Life in a Turkish Prison

Bow scratches turn of phrase

etchings in the sounds that bare

forgiveness in a misguided mar

Hollow point, shells of heart

delineated barracks in a song

less known than the emotions it follows

Ravenous, maestros of delectability

evening scars protrude, as seams often encounter

an atlas unseen, where if one would’ve

gleamed, the circled sect would indicate the x inside

Swish about the sunken sediment

refurbishing its place in the swirls

in a game, of cat and mouse, moments

before the tilt back ends the misery from which

its momma swells/in the language she’s feigned ignorance for

A Turkish prison is not known as your epitome of grace

Life in the bowels of deceit can easily mistake a smile

From what is nothing but a variation of the frown

(Sequentially formatted tiers) of Thematic Voiceovers

It's Tuesday, and in a little over an hour, Claudia will open the doors to the D'Verse pub, manning the taps all night long, listening to the tunes, err. poems that are linked for Open Link Night tonight.  So head on over, take in the poetry and share one of your own.  

Fallen from utopian pools of aquamarine

into the outstretched arms of hazel green

A society of drones,

cut in symmetrical frames,

out of identically chosen casts and molds

The skies bleed the Heavens of ethereality,

songs matriculate from summits to cirrus bands,

fortifying the oxygen with inorganically formed bass and treble led compositions of unidentifiable sounds

We then find ourselves unable

to deny, the automaton within

bones no longer our own.

These actions lay the groundwork

for what the soundtracks here

provide.

Wolves Near

listen to ‘Wolves Near’ on Audioboo

There are wolves and they are near,

Legs stiffen and

Jaws gape

This.  Always.

My first decay

Come sit with me

Here, in virtual space,

Where the sidewalk

Cracks are tarred smooth-over

Cadmium bereft

Retracting the revolving

Tongue of the spackled

String

Of contracts and consequence

Predictive swarms cluster forming

the shape of dream

…and as the howls echo in the distant background…I still perceive each note, as if still beating within my chest

Amidst Suppressive Noise

Into a kettle-cloud’s

Deafening eye,

Elapsing; scattered through,

A prism’s dying,

Shaded hue

Vision skewers

Ordinary life,

Impaling the mundane

Cacophonic strife;

Eliciting the strange

A powdered fray

Blurs the node

Unto erasure’s

Threshing code;

Severing mesh from curve

The rhythms of neutrality unnerve,

Heroic monstrosities, bred for night,

Obstructing the pristine view—

Some of darkened gloss; some armored in light,

Each, reminders of what’s in you

Explosions and facades thereto,

Detonations of slander,

Indifferent to the life you bore.

Tearstained shells, forever in wander—

Endlessly trawling jagged shores,

Delicately toed yet forever proud.

        

I was just playing around with structure today.  For this particular piece, I was going with a 25 line acrostic poem, five stanzas of five lines each.  However, the last stanza I wound up using 6 lines, as I thought edited worked better than edits. 

I also used a structured rhyme scheme here: Abcbc, Cdede, Efgfg, Ghihi, Ijkjka.

The Mistress of the Eve

It's tuesday once again, and that means the bar is open over at D'Verse for Open Link Night.  Stop on by, check out some great poetry and while you're there submit one of your own.

Shades of thyme, a wake in

The missed stress of the eave

She butchers breath at the lip

She stutter-steps the blood to drip

Slow lea erased

Slow lea

A loan to keep her guard in place

The missed stress of the eave

A strained grass widow leaves

To those who did not know

To those who cared not to

Oft thinly labeled her

Whore… Ur-Tare her,

Cull lapsed; she died

A rash on all

But the missed stress of the eave

Until then,

Always rose above them all

Musicality

Polyphony

Survived—

A testament to

Counterpoint

The Tie or bind

Two as one

Jumping to-

The portamento mark eclipse

Coupuring

All the jagged stops and starts

Progression

In homophony—

Quodlibets,

Impossible to play apart

Most precious slur

Curving arc

Legato lives;

Staccatissimo falls apart  

Pennillions familiar song

Uniquely departing form

Extemporization

In Dulci Jubilo;

Perhaps the intonation here,

Was not clear as clear can be,

Yet

In such a method

Intonation appeared

In lyric’s unrehearsed symphony

The Coda

The song of the swan

Graceful yet—

Malinconia’s Sturm und Drang

Frosts wings unflown,

Sul Ponticello (On the Bridge)

Strigendo’s squeezing every inch

Durchkomponiert indeed

For all the complexity

For each the Stimmung tuned

It is bound to be

 Symphoneta ceases polyphonic mastery

In Finale, yet again

I must explain, oft skated

 Frozen ice. (Attaco subito)

Cracks downy sides

Unfurling feathered flight

As disparity drowns,

In Sul Tasto’s warming glove

And we then Know:

“Sumer is Icumen In”