With Orbs Of Uncertain Gaze (IFT)

[prokopton]

Hi Geoff,

These last two form an effective pair.

Deadly Ice, I particularly like the descriptive first stanza: "They follow the serpentine strand / of kimberlite down, down into the lowest reaches / clawing at the pressure set clay.". The lowest reaches suggests a visit to hell. The refrain-like repetition "I do not wish them ill ... I do not blame these men" is very effective, and the closing couplet is strong.

The Graveyard Shift had me thinking (appropriately enough) of zombies in the first stanza: those "open, undead eyes". This poem captures the unrelenting and gruelling grind of this work, the "the heat, the stultifying labour, the choking dust", punctuated only "for a moment".

Into the final third we go, digging deep ...

Matt

Thank you Matt, for your keen reading and insights.
These are indeed my thoughts and it's good to know
at least I am being coherent!
I am encouraged by this. I shall soldier on.

cheers
G.

[prokopton]

14. Hungry

I look down to see their faces, beaming with excitement,
just forty inches off the floor. A tug at my trouser leg,
Alan clings hopefully; he glances around, planning
his escape, the hallway, no, the closet? Then comes the question,
“What time is it, Mr. Wolf? I pretend to study my watch.
“Almost ten o’clock,” I reply. This happens every day,
just before recess. I feel a tug on my other trouser leg.
It is Melody, four years and six months. I move forward
carefully, the small train follows. Casey Jones
beginning the long haul. I pause. A voice, timourous, calls out,
“What time is it Mr. Wolf?" I glance at the clock. One minute to ten.
their tiny bodies are wound like springs, ready to flee. I decide.
“Lunchtime!” I exclaim, and they scatter, screaming and laughing,
me in pursuit. I snatch David off the floor in mid-stride, tuck him
under my arm, and swipe at Michael, who falls to his knees, I miss.
They love this game, never tire of it. But I am getting better.

[Barbara Jean]

Graveyard shift is very compelling G. I am a fan of Dunc clerihew too!

[BrianIsSmilingAtYou]

prokopton

11. Deadly Ice - a compelling and compassionate take on a troubling phenomenon.

12. Graveyard Shift - reminiscent of the prior piece in some ways, but more focused on the miners. It again asks some tough questions. "And for what?" Indeed. I am reminded of a heatbreaking song about a coal miner written by James Talley, and covered by Gene Clark "Give my Love to Marie"

13. Short Ode to Dunc - I think many of us have somethign "owed" to Dunc!

14. Hungry - a lovely poem with a lovely sentiment, and the picture is quite charming

Keep writing!

BrianIs AtYou

[prokopton]

Graveyard shift is very compelling G. I am a fan of Dunc clerihew too!

Hi BJ, thanks for visiting, reading and leaving a note,
always appreciated!

G.

[prokopton]

prokopton

11. Deadly Ice - a compelling and compassionate take on a troubling phenomenon.

12. Graveyard Shift - reminiscent of the prior piece in some ways, but more focused on the miners. It again asks some tough questions. "And for what?" Indeed. I am reminded of a heartbreaking song about a coal miner written by James Talley, and covered by Gene Clark "Give my Love to Marie"

13. Short Ode to Dunc - I think many of us have something "owed" to Dunc!

14. Hungry - a lovely poem with a lovely sentiment, and the picture is quite charming

Keep writing!

BrianIs AtYou

Hi Brian,
I enjoyed hearing your remarks on my little anthology,
thanks for the visit!

The picture is of my kindergarten class. I miss the little darlings.
They will all have finished University now,
if indeed they went.

cheers
Goffe

[prokopton]

15. Ars Longa, Vita Brevis

I’ve laboured over lessons and hoped to be farther down the road
To riches and to fame, but there is still no one to blame
but me. All my demonstrations and many tests have showed
I paid the price and did the deed; I must bear the shame

where I have failed. Since the first, I coveted the Arts
of music, of dance, of visual expression in paint or stone
and of Capella’s syllabus, of the trivium, I’ve mastered parts,
rhetoric, grammar, and the dialectic, but of the Four alone:

arithmetic, geometry, astronomy have not exceeded my reach
but lie within my grasp, merely music renders me inept.
No Muse has succeeded, nor Master been able to teach
me, how to sing, to raise up a joyful noise, the simple concept

harmony, key, tune, melody, and all that jazz
has eluded me. I have tried to learn the parts,
studied skilful players, minstrels reeking with pizzazz
but alas, have not acquired this most sublime of Arts.

