Archival Review

[LeBroz]

and for a while then
everything was cool
and we were all each other
blended on carpet and hardwood


This says so well what I miss so much and am now working hard at getting back.

Can I get an Amen??

lol


Morning Leon!

And mornin' back atcha.
And as tt2u said so well.
AMEN ! and Hallelujah !

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[LeBroz]

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Ever on the lookout for unique compositions, here's something you can judge for yourself — the work of genius?


Genius Sketch
by Toward A Word©


a few

words

arranged
strangely

written in a
few
...
minutes

I've convinced
myself
that

it is
COMPLETE
and
PROFOUND

not

verbal sneeze
from
a low talent
ama

teur


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[LeBroz]

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Here's a prime example of why, if you wage war, you do so as a last resort, as the U.S. did in the 40's. War isn't kind, gentle, or considerate. It must be brutal to achieve victory. For the people of Japan, in 1945, they unfortunately learned that lesson the hard way.


Genshi Bukadan (Original Child Bomb)
by jthserra©


Genshi Bukadan (Original Child Bomb)

Ashen images, gray-green patterns
of humanity, swirled on the ground,
near blurred silhouettes on blackened walls,
as the city blossomed verdant growth.
Morning glories and day lilies grew
in the ashes and around the bricks:
fissured remnants of second sunrise.

Genshi Bukadan echoed that day
in the mountains and the valleys,
but it touched the city in silence,
and stroked it with its fiery fingers.
Hiroshima, vast river city,
scarlet fire walked your shattered shores,
and ashen images swirled away.

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[LeBroz]

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Once again, there's poetry in everything, even something as simple as well manicured and polished fingernails.


gentle breath
by smithpeter©


you show in public
along a row of waiters
serving and nodding

yellow painted finger tips
one through ten, left and right
digit delight

acrylic and glass
are jealous of your glint,
your reflection,
your shine is
breathless

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[LeBroz]

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A nice soft subdued poem with which to start the day; sounds like he's not quite sure of what hit him.


Gentle Man
by irishcatsmeow©


Gentle man
kind, quiet, wise
kind of shy
so he says.

Speaks with hope
of a distant future
while meandering through
the day-to-day.
Circumstances change;
he does not.

Two souls adrift.
Smiles exchanged
sending a message
known only to the other.
How does one anticipate
the unexpected?

Whirlwind comes packaged
in a spunky costume,
balance is threatened.
He doubts his readiness.
Wonders how can this be?
Strikes quick as lightening
but can be everlasting
if the gods concur.

Gentle man
has found his love.
Struggles to accept
what he cannot grasp.
Relies on faith
or is that fate
to lead the way.

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[LeBroz]

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It's that time of year, especially here in the frigid north woods, to get ready for a new summer season. Here's a poem with a novel approach.


George Thorogood and beer diets
by sandspike©


summer's heat is on the way
meaning less clothes, more skin
got to workout lose love's handles,
here's to Thorogood and beer diets

ride the bike lift the weights
throw the candy into space
cut out supper, it ain't as important ...
'one bourbon, one scotch, one beer'

stick to the program nose to the stone
thoughts to myself, 'I drink alone'
good times coming waistline going

'move it on over', take it off here and there
grab another long neck have a taste
ride that bike lift those weights, Thorogood
provide the pace, a driving beat towards...
'one bourbon, one scotch, one beer'

I drink without interference
listening to Thorogood bleed out his fingers
better days to come, reservations made
pissing off some island porch
turning white sands golden....
.........................vacation from reality


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[LeBroz]

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Now here's a bit of Southern hospitality to get your blood boiling. Caught & corrected a pair of admitted to typos you can always see on the original and, if you check out the comments, a request by tt2u for the administration of proper punishment.


Georgia
by tungtied2u©


Georgia
never sounded so good
as when it tripped out past
your lips

Red clay
never fashioned a form
as full as your breasts filled out
your t-shirt

Pine trees
never graced the sky
as your long legs blessed
your jeans

Georgia
I want to lick your name
off your lips
Get stuck in your clay
from head to hips
Climb your trees from trunk
to tips

Show me your southern
hospitality

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[LeBroz]

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Okay now, let's not get too serious. Let's enjoy some fun with a duck of a different color.


