Archival Review

[LeBroz]

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Once I would have suggested changing the second line. But on reading it after reading so many other poems, I now think it says more the way it's written. There was a comment suggesting the second line read, "before I was born." I think the line as written says that and so much more; what do you think?

Bird
by Lauren Hynde ©


Wings torn
before I could feel

How
to open them
except in dreams?
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[LeBroz]

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Here is one that is good as is but that I thought the poet could tighten up on and give it more of an impact. See what you think.


Behind Her Eyes
by The Gentle Man06 ©

It was after her
nervous breakdown
when I first noticed it

The emeralds had changed
into onyx
It's as if someone or
something is living on
the other side

And I can no longer
find safe harbor
behind her eyes


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[LeBroz]

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Now here's a piece about personal revelation that faith isn't all it's cracked up to be.


Believe and you Shall Receive
by Curiouswife ©

For my sister, it was Anna
turning bluer day by day
she died at seven months
no matter how my sister prayed
But for me it was the kitten
silky soft and gray
the epiphany of innocence
left alone on the freeway
I got off at the next exit
trusting as I prayed,
“God, let me save the kitten;
please keep the cars at bay.”

But the kitten was smashed

when I got back

as was my faith

All those years of Sunday school
let out their final breath
that day on the freeway
my faith coming to rest
For my sister, it was Anna
approached with a mustard seed
faith supposed to move mountains
tumbling down, harrowing
Now we whisper of the past
and how we once believed
and how, all our lives we were lied to
how those steeples do deceive


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[LeBroz]

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Belonging
by Syndra Lynn ©

Too long I linger
in the lovely
Lit erotic garden

is it any wonder, though?

when my heavy handed pen
bleeds me
exposing my deficiencies,
self-imposed inadequacies
and maims my spirit
until worthless
and deformed

a flawless flower lifts me
needs me
complements my poetry,
inspires creativity
names my beauty
until hope
is restored

transcendent moment
soul redemption


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[LeBroz]

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Married guys, this one's for you. Don't be surprised if, in a moment of weakness you don't do something your wife wanted done, and she reminds you of another of your failures from March 17, 2003 {or 17 March 2003}. When she's in this state, trust in the fact that she's right.


Betrayal
by simply_cyn ©

Forgotten promises keep me awake
for hours in this endless night
broken dreams and empty words
will never make it right.

Sweet fleeting memories
are all that I have left
of this love-filled hate
that consumes the girl within.

Bitter promises harbored inside
Is there no reprieve for me?
no escape from this ancient curse
that keeps coming again and again.

Haunting faces fill my dreams
faint voices whisper in my ear
phantom arms that held me close
but were they ever really there?

Stumbling footfalls carry me quick
from this nightmare I cannot shake
thorny paths I travel still
prick and scratch my bleeding heart.

Why does this thing enrapture me so
forever following just a step behind
waiting again for another chance
to rear its head - betrayal.

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[LeBroz]

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Okay gang, break out your dictionaries. You're about to embark on a truly stimulating journey.


belonging to a constant
by Liar ©

i tried to write poetry
to relay an immaculate abstract
materialised comfort and ease
of rock, sapling and sea

but fumbled at the outer limits
of a defect vocabulary
designed for ornaments
and not for foundations

i tried onomastic similes
the floorboards creaking
salt rustling birches
the distant rumble of tides

and the absolute impenetrable silence
when midnight stilled the flies
and heaven sighed in doldrum
for a crystal star lit while

but my scribblings shrieked
dissonant from paper
to stab my sanctuary
into dust once more

perhaps it is agoraphobia
that centers a stray origo
in shelter from clamor
this tranquil valley

perhaps origin's gravity
a focal point unknown to man
that always leads all roads
back to that one true home

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[LeBroz]

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About now some fruit for breakfast would taste especially good.


