Friday, October 13, 2006

Arizona

Would you like to preside as Chief Poet over the southern deserts?

Then kindly enter your poem(s) here.

8 comments:

  1. Kiss the Sun

    Kiss the Sun and burn my lips
    Blissful pain, blistering love,
    Blinding light reveals everything,
    No shifting shadows, grotesque exposure.
    Tempted by its golden shimmer,
    Though toxic fumes melt my lungs
    This paradoxical paradise
    Will be my heaven yet.

    I will hold the Sun within my arms
    And melt my body to it.
    First my flesh and then my soul
    That I may become a part
    Of this Golden Globe
    Which lights the World.

    Extinguish me that I may glow.
    Destroy me that I might grow.
    And learn to live…
    Without myself.

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  2. We retain the rights to this poem, and it is copyrighted 2006 as intellectual property of Visionary Mavericks, Inc.

    Thank you!

    One


    Words can't touch
    love shared by two
    belonging to one, eternity

    Tastes like pure water
    just as clear
    sky of te amore

    (ohm)nidirectional in beauty
    (ohm)nipresent in life
    (ohm)nipotant, wholy, everything

    Layers differing in color, flavor
    along flowing starlight
    dreamed so distant

    everlasting gobstopper
    in hard candy shells
    unbreakable

    Unspeakable the magnitude
    unseen the ends
    beyond imagination

    No different than God
    on the mighty throne
    at the center of everything

    eating light
    consuming space
    bending time

    more powerful than
    all black holes
    in all their infinities

    Beginning end
    alpha omega
    neverending circle

    indestructable
    undenyable
    unbelievable

    Everywhere
    in everything
    IT IS...

    This heaven.
    This reality.
    One and only.

    Our love.

    ReplyDelete
  3. One loves worth


    Worth more than a picture,
    Worth more than first prize,
    Worth more than your gratitude,
    Worth more than my pride,

    Worth more than open arms,
    Worth more than a warm smile,
    Worth more than a goodnight kiss,
    Worth more than the final mile,

    Worth more than chalk drawn caves,
    Worth more than a simple verse,
    Worth more than this scribbled page,
    Worth more than our beautiful words,

    Worth more than a first love,
    Worth more than a last breath,
    Worth more than the end of it all,
    Worth more than whatevers left,

    Hers are the eyes that hold existance itself,
    and without my image reflected in them,
    there could be nothing else.



    Copyrighted Dan Scouten 2004.

    ReplyDelete
  4. Here's my entry!


    Oh yes yes (a poem)


    mascarpone

    its intrusions into fantasy have taken hold of a new strength

    becoming a talisman

    (fetish may be too strong a word)

    i can give it life, touch and taste

    and locate it halfway past my dreams

    in long sweet smears

    delineating the no mans land between two girls as they kiss

    i'm not poet enough (or man enough) to place myself in between

    (not even here)

    but the wish remains

    and the mascarpone is sweet and rich

    like one grain of pepper making all the difference on the perfect steak

    but you're not just meat to me, honey- oh no- and not you either, honey

    you're the grail at my wit's end,

    because i know you're out there, you two

    waiting patient and wild

    wearing the mascarpone with a grin

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  5. GRAND CANYON

    Big mountains!
    Clear and quiet river
    crossing between strong
    mountains.
    Colorado River!
    You are there and see the creation.
    God has touched this site.
    Enormous stones, trees, shrubs.
    In addition, wildflowers near you.
    Buses, trucks and cars were there,
    That day when I visited you.
    They were taking photos of that area.
    Marvelous area of the USA.
    The sky with clouds,
    the rain came in.
    A big bird flying on the sky.
    People were taking the best view,
    the best scene.
    Big mountains!
    Nice view!
    Beautiful site!

    LETICIA PONTONI-COPYRIGHT 2006

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  6. Losing My Mother

    Sometimes after I lost my father
    I’d lose my mother.

    Days leaked into summer after they zipped
    his black body bag-
    she slipped away, clipping the enormous yard
    for the first time,
    the lawnmower awkward, like pushing bricks.

    Knuckles white, hands swollen red,
    her soft pink t-shirt clung to her back.
    Tears dripped from her eyes, like sweat.

    Her white Keds stained green,
    she stopped to empty the bag,
    bare arms shining, lungs hungry.
    “Get the garbage bag” she yelled,
    I did and rushed to her.
    Bent down, face dripping,
    she struggled with the pregnant bag,
    broke the silver latch, sliced her hand.

    She sunk the wound between her lips, eyes closed,
    kicked the bloated bag over and over, until
    globs of green peppered my bare feet.

    “I’m-not-supposed-to-be-doing-this!” she yelled to the clouds,
    slumping to the sticky lawn, fists diving into the pile,
    blonde hair fuzzy from heat.

    I stood clenching black plastic, the smell of cut lawn
    thick in my nose, I missed my mother,
    my parents.

    She snatched the balmy plastic, plunged her arm
    deep into the chopped grass, began stuffing.

    I watched her drag the fat body bag to the curb,
    fresh blades of grass stuck to her sweat.
    I lost her in the driveway mirage,
    yelled for her to wait, not to leave,
    not to climb inside.

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  7. lost again
    I’ve found my own way; so I thought
    learned I’ve learned nothing

    searching for meaning
    maybe a soulmate
    seems I’m wrong just when I though

    weren’t you with me holding my hand
    you let it go, it seems not
    quick to find a soulmate

    still now I press on
    through dreaming day’s night
    with me holding my hand

    ReplyDelete
  8. I'm not an American and have never been there but I thought I'd enter anyway for the state that I have the most connection with because my only cousin lives there.
    This poem was written in honour of the work done recently by the University of Arizona into rheumatoid arthritis


    Spice of Life

    Joints begin to seize
    And movement is pain
    But never fear
    Help is at hand

    A natural remedy
    To an age old problem
    Is found in the West
    From a source in the East

    Eat curry
    Yes eat curry
    I don’t know which
    Just make sure it contains the vital ingredient

    Turmeric

    © Luke Harrison 2006

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