Archival Review

[LeBroz]

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Where Show and Tell meets current events on the evening news.


First day of School
by tungtied2u©


Welcome back to school
Today’s lesson is current events
With a sub-text of terror
It will be written with your blood
Upon the pages of history
Ring down the ages
In the echoes of your screams
and cries for mercy
Remembered for time immemorial

Questions?

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[LeBroz]

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The calendar says three weeks till Spring; we can always hope.


First Day of Spring
by Svenskaflicka©


Even though the sky is grey
and the trees are brown and naked,
the seagulls fly
and sing their song
and people move their lunchbreaks outside.

The wind may be cold
and the sun hides its face,
but people wear sandals
and leave their jackets at home
and I drink my coffee
in the street
with blue flowers
behind my ear.

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[LeBroz]

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It's a bit more complicated than it appears on first read; fights usually are.


First Fight
by logophile©


But tonight when I said
I miss you
You insisted that I only miss the ‘idea of you’
And it cut so deep.

It’s all just Words
you whispered into my ear from a thousand miles away
throwing my statement back at me.
Forcing me to look at myself in
a new and uncomfortable way.

With tears streaming down my face
I tried to justify my bad behavior.

Trembling hands reached for you.
Forgive me? Rang through my soul
echoing off the walls and into your heart.

How can it be more real than this?

I feel you around me.
Your warmth soothes the aches in my bones.
Your presence calms the longing in my heart.
When I go to sleep at night,
I hear you breathing next to me.

Your lips are soft and I yield to them.
Your hands are strong and I give myself to them.
Your need is fierce and I submit to it.

Laying before you,
Hoping it’s more than just Words…


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[LeBroz]

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It's a Friday night. Dust off those killer lines and find someone to wow.


First Impression
by dcpoet44©


FIRST IMPRESSION

sometimes it's not easy
to find the words
when trying to give it all my best.
it seems as if i'm missing
that certain element
of which will take me to the top.
but when i look at
from the perspective:
TRY - TRY - TRY - AGAIN.
does that show
i'm persistent enough
to get to this point?

so-

doesn't it seem fitting
to use this same philosophy
with the opposite sex?

and-

can a killer line
pull you in
when other avenues
have failed to get results?

then-

creativity is the only answer.

so-

does this leave you with a mind
in a body of flexing lines
that has great shape
for a first impression?


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[LeBroz]

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After last night's {this morning's?} experience with jd neat, today is jd-day. Except, for my head's sake, let's keep the day dry and go for a couple jd poems instead. I like the ending on this. It can be taken two very different ways.


First Jump
by jd4george©


First Jump with the
Thunderbird Skydiving Club



Butt-glued to Cessna floor
wind beats the ears
ninety miles an hour
safety checks run rampant zig zag
with nothing quite making sense
jumpmaster grins
you panic ballsinyourthroat
fingers grasping wing struts
cold metal vibrating
cheeks rip back
making obscene noises
jumpmaster slaps your leg
and you begin to count

ONE THOUSAND ONE

remembering all the steps
all the ways to mess up
all the ways to die

ONE THOUSAND TWO

the birds below flip circles
like there’s nothing simpler
than spiraling against gravity

ONE THOUSAND THREE

while you claw air
and freefall plummet
fumbling for the steel ring

ONE THOUSAND FOUR

Icarisian fool
hot wax drips
from your arms

ONE THOUSAND PULL

and floating
you feel a familiar warmth
between your legs



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[LeBroz]

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What irony, paying someone to read you a poem only to discover they're reading you one of your own poems. No wonder this one has been on the Poetry Top List seemingly forever.


First Reading at Café No
by jd4george©


I dropped the coins of my children
into the blind man’s cup,
first dues for the body poetica.
He didn’t say thank you,
didn’t even acknowledge the rattle
of metal on metal.

He must be deaf, I thought…
blind and
deaf and
mute.
Feeling almost sad,
I started away.

Wanna hear a poem,
he croaked.
Wanna hear a poem?

He emptied the cup into his pocket,
lowered his black glasses
to the perch of his nose
and peered me through.
Not daring to say no,
and still smarting
from the apparent larceny,
I nodded.

He unfolded himself,
drawing up on his white pencil cane
and cleared his throat:

Holding a child’s hand
I discover the beauty
I missed with my age

He crooked an evil smile,
squinting at me
first through one good eye,
then through the other,
waiting for me to speak.
Seconds ticked out of shape
as I searched for just the right words.
Failing, I said:

I wrote that.

