Archival Review

[LeBroz]

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Okay, I'm jumping way ahead, since today's denis hale's birthday, and showcasing a poem he wrote remembering smithpeter.


in memory of sp
by denis hale ©

Now the smith's shop
has up and closed
but that won't stop
my sniffling
apprentice nose
making steam clouds
pressed up against
the frosted glass,

peering past
the threshold

where it's warm
and mouth-watering
as a bakery
in there,

and look-- what a world
of wonders left behind
for the rest of us
to share! :

platinum protractors
spinning
like gyroscopes
on spider strings,

charcoal frescoes
of floppy-eared bunnies
woven into the walls,

and the player piano
on a redwood riser
specially-calibrated
to pump ragtime
through the pedals
whenever the Amazing
Drinking Bird dips its beak
into the blueberry
brandy decanter.

But it's the calliope chimes
from the grandfather clock
in the corner

that really sing to me:

they say
you must indeed be
very busy already
hanging out your shingle
on the other side,

and sure enough I can
just about see you there
squinting at the bubble
on the level,

checking and re-checking
your work,

sucking on the tapered ends
of that handlebar mustache
when finally satisfied
that it's all straight
and true.

In fact
if I press my ear
tight to the keyhole
I might even be able
to hear you--

that voice, oh the
mirth and the wisdom
and the innocence in it--

saying:

"come in! come in!... i only
have a minute but please
sit down with me
and meantime maybe
we'll have some peppermint tea!"

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[LeBroz]

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I left the note in that oxalis penned, just to show how someone can get a burr under their saddle and just do a number on another poet without the victim ever knowing why.

because, if I did
by oxalis ©

she would never talk to me again
would drive her car all over me
pinch my head
join me to the Klan
poke my condoms
hide my briefs
set fire to my briefs
on me running, call them
"suitcases of manhood"
cheat on me
and my truck and my camper
and the boat I'm looking at
in the pool and on the deck

it's what happens

(note to jerk: stop voting 1 if you won't say why
you oink my lines of words)


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[LeBroz]

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Nothing's ever quite what it seems, especially where these two are concerned.


Bee and Butter
by RedHairedandFriendly ©

Bee and Butter


Coming away from the shore by the sea
The wind blew about a small honey bee
It tossed and turned the weak yellow thing
Until a flower grabbed on with a string

The bee was safe inside the sweet home
Loving the nectar, tasting alone
Emerging at night, leaving its rest
He looks for another place that is best

Searching for answers to questions of life
The small yellow fellow looks for a wife
A mate to enjoy and love in the night
Someone to hold him and treat him right

He searches for answers to questions that hide
Then suddenly spies a bright butterfly
Colors of black, red, green and gold
Shimmer and shine as her wings unfold

His heart does stop, wings freeze in the air
As he watches her beauty so soft and so fair
Shivers and shakes bring his heart to a start
But soon he sees her about to depart

He buzzes real loud, crying to her
Begging to see her, perhaps hear her purr
Quivers of nerves erupt when he spies
Passion filled evenings called from her eyes

The buzzing increases as he looks at her face
And holds out his hand, her wings feel like lace
Holding her tight, yet gentle and sure
He knows he has found the answer and cure

They take off in flight each one lost in thought
Wondering how their hearts became caught
Two different beings with sunny delight
Take off on a journey, one star-filled night


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[LeBroz]

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The thought that came to mind when I first read this was how could this woman be more beautiful than her children on any level. Once you see past the skin and look into the soul, you'd find nothing beautiful there. You be the judge.


Beautiful Painter
by sandspike ©

.......she is a painter
artist of and with some degree
dressed as a peasant sans the sombrero,
that off white between dirty and warm,
victim and martyr, fashion and uniform,
her work an element of primary shallowness.

she congregates with island artist
sharing elitist conversation
which never makes them smile,
a dialog of pungent odors
rendering turned up noses,
living a bohemian modus operandi
dipping herself in self pity and superiority,
......my God.... she wears it well.

.........through this facade
..........around her persona
darker and deeper than I care to view,
not some suv driving Georgia O'Keeffe
but a bitter mother more beautiful than
................her children.

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[LeBroz]

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Now here's something I bet priests of every stripe wish you'd not see.


Belief or Not Belief?
by Debbie ©

If we peacefully die tonight
Will we go towards the light?

