds
in the hot
African sun.

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[LeBroz]

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Let me get this posted before the gunfight starts; don't want to get caught in the crossfire! And so, here's your timer...


Eating Time
by neonurotic©



Cracking an hour glass to swallow
one second, one grain
after the other takes patience
if you don't have it
don't bother because time doesn't stop
not for me, not for you

It goes in as sand and comes out the same

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[LeBroz]

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That first meal eaten with chopsticks can be so unfulfilling — so much slips away. Perhaps a meal taken beforehand or, better yet as suggested here, a nice comforting dessert.


Eating Vietnamese
by Kaishaku©



I pick shrimp
from woven noodles
my glasses cloud

I hold the chopsticks
the noodles slipped through


a flash of light
from the next table
a fork shines

too proud to give up
noodles splash my tie


still hungry
I recall the taste
half eaten meal

I search into night
for an ice cream shop

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[LeBroz]

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Here's a strong rebuttal to the notion that they'll get over it when thinking of the events to which children are exposed, foremost being nightmare parents.


Echoes of my Father
by Curiouswife©


Lately it seems
I am flooded with memories
each time I do the dishes

The glasses turned upside down
in a wooden cupboard
make a distinctive “clink”
when they hit bottom

My mother used to make that noise
when I would sleep on the couch
early Saturday mornings
after she’d left my father

There is also another sound
dishes clanking together
while I try to keep them quiet
as my son sleeps on the couch

This sound is of my father
lining up sleepy children in the night
smiling sickly as we wept
determined to teach us wrong from right

He’d make sure the lights were glaring
and the music would be blaring
his dilated eyes gleaming
when he’d throw up his arms and dance

Daddy turned demon
screaming in our faces
that we’d be sleeping now
if we hadn’t clanked those dishes

I wonder if he still hears those clanking dishes
the way I still see him dancing

It’s been decades since we left
but sometimes when I close my eyes
there he is
my demon
my daddy
dancing through my dreams


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[LeBroz]

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Pink Floyd inspired? That's going back a bit for this piece reflecting on an early morning awakening.


Echoes, Revisited (repost)
by quietpoet©


Solitary note repeats, carrier of ancient memories
far from the pull of earthly gravity;
held breath through lucid depths
lifts life's albatross above caramelized
fragments of bittersweet yesterdays.

Bass beats through unknown eons,
reflecting back dreams of simpler times,
gently fading to pond ripples,
lonely cry of the loon pulls you in,
beyond acid clouds of poison smog.

Feel the fog rise and ebb, transmit dreams
on oily backs of black and white caricatures
'till the beat of life releases darkest night.
Cymbals shimmer in faint distance, carrying
high and low through primordial ooze.

You see them, feel them, hear them,
secret hints of the joyous tempo of life,
a crescendo of today, tomorrow,
oh sweet release, beckon with power
of a million suns, illuminating this morning.

Breath, subtle, bespeaks an awakening,
a recognition of the only one,
welcoming ambassadors of morning,
and so you throw the windows wide
and call to me across the sky…

Credit to Pink Floyd for the inspiration, a few of the words,
and one of the most illuminated songs…ever

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[LeBroz]

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Back from the gym and at the stage where my sore muscles have sores. So wonderful! Speaking of which, you need know the meaning of this title to fully enjoy this poem's tinge of self-mockery. Brilliant!


effulgence
by air2o©


at night
things happen more magic
a speck, not large dirt

stones turn self-conscious
without permission
pernicious brutes, yes

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[LeBroz]

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Let's have a light quick breakfast and head out for a day's shopping.


egg
by 2rivers©


nothing else may touch it
except stomach and throat
tongue teeth and lips
finger tips and salt
after peel follows crack


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[LeBroz]

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Enjoy it for the fine wordplay or go further and dig into its religious roots.


Ehyeh Asher Ehyeh
by lobomao©


Ehyeh asher ehyeh
my ancient voice cries
a torn and tattered torrah
an old testimate to endurance
I am the I I am
I can be no more
more or less
so why ask why
or say so and so
leave my words
as stone carved figures
alone together facing east
looking forward to a time
when meaning will mean something
just by being
the understanding
comes in their whispers there
as you see them on a hilltop
or on from the seaside
in pretty picture postcards
you get one day
without warning

Some words read
when in the then and there
we watch the line
tow ropes or fetters
persistent persnickety
naggity sinking feelings
inner circular critical voices
sleeping comas with other injuries
how cleverly we are then
as we go and go along
his way and that
we put our foot down
with all our stitch witchery
hidden seemy hemming
did he? Or how do I explain?
spill spelling contents
how tigers disappear
or all my love charms

Some words spoken
need not no their way
finding winding windy airs
over teeth and tongue
in ghosts of old songs
or rolled as oats as old
as early as my memory
cribside inside all around the room
wrapped tight in blankets
I could not move
but rather instead
warmed by love
dreamed tomorrow's freedom
so or so I could speak of it
and sing sing sing
as I do to you now
read my words aloud
twice the same way
I dare you

SO you and you and you.
Take from it what you will;
See yourself shattered
Reflecting reflections -
Make yourselves anew.
Tell your telling tales,
Shimmer and shine...
On your own time -
Not now in mine!

