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Five Mixed Poems, with Notes [now is Spanish and English]

1.

Night in Jamaica
[Peruvianism: 1810]

It was a rainy night they say
When don Simon Bolivar
Slept in the arms of beautiful
-Luisa Crober
(of Jamaica); thus an
Assassin missed his mark
When he stabbed Major Amestoy
Sleeping in the dark
In Bolivar’s hammock!…

#719 6/7/05

2.

Sacred Something

Love for love
curse for curse
what you plant
(in the furrow):
is what you
get tomorrow.

6/8/05 #720

3.

Epitaph in El Dorado

Ride high, ride high
The shade replied
Over the mountains
To the valley

There upon a cliff
You’ll see
A placed called
El Dorado

His madden brain
Was sick with pain
Beholding to the shadow
But he found the gold
And then was told
You’ll never leave
The valley?

And so it was
That he grew old
Sitting there in the Valley
Counting gold
Eating toads?

And
I’m sick of this poem
But it needs an end
So my friend, I must say
This epitaph was is his story.

6/9/05 #725

4.

Epitaph of a Shoeshine Boy
[A Macabre poem]

Mechanical Poetry; Part Two

What do you do when you want to write poetry? I hope your answer is “I start writing.” Even writing a bad poem is better than waiting for the “right words.” You can always throw it away, and the process has begun. You’ll start to find the words sooner than if you had just waited. Here are some more ways to get started.

Sing A Poem

Try a little experiment - alone in the basement if you must. Describe something, then describe it again, singing instead of talking. You’ll notice the words you use change. Your sentences will generally be more rythmic. It is also easier to rhyme when you are singing.

Singing comes from the right side of the brain. This is the side that handles pattern-recognition. When you sing, you access this part of your brain, and you’ll get ideas or patterns of words that are difficult for your analytical left-brain to create. Try it.

Start With Poetic Materials

You can create poetry by listing words most likely to result in decent poems. Look for emotional content, for example. “Love” and “worship” have more poetic potential than “like,” right? Scan a book, pick out powerful words, and write them down. You may want to write words that rhyme with them alonside. Then start using them.

Poetry in Turbulence

To many non-specialists of literature, poetry is deeply unsatisfying. There are several reasons for this, but two in particular come to mind. The first is that most poetry is overly descriptive, leaving little to the imagination; the second is that the rest of it is abstruse. This presents the non-specialist with a dilemma: either to persevere in the thankless task of attempting to unravel an increasingly unrewarding literary crossword; or to make do with the superficialities of descriptive verse and the resultant ennui. Both projects would presumably confirm any prejudices that these readers entertained about the relevancy of poetry to their lives. In circumstances such as these, I think it would be appropriate to introduce a method of poetic appreciation, which, although unorthodox, would encourage the non-specialist to revise any negative opinion of poetry held.

The first thing that has to be drawn to the attention of these readers is the fact that it is up to them to come to an understanding of the poem. The poem is unlikely to facilitate such a response without this active participation on their part. The main thing to point out to them is that valuable time and effort would be wasted in attempting to look for the poem’s intended meaning. Rather, a more helpful course would be to encourage readers to actively engage in their own particular and personal exegetical responses to the text - however idiosyncratic or perverse the results of this may appear.

Mechanical Poetry

Do you ever stare at the paper, waiting for poetic inspiration? Well, you can stop waiting and start using systematic techniques for creating poetry. If it seems too mechanical or artificial at first, don’t worry. The point is just to get you writing, because creativity is stimulated by work.

When You Have A Poem In Mind

If you have your topic, ask yourself why it’s important, and write down your answer. How do you feel about it? Write down those feelings. Write a line or a scene that exemplifies what you are trying to point out. Then, start rearranging the words into a poem. The main thing is to do anything other than waiting to stimulate your creativity.

Sometimes poems can come from a simple description. Write down a description of an event, and then find a way to form it into something more succinct and poetic. The poem below, “Religion,” was created in this way:

On the shoulder of Keystone Road
A woman was laying in the dirt
Calling out for help
While ninety-three christians
Fourteen muslims
And five jews
Drove by
On a sunny afternoon

When You Need Ideas For Poems

Four Poems: Two for the Devil, Two for Peru

Here is some witty poetry (not sure if that is the proper word: witty, but it will do): one poem on the Aztec year 2012, a year that has been in the public’s eye quite a lot; one on cloning, and the biblical end time events–which, if I may add seems ripe for the monster events that are said to take place; and two poems dealing with some tradtions of Peru; one imparticular, on vacationing, where not to go; all the makings for some thought.

Aztec Baby

On December 25, 2012 AD
The Devil had an idea-
He’d clone himself
In the form of a baby;
Called the Antichrist.

#716 6/7/05

Scorpion Fetus

And from the fetus
Came beast from man
And from the Abyss
Came the raving demon

Man locked into
Animals-that could
Think, think like man-
With tails like scorpions

That would paralyze, sting;
All from, replicating?
Experimentations
Horrid, ramifications?.

