“Clouds” by David Mensing
the best poets will
conjure apt words that describe
the clouds to the blind
Archives
All posts for the month September, 2017
“Gypsy Caravan” by Leon Goodman
break china vessels in mirrors
to get at their tantalized powders
run your tongue
along edges
that jaggedly bisect
romantic wigged
thickly-calved footmen
whose dismembered hands
hold sharp crinoline shards
that decapitate
chartreuse chatelaines
dressed in overstuffed demitasse shoes
and plump Pyrenees hounds
their pastel corpulence
fired and glazed
in havened enclaves of illicit kilns
fueled by tumblers of scotch
and spadesful of peat
upon whistling moors
in the dark
under thin dripping moons
double-jointed by shadows
thrown down
by tall drunken stones
dancing a druidic henge
each porcelain service a staple
itinerant tinkers rely on
for soothsaying commerce
with gypsies who fly the Romani red wheel
from fingerbone masts
of garishly decked out
violin-hung dreadnought wagons
or sometimes
that underhand potter
will do one-off deals
the exchequer can’t check
as a boon
for an oddly addicted old gray-beard
who might just be you
but unless you run awfully low
on that stash
of salubrious
decomposed petuntse
you won’t have to shatter
the stock that you pilfered
from Hollywood
of king’s-own-crest chargers
that caught snotty dribbles
from slack royal chins
and highly-snuffed
aquiline noses
eventually though
you and I will be forced
to slurp sober soup
from Dixie bowls
horror of horrors
it’s only a matter of time
till this false-flag
economy
raises up debt-laden levies again
on our bullets
our want-ads
and cigarettes
we’ll both remain paupers
as good peasants should
but you’ll be alone
with your entrepreneurial
demons and all
your ceramic compulsions
because I have big plans
to relocate my poverty
somewhere
where I can at least take a piss
without excisemen
holding out cups
for a share
From my books City of Pawns and Legacies (vol. 1)
“Box of Rocks” by John N. Agnew
From her earthen womb
Gaia gave graciously
Unto my poor mortal hands
Geological viable ova
Older than Hesiod
Unseen by his all-seeing eyes
Unknown by his all-knowing mind
Escaping the narrative voice
Of Theogony
They nest where I placed them
A reverent clutch safely laid
In a gently scooped warm oaken bowl
Organically sculpted
By modern artisan fingers
Each egg of its own
Unique color and shape
Each plucked from the uterine ground
Wherever my family has dwelled
These precious plain stones
Became birth
Became life
Absorbed nectars of joy
And purulent sorrows
Imbued with the intimate
Floods of experience
Cherished as memories
Ready to touch
(originally posted April 2013)
“Duality of Man” by Care Vaughan
the quantum exists
as a conflict of natures
warm oscillant wave
versus
cold static particle
either or both or
some something of each
then or now then
perhaps then again
man as well
lives a conflict
a body and mind
he’s the thing and the
thought of the thing
either or both or
some something of each
then or now then
perhaps then again
metaphysical
self-contradiction
conspicuous tenants
inhabit bicameral
structures of soul
either or both or
some something of each
then or now then
perhaps then again
good and evil
propensities
vying for dominance
craving the spirit and spine
of alacrity
either or both or
some something of each
then or now then
perhaps then again
ever changeable
products of choice
making one or another
assertion of will
independently tandem
either or both or
some something of each
then or now then
perhaps then again
decisions made
moment by moment
from womb to the tomb
moving character
constant in flux
either or both or
some something of each
then or now then
perhaps then again
just one man
solid flesh and blood
binary entity
thinking his way into
virtue or vice
either or both or
some something of each
then or now then
perhaps then again
is he sinner or saint
which poor simplified cert
will outlast him
define him in
pale incorporeal words
either or both or
some something of each
then or now then
perhaps then again
the monstrosity
sleeps behind
beautiful eyes
the brute in closed palm
of the tendermost hand
either or both or
some something of each
then or now then
perhaps then again
all that’s loved and most feared
by all men in each man
an abstract dichotomy
pressing dilemma
on those who would judge
* * *
“The battleline between good and evil runs through the heart of every man.”
– Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn
I am pleased to announce that my latest book has been published.
“Time Before Time: Units of When”
is now available at Amazon in paperback and kindle editions. You can also find it at Barnes & Noble, or through your local bookseller in more than 100 countries.
This represents my 22nd volume of collected original poetry, and my 5th poetry chapbook.
Published by Stonewood Press – 116 Pages
If you would like inscribed and/or autographed copies of this paperback, or any of my books, please contact me by e-mail at pflenzi@aol.com
– PFL
“Vengeance” by Shaun Clayton
sharpen your ignorance
I’m coming for you
lay your mind to the
whetting wheel
turned on your cogs
of closeted cowardice
hear me and fear me
I’m coming for you
clubs of conscience
fill both of my hands
so you’ll need more
than slander blades
metaled with malice
to ward off my justice
I’m coming for you
so you’d best get to
honing a deadlier edge
to your own self-defense
but be quick with your work
for I’ve quit
the world’s apathy
time’s past for action
I’m coming for you
and I won’t let you live
with your cruel streak intact
I bring violence
intending to
murder the bully
who skulks in your skin
give him up
cut him loose
or I’ll take you both down
I’m coming for you
and I won’t be denied
retribution
for all of those victims
your blithe torture damaged
the same souls
your indecent heart
doesn’t even remember
I’m coming for you
with the promise
you’ll never
forget them again
(originally posted October 2013)
Image from pinterest.com
ancient and awesome
seven all told
astonishing hallmarks of
immature civilization
pretentious designs
grandeur wrought from
a deep squalid shame
the enslavement of enemies
chattel from bloodthirsty
conquest by deified tyrants
who dreamed as they died
they would own
the remainder of history
monuments made
fine of line and
aesthetic expression
yet wholly neglectful
of forces misjudged
tides of time and of men
ruthless ruinous perils
relentless of motion
securing the mists of forever
protecting those
far away precincts
those distant tomorrows
preserving an uncluttered
path to pristine possibilities
razing the structures of hubris
the damnable ego of memory
made to return to its state
of forgettable dust
“Sunrise, Le Havre” by Claude Monet
broken impasto
caught on candid natural light
more essence than edges
(originally posted April 2013)
Bix Beiderbecke 1903-1931
young man with a horn
drunk on riverboat whiskey
blew seminal jazz
(originally posted April 2013)
Image from pinterest.com
databanks pull at our atoms
our bits of behavior
denuded of shadow
penumbras of privacy
stripped from our words
and opinions exchanged
via keystrokes and cellular pulses
transactions peculiarly personal
now lie spread-eagled
exposed to brass bureaucrats
secrets of modesty scrutinized
choices of habit form profiles
inferred inclinations
described in an evermore
sharp-raised relief
all in name of
benevolent government
smiling its mollifcations
paternalist duties invoked
with each unwelcome touch
of its impudent fingers
inside of our clothes
and our minds
(originally posted October 2013)
Poesy plus Polemics 