Berries
by Sexi Kitten Lexi ©

Berries
Taste best when picked
By hand, from one’s own grove
Frolicking in nature is sweet
For reality is bugs and heat stroke
Never mind the dream of fresh taste
Prepackaged will suit me
Just fine for now
Berries

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[LeBroz]

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It's a Saturday night; how 'bout some jazz?


Birdman
by Angeline ©

Mr Jay McShann hired Charlie Parker,
Bird, that soul-swinging jazz Icarus
whose sun rise left him in the gutter.

Call it a grand city palace,
home of some minor royal patron,
but in a wider sense still a gutter

if you can't be called Mister
or pee in a men's room in your own town.
Maybe you fly with needles,
eyes rolling mad, your ax blown
in frenzied staccato fantasies
or dripped moan-smooth in ballads.

It's all blues. You get blown
every which way, but some people
just don't seem to comprehend
that even this desecration
is spirit, produces infinite beauty.

Mr McShann said
you see the blues is not about feelin bad:
it's a way to get feelin good,
and Papa Jo said
Jazz is our religion,

which makes Bird a martyr.
Sacred, sacred.


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[LeBroz]

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Here's a piece from a couple years back when the crowd known as tt2u took notes of their meeting. Results presented here for your edification.


Beside myself
by tungtied2u ©

I guess you got me,
caught me,
not being me
but not me,
me being someone else

someone else unlike me,
who wouldn’t like me
it strikes me,
being someone else
not being my true self

my true self tells me truly
I’m selfish and unruly
when insides on the outside
but I won’t go back inside
so I’m beside myself

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[LeBroz]

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Here's a piece to set your mind in motion, back to the days of the Divine Right of Kings.


Bethlehem
by ishtat ©

They whip us no more in Bethlehem,
just chained and nailed to the wall.
Sixpence to see the menagerie,
Old Michael, dumb Willum, mad Kate and me.

Simon St Mary was good for a start
but Mad Melancholy now stand at the gate.
A Pope may proclaim them brazen and tainted
But old Cibber won’t care if as Evil they’re painted.

With the blood and the spirits of inmates forgotten
Whipped in furies of pain for five centuries on.
Dr Willis restrains the chief of our hatters
Divines rights of no whipping for Hanover’s son.

Imperial purple is pissed up the wall
Old George lost his farm to perdition and all.
But small comfort is seen through porphyric haze
My friends give their thanks to their Lord and great praise

For they whip us no more in Bethlehem.

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[LeBroz]

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Betrayal
by SpaceQueen ©

As moths to flame are led to self destruct,
friend’s lovers hint they wish to be admired,
with yearned-for coupling calling to conduct
imagined rites of passion, so desired.

Soon sands slip through the hourglass of time,
the siren’s song calls: now! Come be alive!
Thus merged with borrowed love, the perfect crime,
in variations pleasant to contrive.

But lightning flashes quickly and is gone,
and night no longer glows more than the day.
Attraction uses others for its pawn,
ambition burns to ashes with dismay.

True friendship bankrupt due to broken trust,
as love’s illusions quickly turn to dust.


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[LeBroz]

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Okay boys and girls, into the Wayback Machine to experience this one; you be the judge if it's truly better than anything Bukowski ever...


Better Than Anything Bukowski Ever
by paganangel ©

I think I’m chasing geese
But then say no
Just bleeding cunts with angel’s wings

But now I know
And wish to set those wings afire
As feathers scatter to ash

And make me ashen
Going blue at the lips
My hair ignited

And why not
My head should be used for something
Besides pleasing these angels

As though there were even the possibility

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[LeBroz]

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Here's a little something to wrap your mind around.


Better Kings
by recklesschild ©

I hang my belongings
On the crossbar of your name
Next to a placard that reads:
............Better Kings have hailed
............better things nailed
............here before you.
This place reeks of thorns
malt vinegar
Newcastle beer
the Tyne River
clothed in yesterday’s rice paper.

Yet this is not you still.