Or since we have so much sin
Will we awake in a fiery herein?

Does the soul freely pass
From our weary lifeless mass?

Truly do we really know
From whence to where we go?

When our life is said and done
Is it finished or just begun?

Some believe in reincarnation
Do you trust in creation?

So many questions there are
But not enough answers by far?

Do we trust in religious belief
Or cover up with a fig leaf?

Belief in what we have is ok
But must we accept and obey?

We cannot conform but rebel
Belief, faith, a soothing spell?

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[LeBroz]

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So, neo's a Daddy — again. Found this one that's just loaded with imagery, though not of the baby making or having kind. Still, it's a powerful read.

Behind door #5
by neonurotic ©

Every city has a corner
where they look at you
gawking at them.

It's rude, you know
because they
feel your disdain,
worse, false sympathy.

They're better off
if you ignore them,
maybe they'll disappear.

Or become descriptive enough
that you'll strike brilliance.

A muse for film at Sundance,
stark art in black & white,
dregs of life city snapshots,
and birth new pity poetry.

Behind door #5
you're safe, warm.
You love and are loved,
but are only a paycheck
away from living on the outside.


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[LeBroz]

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It doesn't matter who wears the pants in the family since decisions are usually made in advance. It's just that us guys rarely notice how it's done.


Best
by Senna Jawa ©

i'll let my wife
tell you the story
she'll do it best

he said that
he works on Sundays the best
to which i replied you mean
you pray and he said yes
and I said nnnnno

then he told me that he
is serious about ping-pong the best
and i said you mean
table tennis and
he said yes
and i said nnnnno

then he stated that
he loves me the best
and i corrected him you mean
that you want to marry me the best
and he said yes
and i said yes​

​

wlodzimierz holsztynski ©
2003-05-01


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[LeBroz]

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And sometimes cute and simple work wonders.


Birds of a Feather
by cymry ©

I went for a walk today
to enjoy the cooling weather.

As I strolled along the path
I chanced upon a feather.

What a lovely thing, says I
small and slim and blue.

So I paused to pick it up
and take it home to you.

You were there when I came in
and what should I see?

You’d found a feather of your own
and brought it home to me.



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[LeBroz]

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Those actions we take and decisions we make in life always entail risk...


Becoming X
by RisiaSkye ©

Two paths begin
across the world from each other,
but heading towards
some apparent convergence.
After much time and
equal efforts,
the paths meet
somewhere toward their center.
When they connect,
magic happens
and the travel goes faster
and easier
while their roads are united.
But soon they realize
that though these paths still cross,
they are heading away
from each other.
Then comes the choice--
do they ignore the previous direction
of each one's entire existence,
and stay together,
forming a whole new configuration,
previously unseen?
Or do they continue in their paths
and lose each other
and the ease of the journey?
Being creatures of habit
and still bitterly lonely at heart
they continue in their
solitary channels,
moving away from each other,
forgetting their communion
and following the plan.

1993

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[LeBroz]

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Okay, it's a Sunday night. Well rested, you should be able to handle some of Liar's intensity.


Before The Inhale
by Liar ©

Even for titans
I have ceased to be
a pebble on the riverbed,
forgotten until
crystal by crystal
kissed away.

Even those
who live their lives
in Valhalla intoxication
and impenetrable ideals
must now acknowledge...

I am,

therefore I think.

So now,
I will incarcerate
my incandescence,
suffocate the flames

and lull a raging mountain
to sleep.

Anchor this tundra soul,
granite and diabase tether.

Not to pin
a stray ego straight,
or a wide ambition
hopeless...

but to give my words
the pivot focus
of Pangaea's children.

Then,
only then,
will I speak
the range of me
through the decor
and deliquescence
of common denominators.

And by god,
you will listen.

You will
listen.


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[LeBroz]

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Now here's a person with her own group you never knew was part of the deal.


bed for four
by sophia jane ©

to build a big bed,
you laugh,
but I think
it would be enough to hold
the us of us.

simplicity of love
overlooked by a wave
of hurry, expectation
of self.
but your bed of four
embraces the whole of us:

the her who is all
heart of warmth,
body to hold tight without
asking, always knowing.

the her with the laugh
so wide, so full of
life, the her who is enough-
so much-
for all of us.

and the her I see in me,
the one who allowed me
to trace the pattern of
the unknowable
on her skin.

then me, the me
who wants,
needs, but has never
loved
can I hold to
us and
know it forever?


