Archival Review

[LeBroz]

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Here's a sad tale, with which to start the day, of a doomed love.


Haunted
by tungtied2u©


We shared silent tears,
about futility and fate
How long it would take
before we could be one

together forever
away from the fear
he inspired in us.
But escape was a ruse

we used to fool ourselves.
No matter the miles
between he and us
his darkness overshadowed

the light we ran towards.
We could not move forward
fast enough,far enough
to shake him from our tracks

He had a nose for weakness
divided us through threats
of harm, until back to his arms
she went, for my defense I think.

Now I look over my shoulder
wondering if the trail grows colder
or if he still smolders in hatred
at the the love she and I once had.


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[LeBroz]

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That sense of wonder when love is young and new and the world is a wonderful place; what replaces it as the years pass?


have we lost our sense of wonder
by steve porter©


have we lost our sense of wonder
has our innocence departed like
the dead dry december leaves
that clicked echoing like crabs
across a tarnished linoleum floor…
and does it even matter anymore.

if so where do we go from here
i mean now that the sun has set
and the wind has died down mostly
to a muted immobile moan and
the leaves on the trees are bare…
and anyway do you really care.

remember when love was young
the sky wasnt just blue was it
no it was more like a miracle
spinning we closed our eyes as
we laughed falling to the ground…
and was the world really round.

are we just too used to each other
has the way we cling together
mutated into familiar contempt
and are we taken for granted
like the clouds or the sky…
and do we even know why.

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[LeBroz]

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Having just completed a number of haiku I thought it'd be instructive to include a number of Senna Jawa's poems which are grouped together at the very end of the non-erotic poems listing. I haven't yet read them all so I'm not sure of how many haiku are included in the group, but it's still revealing to see the economy of words he uses even when not writing haiku. I'll go through and post them in my morning posts so there'll be some variety.


[a four-wheeled drop...]
by Senna Jawa©







* * * * * * *

a four-wheeled drop of the blue sky
rolls down the river of concrete
following a swiftly moving black hole
up under the train of gray clouds
while pines on the sides don't give in
to fall​

wlodzimierz holsztynski ©

1992-12-16​

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[LeBroz]

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Hawr al Hammâr is transliteration from the Arabic هور الحمّار‎ for Lake Hammar which was a large salt lake of mostly marshland. Its depths seasonally ranged from approx 3 to 9 feet and was home to the Marsh Arabs. Tragic recent history here.


Hawr al Hammâr
by Lauren Hynde©


follow the path
to Hawr al Hammâr

friends you shan't have
when you arrive
to these nameless beaches

or a name

only the companionship of blustery weather
on the loose rein of bodies
alone

just like now
tall and absurd

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[LeBroz]

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So I wonder, did anyone experience this after last night's fireworks, partying, and drinking?


[after...]
by Senna Jawa©


..............after the night trip
............lane lines and police lights
..................under eyelids




wh,
1997-07-09

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[LeBroz]

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Here's one image a man might project.


He
by smithpeter©


He swaggers, it is like a limp
For the fawning ladies
Sympathy for his wounds won
In lost wars of love

He sports one pencil
Tucked pregnantly behind
One ear, ready to jot
Words or erase lines

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[LeBroz]

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Here you can feel that goofy state of mind that comes about when traveling extremely long distances.


[always...]
by Senna Jawa©

always sleepy
and never asleep
international airports
fly by me

always awake
and never alert
I see u in focus
but u'r far away​

wlodzimierz holsztynski ©

1993-05-31​

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[LeBroz]

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Capturing the utter simplicity of the male of the human species.


He
by Selena_Kitt©


A ruddy brick.
A polished stone.
A weathered rock.
Will I ever understand
that guileless simplicity,
the straight arrow shot,
clean laser beam heat,
the clear, stark zen-ness
that is their masculine?
Isn’t there something more?
I keep searching for it.
And there just isn’t.
They are
exquisite haiku.

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[LeBroz]

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There's more than one way to get shot down.


[bullets...]
by Senna Jawa©

bullets don't hurt me
in my life-long bullet-proof vest

only seeing the misdirecting smile
or open anger
and the finger squeezing and squeezing the trigger​

wlodzimierz holsztynski ©

1995-10-26​

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[LeBroz]

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Just goes to show how the female of the species can so discombobulate the thinking processes of the male.


He 2
by smithpeter©


He looks through smoke
Not seeing it curl
To the corner where ceiling
Meets wall

An ash falls,
His attention to nothing
Is broken
To sweep with finger tips

He returns to pondering
There must have been a reason
For the kissing, besides kissing
Maybe it was, as she said
Only simple convenience

But, that was then
And, this was now
Moments ago,
Reasons march on

Perhaps only then
Should be counted

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[LeBroz]

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If you've had and lost a pet, cat or other, this ought to resonate.


