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poetry

B.Z. Niditch, 28 february 2014

RECITAL

The thunderstorm
daydream leaps
over a mushroom search
my eyes are volcanoes
at the grand piano
opening here in Warsaw
chasing my sunny breath
on the bridge
late for an afternoon recital
the "E" string
walks away from me
unsuspecting the passages
of Chopin's embracing notes.

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B.Z. Niditch, 27 february 2014

ROZYCKI EMERGES

Unwinding language
being shy
for the cameras
now all over
this metropolis
with words
in an attache case
holding only
cold luggage
held by four strings
containing
a life's work
of vital plays
on language
on one hand
a murdered pastry
in the other
shaking off
a coffee cup
on a Polish
hamlet road
in a runaway time
such as this,
faced with
a poet's newness
you may
not recognize him
or an age trembling
for enlightenment.

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B.Z. Niditch, 27 february 2014

NATURE'S WOODWINDS

Deep down
at the crag's edge
the leaves tumble across
the great green hills
as portents
of your solitude
knowing the path
to climb
up the shadowy mountain
and deserted peaks
will be clear
for a lone traveler
with his backpack
full of pure poems
the shadows blush
at first light
expecting
the woodwinds
to sound
near the saxifrage
with blackberries
all around
as I spy
a mapped trail
shielding me
from quivering trees
a piano sonata
in the distance
with an echo
of capturing
a passage of Chopin
from this moment.

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B.Z. Niditch, 27 february 2014

SURPRISED

Surprised
by the anonymity
of a veteran hunger
digging for clams
trembling by
the frozen shore
in the shameful
staring eyes
of distracted tourists
eager for a ride
on duck boats
who toss
pocket money
and jelly beans
for good luck
in the ocean
watching for Leda
the last swan
who must have known
my visits
and not kept away
since we are
childhood friends
dripping with pre-war
memory's exposure
now wrapped
up in a jacket
with pocket poems
of my last collection
in an actor's words
on breathless wind
swept air
I'm always
carrying notes,
new and sundry
on my sleeve.

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Gert Strydom, 27 february 2014

When in the morning the winter walks with dragging feet

When in the morning the winter walks with dragging feet,
when a blanket of frost covers the earth
then you and I still lie cosily
and tight against each other
as if something pampering is in our company
as if our bodies at times do resist the cold.

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Gert Strydom, 27 february 2014

When the roses do get new buds

When the roses do get new buds,
when the sparrows peck around
in the unexpected snow,
when later the wind howls icily around our house
and the last leaves flutter around
and right through the night
doves coo their love songs
we do know that spring is already looking in
but our lives are laced together
bring through all the seasons that life brings
when constantly you look beautiful in my eyes
and I face into your hope, dreams and love.

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B.Z. Niditch, 26 february 2014

BY THE THIRD PERSON (for Tadeusz Rozewicz)

Without having much
of an employment resume
slumped out all day
eating lima beans
on the sun shined city bench
and as yet not yet shaving,
red eyed at the moment
in the uncertain noon,
hearing of a male model job
and an actor's workshop
both in the same building
on a flattering part
of a Warsaw street
and when you are a teen
not knowing much
of the world's vague talk
linger with open hope
and observing gestures
as your soul beats wildly
for any work with words
eager to stumble
on a sea side conversation
leading to changing roles
from this fast pacing student
and going to the address
with a heavy suitcase
before the war
yet willing to try anything
within reason of expectation
as I meet the director,
looking consumptive
at the pool table
asking me with book in hand
to do him a favor
by reading the lines
of Coriolanus
and he tells me
he also runs the model agency
and I would be a perfect fit
for his new tennis ware
if I would walk the plank
where nature is my own mirror
along the red carpet
and offering me a salary
yet wondering
if there was something
to all this rumor
not reported
by the third person.

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B.Z. Niditch, 26 february 2014

AT THE POLISH DRAWBRIDGE (for TOMASZ ROZYCKI)

It was ancient
for long forgotten journeys
but the brown shirts
blew it up,anyway
there was nowhere
not in harm's way
even the cat
did not survive its cry
in the salt ditch water
by the wide silence
if it would be built up
after the beasts had left
that icy spring
that no one could cross
not even a boy
on a bicycle.

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madster roberts, 26 february 2014

Realest Shit

ain't no nigga can get use to being broke,
nigga get hooked on a wall of false hope
but in the ghetto niggas who hang with you
become closer than family,
this niggas do shit but it is these
niggas that help you cope,
help you from pulling that trigger
or hanging your self with that rope,
i done see nigga cry to niggas
i done see niggas ride for niggas.
niggas lose hope and consult with a nigga,
rep to each other like brothers.

number of comments: 0 | rating: 2 | detail

Greg, 26 february 2014

Surface Circles

The pain keeps on turning
All the heart beats away
To wake up tomorrow
On the midst of gray shadows
That lengthen in virtue
To be what’s gone dead
It’s a friendly reminder
That what’s in your head

Is made of concrete
And damned silver bills
To climb to the peaks
Of self-seeking thrills
On a meter out done
By another true name
Wrenched from the earth space
The limes and the ice cream
Upon your first face
That drops on the asphalt
Melting in spite of
All that is lost
For nothing’s worth saving
For you anymore
The glamour is fading
Out done by the waiting
To piece a false sermon
Inside of your brain

I stole this from
An artist so holy
Who put his whole soul into
A fleeting song
Mastered by rainbows
And tirades of war men
That wrinkle the time wave
Put you in the dark
Peace on your heart
The cruel silent spark

number of comments: 0 | rating: 2 | detail

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Latest items:

poetry

RECITAL

ROZYCKI EMERGES

NATURE'S WOODWINDS

SURPRISED

When in the morning the winter walks with dragging feet

When the roses do get new buds

BY THE THIRD PERSON (for Tadeusz Rozewicz)

AT THE POLISH DRAWBRIDGE (for TOMASZ ROZYCKI)

Realest Shit

Surface Circles

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