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[LeBroz]

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I know this place ~ it's Litland!


Bent
by Lauren Hynde ©

a sonnet

Hundreds of lunatics live in this madhouse
(who would have guessed looking from outside)
and the gate dances at all hours of the day,
dances and welcomes new guests each time.

They all bring a dream, a crime, a vice
they were emperors or czars in faraway lands,
and in their faces, masks of awe or diablerie,
who knows what atrocious wants they celebrate.

It frightens, anguishes, to look them in the eye
and, behind the bars and bolts and shackles,
they disintegrate in anxiety and daft ambition.

My body, bent hospice for the raging mad!
Surrender to my encaged yearns and lusts,
and let them rise above the world!

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[LeBroz]

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Okay gang, let's lighten this place up.


Best
by darkmaas ©

Best
Is better than better,
But just for fun
Let’s change a vowel.

Bust
Is bust better than best?
Is a better bust best?
Now change the “s”.

Butt
Are butts better
Than busts?
What about best busts
Or better butts?

Best go back to bust
But change the “b”

Lust
For bust or butt?
Have a drink,
To help us think,
And then another.
Thoughtful lush lusts
After butts or busts?

But maybe
We should think of better.
Better becomes butter.
Buttered bust
Or better buttered butt?
Shall we ask our lustful lush?

He likes the better buttered bust lust best.


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[LeBroz]

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Moral of the story: if you're not up to the woman you want in your life, don't try to shrink her down to your febble size.


bits
by womanwords ©

she was his
lush wild thing
his hungry thing

overwhelmed he
fed her tidbits
barely enough

she shrank
as he had planned
to his size

she reconsidered
she ate him
and moved on

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[LeBroz]

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So, what do you think? Does it sound better with or without that last line? Just a rhetorical question.


Beginning
by Angeline ©

It ends
and it never ends. Images
of blood and screams echo
in you. There is no reason
for guilt, but years grind
with Why in floods of tears,
shed or not.

Maybe you should have
"something." Maybe,
but this is illusion,
self-inflicted.

We don't live inside
each other much
as we want to believe it.

It ends
and it never ends. One day
instead of coffins
and your own pallor
draining your imagination,

you remember a flower
and some long ago morning
in a sunny yard
when you held that yellow bud
under her chin and asked

Do you like butter?

and that is healing.

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[Angeline]

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So, what do you think? Does it sound better with or without that last line? Just a rhetorical question.


Beginning
by Angeline ©

It ends
and it never ends. Images
of blood and screams echo
in you. There is no reason
for guilt, but years grind
with Why in floods of tears,
shed or not.

Maybe you should have
"something." Maybe,
but this is illusion,
self-inflicted.

We don't live inside
each other much
as we want to believe it.

It ends
and it never ends. One day
instead of coffins
and your own pallor
draining your imagination,

you remember a flower
and some long ago morning
in a sunny yard
when you held that yellow bud
under her chin and asked

Do you like butter?

and that is healing.

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Without! I took it off on my personal version but--as is my lazy way--never got around to editing the version here...

 

[SeattleRain]

Without! I took it off on my personal version but--as is my lazy way--never got around to editing the version here...

hmmm maybe use that line as your title

 

[LeBroz]

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Started the day with a poem built on the idea of a strong woman so let's end it the same way with the predatory nature of woman.


beneath the finish
by annaswirls ©


I have been training.
Practicing my aim, sharpening my nails,
preparing for the dive below the surface
of day trips and
bargains in the treasure bin.
I plan to scratch through the gloss,
down beneath the patina

and taste the salt
from your sweat baked into the clay,
to identify this sculpture
by your finger print traces
and secret signatures between her thighs.

Come, sneak under the sleek spray of acrylic,
waterproof, we will not dissolve in the weather
no matter what it drops down.


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[annaswirls]

Thanks Leon, I forgot about this one!

Predatory nature of woman?