He sneered at me, king to fool,
strangling a laugh.

You never own your children,
you silly, silly man.



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[LeBroz]

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Playing the first time again game? That's just one fun game in the bigger game of life. Do you make it a fun game with infinite variations or do you dampen all the fun by thinking up excuses for why not to do what and when?


first time again
by svelte walker©


meetings lost count of
deciding our favorite color
our eyes, bright lipped drawn
to golden toes
I really bite, I pet you

tug each others apron strings
make cookies and eat the dough
we are the tall and long of us
with fingers playing
the two virgin game

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[LeBroz]

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Less than three weeks till Spring. Will it finally bring an end to this interminable Winter? Here's another piece of warmth to keep the cold at bay.


first...
by Senna Jawa©

first coffee at work
winter red hands
wrapped around the cup​

wlodzimierz holsztynski ©
2003-01-15



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[LeBroz]

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While we'll start the work week with a light one, don't be fooled for it's a light tale of some of life's hard truths, told in that rhyming style that makes the swallowing of those truths so much easier.


Fish Eyes
by Angeline©


If wishes were fishes
they'd swim away,
recede to depths of hope
like wishes do every day,

whole schools of them
unlearned, yearning dreams
that might come true,
propelled through sea or sky
the blue, the fertile green,
or earthy brown of eye,
unfurled against the tides
of life and time.

There is no reason here.
Even rhyme swims blind
escaping head or tail
of tangled lines.
Not even poetry
makes wishes heard,
and stars are distant.

Night is cold.
Someday

when you are old
and gray, sit by the fire,
take down a book and read
the lessons in the ashes
at the grate. Berate yourself
or hail the crowd of stars,
but look to life.

Don't wait for wishes
to be swallowed whole
by bigger fishy wishes
that splash through
your finny wavy fingers,
toss and swim away.

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[LeBroz]

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Here's another poem inspired by an artist; in this case, Richard Brautigan. Enjoy.


Fish, Watermelon and Despair
by jthserra©


Fish, Watermelon and Despair

..........1

The trout fishing
............was good,
........but something in
.....................watermelon sugar
confused me.

.......The word on
...............the seventh page
....after the second
................................sentence
....................lacked dimension.

Watermelons have
...........seemed flat
......ever since.

.............2

..........I dreamed I was cast in
a movie called
.................Laughter in the Wind
.....but I couldn't laugh
..........................loud enough
............and no one heard me.

.............3

I lost at love once
............but won the war.

.......I couldn't smile,
..................Richard died
...my poem is
.......................undone...


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[LeBroz]

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Here's a left brain/right brain tale. The rational world of things is so easy, then you bring in relationships and it all crumbles around you with those mixed blessings of the bipolar.


Fissures In A Texas Oil Field
by hippiedude©


Oil hangs heavy in the air,
permeates the soil around
sputtering engine and rhythmic
clank of rusty praying mantis shape,
whose push rod probes like a fist
fissured strata miles below to
suckle Earth’s black and primal
forest and fossil ooze while nearby
metal tanks stand stalwart,
offering salvation to the crude.

But you want to talk about relationships,
forget the rise and fall of progress,
lament the many buried complexities
which rise to stain the surface
and fill the stalwart metal
of your resolve to leave,
left brain—
right brain—
no brain—
some nonsense about bipolar disease.

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[LeBroz]

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The innocent honesty with which you respond to the world at five becomes embarrassement at fifty-five.


Five
by ishtat©


Five.

When I was five
my friend Peter fell from the footbridge.
On to the rail track.
He died.
Peter had lots of really good toys, cars, tanks, planes, more and better than mine.
I wonder what they’ll do with them ?

Now I am fifty five
walking through Upper Cam churchyard last week,
saw the small green grave; caught myself, wondering that wonder again.
Embarrassed, turned to see who was looking; fled .
I’d like to hide.
Five again.


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[LeBroz]

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Here's something simple and packed with emotion.


Five and a half letter
by Liar©


At four she wished:
......Kisses,
......pretty shoes,
......and a baby brother... or a doll.

At eight she wrote:
......Dear Santa,
......I want skates,
......a less annoying brother,
......and dad to come home again.

At twelve, pen in hand:
......Dear Santa,
......if you're really there…probably not
......but it can’t hurt to try. I wish
......I was beautiful, or at least
......that somebody would say so,
......and maybe listen to
......what I have to say
......once in a while.
......But if you want specifics… a bra,
......and something to put in it.

