great poems

To Surreal, With Love – A Poem by Ralph Monday

To Surreal, With Love
Sheree North died aged 72,
one of the last in a long line of Fox blondes
stretching from Sonja Henie, Alice Faye,
Betty Grable, June Haver to Jayne Mansfield
and Marilyn Monroe.

North, hired by 20th Century-Fox, the intention:
making her the next Monroe, height and measurements
she almost matched exactly.

She told an interviewer in 1983, “same reaction when producers
hear my name, the blonde who was to
have taken over from Marilyn Monroe.”

February 1954, the 21-year-old dancer signed with Fox
[who had] problems with the unreliable Monroe.
The following year, North featured on the cover of
Life magazine, lead in How To Be Very, Very Popular,
a part which Monroe turned down.

It was a lively launch to her career. Paired with the
38-year-old Betty Grable (in her last screen role), North
seemed fresh,energetic, in number “Shake, Rattle and Roll,”
publicized as “the first rock’n’roll dance on the screen!”

Erasure Poem
Source: Bergan, Ronald. “Sheree North.” The Guardian. Friday 18 November
2005

Robin Williams- Open Statement – A Poem by G. S. Katz

Maybe he didn’t want to be a funny man
Maybe his whole life was making others laugh
While he died inside

Maybe he saw it as a mission he couldn’t
turn his back on
Was his mania his humor or the other way around ?

Maybe a lot of things

I will always remember him for Good Will Hunting
and Moscow on the Hudson and other dramatic roles

His humor made me uncomfortable though funny he was

Maybe it was to much work to be funny and the expectation thereof

He was a great person, not just good

That’s what we should miss…

Jesters By The Clay – A Poem by Richard William Kirkpatrick-Thorne

The More I See,
The Less I Believe…


So Might I Stab My Green Thumbs InTo The Sky,
Bring Down The Wrinkled Reign,
The Blues And The Less Than UnKnown,
With Friends… Seekers… Of Trips Through Wooden Horses,
Then Catch The Fire… Be Spirited AWay By Totem Permutations,
A Pecking Order That Freezes In The Skipping Of Stones,
Splashing Down With Medallions InTo Open Snapping Jaws…


The More It Eats,
The Less I Become…


To Incubate WithIn That Lighthouse’s Hollow Gut,
Heavy Is The Hand That Feeds The Flame,
Light Is The Head That Leads The Hand,
An Amuseing Absurdity In BeTwixt The Smoke And The Teeth,
Fogging Up The Parting Valley’d Sea,
With One Last Toke On The Bell’s Yoke,
Wishing For The Queen Of Mermaids To Gasp Lovingly…

And So I Leapt…


Immortalized In Defeat,
With The Lessons Won.

More at http://rwkt.blogspot.ca/2014/08/jesters-by-clay.html.

Booths in Dark Restaurants – A Poem by G. S. Katz

Booths
Dimly lit
Towards the back
For lovers, loners
Gangsters too
Meetings
Hand holding
Gazing in your eyes
Reflection
A glass of good wine
Or a whiskey or two
Deals made
Unwritten contracts signed
Booths,where people go
To escape the clutter
and noise of everyday life
A small piece of real estate
Business or pleasure
You know where to go
On the outskirts of town
8 o’clock sharp

Silent Frames – A Poem by Ralph Monday

An urge always exists to relive our days,
Wind back the clock to observe selves
Reliving regrets in silent movie frames,
No color to our lives. Instead, we tiredly
Move as underworld shades physically mute
To the past pain of thoughtless words that we
Cast on others like reams of sticky cobwebs,
Magician forming in those days the tomorrow
Template that clings like foul smoke.
Our present, beads of spit, oil, sour tastes
Tilled from that salted earth.

Photograph the Moments – A Poem by G. S. Katz

Acoustic folk rock band
in the park
Summer night, twilight then dusk
Locals only, no tourists
Free concert, perfect weather
Our community, our brethren
90 minutes of perfection
Taking it all in
Grateful
Knowing autumn is suddenly
around the corner
Breathe deep
Catch the vibe
Close your eyes
Photograph the moments
Save

The Tragedy of My Life – A Poem by Anuradha Fonseka

Oh no…!! Not to accuse him I write this
My story this is, the tragedy of my life
I was in hell; I knew it when he showed
The better beauty of life
He took my hand and showed
How fast the human heart can beat for another
That magnetic and fiery thunder
Produced when two beings are together
The beauty of human feeling
The hidden desires of my heart
He then thought we had gone too far
Loosened my hand
I fell back into my personal hell
Once I thought it was the right heaven for me
A mere place with dull and motionless life
The worst thing was the realization of the truth
My physique lies here, yet my heart lies elsewhere
In a better place with warmth and extreme life
“I loosen your hand for good” he said
How good can this feeling be
The knowledge that my life is lifeless
This, the tragedy of my life

Haunted House – A Poem by Daniel Klawitter

The house that has a library in it has a soul.
– Falsely attributed to Plato.

My house is full of spirits, haunting specters
Bound in books, each with their own
Unique appearance, smells and textures.

So many souls speaking on the shelves
Texts in translation- ephemeral selves
In stories, plays, poems and essays.

A home filled with such ambitions —
Is like phantom psychokinesis.
These literary apparitions permit us
To intone: Abitus sed non oblitus.

Author’s Note: The last line in Latin translates as: “Gone but not
forgotten.”

More at http://about.me/dklawitter.

Will He Come? – A Poem by Naduni

Hear the sea lapping against the shore
The lanterns held in the hands sway
To and fro
The way
My heart swings tonight
Will he come? Will he come?
The heart sings a little rhyme
At last, at last
After two decades.
A little star is shining in the sky
Oh! It’s a lantern held in another hand
Hear the sound of my feeble feet
Painfully trudging along the beach
Will he come? Will he come?
The heart murmurs a little prayer
A little star appears in the sky
Making the cloudless night clear
My life secretly slithers behind my feet
I have to hold it from its collar to keep it
Will he come? Will he come?
The heart chants a little curse

Mortal and Immortal – A Poem by P.K. Deb

In the hard ring of life
mortal and immortal challenge each other
in a wrestling contest
from morning to night,
select the favorite one between ‘Yes’ and ‘No’-
to be used by a confused life.
Indeed, it’s a got up match,
featured by uniformed rivals,
ensnared supporters encircling the ring
and a fixed and separate winning hours
for both mortal and immortal.

The golden time- hot and luminous,
from late morning to early evening,
bestows mortal with invincibility
over everything- material and immaterial.
But frosty and dark is the rest time-
from early evening to next early morning,
enough for mortal to be scared
and sheltered behind immortal-
quite awaken and mighty as a winner
and a line of discipline is set in the game of life.

Nevertheless, life is to be ill-efficient and disturbed
in choosing between Yes and No,
surprised at the interference of mortal and immortal
in each other’s jurisdiction at wrong time-
making life full of confusions and hesitations.

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