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[LeBroz]

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lobomao continues his tale with his style of wordplay in this darker read.


Ehyeh Asher Ehyeh Again
by lobomao©


Those Birds perched on barbed wire
They shall be my requiem
There they are in small black notes
As to all too soon they will fly far far away
Their song fading as a failing falling body
This and the hiss of dissent from hollow lips
Disguised as naked shaven shower heads
These of we who could not conform
So and so erased are our memories
That they live forever against a darkened sky
So sorry I feel sorry for our black comic moment
I am ever always impressed with oppression
And its ultimate futility; the ends always means the same
When it comes to the chorus comes in chiming
Like a century clock ringing out its doleful hours
Amen hallelujah ditto ditto et cetera et cetera

Such is the core of the crime
You will not let me be
So you say so I go
And now you set me free

I am still the I I am
Wherever I will be

Woolen blankets will wrap me in wire
An imperfect insulator from the irony
Rusting in rain razed as razors
Vicious spirals pulled across chain-link lines
Spanning my awakened wide horizon,
Passing whatever past I’ve past
Out beyond the call to every end of it all
My personal blind spot vanishing point,
These gifts they kill me from like kind
Cold, in sensed, and mirth have no value here
Bury my heart under any young laurel
After you walk it it’s mournful miles
Singing all my old songs I’ve left behind
Left as leaves fallen in fall raked with rakes
All we are left with is our faith in words
And sometimes not even that

Such is the end of all things
That final period time
You say stop so I go
And all I have is mine

I am still the I I am
Wherever I will be


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[LeBroz]

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Sounds like an aunt's passing so eloquently noted. And so, let's move on before Manu does his upgrade — see you on the other side.


Einstein's Window
by Senna Jawa©

.......(1)

you must derive your strength
from Earth populated by
a hundred members of
your own family living
within a hundred miles

and from another hundred
dispersed further away like
night-lights outside a city

i wish i knew that feeling
i wish my children would


.......(2)

i had little to do with the bold flowers
which my wife grew in the backyard
my aunt acted theatrical
suddenly she had tears in her eyes
while I'd cut a red rose -
i'll take her back with me
and lie her down on the grave of your grandmother
my aunt said

the dead rose went over the steel ocean
to keep my grandma company
my grandmother was my aunt's mother


.......(3)

far from Earth
there must be Einstein's house
its open window swings
in the gravitational draft

the Earth's plants and animals and us
from the future and from the past
hide in the opaque shade of non-being

the precious few bask
in the sun-light reflected from
the moving Einstein window
but my one and only aunt
is already in the shadow


.......(4)

clouds in the blue sky move with dignity
their liquid shadow is rapid​

Wlodzimierz Holsztynski
....1988-08-10 ©

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[LeBroz]

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The upgrade's gotten off to a wobbly start — step by step...

Now here's a quickie from Chris — it's all a blank...


El ladrón
by cward2©


El ladrón


el soliloquio de la noche
se arrastra como una sombra
en mi cabeza

disturbing
the canvas
in the corner

silence

that is the last thing I remember

but even that
was long ago


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[LeBroz]

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Now here's a little oddity, the only poem posted by the author, about a most unusual subject. I just can't help carrying with me an image of a mounted skeletal bird, especially since such bones would be so delicate.


El Pájaro Se Fué
by Toxico©


My bird disappeared last night.
I'd found it dead after it ran
Into the glass door while in flight.
I placed the poor thing belly up
On a nearby juniper bush
And religiously looked at my bird
Every night.

Though ice and snow fell on
Its slowly shrinking body,
With its wings laying beside him
As if they would were he coming down for a landing,
I watched and I waited for the day that
Nothing but its light and fragile bones would remain,
Cleaned by insects and bacteria,
Bleached by the sun,
So that I could take them inside,
Assemble them like a model
And have my bird with me forever.

Last night, my bird was gone
And I cursed the bastards that molested
One of God's creatures at rest.
Yet this morning gave me another story
As I saw a pile of feathers beside the juniper bush
And knew one of my totems had taken my bird
For a better purpose than to decorate my desk.

So I offered my apologies and my thanks,
For I knew the meaning of this:
Even in death we serve a purpose
Of one sort or another
And because of the order of the universe,
The purpose we must serve
Whether it be in life or death,
Is necessarily of the higher sort.


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