Palimpsest of Steel

A palimpsest of steel,
Stylus scraping serpentine lines.
As wounds of ink it deals,
In decrees and interdictions to stain this heart of mine.

Layer upon layer thick,
Each nib grinding away.
Ink will never sink to the quick,
Of blood red and steel grey.

The beast beats within my chest,
And no blade of ink can tame,
This beast and put him to rest,
He can not be fettered, haltered, or made lame.

And when storm comes fierce,
Then all will see what is real,
Maledictions ink can not pierce,
True strength's heart for it is sired of steel.

Will I become

This post was done using a method I learned recently in an English class. You write out a list of seemingly random words and then try to make a poem out of them.  The class made a list together with people contributing words and then were supposed to write a poem of at least 10 lines from it.  The words were: canary, coal, tree, run, duck, flourish, fly, eviscerate, challenge, fireworks, annihilate, explode, treasure, eat, dream catcher, hot dog, fire truck, fuchsia, periwinkle, salmon, cobalt, and violet.  I did not use Duck, treasure, or hotdog.  I hope you enjoy the poem...
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Flourish of fireworks flying,
Furious fuchsia, and violent violet,
Running in red ribbons,
and each explosion eating,
The sky, and yet, more.

Like salmon swimming in a murky stream,
Cobalt, canary yellow, fire truck red their gleam.
A challenge to the eyes,
As in annihilation each dies,

Out, in the coal black night,
A periwinkle evisceration,
Of all my thoughts, and frustrations.

A dream catcher born of lights,
To entangle the years’ nightmares and plights,

What kind of man will I become?

Muad'dib Epiphany

This poem references Frank Herbert’s Dune.  A book I greatly enjoy and admire.  The final stanza is the Bene Gesserit “Litany against fear.” Taken from the book.

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“The Sleeper has awakened,”

Quoth Muad’dib,

And my perception began to bend,

By the words of Paul Atreides.

Prince from world of lake, sea, and willow,

To the desolation: red, harsh, baked and yellow.

Where is my Arrakis?

Where is trial’s desert dry kiss?

What warning might ungate my mind,

To the opportunities of which I was blind?

Perhaps my own mentat of my intellection?

Fear is the mind killer– a memory, a reflection:

Caladan to Dune,

In reflection I see soon,

Is just another turn,

Of the words to burn

The epiphany,

The sleeper is me.

“I must not fear.
Fear is the mind-killer.
Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration.
I will face my fear.
I will permit it to pass over me and through me.
And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path.
Where the fear has gone there will be nothing.
Only I will remain.”

Garden Caesura

Battered Hills after the storm,
Soil turned, still warm.
Each plot with flowers is now filled,
Petals spreading rose red. Blood from the killed.

As from fingers flown,
Seeds are sown,
Falling far to precious earth below,
What shall they grow? Impact, Bloom, explosions glow.

Every action sows seed,
Whether oak, flower, grass, or weed,
Or turns soil, waters trees,
Or can even prune.  But war, cuts down all it sees.

Broken or Kintsukuroi

All my life I've been a failure,
To what victory can I grasp or defer,
Like a rope,
To give me hope?

I have but one great accomplishment,
But all the world seems hell bent,
To show me it as a flaw,
While my heart doubt does gnaw.

Did I make a mistake?
And thus break,
An already worthless jar,
Have I fallen so little, yet so far?

Am I that three legged dog,
Trying so hard to jog,
Along with its brothers,
But cannot, for he is not like the others?

Am I a broken vase,
A shattered disgrace,
Worthless, worn, forgotten,
And never should have been boughten?

Or am I kintsukuroi remade,
As each day I bade,
Myself to begin again,
And try some victory to win. 

Seduction

With your perfect sexy breasts,

Like two mountains of magnificent mammary,

And your eyes,

So round and full,

Like the full moon,

On those rare days when it is red,

And all of heaven blushes with her,

And your skin,

So smooth and soft like silk,

Richer and fuller than a mothers milk,

Your lips so soft and full,

Like the waves of the sea,

Slowly cresting,

As they follow the moon across the great oceans,

And where those waves part, the pearl white teeth,

Like ivory walled fortress cliffs in perfect symmetry,

And such hair,

Long and wavy with curls,

Like a waterfall cascading down,

And the ripples where it meets the water below,

In wave upon wave,

Soft,

Flowing,

And your body,

Curved like stone,

Cut by the wind through the desert,

Slowly carving out intricate shapes,

Yet perfectly smooth,

Without a crack or flaw,

In the perfect tones of the earth,

In all the things of this sphere,
I see your beauty,
Yet none can draw near,
To the verity,

Yet I would still love you,
Even if it were to see mar,

For what you do,
And who you are,
Is why I truly love my wife.

