Zumwalt Poems Online

Posts tagged ‘Poetry’

The Sassoon Collection: iv. Butter and Eggs

The Sassoon Collection

iv. Butter and eggs

Robust diners, deftly forking in the fat.
O no longer living triglycerides against the heedless tongue
Of buffet and banquet days, what sends them gliding through
This set of dancing teeth?

Theirs are the hungry cadences between
The enraptured chewing of hefty humans that make
Heaven in the booth while second helpings simmer;
And theirs the faintest whispers that hush the desire.

And they are as a released soul that wings its way
Out of the starlit dimness above the moon
And they are the largest beings — born
To know but this, the phantom glare of fullness.

— Zumwalt (2011)

Copyright © 2011

Category:

2011, B, Reader's Choice, S, T

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Stop the chop, chop, chop.

We
see
a tree!  A tree!
Since it’s the last one living free
We will grab it quickly for our family.
A Tree!!!

Crop the lower middle to the
Top off!
Chop!!! Chop!!!
Don’t yet Stop!
Hear the Plop!
Chop! Chop!! Chop!!! Chop!!! Chop! Chop! Chop!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

— Zumwalt (2011)

(see related poem https://zumpoems.com/2011/07/10/theyve-stripped-the-forest-for-babble/)

Zumwalt’s response to http://dversepoets.com/2011/11/17/form-for-all-beth-winter-hosts-staccato-form/#comment-5757  This is, in Zumwalt’s words, “a crime against this staccato form that pales in comparison to crimes against nature.”)

Category:

2011, S, Zumwalt

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The ball is in our courts

The ball is in our courts

The shirts press the skins
looking for the turnover.

The skins set screens to break the press
and force overtime.

The two teams play
without arena staff,
relying on unknown referees,
the crowd locked out of the building.

It is a territorial sport
that knows no season
and cares little about the ticking of the clock.

It is a rich person’s sport
like shooting barasingha
or showering with Krug champagne.

Would my boss keep me from working
if I refuse a multi-million dollar contract
and fifty-fifty revenue sharing?

Would I be laughed at
if I asked for vacation from May
through September
with October for retraining?

It’s not so much that I worry
about the players or the owners
it’s more about the lost life-risking excavating opportunities
for the mal-nourished children of Sierra Leone and Angola
as demand for diamonds by the NBA elite precipitously declines.

It’s not so much that I worry
about lost revenue for TNT and ESPN —
it’s whether this ultimately means
that Superbowl pregame coverage starts around St. Patrick’s Day.

Nonetheless, I am patient:
I can do without annoying puppet commercials
and twenty-seven-attempts slam dunk contests,

but I have one question
is it much of a game
when it’s not the players,
not the owners
that lose their shirts
but only the arena employees and nearby small business blue-collar workers?

— Zumwalt 2011

Category:

2011, B, T, Zumwalt

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The Handcuff King

The Handcuff King

Escape pays for now:
suspend me upside down;
lock glass and steel;
fill fully;
water flowing over.

But if my escapes entertains,
understand that it is my existence.
I can handle building-size milk cans, Chinese water torture cells,
underwater crates and being buried alive.

Faced with flight or forced-fight,
the choice is easy
but understand I must force fight to flee:
no escape is without struggle.

But without escape or the opportunity of one,
I must hang on
and for how long?

Until I burst?

Or until I meet the next world:
the destiny of all that depart?

Explain to me the retreat available:
the extrication that sidesteps;
the evasion that slips the lock,
that springs a liberation.

No,  you know no more than I about withdrawal.
You just know more about staying the course
and that won’t help much
when I need to leave, not the visage of death,
but death itself
and its closely shrouded, tightly bound design.

— Zumwalt (2011)

Category:

2011, H, T, Zumwalt

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Wednesday Poetry Challenge #5

Wednesday Poetry Challenge #5

These next two challenges are previews to a pair of challenges that will be posted around early to mid December.  If the challenges posted this and next week invoke no interest, than that is a good reason for me to re-think the more extensive challenges I have prepared for December.

For this challenge,  please provide a link to a page or post that references a poem by an established, published poet, and includes some commentary of your own — whether a note about how you discovered the poem, why you like the poem — or even a full analysis.

Please be sensitive to copyright and what is public domain and not.  The law varies from country to country.  For example, in one country, a Wallace Stevens poem written in 1930 is public domain, but in another, no Wallace Stevens poems are public domain since 70 years must transpire after the death of an author before the works are in the public domain.

I am posting my real response to the Mr. Linky prompt below but also including a sample post here.

For challenge introduction and previous challenges please see Wednesday Poetry Challenge Introduction, Challenge #1, Challenge #2 , Challenge #3 and Challenge #4. There is no time limit here, these challenges are open until site is forcibly closed down.

