Know Notes Aloud

 

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Maybe or not
nothing, keyed
but a breath taken
anchored to create
seatbelts denied
smoked grass, poured gas
rear view backseat driven ride

base guitar, black bass
four strings uncooked and cast
re-keyed, the tiger swam at last
by darned maps, medicine token chips
drumsticks feather fields,
wild deer ticks
running lights and a pedal
steel guitar lick

beautiful chess boards fell
soon pieces meet neatly with love
playing muttered muddy water songs
a music sees the ebony cartel
dances become plays, plays become dances
with the turning of an allen wrench

blues crowds faded, creeks begin croaking
fenced, the dazed and hoaxed
despair dated, the fretboard floating,
blanched, the neck bowed, straightened on rosewood, coaxed
tuning proclaims know notes aloud

wolves blinked, eyes break opened
bluer than Utah’s salt lake
a world understood, stood understood, vinyl swill,
sweat pouring, pouring piano rained
water pelting like bullets kill
tickled ivory keys looking arranged
pictures hang, stretched on buffalo skin
promised like lines in pools
a dive so deep, one polish kiss

pride changed the rules
the sun re-aligned, flared and poached
winning ways, cymbols snare, united states lease
high hats, and luminous dates, a golden roach
guns lifted, marching marshell, swollen peace
a market place, large fruit, top of mantel
money tucked in the wallet of time, nothing urned
bongos banged, fired by candles, the war burned
c clef that says know notes aloud

a flight ticketed, flirting contained,
a baby’s handprint due,a tailored garden, a reading road
calender’s re-printed, a press word key ,labor day cue
weekend goodbyes, memories sent abroad susustained
a foreclosed site, autumn maple ray, paved, slowed
grass marquee played, the bees harbored, john deer shoed
from a to z,uncharted paper bundled, ride
laminated, cut, pasted, then pathed
highway ridden, Kentucky skinned, Louisianna and lathed

one new fishing rod, pinned, our fate, basted word press
our black grandmother’s address,
Gerry Mandered, us again split in two
walking in silver, slandered, shoes
a crooked clap, again at the cape
a four track, trading tape
a clapping preamble
a horn’s blow, geese honk
the majority whip
the tambourine trembles
are unheard, redress
we are the singers
sounding
the siren
know notes aloud

Poem by Heather Whitley Gibson

Yesterday’s Moth

A cloth thread
it was yellow; shinning
bright steel blue
cob webs; recyclability
drips design retractable
and Tuesday received
buckets freely
I see a moth
from yesterday poems on
a blank piece of paper
cloth; thoughtfully pinned
inside made
thoughtfully re-read intimately
exhaust/senescent
tube; in my heart
leering down
it’s sinful weakness

My ears are doing-that
windshield-wiper
thing-slowed-down
wiping out
hands off; buzzards; leftover
ground down white wrapped yarn
the bones of a coat; hung hanger
wreck debris aged
falling of the bone
in waves; falling off the bone
in waves; it just comes
nothing hurts
it’s supposed to

 

Poem By Heather Whitley Gibson

Snow Tiger by YUSEF KOMUNYAKAABY

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Ghost sun half
hidden, where did you go?
There’s always a mother
of some other creature
born to fight for her young.
But crawl out of your hide,
walk upright like a man,
& you may ask if hunger is the only passion
as you again lose yourself
in a white field’s point of view.
In this glacial quiet
nothing moves except—
then a flash of eyes & nerves.
If cornered in your head by cries from a cave
in another season, you can’t forget
in this landscape a pretty horse
translates into a man holding a gun.

Source: Poetry (April 2012).


BIOGRAPHY

In his poetry, Yusef Komunyakaa weaves together the elements of his own life in short lines of vernacular to create complex images of life in his native Louisiana and the jungles of Vietnam. From his humble beginnings as the son of a carpenter, Komunyakaa has traveled far to become a scholar, professor, and prize-winning poet. In 1994, he claimed the Pulitzer Prize and the $50,000 Kingsley Tufts Poetry Award for his Neon . . .