At sixteen:
......Don't believe,
......don't wish,
......don't care,
......don’t wanna,
......don’t look at me.

At twenty, once again:
......Whoever you are, God in a red hat,
......so this is a prayer,
......right?
......Give me yesterday back.
......It's not my fault,
......give me mom like she was,
......not looking at me like that,
......but smiling because she means it.
......Give me days like once, a summer like then,
......a rewind to erase it all, and summon
......my fucking innocence back.

At twenty-four, and counting:
......Give me something
......to mark the passing of bygones,
......a token of proof that draws a line
......between who I was, and who I try to be.
......Give me courage to hold on,
......patience to hold out,
......and a miracle,
......just one,
......kisses,
......pretty shoes
......and a baby.


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[LeBroz]

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Fascinating, edgy picture of frantically lived city-life.


Five Strophes
by Angeline©


I was what your voice bumped,
what you touched while languishing
in boredom’s late gray, adjusting
camera clicks and the winter sky.

You were on the edge of nowhere,
sure of the warmth you radiate,
skilled in that deceitful dance
of murmurs, photographing sparrows.

You tumbled from taxis, skated
over silver avenues of afternoon,
crooning at me through a lens
to come closer. You were restless,

wanting art from whirls of snowy wind.
I gravitated to your certainty.
Cars whooshed by. The city honked.
Twice your cell phone rang.

So what if blindness hide truth,
the prey is foolish, the hunter
dubious? Life went on. Planets
still spun, passing multitudes.

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[LeBroz]

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Only a Mommy could draw together so many disparate thoughts and images into a seamless whole.


Five Wagons of Hickory Nuts
by annaswirls©


They tell me,
Your whole life
was getting ready for this.

My son makes the leaves rain
and his voice growls a low thunder.
Eyes closed, I fall back
into the spin of the teal princess.
Her gown fills with air
and long sleeves float like ribbons.

Today we fill five wagons with hickory nuts
one bucket at a time.

They tell me,
God gives special children like him
to people like you for a reason.

I once hid
in my sister’s closet
and squatted over the mirror
while studying the diagram
in her Women’s Health textbook.
I touched the places they said
were supposed to feel good and wondered
when my blood would start.

They tell me,
You are a Saint, woman
I could never do it.

We fill five wagons with hickory nuts.
We use two hands.
We use one shovel.

The baby calls me Mommy Princess
but I am not,
not even a Saint.


~


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[LeBroz]

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The message here? You figure it out; for me it's a fun quirky piece.


Five ways of looking at a Frog
by vampiredust©

*​

Frogs leap off rooftops
..................kerplunk!

*​

Frogs dance the Tango and
Charleston using tongues

as canes. Critics applaud
but they’re all toads

*​

Frogs save the world.
Immortalised in comic

books and Hollywood,
men clap but women

faint

*​

Frogs replace firemen, mobs
gather to erect miniature

gallows. Jobs are not saved,
neither are the frogs

Blame toads

*​

Trees drops frogs,
frogs multiply

Earth shall be inherited
by the frog

Amen

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[LeBroz]

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Hard gritty edge to this piece that's looking at the world through her soul's dying eyes.


fixation
by The_Fool©


straight hooks barbed
claw the world crooked.

she fashions
a debutante’s dress
from lace-delicate dreams
stabbing cloth with pins
dulled by use.

but needles don’t cry
when soft flesh yields
to vice.
fix me,
fix me up nice
so I can smile today.

sixteen looks like sixty
hagged out
dumpster dwelling
thriving on the cast-offs.

seen me sin lately?
cost ya just a buck
and a fix of laughter.
drown my smiles with tears.

lavender lace tourniquet
soiled by stains
best not spoken of
in mixed company.


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[LeBroz]

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Here's a bit of sensory overload in this description of a sauna experience.


Flame, Stones, Steam, and Rain
by lostandfounder©


Sitting on the top bench
Naked
As it was meant to be

Heat’s snakes
Sliding into pores
Steam’s wrenches
Turning out sweat

The sharp sweet smell of birch leaves
The gentle slap against the skin
Pink skinned and de-muscled

Water strike the rocks
Painting them dark for an instant
Wait for it…

ahhhhhh

The steam falls like a wall
The rocks have shed the color
Eyes stare, but do not see it
Sight has become a secondary sense

Heat begins to feel like a weight
Heavier and heavier
Another blast of steam adds tons
Cannot carry it anymore

Walk out the door, still naked
Into the soft rain
Smell the wet earth
Lay upon the cool grass