And thus, they came
They came to feast,
These Scorpion beasts
And brought humanity

Down, down, to its knees!…
These cloned hybrids,
Raving demonic beasts
Half human half dead.

#716 6/7/05

Atahualpa’s Game

Five Poems from Home [And a view on the planet vs. the poet]

Five Poems from Home

1) Remembering: Dorothy Parker
[Dedicated to the 1920s Poetess]

Let it be said,
Dorothy Parker lies dead,
cremated to ash and poetry; thus,
she died at the ripe old age
of seventy-three-.

The tiny woman with a big mouth,
who got caught in the rain
and couldn’t get out:
continued to play the game,
all the same,
like drops of rain
upon a pane.

#713 6/2005

2) Changing me

If I’d not be so frank

I’d not create such a stink.
If I’d not be so stubborn,

I’d sleep well in the summer.
If I’d not curse at the bad

I’d be happier and glad.
But I shall remain the way I am

Because I don’t give a damn!

#712 7/5/05

3) Inertia

When I was young
Strong and bold
Right was wrong,

And?
Wrong was right;

My heart opened out,
My mind soaring
I marched away?
And looked for glory

But I am old
And the world is so
Battles won, lost
It is time to stop;

Thus?
I now let go.

#711 6/2005

4) The Wake of E.T.S

San Francisco [Almost a Sonnet]

(The city by the bay of Northern California, near which the Pacific Ocean resides; the year is 1967)

Mid October seemed like some spring day,

When through the poised waters, dry as lead,
The ferry, like vague shadows that stand the dead,

Slipped down the curved coast of Frisco bay,
Rounded the Golden Gate,-and San Francisco lay,
Before me, that gay city, pink and red,
Hippies covered Haigh Asbury’s homeless head,-

My home, to be, I found stirring and grey.

The waves busted on the wooden-sides; fishermen

Nearby with long necks, looked and cast again.
Deep in emerald waters we wandered free,
When abruptly the bay currents were stirred

The ferry bearing restrained the great sea bird
Settling, like Asbury’s spirit, in the sea.

6/4/05 #708

To My Friend, With Love

All is still; all quiet;
The world seems to be at peace.
My soul is singing its rhythmic melody
And I’m led like in a trance to write its tunes.
The lyrics are for you.
The essence of friendship.

I have what so many people in this world
Yearn so desperately for: a friend.
A friend who’s closer to me than skin
And worth more than life itself.

You have shared in my pain, as has no other
And touched my wounded spirit
With tender expressions of compassion.
Your heart bled when you felt my grief;
Your empathy and sensitivity
Transmitted affection no words ever could.

Your unfailing loyalty has been inexhaustible,
Regardless of what it may have cost you
Personally.
You have made great sacrifices
On my behalf
Unconditionally.

You accepted me as I was and am;
Appreciating my strengths,
Challenging my weaknesses,
Guarding my vulnerabilities,
Accepting my imperfections,
Valuing my humanity.

You have buttressed the arrows
People often shot in my direction;
Willingly absorbing suffering
Meant for me.
Adversaries tried to put a wedge between us
To no avail;
Our friendship too secure,
Our commitment too strong

Lord Byrons She Walks in Beauty

Lord Byron’s opening couplet to "She Walks In Beauty" is among the most memorable and most quoted lines in romantic poetry. The opening lines are effortless, graceful, and beautiful, a fitting match for his poem about a woman who possesses effortless grace and beauty.

Life in England

Lord Byron was born George Gordon Noel Byron in London in 1788. He became a Lord in 1798 when he inherited the title and the estate of his great-uncle. Byron’s mother had taken him to Scotland for treatment for his club foot, but she brought him back to England to claim the title and the estate.

Byron was privately tutored in Nottingham for a short period. He then studied in Harrow, Southwell, and Newstead, and finally at Trinity College. Byron discovered a talent for writing poetry and published some early poems in 1806 and his first collection, called Hours of Idleness, in 1807 at the age of 19. When he turned age 21 he was able to take his seat in the House of Lords.

However, Lord Byron left England for two years with his friend, John Hobhouse, to travel through Europe. They toured Spain, Malta, Greece, and Constantinople. Greece especially impressed Byron and would create a recurring theme in his life.

Two Poems and an Analysis [?Witness,? & ?An Old Love?]

Two Poems and an Analysis [’Witness,’ & ‘An Old Love’]

Witness

My face belongs to whoever sees it
Everything has a meaning but life
Even the bugs strive for existence
God saved man, from God
Ghosts have lonely sins
Her bones are stones
Up and down the hill
Gardens blossom
Spotless skies
Dramatists
August
I can not
rest!…

#708 6/3/05

An Old Love

Around the world from me
are the many lands I’ve seen-
I, who have longed all his life,
that never shut his eyes
but to look up for his next flight

?for things I’ve yet to see-
wait, wait, wait, wait where
echoes from poets write,
wait, for far off destinies.

And where my thoughts are
I must go, for there too is my
. soul; thus, best to poke the
fire again!…

6/3/05 #707

— Next Page »

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