Thrice Born but One True Name

A dance of fire and ice,
A soul born thrice,
Once of water, dust, and breath,
Once of steel and ice cold as death,
And once in eternal flame.
Thrice born but one true name,
From the forebears came the dust,
Water spilled,
Lungs with breath filled,
Pneuma, power, filled with life,
Then with age comes the strife,
Nascence of logic in ice,
And the daily price,
Paid in sweat and blood,
That I might change the mud,
My clay into steel,
But then a tempest gripped the keel,
Rebirth in the magma maelstrom dire,
Setting soul on fire,
Inspiration,
Self reformation,
The path finally clear,
I must live to win,
My true name: Sven.

Lamp Posts

They cast their glare upon the street,
These lamp posts stand tall, straight, and neat,
While the fire in the skies,
Slowly burns out and dies.
Then comes the dark,
And they stand out stark,
Beacons of light,
Illuminating the night.
Unnoticed by most,
As they play host,
To the beams,
Which pour out in streams,
Upon edifice and pavement,
As our lives are spent.
Yet when their bulbs expire,
And the street looks dark and dire,
Then we look for the lamp posts.
We look for a pillar to host,
The light of our society,
A light to guide you and me,
But perhaps we should be,
The ones to help others to see.

~~~This poem was inspired by a photo taken by my friend Andre. See Below.~~~

 

Veiled Virtue

They wear veils,
But not of their volition,
No one hears their wails,
Stifled by this moral remission.

Hidden from the world's eyes,
Hidden from their own value,
No one hears their cries,
As they long for their due.

You circumcise,
And force them to obey,
Treating them like a prize,
For which a man only has to pay.

Those who dissented,
Are now scarred and torn,
For you resented,
The virtues that might be born.

The day is coming,
When you will see,
How strong is the sting,
To be the one who isn't free.

For those in living perdition,
Silent like a caged bird,
Know you need not permission,
To make your voice heard!

Every woman is a princess,
Till she makes herself not so,
No man can make you value less,
May you ever know,

Your struggle is true,
Your warfare is worthy,
So whatever you do,
Don't stop till you're free!

Warrior Pair

It is the quiet, it is the lull,
Of the evening while the moon is full.
A figure is crouching, built like a bull,
Beside him stands his wife,
Sharpening her knife.
Preparing for the strife,
That will come when they attack,
The camp glowing in the black,
And fight together, back to back.
They then move together,
One light as feather,
Prowling like tiger freed from teather,
The other thick and powerful,
Like a rhino bull.
His hammer- like a rock to ship's hull,
As he strikes the camp's wall,
Shattered masonry falls,
And they make their way towards the hall.
Enemies spring from all around,
And the Tigress's arrows abound,
And soon many targets transfixed dot the ground.
The Rhino, armored hide dances a dirge,
For the lives his hammers are about to purge,
With each strike like a tsunami's surge.
The numbers whittle and thin,
But from the great hall then,
Steps forth the armored men.
Knowing her bow will not now do,
The tigress switches to a blade of blue,
Her dance to no longer transfix, but to hew.
Dodge, Dance, Dice, Hamstring,
And her blade does sing,
As armored foe falls to her fury's sting,
Parry, Pivot, Prostate, Decimate,
Another armored foe meets his fate.
Shattered like a pot of clay,
Fallen upon the way,
Crushed by hammers of mercilus grey,
One foe now remains,
And the heros do deign,
To not hesitate or feign,
They will not wait or play,
With the foe they came to slay,
Evil must die this day,
For so do this married pair,
Battle each day fair,
Not against mortals alone do their weapons tear,
For they strive for virtue,
In all they do,
To be noble and true,
Thus they dance once more,
And drive blade and bludgeon to the core,
And leave a king of evil upon the floor.

Titan Tempest Reflection

Oh how I long,
For tempest strong!
Oh how I desire,
Thunderbolts, heaven's fire!
Cast down upon the ground,
Thunder, force, power's pound!

Roaring through the heavens of my own soul,
Do you hear the bells' tolling roll?
Do you feel the quaking of the world?
Titan tempest through myself hurled.

Oh how I wish,
For frost clinging kiss!
Oh how I crave,
Blizzards to brave!
Swept out upon the ice,
Tiny in my flight as dice!

Roaring through the heavens of my own soul,
Do you hear the bells' tolling roll?
Do you feel the quaking of the world?
Titan tempest through myself hurled.

Oh how I yen,
For serene fen!
Oh how I need,
Surreptitiously to weed!
The wilds of my heart,
Of perfunctoriness' part!

Roaring through the heavens of my own soul,
Do you hear the bells' tolling roll?
Do you feel the quaking of the world?
Titan tempest through myself hurled.

As I stand upon the highest summit,
Oh myself, to wit,
Introspection, reflection.
Seeking the eternal crown all might win,
I must daily become, Sven.

Aye Papi!