To link to you post

CLICK ON green Mr. Linky IMAGE BELOW:

If you wish, you can copy the above link and paste at the bottom (or top) of the post or page that contains your response to this challenge.  That gets even more people involved! Just simply copy (as in copy and paste) the Mister Link box above and paste on your post or page.  It’s that easy.  (Thanks to willowdot21 for the idea!)

SUMMARY:

1.  Click on green “Mister Linky” link above.

2. Enter the URL (address of your response to challenge not of your website’s home page) of your post or page that has your response to this challenge.

3. For this challenge, locate a poem by an established, published poet, post text to a post or insert text into a page. Follow text with your comments on poem.

4. Anyone that wishes to see responses can click on the Mister Linky link above to view links.

Category:

Wednesday Poetry Challenge

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There is no “i” in Phalanx

There is no “i” in Phalanx

Across calescent karstic plains,
attentive, observant, at walking pace,
searching
for a more than suitable place
to play these noble and momentous games,

purposely, resolutely stopping at this very ground
we converge and then assemble in formation
deliberately
aligning and establishing our corresponding location
shields brought up and eyes directed all around.

There is no certified start to victory.
There is no established end to self-defeat.
There is no single push that doesn’t come down to shove,
after which we hold, advance or consider our retreat.

The battle starts and shields meet shields
as outer layer on outer layer peels off and drops;
advancing
forward with counter-jabs and counter-blocks,
the winning forces shed more blood as the losing army yields.

There is no I in Phalanx.
There is no me in attack.
There is no volition in my ammunition
but there is no heading back.

As victor forces scatter defeated ranks
fallen bodies insist on being active players
incidentally
tripping up their remaining slayers
prolonging this conflict with mutilated arms, twisted torsos and lifeless shanks.

There may be stop but there is no end
and some sense of quiet but never peace.
There is some faint attempt to circumvent
but there is no means to cease.

And two thousand years later
archeologists dig for artifacts
and scour the settled ground
in which is conceivably found
the trace of the last impact.

This is what was left behind
and not much more
but then, what will be left again
when two thousand more years occur
and someone else digs around
excavating some hint of a sign
of those that previously searched these dusty mounds?

At some future moment this is all totally untraceable,
the conclusion of which is particularly inescapable:
no matter the plan or materiel,
all efforts are unavoidably replaceable
but much more to the point,
everything,
chalked up or not,
is ultimately and permanently erasable.

— Zumwalt (2011)

Category:

2011, T, Zumwalt

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Fourth Post at ChoicePosts.com

If you haven’t visited recently, please check out the latest entry at choiceposts.

Traffic is still pretty low,  so promoting it for now on this site.  Eventually, choiceposts.wordpress.com will be a great place to shop to find blogs of interest — one just chooses the category and see if they like and relate to the author’s top post — if so, they maybe read the other links for that author and end up following the blog.   WordPress doesn’t have anything like this — maybe this will get them to do this themselves and I can stop.  Until then, would like to add a post every week or so.

At present nothing queued up for next week.  If interested in being showcased just follow the instructions!

This is not just for poetry blogs so feel free to recommend this process to others.  If you find a site you really love, feel free to direct them to this link for instructions at choiceposts!  Would like to add a good photography site, good science site, good music site, etc.

 

Category:

Uncategorized

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The Sassoon Collection: vii. The Manager

The Sassoon Collection

vii. The Manager

‘Good-morning; good-morning!’ the well-rested manager said
When we worked through the night to finish on time
the urgent assignment he failed to review and release
until late afternoon.

And we mock his insincerity as a matter of routine:
‘I work for you’, ‘What can I do to help you finish this sooner?’
As our stomachs growl from the coffee machine brew
But nonetheless still polite to his face
since by his judgment alone is our performance scored.

— Zumwalt (2011)

Category:

2011, M, S, T

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Wednesday Poetry Challenge #4

Wednesday Poetry Challenge #4

Last challenge provided exercises that removed or added words.

This challenge is about information management by addition.

One should be skilled enough to reduce or increase the number of words in a line, stanza or poem as creative demands (or editorial requirements) dictate.

For this challenge start with a two word sentence such as

See Spot.

Add an additional word but maintain one sentence.

See Spot run.

Double the number of words from 3 to 6; stay with one sentence.

See Spot run down the road.

Double the number of words from 6 to 12 in the one sentence.

See Spot, the incredible wonder dog, run down the long winding road.

Double the number of words from 12 to 24 in one sentence.

On this chilly wintry morning, as flakes of snow tumble teasingly down,
See Spot, the incredible wonder dog, run down the long winding road.

Double the number of words from 24 to 48 in one sentence.

My friend, relax, rest, reduce your thoughts,
sit down in the most comfortable chair we have
so that on this chilly wintry morning,
as flakes of snow tumble teasingly down, 
you turn your gaze outside and See Spot,
the incredible wonder dog,
run down the long winding road.

Double the number of words from 48 to 96 in one sentence.

