The Club's Story

The Club's Story

I was so happy when they packed me
in bubble wrap to send me away
I just knew my new owner needed me
I'm so strong, shiny and beautiful
no swinger could possibly resist me
He expedited me, but somehow it was
not to be as I was shuffled from coast to coast
Warehouse to warehouse, scanned and re-scanned
lost in a system, spirits dampened, a UPS orphan
I sit on a still conveyer belt, along with other displaced
orphans, solitary, pining for gentle hands to caress my
soft wrap, to feel the texture of new-mown grass stroking
my head. No one lifts me up, grasps my grip, swings my shaft.
I am useless here.

Kbris 2005

Submission

Risking absurdity, relegated to obscurity
I submit my poem to doubting eyes,
crouching tigers stalking an old wildebeest
lagging behind the streamlined herd

I submit my poem to doubting eyes
skeptics, suspicious of traditionalists
lagging behind the streamlined herd
rip the flesh from metrical bones

skeptics suspicious of tradition
judge clarity as mindless simplicity
rip the flesh from metrical bones
unable to recall dead bards while

judging clarity as mindless simplicity
value derivation, discount intelligibility
unable to recall dead bards singing
sweet songs, sad dirges, eerie elegies

When so derivative as rendered unintelligible
It's not poetry, pens Ms. Moore
risking absurdity, relegated to obscurity
I submit my poem to doubting eyes

Kbris 2005

Thoughts of Pearl Harbor and Peace

Thoughts of Pearl Harbor and Peace
At the age of 2, I was too young to remember The bombing of Pearl Harbor, the December 7th event that propelled us into the 2nd world war, 64 years ago. I do remember the war years however,and the rationing and the suffering by Americans and Europeans. December 8th was the day John Lennon, the great Beatle songwriter was murdered. I pause on this day, December 9th, to pay tribute to the Americans who died and to this songwriter who was assasinated. His song "Imagine" is a fitting tribute to peace loving people everywhere.

Imagine

Imagine there's no heaven,
It's easy if you try,
No hell below us,
Above us only sky,
Imagine all the people
living for today...

Imagine there's no countries,
It isnt hard to do,
Nothing to kill or die for,
No religion too,
Imagine all the people
living life in peace...

Imagine no possesions,
I wonder if you can,
No need for greed or hunger,
A brotherhood of man,
Imagine all the people
Sharing all the world...

You may say Im a dreamer,
but Im not the only one,
I hope some day you'll join us,
And the world will live as one.


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Writen by: John Lennon

Harold Pinter's 2005 Nobel Prize Acceptance Speech

Art, Truth and Politics

Here's an excerpt from Harold Pinter's video acceptance speech:
"Political language, as used by politicians, does not venture into any of this territory since the majority of politicians, on the evidence available to us, are interested not in truth but in power and in the maintenance of that power. To maintain that power it is essential that people remain in ignorance, that they live in ignorance of the truth, even the truth of their own lives. What surrounds us therefore is a vast tapestry of lies, upon which we feed."

Wheels Up

Wheels Up!

Wheels up! Time to go
A soldier’s duty calls
To the desert from the snow
The winds of war will blow
Through every nerve, every pore
Silence echoes from the walls
Wheels up! Time to go
A soldier’s duty calls

KBris 11/29/2005

The Empty Chair

The Empty Chair

Seeking depth, one finds only shallow language
To convey emotion of the vacant chair.
Quiet prayers quell the usual celebration
The silence deafens

Memory jogged by the yellow ribbon
Tied to the empty chair, recollections
Steeped in love, inundate, scuttle the mind
Take away one’s breath

In denial, through fear, reality abated
One pretends the unfilled chair doesn’t matter
A stoic posture hides the pain of parenthood
Pushing tears inward

Soft table talk, reminiscences of a son,
A fine father, honor the chair not taken
Singing praises, reserved for a cherished child
Sacred and holy

Worried and uneasy, the Thanksgiving table frowns
Then smiles, remembers the face in the empty chair;
A father, a son, a brother, a loving man
Off to war again

KBris 2005

Poetry Quotes and Thoughts

Poetry Quotes and Thoughts
"A poem begins with a lump in the throat". ~Robert Frost Often, my poems do begin with a "lump in the throat", a feeling that something is amiss and needs to be explored. At times a simple statement by someone begs to be written about in a poem. At other times. dark, uncomprehensible fragmented thoughts rattling about in my subconcious scream to surface for air. today, I'm thinking about poetry and what it means. Here is a page of several poetry quotes of famous writers and poets, who define poetry from their particular perspectives. I do not have my own definition of poetry, but I suspect that my feelings about it are a composite of several slanted perspectives. Particularly, I am attracted to Archibald McCleish's statement that a "poem should not mean, but be". I cannot always explain the meaning of my poems, but, like a song, I can always feel them.
posted by Coach @ 11:40 AM

Standoff

tortoise
Originally uploaded by hombreciego.