~~~This poem is imitating the style and humor of Billy Collins in his poem "Another Reason Why I Don't Keep a Gun in the House."  It is done to help expand my abilities and to add another tool to my chest, if you will.  My version comes from an actual life event from when I lived in Panama:  I couldn't tell if the neighbor woman was yelling at her toddler or her boyfriend or whether it was sex or anger most days.

The neighbor’s chacalita won’t stop yelling,
She is screaming the same words, every day
Every time the boyfriend comes home.
I never know whether it is from pleasure or pain.

The neighbor’s girl won’t stop screaming,
I put my headphones in,
Time to listen to Dowland
As I hear the starting phrase,
“Aye Papi! Papi! Aye Papi!”

As if she is beside the lute,
Her rapid Spanish to replace the words,
Penned by his melancholy hand.

When the music pauses for effect
I hear her start again,
As if it is her chords plucked,
In an ambiguous refrain,

Does she call in anger to her son
Or in pleasure to her lover?
“Aye Papi!” as G chord strummed,
“Aye Papi!” before an awkward audience. 

Spiral Staircase

Spiral, spiral round,
Spiral, spiral down,
Footsteps running pound,
Footsteps shuffling round,
Youth rushing upwards,
Wisdom slowly receding.

Spiral, spiral round,
Spiral, spiral down,
The wheel has ground,
Life is always sown,
Birth, growth, youth,
Wisdom, regression, truth.

If you’re not ascending,
You know what your steps bring.

~~~Doing an experiment right now on converting photographs into poetry.  This is my first attempt during this project.  Photo attached Courtesy of my friend Andre's photo.

I'm a Parasite

You make me want to scream,
To curse, to shout… to dream.
To dream of what we are,
And to shout from the far,
Back corners of my heart,
The whispers fragrant sting,
Agonizing like ammonia’s burn,
Able to quench all thought and turn,
The mind to its most primal.
Nah in you tis not pain,
But rather pleasure and gain!
The Shrieking soothing balm,
Coursing and meandering calm,
In my innermost,
To this host,
Living inside me,
I can only be,
The parasite,
Stealing warmth and light,
From the ember hot flame,
No one can tame,
Nourished by the virtue highest above,
All others: Love.

Lonely Moon

Drifting, nay, pursuing,
Through the cosmos winging,
A great beauty,
Who shed light upon me.

Do I drift here alone,
Always shifting, yet one tone?
While the stars wink mockingly,
So distant, callus, cold and free.

I am inconstant and adrift,
Tearing all the seas a rift.
As I pursue that great soul,
My goddess my Sol.

I can not always even be seen,
And at times I wane too lean.
Other times I wax braggadocio,
But my humbling is soon to come I know.

I am but a poor satellite,
Alone in the night.
Pursuing my queen in the sky,
And how frequent my light does die.

My brightest genius lasts but a few,
And then I fade like the dew,
As Sol rises in her glory,
And melts all frost that is hoary.

Her glory never wanes,
Whereas as mine’s both losses and gains.
I’ll always yet love and pursue,
And render forevermore my one hue.