Song of Summer’s End

A melancholy cry chokes my throat,
a siren’s call of Summer’s turning.
Caramel smells fill my head-
fermented leaves, intoxicating and sweet.
The lime-yellow sky,
radiant dusk infused with aqua
is reiterated by rainbows of
glowing trees,
unfettered joy
surging skyward
burning slowly to sleep.

Moist, mild air balms my body-
a cocoon of coziness
soft and neat,
a temporary reprieve
before setting sun draws down a chill.

Two lovers mosey
while two others repose,
lost in reverie
forever brief.

As crickets whir and click and reel,
throaty squawks of geese
bid farewell, southward bound,
solicitous, free.

This fanfare of Fall
diminishes, somnolent, deep.
I succor its unguent dolor-
lullaby, coda
to summer’s green.

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power of words

After reading this poem by Antonia at Reluctant Painter, I wrote this:

the throat has no subtle strangulation
when met by rhythms such as those
beating hearts that slip off
the page into my porcelain soul

i take my leave
midst the course palpitations,
check my vigil at the door
and wisp myself away

on the words you leave me with
while going about your day
unconcerned with my fate,
my formidable challenge

Infinity

Infinity

A word
with eight letters
which points
in all directions
at all times,
a zillion rubber arrows
traveling out from me
forming a sphere
of unfettered completeness.

There’s comfort
in it’s cold consistency
of Always, Forever and Everywhere;
where tomorrow
and a billion yesterdays
are still and always original,
where toast popping up
warm and crusty brown,
calling for butter
to melt into into it’s textures,
is always there
waiting to be eaten.

And time
does not pass
through an hourglass
but spins
back into itself
like a huge, pink gyroscope
floating in my heart,
telling me
I’ll never be dead
only scattered.

This empty moment
as I stare out the window,
is neither here nor there,
is full of every molecule
in history, is
a fresh Fudgesicle
which never melts,
which tastes like
orange jello
or caramel pudding
or any flavor I imagine.

When I feel infinite
I expand like a red balloon
to engulf my mother’s
birth and death
my grandpa’s pain
my sister’s spinning
clutch of daily strain.
I cover them all
with endless adoration
even though I may never
see them again.

My fear sits
in my body
but I fear it not,
for it is a tender baby
to be caressed
and held lightly aloft
by my big, bulging
garnet jello heart.

I flow into my seat
and ride in my jello car
around mountains which
melt in a few billion years.
I slip down glaciers
a mile every century
and crawl up on muddy
banks with amphibian feet.
I fly over seas which boil
and then cool to salty abysses.
I breath through tree leaves
and drip sap to the forest
floor, where I compost
and form the carbon
jewel sold at the diamond store.
I ride up through the atmosphere
on a thought full of helium
and burn in a second
before visiting Luna
as a magnificent crater
is bursted open
by a star chip flying in
from infinite space.
I rage from the magma
bold belches of earth,
over the molten
eras which brew at her core.

Lime yellow jello time
wiggles around
me, in my ears
and nose, tickly
movements back
and forth, always
here and there
and never far
from Andromeda
or the Pleiades
Sisters seven stars.

When I return to my seat
in front of this screen,
the sun’s long shadows
have tuned evening’s chord
down a notch to a purple melody.

I smile an infinite smile
and no one knows who I am
but they do know, they do!
If they could just see what I can.

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Inspire Beauty

I’m off to visit Platinum Glamor (my mother) out east. See you in the New Year! Garnet

I love the word inspire, whish literally means to breathe in. May you breathe in beauty, love, peace and joy.

May the light in your heart burn clear and long.

Thank you for the rich tapestry of your comments this first nine months. I look forward to longer days, more yang energy. May the heat in your heart warm you in the cold times.

Garnet

Chicago, cold sky

Beauty calls and yearns for your attention,
it gives rise and demension to your soul,
a reflection of your truest goals.

Lest we forget, our hearts are fueled
by a love enduring beyond our lives.
And beauty is its chaperone,
a spark through the dark nights
on the long walk
to the light of the mountain top.

All we have is each other.

May the comfort of love be with you.

The Symphonic Poetry Carnival

symphonic poetry carnival
Well, the time has arrived for the fun to begin. The time has arrived for the words to spin through our ears, around inside our heads. Time for the music to start with a note in the key of C for creativity.

