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Train At Night


Train At Night

The slow surf beats
until the rocks
are pillows.
High tide
is a sigh.

Potent stars
defiantly battle
city lights.
The sandy beach
is exhibited
as a satin spread.

Vertigo is
the offspring
of the Island’s beacon
until a circle
of light
snaps in the horizon.

From miles beyond
the vain beam gropes for
reflective metals
embedded in the cliffs.
When the angle
is just right
the spherical ray
ignites
the lonely shores.

Like a clap
of thunder
a whistle warns.
Stillness.
The chug captures
every
biological pulse.

The cars’ silhouettes
grow and diminish
in the wake
of the winds.

At the tail
Everything
along the parallel avenue
Defies gravity
then
breathlessly
settles into place.
The sounds slip
behind another hill.

************************

Written for:


D’verse Poets
Challenge posted by Claudia Schoenfeld

Photo from   Moonlight at Albermarle Sound, Edenton, NC

I wrote this in 1992, when I was living in Edwards, WA. It was inspired by the way the train coming down the tracks, by Puget Sound.

Not all Heroes Cried


Rescue team hunts through the steel wreckage for survivors.

Not all Heroes Cried

Flying across fields of rebar
as if they were fields of grass,
no concern for the deep black holes
of torn metal, wood and glass.

Where rescuers could not attempt,
our heroes mounted without trouble,
exceeding expectations
in deposits of baking rubble.

When they came upon a scent,
they scurried in significant rush.
Steadfastly they worked for reward ―
toys or water bottles to crush.

Comforting and making people laugh,
they were loving and most giving.
Their biggest reward, was to locate souls:
so they could play with the living.

Not all heroes cried,
they just didn’t wag their tails,
their noses and their hearts
soothing the pain of those not lost.

They came to find the living,
but living were not there.

Three dead bodies in half an hour
“Get the body bag.”

Twenty pieces of DNA
“Get the ice cooler.”

In their search, each one was grey ―
the Big Mutts and the Small.
Jumping on heaps of melted steel
toward endlessness they did crawl.

Their bloody paws were bandaged up,
eyes and noses filled with grunge,
exposed to toxic materials which
were washed with hose and sponge.

They were there for all the rescuers,
more loving than partners and peers.
Some played fetch to help others relax.
They soothed those with heavy tears.

Thunder, and Storm were just as dry
As Porkchop, Jax and Servus.
The rescuers gave away their drinks,
before quenching their own thirsts.

Not all heroes cried,
they just didn’t wag their tails,
their noses and their hearts
soothing the pain of those not lost.

They came to find the living,
but living were not there.

Three dead bodies in half an hour
“Get the body bag.”

Twenty pieces of DNA
“Get the ice cooler.”

Tascha ceaselessly gave her all
‘til overcome by heat and smoke.
Bretagne managed to take a snooze
so she wouldn’t have a stroke.

Billy calmed himself right down,
traversing treacherous terrains.
Wolf, Bear, Eagle, and Trackr
lived up to their doggie names.

Dorado, Roselle, Salty, Max, Wuss
all made it out alive.
Kaiser choked on hazardous soot
when, into debris, he took a dive.

Sunny Boy stayed on task
although it was so dreary.
Woody, Jake, and Hoke,
found no one, then got leary.

Not all heroes cried,
they just didn’t wag their tails,
their noses and their hearts
soothing the pain of those not lost.

They came to find the living,
but living were not there.

Three dead bodies in half an hour
“Get the body bag.”

Twenty pieces of DNA
“Get the ice cooler.”

There are stories about Cowboy and Red,
Or about Thunder, if you prefer.
Dusty arrived there clean in heart,
but left with contaminated fur.

They came in many sizes.
They came from any breed.
Abbey, Thea, Jena, Sue, Ivey, Mika
were all good girls indeed.

Riley, Willow, Cody, Hawk ―
each one was some kind of hero.
Moxie, Tara, Guinness, Merlyn
or Gus, Cowboy, Sirus, or Apollo.

Two sets of list must exist,
a short one for those who came out,
a longer one for those who searched,
although doing it with doubt.

Not all heroes cried,
they just didn’t wag their tails,
their noses and their hearts
soothing the pain of those not lost.

They came to find the living,
but living were not there.

Three dead bodies in half an hour
“Get the body bag.”

Twenty pieces of DNA
“Get the ice cooler.”

************************

The other day  @NannersMom asked me to write a 9-11 poem about the dogs who were involved in the the 9-11 tragedy. It took research, and also a lot of tears. It was not easy to get away from the emotions, and get to writing it. But I did it. Yay.

Then  @RaneeDillon was kind enough to edit it for me, so I could get it posted. Once she put her hands on it, it just started flowing so nicely. Wow.

Pciture credit:  http://www.easyvegan.info/2007/09/11/remembering-the-non-human-heroes-of-9-11/  (it’s a FEMA picture)

Also on:

 D’verse Poets

Challenge by Mark Kerstetter

Lillian Gish


Lillian Gish

Born in the right era,
with ethereal beauty and grace,
Lillian was a glorious actress
with the most angelic face.

She suffered for performing arts
a player with much obsession,
the quintessential heroine
in a time of Great Depression.