Even with eyes shut tight and clouds
The sky is too bright
But each drop is a bliss
Bliss
Bliss

Such bliss


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[LeBroz]

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My thought, on reading this, was what a vibrant experience; seeing existence through prismatic lenses. The poet doesn't just show, but shows creatively, sharing his own subjective vision.


flaming manuscripts
by 2rivers©


love is not music
if All is not music,
mathematics a crescendo
pianissimo
down to our shins in theory
open your fenestrations, baby
flex those pins
dance a furious Spring

silent shut door feather
light gathers near hinge
we both watch,
our looking does not bring the champagne any sooner

the floor creaks,
it is omen and poor maintenance
old wood buildings in the wind
salt and pepper gusts

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[LeBroz]

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I like to interpret this as subtly showing the integration of changes in one's soul.


flash
by Palau©


flash

parts of my soul have been removed
a camera was pointed at me
I was sucked, just a little, of precious soul
nothing special, a part meant for stealing
filled back up when the tide of worth
flowed back and poured
leaving me full and fresh though need of
hand shakes with new self parts
takes time


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[LeBroz]

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It looks like an initial attraction where even the most innocuous of phrases can seem to be so naughtily erotic.


Flash-bang
by neonurotic©


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By the light of her Zippo
through hazy honeyrose
I caught a view

Then flash-bang, she had me
with those witchy eyes
and that tricky smile

"Life's an enigma"
(We'll figure it out)

Kama poured over
like hot cane syrup
then bound me to her
as I cooled

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[LeBroz]

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Seems rather cynical, at least until he got to the part about unconditional love.


flea market, mother's day
by mischievousgrin©


SUNDAY MORNING, FLEA MARKET, MOTHER'S DAY

Yes, I am insanely jealous
of every snaggle-toothed
lucky son of a bitch
who gets to buy some useless crap,
present it with flowers stolen
from neighbors' gardens,
make awkward conversation
that skitters around the edges
of old disappointments,
over overcooked beef and
mashed potatoes,
making no effort to resist
the barely understood
gravitational pull of
unconditional love.

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[LeBroz]

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Let's start off this Monday with some innocence and tragedy, a most potent combination.


Fledglings
by jd4george©


Children clamor to share each moment
as if they were clutched in their hands,
soon to disappear if left unspoken.
If a hand opened too soon,
the thought flew away on another’s breath,
never to be recaptured.

A fledgling, feathers still ruffled
from not being old enough to preen…
a bird too soon fallen from its nest,
too new to chirp, too new to do anything
but open his mouth, as if soundlessness
were a chirp he could speak.

Feeble flutterings, as
the children speak in whispers.
Sad, quiet sounds of a funeral performed…
the bird snuggled in a soft blanket of tissues,
neatly fitted in a box.
Quiet voices…
gentle stroking sounds.
Death not quite ready to be translated.

Years before, mother had buried a cat.
Soft, black and white fur…
two front paws clutching a catnip ball
in its permanent sleep…
a sober sound of barely heard grief
cried for the love of a part of her life…
an innocence snuggled against her breast.
Mewing sounds coming in gasps,
then silence.

Another fledgling never learning to walk,
never lifting his arms
in delight of his father coming home.
Never becoming hidden. Or lost.
Or forgotten.

Now, little faces turn to her,
hands clutching dirt,
the oldest asking
could he say a prayer.
Would God mind?

No, she said, remembering the cat.
He would be there.
Wasn’t He always?


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[LeBroz]

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Now that's a thought; if you didn't get enough in the here and now, perhaps you can live it up in the hereafter. See where this one takes you.


fleshy ghosts
by smithpeter©


arriving at their whim
gentle, smooth
barely lit
dim

uninterested in life
ignoring strife

but sexy,
some have
straps elastic
fantastic,

rendered
tasty
samples at the ready

ghosts when laughing
sound like ugly wind chimes

but then resolve in a
most satisfying chord,
D minor


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[LeBroz]

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There's more to flight than the mere mechanics of flying. Feel those rich emotions explored here.


Flight
by Middleagepoet©


Flight

Altitude
an option with wings
a blue to black infinity
bound only in mundane effigies
of lift, airflow, thrust and drag.
Wind, a rush of cloud
a weight of light
to float an escape
of gravity.

Tears, shed at the joy
of possibility:
the softest touch hovers
on an edge of air.
Parting -- a blink
timeless in motion
to dare a breath
and glide in pure silence.
A kiss... the words
understood.


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