When songs are sung, I sadly take my place,
and feeling frustrated, may think it all a farce;
humbled I stand, and can only ask for Grace
that a joyful noise may issue from my Ars.

[prokopton]

16. Caesura in the City

Frenzied routine sometimes has interruptions.
It’s like someone called timeout, and everything stopped,
the chaos, the relentless beat of the traffic, even the wind,
I stared. The leaf rocked as it fell. Time stood still.
When it hit the pavement, life resumed its frenetic, ball-busting pace
A tumult, throbbing, as it proceeds.. where? Who knows?
It moves, without doubt, but does it progress?
Maybe, just a paradigm shift every five hundred years or so.
Frenzied routine sometimes has interruptions. I feel calmed by these.



photo: George Boastian

[drumpf]

Ode to Dunc

Fanciful lad. An ode on how fancy dunc is. Don Dunc. Writ let, writ let.

Hungry

The photo enhances the piece's sentiment. I wonder if the photo were not there, would I feel this ball in my throat... Not sure. The poem could, because like the wound-up spring of your children, the poem delays and delays until the room goes crazy.

Ars Longa

Sounds like, no pun intended, a longing to find a timeless expression in your voice that has not come about. In the nature of comparison, N is depressed, despite their educational foundation. I enjoyed the piece.

[prokopton]

17. Kaleidoscope

Like life has a symmetry, if it does,
the going out and coming in of tides,
the coming round again of gold rings,
the ones on carousels, not brides,
with the music of the spheres, it sings.

All else is geometric; sharp angles
intersect, divide, multiply and be damned.
Four hours pass, the world has rotated 60 degrees,
everything has shifted in the void.
Andromeda is not where she was,
all the moons and every planetoid,
even mighty Arcturus, have drifted.

Every four hours, another 60 degrees of rotation,
like a kaleidoscope, It all shifts; there’s a new comportment,
nothing is as it was, it is a new relation.
Except underneath, there it is the same assortment

of triangles and rhomboids, trapezoids,
and convex quadrilaterals. All spin
in cosmic harmony and disjunction.
One hardly knows where to begin
to approximate its function.


photo: MICHAEL MOSELLE/FLICKR (CC BY 2.0)

[alondra]

What fun, prokopton, amid all the necessary work! I imagine you have a excellent rapport with all those midgets.

[alondra]

Excellent depiction of a clockwork universe, prokopton. And would dark matter be the casing? I find it so intriguing that there´s so much we don´t understand..Lovely photo as well!

[prokopton]

What fun, prokopton, amid all the necessary work! I imagine you have a excellent rapport with all those midgets.

we get along.
I love children.. other people's!
I'll play with them all day long, and give them back at 4 o'clock!
You can take 'em home, feed 'em, wash 'em, put 'em to bed,
then bring them back tomorrow.
I will play with them again!


Thanks for reading Alondra!

[prokopton]

18. Aegean Idyll

“You had me,” she said, “at ‘whitewashed walls on Santorini!’"
Her sunset lips glistened in the softening light,
the golden light that burnishes sun-bussed skin,
bringing out tones of gold and copper, molten, sultry,
not the intense morning light that makes colours so vivid.
That island is epic in my mind, those views..
It's a bucket list trip for me. Those blues,
the contrast between the whitewashed walls
and the breath-taking falls from cliffs high
above the Aegean Sea, ouzo, sizzling food, her kiss
and the sway of her hips, are enough for me
to cash in my chips, call it a day, sigh,
"Take me now, Lord. I'm ready.” Why
need I go on? It doesn't get any better than this.

[prokopton]

Ode to Dunc

Fanciful lad. An ode on how fancy dunc is. Don Dunc. Writ let, writ let.

Hungry

The photo enhances the piece's sentiment. I wonder if the photo were not there, would I feel this ball in my throat... Not sure. The poem could, because like the wound-up spring of your children, the poem delays and delays until the room goes crazy.

Ars Longa

Sounds like, no pun intended, a longing to find a timeless expression in your voice that has not come about. In the nature of comparison, N is depressed, despite their educational foundation. I enjoyed the piece.

Hey Drumpf!
Nice to have you visit!
I am happy to hear your thoughts.
Yes, Dunc, makes an impression and that's good for a little inspiration.
The Clerihew may take more work to master though.

Glad you liked the glimpse of a Teacher's Day too.

Art takes a lot of time & attention to acquire skill and life is short; a recipe for frustration,
and maybe a little fun.


cheers,
Gefof