I Love Words

July 4, 2015  :: 0 comments

I love to tumble, climb, and soar—

to rollick and frolic in words.

I love to mumble, rhyme, and roar—

compose a bucolic,

satire vitriolic,

write lines epistolic,

to be hyperbolic—

 

I love words—

the gristle, the bumps, the grinds of words—

the bristles, the humps, the winds of words—

the whistles, the thumps— all kinds of words—

 

Conjunctive connections to which I add—

Those odd interjections— zounds or egad!—

 

Some words are all but dead,

like the species brontosaurus.

Some words are newly said,

making language fresher for us.

Some words are only read

in a book like the thesaurus.

Some words are overhead,

like the constellation Taurus.

 

I love words—

the lyrical lilt and tilt of words,

the spherical to the hilt of words,

the miracle that is built of words.

 

Some find a panacea in flowery verse.

There’s onomatopoeia and diction that’s terse.

 

Some words are flimsy;

Some bubbly with whimsy.

They’re joined into mazes

and coined into phrases.

 

Words are immortal when they strike a chord.

And the pen is mightier than the sword.

 

The lowest form of humor is the pun—

so goes the rumor— but what fun!—

Where a bit of levity’s fit,

‘If brevity’s wit, here’s it.’—

 

I love words—

the whirl, the swirl, the twirl of words—

the pretty, the nitty-gritty of words—

the round, the profound, the sound of words—

 

like hemidemisemiquaver—

waver, favor, flavor, savor—

incandescent, evanescent,

effervescent, acquiescent—

hammer, clamor, grammar, stammer, glamour, enamor–

ironic, sardonic, laconic, mnemonic, platonic,

or stereophonic.

 

I love to glide—

astride to sit

I love to ride

the lickety-split

roller coaster of verbiage—

like loquacious, voracious,

mendacious, tenacious,

chortle and snortle,

chasm and spasm,

like rapid or vapid,

pathos or bathos,

livid and vivid,

torrid and horrid,

iota and quota,

eclectic, electric,

like feckless or reckless,

sedulous, credulous,

dazzle and frazzle,

admonish, astonish,

elastic, fantastic,

voluble, soluble,

phantasmagoric

or prehistoric,

inchoate—

You know it!—

I love words!

Getting My Goat

June 5, 2015  :: 0 comments

Long ago I had the bittersweet pleasure of briefly sharing my domicile with an unforgettable being. I had cohabited with cats all my life, yet I never would have envisioned myself the owner of a goat. The word owner doesn’t exactly apply. Not regarding these recalcitrant ruminants. Nor perhaps is it valid for any living creature, unruly or otherwise. Whatever …

Star Light, Star Bright

featured in the poetry forum April 25, 2015  :: 0 comments

no arms
to break my fall

I wait
hollow-eyed
for sleep

silent sentry
in the jungle night

I lie cemented
in self

counting black holes
in space

where once
there were stars
to wish on

editors note:

Darkness disables counting sheep, a starless night to steal one’s sleep. – mh clay

Star-crossed

April 25, 2015  :: 0 comments

“The heaventree of stars” (in Ulysses as said Joyce)
“hung with humid nightblue fruit” (ah that Bloomian voice)
could evoke a masterpiece the world has come to know,
The Starry Night, so treasured now, by Vincent van Gogh…

In Vincent’s time that painting left even him bemused,
since a ‘failure’ he proclaimed it— that’s the term he used.
He thought he’d reached for stars too big, at too great a height,
but had gone astray; thus he fell short in his own sight.

When he died, no golden eulogistic bells were rung.
His grand galactic genius went utterly unsung.

Oh ill-starred Vincent lunatic asylumed costly fraught distraught instead of bought untold unsold back then yet now extolled far-famed with pricey precious adoration legacied in legend lionized er ionized and glorified chronologized hymned lauded honored canonized enskied aye aye exalted to the skies near-sainted hallowed round the clock as fickle ironies of fate can mock…

Yes, van Gogh was so star-crossed in so many senses.
Gazing at the skies he saw whithers, whys, and whences…
Comparing stars to dotted map led him to ponder
that as one takes a train to destinations yonder
here on earth, perhaps we would ‘take death to reach a star’
or afterlife dimension in hemisphere afar.

The Whirlpool Galaxy his imagination fired
with spiral arms of lanes of stars that indeed inspired
and starburst regions interspersed with dust, in display
of luminescent light not unlike the Milky Way
if it were to overturn and shower forth its jars
in a madly whirling swirling twirling stream of stars.

Anyhow in one way Vincent’s vision was dead right.
Long lives his stellar afterlife in The Starry Night!

To end these astro-reveries with celestial quote
on brighter note, “Hope is in the stars,” the artist wrote.
Van Gogh could see eternity in the heavens’ dome,
in the cycling cosmic courses— there his dreams found home.

