Your seawater stirs in me where fire balances high on oil
You clasp my candlefire, wick's motioning coil —
A sweating kind of missing
A burned open kissing
The glass shared between us two
Flames in our faces as we move
To the synchrony past
Our dressing these masks
These temperatures rising in veins of you and I
God, brief tourniquets in time —
Where I drown my highbrow in your heat
This hard body now heartbeats
This translation
My intoxication
Street Vendor (Shouting): Fresh fruit! Mango, papaya, all ripe and sweet!
Executive (Dictating): To whom it may concern, regarding the recent...
Teenager (Texting): OMG! Did u see the new meme? LOL!
Grandmother (Humming): A lullaby from a forgotten time…
A child's delighted shout: “Look, Mama, a rainbow coming out!”
All (Clashing): A cacophony, a symphony, a market of tongues!
Scholar (Whispering): Heteroglossia, the chorus within,
Each voice is a thread, a social spin.
Highbrow, lowbrow, a vibrant fray,
Meaning shimmers, born of the play.
Politician (Booming): Together we stand, united and strong!
Activist (Chanting): Whose streets? Our streets! Fight the wrong!
Lover (Sighing): Your name, a whisper on my lips tonight...
All (Clashing): A cacophony, a symphony, a market of tongues!
Poet (Observing): Discord and harmony, a tangled song,
Where language dances, righting and wrong.
A tapestry woven, rich and alive,
The human chorus, forever to strive.
All (Fading): The voices mingle, a murmur, a sigh,
Heteroglossia, the voice of all in unison, beneath the open sky.
A useless piece of paraphernalia
Is definitely the umbrella
It only keeps us dry from the neck up
Not too brilliant there fella
I suppose there are people out there
Think it's the cat's meow
Hop skip and a jump down life's lanes
Doesn't look too highbrow
Must be more common in rainy regions
Closer to the equater
Parts of the world rains are common
Umbellas were created
Bow to payment on a platter,
now that karma is paid in full;
Ciao, so it was cool to do it?
Highbrow schemes are vulnerable;
Overcome can hinder the mind,
numb the frustration will grow;
Dumb stirs fire so carelessly;
Wisdom? Do not dip your toe.
None of them have been me ‘til now;
Not trying to come off highbrow;
I’ll let you find out and say ciao;
Have a pow wow, have a pow wow;
They will all feel like my shadow
as they sit putting on a show;
You’ll feel it as soon as you go;
A notch below, a notch below.
Outside the sanctum, clenched teeth, tension,
a sense of being spun slowly, in comical ocean drift
Bobbed cork barely able to rein my orientation.
Luckily, current flux of haphazard happening flapped
a variable vantage.
Blown as though by silk hankie butterfly blessing
launched under lead light detail dragonfly wing
Inside the sluice.
tender seagrass arms greet me, surprise caressed
Silky entry to a tepid tub, a calm community
of smug inner sanctum club members, afloat.
Blind to bedlam, their faces automatically accepting
Smarmy, aloof, knowing the code
Clicked into correct holding pattern
Galvanized now among the longed for,
unlocked passage
Boasts a right angled me, porthole refuge
Catatonic sanctum immune to struggle
Bay of steady abundance
Top step mission for admission somehow granted mine
Spotlight shon on my cloned social demeanor,
Meticulously honed modesty of highbrow gallery.
24th February
Written for Contest: Gateway
Sponsor: Constance La France
Above my head, foliage, and feathers clatter
as a hawk tangles with a squirrel.
Above my head, Russian tanks pop their tops
in boggling bubbles.
Just above a bald patch, shaggy clouds squat to piddle.
I am heads above those below,
the silver slick worms hardly notice as I thread through
the less grassy and bare.
Mind-hairs are a real thing, mine wave their thin tentacles
like fishing sea anemones, they snack upon
the overheard overhead; ripple gently
in the whisking winds.
A highbrow gets above itself, stutters as it utters.
I wear the headgear of long dead heroes, they ride
my scalp, baseball bats wave there whacks,
ultra-maga veterans of foreign wars
salute my stiff necked, heads-up pose.
There's a world of wonders down under,
but just above my head, that's where dandruff
ponders its flaky notions,
and all high-flown conundrums learn to fly.
The Chinese have a dog called, "Chow"
It does not taste much like a cow
The Italian, "Ciao"
Is never highbrow
Yet either one help bed a Frau!
A poetry club challenge of the month poem!