“Love’s Last Adieu” – George (Lord) Byron

 

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The roses of Love glad the garden of life,
Though nurtur’d ‘mid weeds dropping pestilent dew,
Till Time crops the leaves with unmerciful knife,
Or prunes them for ever, in Love’s last adieu!

In vain, with endearments, we soothe the sad heart,
In vain do we vow for an age to be true;
The chance of an hour may command us to part,
Or Death disunite us, in Love’s last adieu!

Still Hope, breathing peace, through the grief-swollen breast,
Will whisper, ?Our meeting we yet may renew:?
With this dream of deceit, half our sorrow’s represt,
Nor taste we the poison, of Love’s last adieu!

Oh! mark you yon pair, in the sunshine of youth,
Love twin’d round their childhood his flow’rs as they grew;
They flourish awhile, in the season of truth,
Till chill’d by the winter of Love’s last adieu!

Sweet lady! why thus doth a tear steal its way,
Down a cheek which outrivals thy bosom in hue?
Yet why do I ask?—to distraction a prey,
Thy reason has perish’d, with Love’s last adieu!

Oh! who is yon Misanthrope, shunning mankind?
From cities to caves of the forest he flew:
There, raving, he howls his complaint to the wind;
The mountains reverberate Love’s last adieu!

Now Hate rules a heart which in Love’s easy chains,
Once Passion’s tumultuous blandishments knew;
Despair now inflames the dark tide of his veins,
He ponders, in frenzy, on Love’s last adieu!

How he envies the wretch, with a soul wrapt in steel!
His pleasures are scarce, yet his troubles are few,
Who laughs at the pang that he never can feel,
And dreads not the anguish of Love’s last adieu!

Youth flies, life decays, even hope is o’ercast;
No more, with Love’s former devotion, we sue:
He spreads his young wing, he retires with the blast;
The shroud of affection is Love’s last adieu!

In this life of probation, for rapture divine,
Astrea declares that some penance is due;
From him, who has worshipp’d at Love’s gentle shrine,
The atonement is ample, in Love’s last adieu!

Who kneels to the God, on his altar of light
Must myrtle and cypress alternately strew:
His myrtle, an emblem of purest delight,
His cypress, the garland of Love’s last adieu!

 

“The Gods” – Song By: Ronnie and Heather Whitley Gibson

Here comes Zeus in his zuit suit
Hercules in all his glory
hot and bothered, looks for Venus
history and poetry
standing at the Mayan temple
watch them sacrifice a child
Egyptians prepare a mummy
watch out the gods are on fire

all chant when the sun shines bright
the gods, the moon, the night

looking at the stars and Mars
watching Aztecs playing ball
George is singing my sweet lord

everyone try’s to stand tall
even when their idols fall
what you must do against all odds
is try your best to worship the gods

some people take time to pray
pray to Billy Holiday

some even praise animals
to stop sky and thunder from falling
and after the day is done
some pray to Jim Morrison
everyone try’s to stand tall
even when their idols fall
walk to the door and turn the knob
drop to your knees and worship the gods

muses mount the Trojan horses
pyramids and the white house
Apollo take your pick

shine your tongue and join the mob
drop to your knees and worship the gods

Play The Gods

Tyger! Tyger! burning bright: Poem By William Blake

The artist and poet William Blake, who lived i...

The artist and poet William Blake, who lived in Hercules Road — a portrait by Thomas Phillips (1807). (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

June 28, 2012

Tyger! Tyger! burning bright

The Tyger

By William Blake

Tyger! Tyger! burning bright

The Tyger

In the forests of the night,

What immortal hand or eye

Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies

Burnt the fire of thine eyes?

On what wings dare he aspire?

What the hand dare seize the fire?

And what shoulder, and what art,

Could twist the sinews of thy heart?

And when thy heart began to beat,

What dread hand? and what dread feet?

What the hammer? what the chain?

In what furnace was thy brain?

What the anvil? what dread grasp

Dare its deadly terrors clasp?

When the stars threw down their spears,

And watered heaven with their tears,

Did he smile his work to see?

Did he who made the Lamb make thee?

Tyger! Tyger! burning bright

In the forests of the night,

What immortal hand or eye,

Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

For more go to:

http://awildernesswithin.wordpress.com/2012/06/28/tyger-tyger-burning-bright/