Gerald
by dayle01©


Gerald is a duck with a large body in blue
It had troubled him since birth and everyone knew
Also plagued by a big beak that was yellow
He was an extremely unlucky duck fellow
He cursed his fate he cursed his bad luck
Gerald yearned to be an everyday duck

Most at some stage had shown compassion
Blue and yellow are not the duck fashion
One that hadn't was the beautiful Sue
She seemed unfazed by his unusual hue
Wearing rose coloured glasses with the whitest of feathers
The perfect partner to fly with through all types of weather

How could he let his feelings be known?
He was lacking a plumage that could be shown
A bird is judged by what is on his crest
Gerald lacked this, how could he impress?
An action can illustrate more than a word
This applied to all species even a bird

She was very aware of Gerald's attention
It was coming across as some type of tension
Finally she could take it no more
"Damn!!" what is your problem she swore
He blurted out, "Could you ever love a Duck that is blue?"
She said, "Sorry Gerald I never knew"

He was puzzled by her reply, what did she mean?
Was it the love or his colour she hadn't seen?
"Of course I could love you, nothing would please me more"
"Why have you never asked me before?"
"Your colour means nothing have you ever stopped to think?"
"What shade it is through a lens that is pink!"


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[LeBroz]

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The title in this speaks volumes; more than if the poet had merely titled it self-interest or selfishness. The term has its origins and was prevalent in late 18th and early 19th century German sociology.


Gesellschaft
by jthserra©


Gesellschaft

In the ice flow
......of your veins,
every word, emotion,
every movement
is choreographed
for disruption,
for pain, for suffering
as sanity
in broached.

Convention,
a tradition
steeped in the
frozen bonds
of love-hate,
as family
becomes
a contest of wills.

Your embrace
introduces
the blade
in their backs,
as love flows
deep red
over your
blue ice fingers.


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[LeBroz]

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Perhaps if I keep posting such fine poems from long-absent poets, they'll come wandering back and treat us with more of their creativity. We've already gotten one new gift from this young lady. Boo keeps teasing with drive-by pop-ins. If the rest would just come home from time to time with a juicy treat.


Ghazal in ¾ Time
by Cordelia©


Rendering my words into songs may, from the dance
Kiss damp orange music pulled away from the dance.

We touch as though we knew the absence of roses.
Touching again, we move in disarray from the dance.

I wipe a tear from the page where you are drawing,
Stringing lines to remove the bouquet from the dance.

Though you spoke to me of afters, not of nevers,
We move through green laughter as if we’d pray from the dance.

Overwhelmed by the frost on your kiln-fired brow,
I discern the porcelain sobriquet from the dance.

Reaching into the marigolds between us, think:
How the weather takes a holiday from the dance.

Loosen your frown, unbutton your anxieties;
Let this lover remove all dismay from the dance.

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[LeBroz]

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Something a bit different — a staccato undertone seems to be present here.


Ghetto
by Aurora Black©


An entire life wasted on the street,
Got nothing but the clothes on my back,
The shoes on my feet.

Nowhere to run.

Day in, day out, I fight for my life
As I try to climb out of the gutter,
Body tensed, prepared to strike.

Nowhere to hide.

Light and shadow, good intentions and malice
Intertwined like long-lost lovers beneath
The skyscrapers, sipping from the chalice
Of despair.

Nowhere to go.

I must leave this place. The city squeezes
The air from my lungs, the chilly draft
Wrapping around my heart, freezing it.

Nowhere to stay.

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[annaswirls]

AMEN ! and Hallelujah !

amen and hallelujah and oops, my hip slipped out of joint....

 

[LeBroz]

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Hear the song and spirit of Native Americans in this poem.


Ghost Dance
by jthserra©


Cry, cry Lakota
I hear the echo
Lakota…
And the rhythm chant
Of the circle dance
Hey ya hey ya hey
Guide us Wovoka
We dance in the sun
We dance in the night
Warrior brothers
Shirts painted in stars
Sacred shirts protect
And the crows caw, caw
The magpies leads us
Fly away, fly away harm
Hey ya hey ya hey
And dance, circle, dance
Night and day, hey ya
Dance, dance till we fall
And death embraces
Emerge dead brothers
Emerge dead sisters
Let the earth swallow
The white conquerors
Messiah walks here
And spreads like a cloud
Bathe in the river
Hey ya hey ya hey
Dance the rhythm chant
Of the circle dance
Cry, cry Lakota
And hear the echo
Lakota…
Lakota…



Note: Black Elk said: “A peoples dream died then, it was a beautiful dream. The nations heart is broken and scattered. There is no center any longer and the sacred tree is dead.”

Eighteen soldiers of the 7th Calvary received the Medal of Honor for “valor” at wounded knee.

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[LeBroz]

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It's going to be a ghost of a weekend, so let's start it with a poem inspired perhaps by the ghost of Lester Young, a jazz great who died at the age of 49.