Now some come here to sit and think
And some come here to pooh and stink
but i come here to scratch my balls
and read the writing on the walls
For many years I've known this rhyme
And it has stood the test of time
unlike so many public lavs
no longer shown on our satnavs
And so the question must be asked
From where can someone now broadcast
toilet humour full and meaty,
some crude, amusing, graffiti
maybe a wall made from cement
or on a local monument
beware a backlash that's fierce
if you scrawl over Ruth Pierce
So we need toilets here and now
for poetry that's not highbrow
'Cos when you have to really think
Go try somewhere that has a stink
which brings me back to poems old
to smile at that which was foretold
So here I sit, broken hearted
paid a penny, only farted
It’s Attitude Stupid, Not Altitude
1/30/2018
Tom
Altitude is how high you fly,
Attitude is your mindset upon returning.
The attitude of one highbrow,
Has the ability to cause chaos for the throngs.
To experience meaningful change,
Attitudes must become part the new paradigm.
Daisy was such a bossy old cow,
one who desired to rule the herd.
Her opinions were so highbrow
the others dared not moo a word!
Daisy would moo and moo all day
whilst the others chewed their cud.
I dare not disclose the things she’d say
if amiable cows mated with the stud!
One day Daisy met up with the local bull
who really was a quite handsome chap.
She fluttered her lashes, being on the pull
but her constant sniping was a handicap!
He mated all others in the bovine brood
which put Daisy’s nose right out of joint.
He detested her for her rude attitude,
yet, she insisted on arguing the point!
Daisy was ill-bred and she’d never yield
so all the other cows chose to back away.
Bull turned on his hooves and left the field
leaving Daisy all on her own chewing hay!
Although Daisy was the farmer’s oldest
she was just as nasty as the farmer’s wife.
He complained the old cow was the coldest -
I wonder which of them caused more strife!
The farmer didn't suffer from guilt or derision
when the slaughtering man came into town.
He allowed the butcher to make the decision
as to which cantankerous cow he'd put down!
12/10/18
The Seconds grew impatient
As Anticipation aimed its dart
Hope sat erect at the table
Compliments practiced their parts
Breaths were held as the Chef pirouetted
The Piece de resistance proudly poised
Triumph on a smooth, sleek glass surface
To the accompaniment of Merriment's noise
Paradise was but a dimly lit candle
Beside the Pheasant's brilliant blue flame
Exclamations burst forth midst salivation
The Proud Bird had earned Highbrow acclaim
Prince William was so sick of being told
He’s receding and is now going bald
So he called in the royal hairdresser
To see if he could ease the heir pressure
He gave him a brand new hairstyle
This ‘buzzcut’ would be so worthwhile
His hairdresser is very highbrow
But his fees have raised an eyebrow
William’s head looks like its been shaved
Oh how the press stories have raved
£180 pounds is what we’ve been told
It’s so costly to look like you’re bald!
The cost Prince William has now denied
It wouldn’t be the first time the press have lied!
One day William will be ‘heir apparent’
And cutting costs will be more transparent
When William’s crowned then we could sing
With altered words to God shave the king!
Based on a story in the press over the cost of Prince William’s news haircut
01/20/18
Me 20 years from now, oh wow!
Wish I knew if it would be a quick fix, but the future I cant predict
Now past the hills brow, it will be time to make some new vows
Not to mention the pile of conflict, I plan on giving to the deep six
And I might even become a cash cow, if so I will never hold a highbrow
By then I will be 56, and hopefully I'll have a bigger bag of tricks
I will try to find a way somehow, to mend the cracks in my bough
The years will continue to fly by, and in God I will rely
To him I will pray, that he keeps leading the way
His love I cant deny, it puts me high in the sky
The stress at times may weigh, from my path I will not stray
I wont stop to cry, for life goes in the blink of an eye
Well anyways, 20 years is still a ways away
Before things go awry, I must say thanks and goodbye
4/28/2017
Sisyphus
He rolled the boulder with his burdened shoulder up that treacherous summit
Tricked in hubristic self-righteousness again and again he thought he had done it
We engage in similar madness regardless of whether Gods punished us somehow
or we simply can’t fathom another journey on the path to inner enlightenment
miss the signs and the signposts when or ways fail when stones refuse to relent
but can be split into fragments when we grant us permission for change and allow
release alternative solutions of metaphorical splinters from arrogant highbrow
where peaks of peace result from shattered acceptance and humble atonement
Once we’re forgiven
and forgive our delusion
that we know and are certain
hold truth when we don’t
stones can roll all by themselves
and moss rests at the cliff face
Related Poems