Unless

featured in the poetry forum February 27, 2015  :: 0 comments

Muon neutrinos time of flight, (Einsteinian anomaly)…
Particles that outpace light, upending relativity, (ahem)…

Not so fast— lest we should be overawed,
Humans are human… some data are flawed.
Facts can turn fictional, rendered unsound.
Researchers research for findings unfound…

(Perchance)…

We dance our physics dance and ponder—
On and on presumptions wander—
As we wonder here and yonder…

Might we travel time’s trapeze,
Sail dimensions like a breeze,
Go before we came with ease?

Yet though unfathomed wisdom’s sought,
How can we know beyond our thought?
Infinity eludes us— still,
Finiteness is a bitter pill.

We theorize to the skies,
Plumb the depths where insight lies—
But we see with earthly eyes,
And this cuts us down to size.

So we take our measurements
And scan the score.
Then what’s proven true is true…
Unless there’s more…

editors note:

Yup! It is a bitter pill, indeed! – mh

The Tickler

February 17, 2015  :: 0 comments

Tonight would be special. I would be allowed to stay up an hour past my bedtime. There would be punch and cookies with the grownups. Music and dancing would make the living room and mother’s face look happy. The sounds of a party were beginning to drift upstairs. My older sister and I combed and fluffed in white pinafores, sat …

Yuletide Double Dactyl

featured in the poetry forum December 25, 2014  :: 0 comments

Whirlingly swirlingly
Christmastime Holiday
Seasons the greetings that
Wish us good cheer

Plus more than ever a
Celebratorily
Merry Noel and a
Happy New Year!

editors note:

Thanks, Harley! Could’na said it better – this we wish to all in this Mad Swirliverse. Happy Holidays to all! – mh

Ballad of the Bouncing Self

featured in the poetry forum November 18, 2014  :: 0 comments

At times I, like a butterfly,
May flit from bloom to bloom,
Or with my whimsy set sky-high
To outer space may zoom.
And yet, when all’s been said and done,
I follow what my fate has spun—
xxxFor some may strive and ne’er succeed,
xxxWhile others simply do the deed.

A Muse impels me on a spree
Of whirling swirling craft
Where poems must not mean but be…
Until I’m going daft.
But words, albeit finely wrought,
Can only catch a passing thought—
xxxFor some may strive and ne’er succeed,
xxxWhile others simply do the deed.

When my reality looks pale
I frolic in a theme
From vivid myth, folklore or tale,
Where dreams are what they seem.
And there where’er I romp and roam
I always feel a welcome home—
xxxFor some may strive and ne’er succeed,
xxxWhile others simply do the deed.

I’ve often fallen to the ground
And picked myself back up.
I’ve hungered for a loving touch
And sipped from passion’s cup.
My longings, cravings ruled my will;
Still never could I drink my fill—
xxxFor some may strive and ne’er succeed,
xxxWhile others simply do the deed.

A life led wrong, though full of song,
Will cause us to regret,
When pondering the winters long,
Our faults we can’t forget.
And then we’re washed in bitter tears
For senseless youth and wasted years—
xxxAs some may strive and ne’er succeed,
xxxWhile others simply do the deed.

I said I want to live before
I die, in villanelle,
To learn where lies true wisdom’s door
And shun the gates to hell.
Yes, wayward ways can still begin
To seek and find the Way within—
xxxFor some may strive and not succeed,
xxxWhile others simply do the deed.

editors note:

Follow the ball to sing along, off of the walls to find that song. Do the deed! – mh

Like a Diamond in the Sky

featured in the poetry forum September 12, 2014  :: 0 comments

Twinkle the stars in night’s display—
Sun’s shining rays light up the day…
and yet, if futures vast we may
divine, white dwarf with diamond core
(that crystallized in ages yore)
will pulsate like a cosmic gong
its tintinnabulary song
(no longer sunbeams to bestow)
in seven billion years or so…;

then Sol might twinkle for the eyes
of distant poets far more wise,
beyond our cares— whoever dares
(if dreamers dwell in heres and theres,
whate’er whene’er where’er they are)
to seek and find our once bright star
(that like us also flames and dies)—
those with the loupe to look with sighs
for long lost Lucys in the skies…

editors note:

When galactic poets wish upon our star… – mh

MY VILLANELLE

featured in the poetry forum June 22, 2014  :: 0 comments

I want to learn to live before I die
To glimpse the light that makes my vision clear
To see the truth that lies within the lie.

I freely put the questions ‘how?’ and ‘why?’
And seek the face unknown in darkest fear.
I want to learn to live before I die.

The days and years stream swiftly swiftly by
In shimmering illusions cherished dear
Despite the truth that lies within the lie.

I found my hand in yours, so you and I
Gave each our vows, impassioned, young, sincere.
I want to learn to live before I die.

The teachers teach, the prophets prophesy
But miss the mystic rhythms of the sphere
Nor see the truth that lies within the lie;

Pure-hearted self; I sense a higher cry
To never leave the far yet love the near.
I want to learn to live before I die
To see the truth that lies within the lie.

editors note:

The living out-weighs the knowing. What is truth? Indeed! – mh