[cat Fritz...]
by Senna Jawa©

cat Fritz cancer sick
looked at me i could not help
he died anyway​

wlodzimierz holsztynski ©

1995-12-02​

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[LeBroz]

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You figure it out — I'm off to savor a heap of pasta.


He Fell Through a Crack in a Fingerprint
by Bill Dada©


I’m drawn
through transparent
smashed insect maps
into a room a large
crowd is slowly filling.
As each person enters,
another nerve
ending is exposed
revealing
the ability to fly.
Another person enters
the ceiling dissolves,
I take to the sky.
The sky takes me
into the motion of a hand
that had a way
of walking
louder than
the shape of an idea
posing as an angry wasp.


A big thank you to bluerains for all her help on the ending.

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[LeBroz]

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California dreaming of the days before the fires began their return.


[day -]
by Senna Jawa©

day -
rains enjoyed nights
but now in california
they make a dent in the sunlight

spring -
some trees pretend it's fall
dry sundrops on their branches
defy rain

rain
has typed this poem
on the green keyboard
outside​

wlodzimierz holsztynski ©
.......1991-03-19

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[LeBroz]

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At first I didn't think I was going to include this one, but it just pulled me in and took me on a journey I didn't expect, so here it is for your evening pleasure. Enjoy.


He Is Old Now; But He Remembers How It Was
by JCSTREET©


HE IS OLD NOW; BUT 1970/71
HE REMEMBERS HOW IT WAS

By JCSTREET

Young man I fevered for the prairie though
but twice passed, it

spoke to me of the willow-haired girl
met out of Winnipeg
east on the hard
steel CP, her

face carved fine
stone a fragile
blue-veined mask, pale
pure intellect

she was
the prairie sheave, ash
hair tumbling wheat wind the
voice, music;
smashed water, crackling on rock

in sadness

she was a windslough, through
stunt trees
near a Winnipeg wind-barn, the
dying day of winter
tripped on snow-sunk
fenceposts

-----

Against that sheer
dwarf-sweep she was
the bent figure
creeping
when at night my face
burning my westward longing
a pulse
would burst cheekskin like plum

made me weak

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This great dish the incest-
ridden prairscape--the click
the crash, the spark of wheel on steel
rail the smoky Red River fires
sifted grain dust
filling hair and skin with that lust; that lust
makes men smash the earth; grind
skin and flesh
into the soil, fill
with river water, bloated on morning's
sere-wind

What Mowat described as
the indescribable
pressure in a man's head when he wrote
of the Barrens, the
fumbling for words, the
loss of understanding, but

Marsha the pale

salt girl was the vessel, clenching
those winds, waters and wild so that
to touch was
to bloat, her

cold knowingness
mirrored the secret--

that

aboriginal moonscape that drove
men in Churchill to run, to
run in circles blubbering, screaming, they
could not understand . . .

that

made men's guts broil into their mouths when they stood
froze speechless by the mile-
wide
rivers of beasts, caribou
running before
a yellow-fly wind

made women

stand
stone-like when they wondered
at frail nub-cabin and nipple-shed, warts only on spare
winter-sculpt frieze

--

That desert lay untapped, cold
fuel for a coke fire, deep
in her dreams, waiting
for a Prince, I

could not ride the wind;

it devoured me like a speck

-30-

written after a train trip from Vancouver to Montreal in 1970

Notes: CP = CPR = Canadian Pacific Railway


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[LeBroz]

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Just look at the chaos and confusion implied in this. So much more effective than explicitly speaking of those feelings.


[four wheels]
by Senna Jawa©

four wheels
roll miles
in four misaimed directions
black night
splashes the milky fog
against the front shield
at ninety per hour
of nineteen ninety six
trying to make me stop to think
where
do I go
but I drive
four wheels
in four misaimed directions​

wlodzimierz holsztynski ©

1996-8/5-6​

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[LeBroz]

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Well guys, does the woman in your life speak this well of you? Do you speak as well of her?


he moves me
by sweet GA peaches©


he moved the mountains that once
placed themselves in
such solid statue
between his heart and mine.
brought the rains to tumble
softly as a willow to a branch
just so i may dance,
by the hope of a rainbow,
as he painted a skye
with evergreens and eternities.
just two hands
to a mortal man
and yet with each
worn callus,
he is building our dreams.
he is the branch of me,
as we stem from
one tree,
and the silent stream
that continually flows
fluent and just.
he is the rush
of my flesh,
and the whispered calm
the rage of a storm,
and the completeness of my palm.
he is compassion and passion
as a sunset in crest
he is a lifetime of prayers
and with each stolen breath,
...he still moves me...

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[LeBroz]

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Just think of that special intimacy you share when someone is there for you to scrub your back.


[How far...]
by Senna Jawa©


- How far can your arms reach out? Why, that far only.
- You need someone to scrub your back. You are lonely.