The movements include fugues, pasacaglias, bells, silences. Ther are blues and more blues, melodies in many colors, accelerandos, songs and odes of gratitude and clarinet tones. Let the symphony of poetry begin!

The poetry carnival idea was started by Dan at Philosophical Poetry. If you’d like to join, check for updates and locations at the google Poetry Carnival forum.


The first movement is a sad little tune with “no harmony” by RDL, called Believe.

Feel like there is a weight on my chest
holding me down
hard to breathe
believe

For the second section, we have a moment of silence, titled Six Stories, captured poetically by Sara, from Science Creative Quarterly.

For all the movement it was making, it was very silent. For all the movement around it, it was still very silent.

Dave also encouraged all poets to become involved in Science Creative Quarterly’s Terry project, with global issues as the creative focal point.

Next comes a bluesy slow movement by Ned Nedful called Night Blues.

The wind
was a tight-
stringed seventh
shredding the night.

Jessamyn of Theriomorphsent in some “meat and potatoes, stuffing to fill your soul” music by . This is the main course, a lyrical Thanksgiving November Song.

Maybe you can breathe freely, without loss…

Now comes a little lilting tune, a blue reprise called Vibe, by Trebuchet of Legwarmers.

Ice clinks in short glasses while I tap my thumb;
frosted ashtrays slowly fill with perfectly timed conversations.

This seems like a good spot for a faster movement, or two. Daniel of Talking to Myself gave us a poem with meter and and the accelerando of a chase- In the Shifting Glimmer.

In the shifting glimmer of the morning light
He awakes in terror at the lurid sight.
And his mind recoils from the pain of truth
That the white enamel was a human tooth.

His second submission also had a musical meter, along with an ironic message about Thanksgiving. It’s called Twas the Night of Thanksgiving.

Twas the night of Thanksgiving,
and all through the house,
not a creature was stirring
not even a mouse.

Liz of Letting me Be sent me several poems, but this little rhapsody called The Song tugged at my heart strings with colorful melodies. I think it will do the same for you.

From the silence came the indigo melody
deep vibrations of abounding love
running like the water of life
standing in stillness
like the ocean of a soul.

Another very different bluesy tune is by Moose of Find me a Bluebird. I submitted this for him, uh, her, so it may disappear if he, uh, she disapproves of my boldness! This is called Blue Hypnotic Fragment. It’s somehow sultry and upbeat at the same time.

alone in the middle of the room
focus drawn close
body overtaken by rhythm
moving in a new language of pulsation

Adam sent this serious movement warning against the dangerous power of music. It’s called The Journey of Music.

Feel the cold steel of a Saturday night special
Up against your throat

Ed of Life and Times of… offers a passacaglia hymn with a repeated bass line of the words “song, along, friend, hum, drum, end”. The poem builds around this anchor. It’s called Highway Hymn V.

Telephone wires race along
whispering their electric song
tires on the road quietly hum
Silence is my only friend
when their songs sadly end
fingers on the wheel begin to drum

And here is my little ditty called Grenadilla Tone, about the qualities and sensualities of the tone I (try) to produce on the clarinet. It starts out…

Blurted air flaps my reed
to rasp a sneeze across its paper
thin tip, a flag snapping in the wind.
Raw chunks of sound, churned butter
grows mellow with aged consistency,
evolving with me, my lips’ brother.

Kelly Bell wrote this fun little songful story, which sound like The Night Before Christmas, except from an exhausted mother’s point of view. It’s called Ten.

This weekend, my daughter turned Ten.
We held a party that just would not end.
Eight little girls full of sugar and color,
Testing the patience of an old tired mother.

Renee of Words to Go With offers a lyrical, bell like tribute to the Northern Lights in Relief. She describes her poem thus:

All creation sings to its Creator, In the bible the trees are clapping their hands, the hill will rejoice, people sing, birds sing, other animals sing. and in my poem Light itself sings.

Martin of Complete and Utter Poetry sent this echo like poem just today, with a philosophical theme. It’s called Diminuendo.

The Greeks heard it
Long ago
Before there was anything else
To hear

Lastly, I whipped up a froth of warm Thanksgiving pudding to sooth the quivering soul after such a repast of rich music.

Outside, the garden’s disarray reflects his own spirit.
He gazes beyond today’s errie political mendacity,
attempting to follow the message of Thanksgiving.
The season’s story asks with answers and gives questions.

Goodnight, and sweet creams.

Garnet