Ghost of a Chance
by Angeline©


Sometimes you're dormant.
There are seasons
when you don't speak to me.

Once I imagined you
in the back seat of my car,
sitting still, holding up
your jangled spirit
with a narrow tie and lapels
and your hat set slightly askew,
shadowing your crumpled mouth.
You were silent, but your eyes
said you were lost somewhere good,
somewhere I want to be.

You're just a crazy drunken old jazzer,
dead 50-odd years, old enough
to be my long-gone grandpa,
and still you fly to my dreams
more alive than the bluesjay
in this morning's pine.

I want to love you.

I want a wayback machine
to 1943 so I can rescue you
before detention barracks
beat you to an early grave.

But you're gone,
and all I have is that tone,
the sweet ironic swing
that soars straight up
past cloudy blues to heaven,
and the ballads that dip
and weave beautiful hurt
until I cry for somewhere good
I once imagined leaving
your imaginary eyes.

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[LeBroz]

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I posted that preceding piece this morning and it made me think today's Sunday. For some reason I associate soft jazz with Sunday mornings and lazing about. Continuing with this weekend's ghostly feel, here's one to set your mind to spinning.

Ghost of Tomorrow
by Lauren Hynde©





Hear my name clear-cut
in the granite clouds

Hear
my name without name
only life
imperceptible
footsteps of mice
hidden in shadow

Hear my name clandestine
a taste of earth the rumour
of thunder


Revolution​

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[LeBroz]

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Now here's a thought — what might happen to a couple if the spirits of their love for each other came back to haunt them years later when they need it most? Something to mull over as you read this gem from smithpeter.


Ghosts and Souls
by smithpeter©


by laying next to each other
we violated each others spirit space
the places around and in each of our auras
where bits of old love and sex dwell

No Cry Zones below,
we rise above to eye leveling
curiosity, our purest push
of query and peck

rolling with the chandelier sway,
Is that one of yours?
Our lost ghosts find us.
We hide below the covers

Great Grand’s quilt
all hex and charm, horses
rune and three tine forked
chicken ching tracks, salsa

We sweat below, it weighs on us
our skin crawls all over each other,
we flesh it out for the voyeur past-
be gone or stay, just be quiet

like a polite, vanishing memory

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[LeBroz]

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Some ghostly images you can create anytime. Just look at that sunbeam peering in through the kitchen window and the ghosts dancing up and up — OMG! It's from the oven, dinner's residue dancing up the beam. Oh well, a sandwich sounds fine. In the meantime, enjoy the images The Mutt creates here.


Ghosts of Smoke
by The Mutt©


Ghosts of smoke
come alive again
in moonbeams,
through glass,

Smoke-lives,
in a projector's beam,
dying with the credits,

Moonbeams and smoke
tell us our stories,
then they whisper,

Waiting like ghosts
to dance again,
in smoke,
and moonbeams.

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[LeBroz]

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After a weekend of ghosts, let's start the workweek with some ghouls. Although, with Razz, things often are not what they may at first seem with his stylized visions.


Ghouls
by RazzRajen©


Silences broken by trills
Thumps of the tympanic skins
Hers, stretched taut over His ghouls

scintillating scrambles of everlasting thrushes
Lift Mine spirits and fly in the skies
who took the way of the farer
warblers all

Again and again
He strode and walked, and watched
Waited till the gurgles faded
Streams of ooze ended, .the fluids came alive
coagulating in puddles of wetness

Stroked and taken
...............................Soothed and lifted
Slumber came easily that night
For a time
but never again
as the erupting
tingles came alive in all His skeins
Wrapped in the oakridden bark of the tree
krill'd and taken

Measured cadences,
..............................March to Ones own sense
Alone or bereft
who knows......who will note
she followed....again
and Yet.

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[LeBroz]

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First ghosts then ghouls, now giants. Here's a tale of the result of an imaginary epic battle.


Giants Wrestled
by tungtied2u©


Giants wrestled on the earth
Arms and knees gouging the ground
as they rolled across its floor
thrashing
demolishing all that lay in their path
crushing and tearing the trees
out by the roots
spit drooling from their lips
from their exertion
sweat weeping from their pores
until all that was left was their ashes

From this epic battle
left behind to remind us
a place of awesome beauty
Yosemite
Polished Half Dome, El Capitan
The falls and Merced Valley
A fitting tribute
To when giants wrestled on this earth

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[LeBroz]

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For all those women out there fighting to lose those winter pounds, here's something sure to resonate.