Wlodzimierz Holsztynski
......1991-04-05

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[LeBroz]

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Give this one a careful read. You'll find it gets you to thinking, as do most of Senna's poems.


he still
by Senna Jawa©


he still likes to lie down
on the carpet
he still remembers the smell of the wooden floor
from his childhood

he got up
the top of his head
just above the top of the table
and he looked up into his father's
bursting with anger mad eyes
- you have shorten my life in half!
he was told for a thousandth time

he sighs
- if it were not for me
he would live to be a hundred and eighty




wlodzimierz holsztynski ©
2002-09-28


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[LeBroz]

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This sounds like Saturday morning recollections of Friday night partying; now where's the aspirin?


[i had to...]
by Senna Jawa©

I must have been on a mountain
that one over the board
cup of vodka
has tipped me down a roller coaster
I am not happy​

wlodzimierz holsztynski
1991-April

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[LeBroz]

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After three straight Senna poems, let's take a break. Here's a non-erotic(?) poem that feels so sensuously seductive.


He Takes Me
by SoundsErotica©


I hesitate to approach his chiseled form
preferring rather the darkness of obscurity;
discerning the outline of his taut flesh
beneath the bulging jeans;
he warms me.

I ease in behind him, nostrils flared,
inhale his essence, taste him in the air;
invade the aura of his confidence;
brush lightly against his spirit;
he moistens me.

He selects a book from the shelf and turns,
catches me off guard;
delicious collision; instant eye
scans my torso, squirming,
firming against silk blouse;
he takes me.


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[LeBroz]

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The whole strangeness of this one is summed up in the final line, the crow circles straight and silent.


[i hear...]
by Senna Jawa©

i hear people calling my unpronounceable name
nobody does
but all the same
i hear unnamed people calling my name

let me talk some nonsense for a while
i have tried to roll it in my head
longing for the owner of a shadow
now stop...the gravel gets darker

black nights witness that i accept black nights
the crow circles straight and silent​

wh,
1989, jul-nov

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[LeBroz]

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Now here's something that scores high on the cute and silly meter.


He Thinks...She Thinks
by *Snatch©


Orginally I wrote this for a county music band I once knew. I liked it as a song...

He thinks that she thinks
he's always been true.
She thinks that he thinks,
"Cheat".. he wouldn't do..
He thinks that she thinks,
she's the only one.
She thinks that he thinks,
she doesn't know what he's done.
But the truth of the matter
is nobody's right...
and he doesn't know
that she's leaving him tonight.
She's had enough
and she won't take anymore.
She'll be gone forever
when she walks out the door.
Meanwhile...
He thinks that she thinks
their love is strong..
while she thinks that he thinks
he's done nothing wrong.
He thinks that she thinks,
he'd never tell her lies.
while she thinks that he thinks,
it doesn't show in his eyes.
But the truth of the matter,
is both are wrong,
And the lies have been told to her
for far too long.
He thinks that she'll never
find someone else.
but he's going to find
he's made a fool of himself..

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[LeBroz]

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It might help in fully understanding this poem to know the meaning of fakir. From its origins in Arabic (فقر), it's a Muslim who devotes himself to a solitary and contemplative life, characterized by devotion, extreme self-denial, and self-mortification. Hmmm — I think I'll pass on that...


[in the park]
by Senna Jawa©

in the park
under the Sun
a fakir swallows shards of glass

in the park
under the Sun
the passing children
and couples in love
families
trees and birds and clouds
can be seen
in the fakir's broken glass

the fakir swallows the shards​

wlodzimierz holsztynski ©

1992-05-03​

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[LeBroz]

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I know exactly what he's talking about here. With pearls of wisdom so profound, they make my head throb the next morning.


he was a very sober fellow
by steve porter©


he was a very sober fellow
full of profound instances
especially when he had had
a little bit too much to drink

he would nod an unsteady head
and proclaim pearls of wisdom
that floated down to the bottom
of a glass half emptied of booze…

time will pass (he would muse)
through the eyes of a bottle
drop by drop by precious drop
well i have no excuse do you

(or) the meaning is the message
but there really is no message
thus there really is no meaning
do you see what i really mean

(and) the vagaries of existence
lead one to perhaps determine
all living is of random motion
but deep waters still run silent…

lost in his thoughts and sauce
his amber reflection was seen
like a liquid portrait of two eyes
painted by an anguished artist.

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[LeBroz]

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Here's one to set your mind to thinking, about that device known as a kenning. I'll let you explore that one.

I need a break! The next poem I'll post here will be this weekend. I'll still do my reviews tomorrow but otherwise I'll mostly just be lurking. In the meantime, there are always plenty of new poems you can read. And I bet there are quite a few poems even on this list that you may have missed, so go on and explore some familiar territory.


[not an angry...]
by Senna Jawa©

not an angry volcano
a geyser of kennings​

Wlodzimierz Holsztynski ©

1999-March​

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