Somedays
You are fried plantains
a breath before bad
faultless in oil and deed.
Somedays
You are the domains
of Elizabethian verse
expressed in pre-bought arguments.
Somedays
You are too left brain
to even begin to see
You have forgotten me in the sledge.

Your voice weighed
is entertained by a pound of peppery plums, all to dear surrender.
How I want it to sigh my name
......Two crossbars deep.

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[recklesschild]

Thanks, Leon

for the mention....with a few alter egos out there, I was hoping I might make your review simply as a matter of statistics. I'm glad I didn't have to wait for the end of the alphabet!

 

[LeBroz]

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Let me reiterate that appearance on this list is purely a highly subjective matter. As is not appearing on the list. Who knows ~ I might have had a bad day shoveling too much snow and passed over a poem I might have chosen on another day. It is, after all, just a collection of poems resurrected for another read. And another thing ~ when I see a poem such as the following with those citations, I am always struck by the fact that 2004 seems to have been a very good year for Lit's poets.


Better Left Unspoken
by Belegon ©

I stood facing the wind listening¹
searching for echoes
striving to hear
the lost laughter
of mistaken luncheons
and forbidden phone calls
running my fingers
through the undertones
of careful conversation
where everything is said

I never said
I'm not afraid of pain
I just don't fear it
as much as apathy

So now I will try
to keep things unvoiced
to hide a half
of my dreaming whole
better to agonize
over not expressing
then for you to leave
I'll keep desires secret
even from you
say words under my breath
into the wind
that invisibly whispers
through your hair
and then you are mine in victorious feeling²



¹ in On The Back Of A '57 Indian, by jd4george ©2004
² in "Continuous Feeling", by Champagne1982©2004


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[LeBroz]

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Now here's a sardonic little write from back in January 2003.


Black Bird
by Bluemist ©

Black bird, black bird lying in the street so dead,
You lost your life for a piece of bread
Lost your wife and lost your head
You should have stayed at home and stayed in bed.

Did you not warn about the danger in the road,
And grieve the luck of poor Mr Toad?
Whose heart a nymph did crush and life explode!
“You should have stayed at home!” you crowed.

Black bird, black bird your heart so torn, so surely stilled,
Once loved the flight and songs you trilled
How come swayed you, the golden guild?
You should have ploughed the home and hearth you tilled

Dead bird, dead bird, if lost you the homely way
When passions white, the faithful flay
What chance have we the course to stay
Once moments bright turn moments gray?

Sly bird, cry bird, why heeded you not your own advice,
And flown the swollen fields of graining rice
And scoured the beach and soared it twice
You should have stayed offline...was it worth the price?

....keep the home fires burning....beware the 100 million out there !

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[LeBroz]

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Leave it to smithpeter to think up something like this and see the past in the future.


better living through chemistry
by smithpeter ©

I must reformat my hard drive
Why confuse the anthropologists?

they want the dirt
we all have dirt
the anthropologists all have mustaches
let's twist them a bit
in the futures

those girl and boy downy mustaches
could have been prevented
in jolly fashion

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[LeBroz]

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I still think this sounds like the frantic life of the single Mom.


Between shifts
by Svenskaflicka ©

The days are long
and last halfway through the night.
Driver's ed and two jobs
none I particularly like.
Going everyday just to stay afloat
to maintain my independence.
They may break my back
but I'm still standing.

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[LeBroz]

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Reading this again after 3 months, it still strikes me as the tale of woe of the writer having chosen poetry over prose. The creativity is so demanding and exhilarating but the remuneration is so lacking.


Between a Story and A Song
by Rebel Rose ©

In their world I don’t quite fit
In this one I don’t belong
Caught somewhere in the middle
Between a story and a song

Chapter, passage, verse, or rhyme
The words sometimes flow
Random or methodical
Ideas begin to grow

Story teller or poet
Still trying to find my niche
A little of both, a lot of neither
My words will never make me rich

Fitting in was never my thing
I’m happy in my own little space
Off-beat, a rebel
With my own style and grace

My words evoke emotion
Though I could be wrong
Sometimes good, sometimes bad
Between a story and a song


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[LeBroz]

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Any way you cut it, damn noisy crows.