My friend,
once close in former times not so far ago,
please relax, rest, reduce your thoughts,
make my home your home,
sit down in the most comfortable chair we have,
this one that faces this window,
and gaze outside on this chilly wintry morning,
as flakes of snow tumble teasingly down
and ice forms like shadows on small ponds,
as you forget your busy day
and focus on all that is beyond the warm study
to a colder but truer world outside
and see Spot, the incredible wonder dog,
run down the long winding road.

Increase the number of words from 96 to 107 in one sentence.

My friend,
once close in former times not so far ago,
please relax, rest, reduce your thoughts,
make my home your home,
sit down in the most comfortable chair we have,
this one that faces this window,
and gaze outside on this chilly wintry morning,
as flakes of snow tumble teasingly down
and ice forms like shadows on small ponds,
as you forget your busy day
and focus on all that is beyond the warm study
to a colder but truer world outside and see Spot,
the incredible wonder dog,
run down the long winding road,
gathering speed with each progressive stride,
tongue hanging out in celebration.

This matches the number of words in the Wallace Stevens single sentence poem, The Snowman.  There are many more wonderful things about this Wallace Stevens poem than it consisting of one sentence, but this one single sentence is wonderfully incorporated in the whole approach and experience. (Is there any better poem than this written in the Twentieth Century?)

Next, start with a two word sentence and expand it to a 107 word sentence without taking progressive steps — try to reach the 107 number at one go!

Which approach is easier for you?

Now pick your favorite of these two versions and then modifying the words as you wish, adding and subtracting as you think appropriate, keeping the word count to 107 or more, change it to a one sentence poem.

My friend,
again,
close
as in former times
not so far ago,

when lives where simpler
and looked ahead and not back
please relax,
rest,
reduce your thoughts,

make my home your home,
sit down
deeply
in the most comfortable chair,
the one that faces this window,

and gaze outside on this chilly wintry morning,
as flakes of snow
tumble
teasingly down
and ice forms

like shadows
on small ponds,
as you forget your busy day
and focus on all that is beyond the warm study
to a colder but truer world outside

and see Spot,
the incredible wonder dog,
run down the straight, sometimes unexpectedly slippery, stretching road,
gathering speed with each progressive stride,
tongue hanging out in celebration of the sprint itself.

For additional details, please refer to Challenge #1, Challenge #2 , Challenge #3 and Wednesday Poetry Challenge Introduction.

There is no time limit here, these challenges are open until site is forcibly closed down.

To link to you post

CLICK ON Mr. Linky IMAGE BELOW:

If you wish you can copy the above link and paste at the bottom (or top) of the post or page that contains your response to this challenge.  That gets even more people involved! Just simply copy (as in copy and paste) the Mister Link box above.  It’s that easy.  (Thanks to willowdot21 for giving me the idea — she copied this on her site in her response.)

SUMMARY:

1.  Click on green “Mister Linky” link above.

2. Enter the URL (address of your response to challenge not of your website’s home page) of your post or page that has your response to this challenge.

3. For this challenge, start with a 2 words sentence and lengthen it following the steps above until you have a 107 word sentence, then change that sentence into a poem

4. Anyone that wishes to see anyone’s examples can click on the Mister Linky link above to view any and all of responses.

Category:

Wednesday Poetry Challenge

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On an afternoon

On an afternoon

On a breezy summer afternoon
two universes, once far apart,
approached each other
and drawn by forces
not easily understood,
collided
and created the beginnings
of a universe
with different rules and circumstances
than the previous two.

Dense and hot,
close and furious,
with energy beyond any expectation
this new universe started,
expanded,
establishing first an identity
and then a history.

Heat gave way to growth
and sometimes we gave way to each other.

Attraction resulted in collisions
and each left their own marks on the other.

I once knew another universe
so different
but not so long ago.
Now there is only this one
with its own rules
and strange little quarks.

I once grew in another universe
with not such clear boundaries.
It was less predictable
and less complicated
without any out-of-equilibrium decay scenarios
or unexpected violations of time inversion symmetry.

This universe
gave us the nursery:
each star more important
than the universe itself
but adding to and altering its very fabric.

Yet, how could I not notice
that each star had its very own universe
and paid little attention to the grander scheme.
Envious, I was, like the biker who sold his Harley
and had to watch it be driven off the lot.

This universe gave us grandchildren:
each one more precious than any law of physics.

Yet, how could I not note that this
was the measurement of time.

I cannot escape this universe,
I cannot go back to the one I had.
I do not know the difference between you and I
or the underlying nature of this universe itself.

I do not know where your universe went
or what part it played in the one we share.
I cannot see how this universe ends
or if it still depends on you and I.

On a breathtaking, brilliant summer afternoon
two independent universes, each with its own part,
appropriated each other
and created new forces
not easily withstood,
coincided,
and then guided the beginnings
of a universe
with different composition and consequences
than the previously predominant two.

— Zumwalt (2011)

Category:

2011, O, Zumwalt

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