Her characters were often weak,
though her strength each time, came through.
Her popular films would guarantee
a magnificent, gracious review.

Archetypal damsel in distress,
a delicate flower of docility,
she fainted on a heaping ice floe
with self-sacrificing nobility.

She cowered before a brutal bounder.
She languished in a garret.
She was the original prototype
for the legendary Hollywood Starlet.

The first lady of the silent screen,
advanced the histrionic art.
She danced and acted all her life
with talent, verve and heart.

************************

Written and Posted on:


 D’verse Poets,  challenge by Sheila Moore:

And yes, I wrote this quickly just for this prompt, which is why you see such undisciplined rhyme and meter.

For those of you who never saw her, or heard of her, enjoy:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1HLLJevaaxM

The Sestina of KT


The Sestina of KT

If they could only see her face
and the pride in executing these techniques.
Was she a work horse freed from her stable?
No! She is as free as the optical bird
flying above the Earth. “Oh Hubble!
I’ve come to fix your trouble!”

Nation: take time and trouble
to see freedom upon the face
of the attendant of Hubble;
with extraordinary skillful technique
holding a caged wing of the broken bird
drifting downtide toward a distinguished stable.

It takes an astronaut with style so stable
to considers it no trouble
to liberate a fellow solar bird:
reflections of white diamonds in the face-
mask of a sorceress, practicing her technique,
on the broken parts of Hubble.

Caged in her two hands is Hubble,
reconnoitered in its high tech stable
responding to input of dexterous technique:
There is nothing trivial about this trouble.
Road lights are maps of highways on the face-
plate. “How high am I?” asks this American bird.

The wings flap and waver as the paneled bird
escapes her hands. She looks down on Hubble.
The muscles relax: a smile on the face
of a woman who is able, to stand in the stable
of the horses of Apollo. It is no trouble
going forth with privileged technique.

She found her own working techniques
as her tired, heated wings, like a bird
of prey, were cooled by the flowing troubled
draught. She prays for answers from Hubble,
in a universe which may be expanding or stable;
to report the narrations on time’s face.

A rollout of new technique re expresses Hubble
as this thunderbird escapes by a flaming stable.
No more trouble upon this angel’s face.

************************

Written for:

Matt Quinn challenged us to a Sestina. I wrote this in 1993, when astronaut Kathryn Thronton fixed the Hubble Telescope along with her fellow astronauts.

The other astronauts called her KT. She teaches at University of Virginia now.

Here NASA bio:

http://www.jsc.nasa.gov/Bios/htmlbios/thornt-k.html

Her bio currently at UVA/Engineering Department

http://www.virginia.edu/facultyexperts/expert.php?id=437

Restricted Souls


Lonely Desert Tunnel

Restricted Souls

A procession of mules to his eminent domain is
a revolutionary reverie to restrict them all.

His abode always has been the outcast plane;
A hellish domain meaning to restrict souls of all.

‘Tis an archane desolation fogenshrouded by his
medieval alchemy that control’s the souls of all.

Sonic booms, over his orthodox solitude
shake up his sermon as he restricts us all.

Vertical transition. Instantaneous cadence
of a pious man who’s soul must restrict all.

Currency is worthless next to liver or spleen.
Bribes never pass on his plate: he restricts it all.

He sees through diamonds, worn by all.
Hide your gems, lest his soul restrict all.

************************

Written for:


 D’verse Poets Pub.

John Alwyine-Mosley challenged the poets  to write a Ghazal. Please go to the link to learn more about this form.

People seemed to have stopped giving real critiques and are back to saying how much they liked things. I don’t learn anything from just compliments. Please, people who hate this, tell me why. People who actually do like it, how can it be improved.

Photo credit goes to me. It’s a tunnel just north of Tehachapi, CA.

Posted on The Thursday Think Tank #57 – Loneliness

Binge


Giorgio de Chirico 1927 'Gladiators and Lion', Institute of Arts, Detroit, Michigan

Binge

You can never be too festive.
Define yourself
by excess.

Weep ‘til your nosebleeds.
Drink ‘til depraved.
Eat until it impairs.

Don’t purge milk and honey.
Loll to perfect rolling tones.
Contradict attachment.

It’s easier than sitting down.
It’s easier than fighting.
Annihilate the ugly.

************************

Written for:

  dversepoets

The challenge was to write a poem inspired by Giorgio de Chirico – the man, his art or one of his works in particular. The website is:

Picture, with all rights reserved, from:  flickr – hanneorla

Sonnet XXX


Sonnet XXX

Galactic Collision

Galactic collision occurred in space
at the rim of the universal plane.
The spiral arms, distorted from the base
of the center, were flung out with much strain.
A supermassive black hole gobbled up
matter that was obviously not dust.
The singularity appeared to sup
on its immense neighbor. In the robust
bright point resource, blasting out X-ray beams,
a plethora of objects that looked blue,
populated Gemini. Dust, it seems
hid energy. Gravity will ensue ―
the smaller body will finally lose;
as ripped, torn gases snap off and diffuse.

************************

This comes from

This comes from @badastronomer’s Discover Magazine blog .

Posted on:

Open Link Night, Week 24