Standoff

Like a rock
A desert tortoise lays still
Hides from the housecats

Slowly crawls
From under the mesquite bush
A water-seeking turtle

Spies the bowl
Moves ahead, an army tank
Ready for the kill

Yellow cat
Crouches, stalking this strange prey
Leaps like a lion

Fur meets stone
Lions don't eat chariots!
Dumb Kitty, she says.

KBris 2005

Mulch

Cornucopia
Originally uploaded by hombreciego.

Mulch

This is the season when friends gather
Around the hearth, the parlor, and table.
This is the time of changing weather

The trees transform, yellow elms, red maple
Autumn’s breathe blows, then sighs lovingly
Admires her work, bright orange and dark sable

Under a crimson sky; a portrait heavenly
Of nature’s brush, transient, a fall fable
Where breezes falter, start, move again evenly

Over the sea, across the ice, portend affable
Subtle change. A chill which lingers in the night
Under stars, with windy currents unstable

Imbues the being, and renovates October’s light
With icy glaze; we cease and continue as
Dead leaves, fertile mulch from winter’s blight

Flamboyant food of harvest’s repast
This is the season when friend’s gather
Around the hearth, the parlor, and table
This is the time of changing weather.

KBris 200s

Yellow cat

yellow cat
Originally uploaded by hombreciego.

Yellow Cat

Cats always disappear like dark clouds
She says. Same as people always leave
She wistfully voiced, with tears, aloud

No exception yellow cat, I won’t grieve
Nocturnal fool, warned you about foxes
In the night, as you sat purring in the eaves

We kept good company, I’ll miss our talks
Gray kitty longs for your old love songs
The morning dove avoids your stalks

Old stray, you hung around much too long
And touched my heart with your whiskered face
I’m proved not wrong, now that you’re gone

Our time together was no disgrace
Cats always disappear like dark clouds
KBris

Terrorist

story.baby.bomb
Originally uploaded by hombreciego.

Terrorist

Strapped to his back, a dynamite pack
An angry blister, festering to explode
Self-destructive homicide won't turn back
Strapped to his back a dynamite pack
Lessons from Al- Zarqawi in Iraq
Drug-induced extremism the mode
Strapped to his back, a dynamite pack
An angry blister festering to explode

Kbris 2005

America's Mountain (Pike's Peak)

Pike's Peak
Originally uploaded by hombreciego.

America’s Mountain (Pike’s Peak)

Under the shadow of America’s mountain
Swirling voices echo in the canyon winds.
Ghosts of gold-seekers, pioneers, heading west
Cry “Pike’s Peak or bust”!

Under the shadow of America’s mountain
Clacking flat cars transport over glacial gorges
Armament for infantry; tanks, thirsty camels
On rails towards war

Under the shadow of America’s mountain
Young men and women ready for battle
Consume final meals, like death-row inmates
Silent and thoughtful

Under the shadow of America’s mountain
A father mulls, meditates the pending days
Quietly watches as his soldier-son soothes
Saddened small daughters

Under the shadow of America’s mountain
A grandfather remembers bygone war days
Beneath Marble, Da Nang’s Asian mountain
A chilling nightmare

Under the shadow of America’s mountain
Awaits the soldier’s wife, frozen in time for
News that comforts eases her purgatory,
Stills loneliness, fear

Under the shadow of America’s mountain
Lies Cheyenne Mountain, America’s Watchtower
Vast and vigilant, a massive palace guard
Impenetrable

Under the shadow of America’s mountain
War and peace, hope and despair, a microcosm
Of suffering resides, yearning for freedom's
Pure mountain breezes
Kbris 2005

Poetry Ramblings

"Tell All the Truth but tell it slant": First-Person Usage in Poetry by Cate Marvin
...the lyric poetÂ’s images are nothing but the poet himself, and only different objectifications of himself, which is why, as the moving centre of that world, he is able to say "I": this self is not that of the waking, empirically real man, however, but rather the sole, truly existing and eternal self that dwells at the base of being, through whose depictions the lyric genius sees right through to the very basis of being. --Friedrich Nietzsche, "The Birth of Tragedy"

