young spring...

young spring humbly begs
crusty old winter's sharp winds
let me be what I must be

no compassion
I want a final fling taunts
winter's frosty ageing glare

we pengamen...

Poem by Susie Clevenger
+
Image from Songs from the street: The underworld of Indonesian buskers - SMH April 18, 2015


we pengamen
stain the streets with
disposable music
so they say

but 
we got to prick a conscience or two

we pengamen
get locked away
tossed into an underworld
of shame

but
still 
we busker on

we got to prick a conscience or two

we pengamen
are filth
a worthless underclass
so they say

but
our feet beat the streets 
we busker on
and on


we got to to prick a conscience


we got to put some soul
some tender music soul

in your shoes



Linking to:
Imaginary Garden With Real Toads - Play It Again, Toads

unsolved...

he loves animals
the kookaburra personalities
the whimsical cats
the playful dogs
in fact
anything that breathes
(and is non-human)
softens the crunchy sparks
so near the surface

traffic snarls
slow traffic lights
traffic dreamers
supermarket dawdlers
bring out the bite
the vicious bite

he is obsessed with documentaries
(mainly wildlife Attenborough style)
but also ones that explore
the gruesome... 
the unsolved murders
the accidents
the up close and personal worlds of
forensic pathologists

he used to love dancing
a master of moves...
now he just thinks about it
with the odd spurt here and there
when the beat kicks him


he's weathered
but the glint of humour
never stops...
one crack leads to another


on another side
he ambles the less travelled byways
if the weather's fine
and he's in the mood


and deep down
in quiet times
he feels the winds of the universe
he hears 
the words


he could be a tree
listening
always listening



Linking to;
dVerse - Poetics - Character Study

a sunset sigh...

sunset
autumn moment 
of memories

autumn sunset
cool sigh
of other light

your sunset
your memory
my autumn


Linking to:
Poets United - Poetry Pantry #302

wind-song...

our lyrics

our wind-song

we glide to the light

of our street lamp

never heeding

the beat of

muttering

sputtering

rancid

minds

set to clip

entomb

our words

tomorrow

NOTES

Some words sprinkled through the poem connect with T.S.Eliot's Rhapsody on a Windy Night,
and a brief nod to Eliot's Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock.

Linking to:

Imaginary Garden With Real Toads - Let's visit the family

if I shrink you...

if I shrink you
into
a package of young, sweet innocence
that you may have been

will I remember you
differently

or will
I lose sight of you ...

will I sour ...

completely



Linking to:
Imaginary Garden With Real Toads - Sunday Mini-Challenge - Harrows and Hallows

smashed sounds...

smashed sounds deform memory... I 
remember when the House of Song welcomed new flowers, and temples would have
sacred hymns and dances, waiting for the time when jaguars should have been
given the right to succeed. Jaguars are always looking
for Quetzalcoatl, accepting his musical peace, his wisdom refined for
the chant of drum or flute.  Sadly, my
                                              song meandered into a mish-mash of literary left-overs. My own
                                              personal, interpetation of a cultural room
                                              is now reserved for
                                              some
                                             claustrophobic breathing time
                                              squeezed among
these
smashed sounds, decomposing in my... ruins




NOTES
I used a poem by Mexican poet Coral Bracho -
translated by Tom Boll and Katherine Pierpoint.
The poem is called Among These Ruins.
(The last word of each line, read vertically, represents a line from this poem = The Golden Shovel Form).
The early images I describe represent Aztec culture and their love of poetry.
I was surprised that poetry was an essentail part of the educational curriculum.

flower songs - combined the sacred with worldy themes in poetry.
jaguars - represented warriors in poetry.
Quetzalcoatl - patron deity of the cities and giver and teacher of poetry.





Linking to:
d'Verse Meeting the Bar: The Golden Shovel form