Black Eyes
by The Mystery Valiant ©

“Black Eyes”


Floating to the power line,
and dancing into balance.
Head twitching from side to side,
looking over sentience.
Making the watch of irony,
their personal mission happenstance.
The spirit guide, avenger and warning,
lacking vocal eloquence.
The sky aloft wields in all his heart,
proud majestic eminence.
But to humanity, the grounded souls.
These black-winged Corvid’s puissance.



The Mystery Valiant
6-18-2006

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[LeBroz]

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Just finishing up today's new poems read; I'll get on the review in a bit. In the meantime, here's one of those good pieces I wish we'd see more often on the new poems list.


Birdsong
by Angeline ©

It was a black and white day,
no impressionist strokes
swept sky and hour.
The day was condensed
on screens, alpha-numeric
fine print ticked
insectile moments.

Town was gray,
rain falling steady
but listless, not
enough gumption
to pelt or stream,

then Milton, Miller,
Dickens and Joyce
bubbled up. The construct
of language laughed at itself.

Jazz played. 1930s Chicago
paraded past the kitchen.
You gestured, scratched
your knee, spun stories.

Poems fall from far away
into our eyes. You say
it's the music. And yes.
Art weaves through notes
into the heart of the house
like the cliffhanger spider
makes her home
on the ceiling here.

Here.

Birdsong and minor keys
and words in spaces
between the sounds.

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[LeBroz]

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These days, how many of the young girls even wear hats? Maybe to weddings?


Big Hats
by Randi Grail ©

Big hats on a windy day.
That's what we were.

Only trying to keep cool,
our heads together somehow,
observe and enjoy the parade
of days passing by.

But big hats, proud as we may,
can not hold still
against the simplest breeze.
And fluttering we swirled
in the sudden weather blush
of adventure,
forgetting our heads,
to soar for a while.

And we did, and big hats do,
and spun in madness
a second or two.

Before landing, always so.

Always fall,
into the muddiest puddle
of them all.

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[RhymeFairy]

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I still think this sounds like the frantic life of the single Mom.


Between shifts
by Svenskaflicka ©

The days are long
and last halfway through the night.
Driver's ed and two jobs
none I particularly like.
Going everyday just to stay afloat
to maintain my independence.
They may break my back
but I'm still standing.

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A shout out ... this is very realistic and so true. From experience I speak ...

Svenskaflicka hit tha nail on its proverbial head~

 

[LeBroz]

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Looks as though there's a poet in tt2u's life that has totally seduced him with her mind and words.


Binding chords
by tungtied2u ©

I’ve never seen you,
wouldn’t know you
if we passed.
You voice would not be familiar,

but your words!

Not spoken but written,
strike me
as an anvil does a tuning fork,
vibrations pitch-perfect .

Deeply resonant,
they resound harmonically,
explode ,
compound.

Confounding,
how could this be?
Words make a man weep?

Your words.

I’ve heard them all before,
but never like this,

You pluck and pull
chords within me,
desperate to be sung

You are either angel
or demon.

Please,
be an angel.
Let me know
the sweet sounds
you stir in me
are true and honest,
and real

But, angel or demon
I am lost to you.

You need do nothing more
than write the words.

I am yours.

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[LeBroz]

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If you have the good fortune to have your parents living a full long life, I hope you have more success than I've had in getting them to check their eyes. Since she's lost her driver license due to her vision problems, I had the good fortune of driving my Mom around town on an 8 hour shopping expedition. Even my ex- never was that bad! I sure hope I got a fair share of her genes ~ she's 82, and there's no sign she'll be slowing down any time soon. Speaking of Moms...


Birth
by cward2 ©

They pried her open,
Like divers looking
For a pearl.
But instead found me:-
A picture of innocence
Curled up
Inside an oyster's shell.

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