Howard comes and goes
speaking of colors and flowers
castles rise out of the mist
stranglers practice with scarves
in front of dingy mirrors
dead kings pass through somber streets
behind sad horses with black plumes
She(another sad eyed lady)
signals for the bus which never arrives.
Howard says,
she is Aurora of flying fingers
banishing shadows from the magic stone--
So it is,
in the weed room
ordering runes
with stylish reeds
excavating deeds
from heroes’ tomb.
Howard’s tie in a Windsor knot,
balanced, Gordian in Nature,
a placement
among the gleaming spires
castles on sunlit mounds
flowers all round
where the stranglers prowl
hearts pounding with desire.
She,(Aurora of flying fingers,
placing the words, just so)
haughty with pregnant smiles
Camille of cracked concrete
fleeing from Tuesday
in ruby shoes
Celluloid in the mountain mist
where the castles lie on red cysts,
There is tumult where the roads meet.
angry glances from the paupers
trying to sleep--
when the beggars die
they are wrapped in angels’ wings
and carried to the sky.
Howard straightens his complicated tie
and sighs,
angry at clouds that bear such burdens;
a serious leitmotif
a somber colonnade where he might tumble
with Aurora
were he not filled with such haste
and she so young
that her smiles are filled with words.
the stranglers try the crepe
but find it much like
legal pads
and vomit tomes
like tissues from a box
made from castle stone
where kings lie.
O, it is still true
(too)
that the old words rage
moldy and blue
misread
(Miss Red would be on Howard’s side,
were his tie not so tight,)
the consensus of flowers would be white
the fingernails black
industry of delivery but no child-
“armeo blatfolio”
Howard says furiously
which means nothing at all
but does not offend
the stranglers in the doorway
hats in hand
gay scarves twisted about their shoulders,
loosely.
Author notes
1. This poem is not about the Universe, well not the bigger one anyway.
2. Yes Desi, it should be "tomb", (sigh)
3. Lute was going to write about 15000 points and such, and what he gould do to help society and all with that large amount of largesse, but this came out instead. Sorries.
Written June 17th, 2006
In a list
What did you think
Comments
1 - 12 of 12
-
I like it, long, but i liked it
-
very good
very good -
A weird and wonderful poem of wistful pandemonium that this Howard is caught up in...
There is a lot of visionary Tim Burton-like innocent but dark melancholy in this poem.
I love:
"So it is,
in the weed room
ordering runes
with stylish reeds
excavating deeds
from heroes’ tomb"
Nice!
Ring them bells!
Cheers!
Ferenc -
Not what I was expecting from you. You are just full of surprises.
-
Howard reminds me of Prufrock - (as in Eliot) - His tie being in a windsor knot and such. Who are these people anyway? nothing constructive to say, you did it already.
-
I read this yesterday and thought Howard must be the infamous worm too.
I'll be back to give a line by line critique (yes, I'm honing my critting skills at that other place while my writing is still stuck in mawkish swill but should improve soon as I am learning about obstructions and shit like dat) So I probably won't be writing much but I can help others with their poetry and for me that's what it's all about.
Grinning at A's comments # 2.
Desiree
Edited on Jun 19, 4:12 p.m. because ''fuck obstructios should be obstruction which should be abstractions...
'.
-
I can't stop reading it.
-
Well you did write about the points, cuz they're in the title, as is Jutland. Felt more like Paris to me, but that's probably because I just watched a public television show about the engineering of Paris and how Napoleon's nephew tore the city apart and built those boulevards so the people couldn't revolt out of sight of the military. Also cuz I get to go there again this fall, even if I don't win 15K points. Which I can't if I don't write something for them, and I have no plans at the moment. Well, if plans meant anything, this would have been a different poem, I guess, according to your notes.
Those stranglers are very frightening. Your rimes and rhythms rock me through it. Howard makes me think of the Worm, so I was reading him into this. I'm sure all those colours are symbolic, but I'm not that good at symbolism. Nonetheless, pleasure.
-
Back. Where are ya?
-
The lack of comment might be from people still taking notes on the text and sitting under shade trees watching thunderstorms and thinking about it.
I've been here 4 times and am finally commenting 'cause Lisa went first.
Threads here, winding up and down. Still it's the surfacing of amber nuggets of image and sound, Stanza by stanza that takes me along for the ride.
I love the unexpected about you Lute. Reading you is not always easy but it's always great adventure.
You thinka haiku could win the 15K?
D -
You gots no comments. Why Howard in Denmark? This beautiful. Lots of pretty sounds -- pretty good story too. I like Howard. Aurora sounds good too. I like that name. Camille too. Definitely like Camille. You ever practice juggling with scarves? Addicting. All floosy loose they fly --
It is about the Universe, it is. Somewhat and then perhaps it gets a bit more complicated. Hmmmmm.
Also, where you?
Good luck. If I win, I'm going to France with my largesse first. And after that, Greek Islands -- sail around in that blue blue water to all those little bracelets of islands.
Okies. Hope you win something.
Good piece you have written here. Rob would hate it though. -
The tie is so constricting , even when the strangler practise alone, yes?
I will read this poem many more times, not in order to understand, I think I have my understanding already, but because I enjoy this so much.
Adding your comment:
1 - 12 of 12
12 old applause