Gimmie!
by mrfnly9©


GIMME!

For Fat-Fighting women…Everywhere!


Gimme a spinner
and some beats to spin to.
Gimme some “blades”
and the streets to speed through.
Gimme a heavy-bag
to fight my stress off.
Gimme that high wall
to climb the rest off.

Gimme a health club
with a platinum gym card.
Gimme a trainer
with a plan to train hard.
Gimme some space
to meditate some hate off.
Gimme jus’ twelve weeks.
I’ll get this weight off.

Gimme some protein
To fit in my tight jeans.
Instead of another scoop
of low fat Ice-cream.
Instead of the high price
to slice the worst off,
Let me EARN the right
To show these curves off!!!

Khalid Jahi Finley
Copyright © 2003 Khalid Jahi Finley

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[LeBroz]

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If you want, I suppose you could read smithpeter's three-part story, Girl In A Red Canoe to enhance your enjoyment of this poem.


Girl In A Red Canoe, Epilogue
by smithpeter©


The Rain
~
The sound of one tent flap,
Summer rains having washed,
Trickle down the trail leaving,
Wet behind and wind having its way,

There are survey clouds that come before a storm,
They look down and behind,
Studying the tops of things to dampen,

After is Mother Rain, her bladder poised,
One quick flashing blast or dribble,
Creating illusions unaware of,
That this water from sky was just here,
But nowhere else, not part of a path.

Last the Sprites of left damage or new growth,
Puddles or currents cutting ruts down hills,
Filling foot prints, erasing or deforming them,
Left over droplets clinging to sticks and foliage,
Waiting to fall or evaporate,


The Boat and the Girl
~
Canoe wielder, graceful feather paddling,
A one week ago stranger, then hand holder,
Now companions nearing the shore with toes
And finger tips dragging in the river,

We invent a ceremony, because we both cry,
Bending side by side, each of us give tears,
To the stream of things. She dips a single finger,
Places it on my lips then turns and walks,
To the path and disappears, as we agreed.


Flight
~
I will return next August,
A fresh year, same river, new water,
A Heron will fly by in time,
In her own migration.
Coming and going with the flow
Of things

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[LeBroz]

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Here's a bit of fun word play from that two week poet (July/August 2004).


Git
by No Bagles©


Caned,
but able
like Cain
and Abel -
ready to set new footprints on virginal ground.
In the starting blocks
to single-handedly breed
the world full of consultants,
con artists, connoisseurs and confessers.

But this time
..............no ineffectual idiosyncrasy
..............- adolescent views askew by
going.......the.......distance.......night and again.

Yeah well you know, it's still and always
............mind
............over
............matter
- and for a final stolen one liner punch;
if you don't mind, I won't let it matter.

// Kacper 2002 //

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[LeBroz]

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I don't know about you, but seeing a splash or two of a romance language in a poem makes it seem so much more sexy.

Giulieta's Ghost
by Lauren Hynde©





Ti amo nel silenzio
and listen to your shallow
breath
in the dark

The revelation of
your movement I feel
the weight of
your words

I hear the blood running
mi abbandono
to the body resolved
breathe in the life I am
still
this silent fountain

The true voice
of love

La mia vita​

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[LeBroz]

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Here's a very simple poem, almost elegant in its simplicity.


Give Me A Word
by unlisted©


Give Me A Word

Give me a "word"
and I'll try and give you a dream.
The lines are easy to write
.......if they're for you.

I'll take you running down warm beaches
or up to a mountain top,
......Known only by sweet flowers
..........................and fresh, easy breezes.
I'll carry you into soft beds
with moonlight shining on our love;
......even to fire escapes
.........................quietly shared with warm smiles.

Just tell me what you dream...
and I'll give it to you in words,
.........................if not in reality.

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[LeBroz]

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A touch of background — Giverny, location in France of Claude Monet's house and garden. Now take that and his impressionist paintings and run with it.


Giverny Night and Day
by Angeline©


Yesterday becomes tomorrow,
and now doesn’t matter anyway
because night and day you
are the one in the chair.
It’s comfy there.
It's safe as soup when arms

open for legs to tango
tangled warmth, fingers kiss.
Laugh when words near miss.
After walks in book-filled rooms,
lavender-scented sighs

sift quiet, moans murmur
secrets to silken knees
and dawn breaks through
trains of dream, imagination
floats past chairs and keys.

Days are blurry, fleur sweet,
redolent with Giverny dans Avril
avec Narcisses, Cerisiers,
et Pommiers du Japon.

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