Hear me roar?



it was actually inspired by shopping for art finds, visiting with a friend's sculptures, and hoping to find something that lasts the weather, together but I guess, shopping IS the predatory nature of woman....

hmm

now I will have to go think about that some more.

hunter-gatherer signing off



thanks for doing this Leon, it is fun to see what I missed, what I had forgotten, revisiting old friends

~J

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Started the day with a poem built on the idea of a strong woman so let's end it the same way with the predatory nature of woman.


beneath the finish
by annaswirls ©


I have been training.
Practicing my aim, sharpening my nails,
preparing for the dive below the surface
of day trips and
bargains in the treasure bin.
I plan to scratch through the gloss,
down beneath the patina

and taste the salt
from your sweat baked into the clay,
to identify this sculpture
by your finger print traces
and secret signatures between her thighs.

Come, sneak under the sleek spray of acrylic,
waterproof, we will not dissolve in the weather
no matter what it drops down.


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[LeBroz]

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beginning again
by sophia jane ©

plane flies through clouds and the
bump rock bump flips my stomach
with nerves, exhaustion, something.
it is the end,
I think.
No- I am not dying in flight, but
this end is ending, this life
is at its period.

looking out the houses so small
and I want to laugh
at the absurdity:
men hurtling through the air
so fast, too fast,
already there,
an impossibility in reality
a pilot next to me says
no worries and looks with calm
at the clouds as plane sways
in time.

In my memory most
is dancing,
kitchen dancing,
so fine and full of life,
a twirl and the bodies so close
warm.
the love palpable, more
than what I know.

plane glides and the rumble of wheels
preparing for the descent
a return to the forces of gravity
reality
life
The end. Period.
and I smile, finally,
not at the ground, safely
but at the end
the beginning
the beginning again.


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[RhymeFairy]

Thanks Leon, I forgot about this one!

Predatory nature of woman?

Hear me roar?



it was actually inspired by shopping for art finds, visiting with a friend's sculptures, and hoping to find something that lasts the weather, together but I guess, shopping IS the predatory nature of woman....

hmm

now I will have to go think about that some more.

hunter-gatherer signing off



thanks for doing this Leon, it is fun to see what I missed, what I had forgotten, revisiting old friends

~J

I agree. I also love the poems you've been posting. Most I have never read and I am loving it. Thanks to you and these poets/poems, I am getting inspired in a good way, lol. Again, we Thank You Leon ~~~~

 

[LeBroz]

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Such a lovely morning. How 'bout a bite to eat?


best break fast
by SeattleRain ©

break-
fast

bagels plain
hard toasted
no cream no cheese

every bite flavor grows
in-
tensity


like I have never tasted bread before

cleansed
two days

now eating for you,
everything
is new
sharp
clear

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[LeBroz]

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Now here's a poet that's not always easy to grasp. Still, I've found most times that reading his work more than once often makes it worthwhile.


being as small
by 2rivers ©

mirror will be washed
soon as need to see
real
what is here and behind
in front eventually

a mirror is time travel
not space
best silvered glass, water too
sky below, self above
all as bottomless, next to each other
(viewing hint: tip head slightly)

swimming in the untouchable
long as wide pool
deep as shallow heaven

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[The_Fool]

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I know this place ~ it's Litland!


Bent
by Lauren Hynde ©

a sonnet

Hundreds of lunatics live in this madhouse
(who would have guessed looking from outside)
and the gate dances at all hours of the day,
dances and welcomes new guests each time.

They all bring a dream, a crime, a vice
they were emperors or czars in faraway lands,
and in their faces, masks of awe or diablerie,
who knows what atrocious wants they celebrate.

It frightens, anguishes, to look them in the eye
and, behind the bars and bolts and shackles,
they disintegrate in anxiety and daft ambition.

My body, bent hospice for the raging mad!
Surrender to my encaged yearns and lusts,
and let them rise above the world!

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Was this from the Same Title Challenge Dark Ages ago?

 

[LeBroz]

Was this from the Same Title Challenge Dark Ages ago?

There were 4 poems titled Bent during that first week of March 2003, of which Lauren's was one. I would guess it was a challenge — you've a good memory!


Now here's a more recent creation, comparing the effect of one person on another to that of the arrival of Spring to one's inner soul.



Beginning Green
by f-cynyr ©

Touching you
I open into lilac spring
and a flowering of start,
that blooms my eyes with
an unfurling of violet
and red and beginning green.

Touching you,
I bud into wonder,
gasp the fragrance of first blush
of the begin push of awake,
as you sing the green releasing
that stirs the dormant urge.

Touching you,
I open into light
and lilac spring unfolds
blossoming promise
filled with shine and bright
and all around glow
of beginning green.


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