"I hate writing; I hate art--there’s always something else there. I won’t have you choosing words about me. If you ever start that, your diary will become a horrible trap, and I shan’t feel safe with you any more. I like you to think, in a sort of way; I like to think of you going like a watch. But between you and me there must never be any thoughts." (Eddie to Portia) --Elizabeth Bowen, The Death of the Heart

Despite the fact that the terms for the genres of poetry and fiction delineate both as separate from nonfiction, writers are all too frequently visited with the readerÂ’s speculation that the work arose from personal experience and is, to a large extent, autobiographical. This method of interpretation, often verging on Victorian in its application, has been employed with greater frequency since American poetry steered away from the model of the closed form as perpetuated by the New Criticism movement, when the Beat and Confessional poets emerged in the 1950s. And it is natural for one to be curious as to how a literary work corresponds with the life of the artist, but only so because the process of creation is unique to each artist and always a mystery, indeed, probably most of all for its author. But when I consider just such a curious reader, I imagine someone trying to pull a hot-air balloon to the ground only to peer into its basket to find out what makes it float.

In fact, my dog could interpret a poem better than these readers who insist on the literal. My dog doesn’t care if what happens in my poems actually happened to me in "real life." I write poetry because it allows me to step outside the "real world" in which I, the person, must maintain cordial relations with my neighbors, change the litter box, drag fifty pounds of accumulated laundry to the virtual hellhole that is the laundromat, and show up to work. When I regard a completed poem, I relish the fact that I am thoroughly divorced from it. That said, I am also somewhat pleased to discover I’ve tricked someone into believing the world of my poems is "true"; the sensation is akin, to paraphrase W. H. Auden, to feeling as if I’ve picked the reader’s pocket.

However, I find it obvious that the "I" of my poems, when I employ first-person, could never be me. The speaker of my poems couldn’t live in my world: she wouldn't wake for work, she’d tell the neighbors to shut up, she’d be arrested for public indecency, she’d no doubt be locked up eventually. My life would be far too boring for her to stand for more than fifteen minutes. That’s not to say that her concerns aren’t my own, or that don’t see the inflection of my genes, the language of my dreams, imprinted in her every statement and action. But I can’t write poems without being assured that they will not be understood as autobiography. Inherent in the act of writing for me is a complete lack of censorship where content is concerned. There’s more than a bit of paradox at the heart of this approach. When composing, I feel free to tap into any literal and emotional experience I’ve had; I don’t let myself worry about whether people in my life might recognize themselves in poems I have written. I trust the language of poetry, its rhetoric and its figures, to distort the literal and remove it from the realm of lived experience.

Sylvia Plath, a poet whose extraordinary talent is so often neglected in favor of scrutinizing the facts of her life, articulated these boundaries in an interview:
I think my poems immediately come out of the sensuous and emotional experiences I have, but I must say I cannot sympathize with these cries from the heart that are informed by nothing except a needle or a knife, or whatever it is. I believe that one should be able to control and manipulate experiences, even the most terrifying, like madness, being tortured, this sort of experience, and one should be able to manipulate these experiences with an informed and intelligent mind.

Readers also scrutinize the relationship between the "I" of a poem and its author because it’s a scary thing to contemplate that a seemingly normal person is capable of rearranging, through language, an experience to the extent that one is moved to feel it as his or her own. And there is another fear: readers who have a relationship to an author may be afraid of his or her powers of depiction. In Elizabeth Bowen's 1938 novel, The Death of the Heart, when Eddie admonishes Portia for keeping a diary (which, unbeknownst to her, has been scoured by the very people sheÂ’s been writing about), he reveals his fear that he might recognize something unsavory about himself in her vision. And this is why I extract the promise from my writing students that they refrain from showing their creative efforts to their friends, family, or lovers. ItÂ’s important for young writers to recognize that they have access to enormous freedoms when they write for an audience outside their social and familial sphere. One cannot learn how to transform visceral experience into art if one writes with the anxious awareness that his or her grandmother may be a potential reader of the poem.

A good poem is like the space shuttle. It enters the reader’s mind and heart like a rocket. On leaving the atmosphere, it drops the launching gear of experience that served as impetus for its creation. Who wrote the poem, the life the person lived or is living, will not matter once the poem takes on a life of its own. We are familiar with the poem that has failed to rid itself of the person who wrote it. Sentiment, cloying love of the self, and damages done to the self cling to the poem like the lingering smell of body odor one sometimes encounters when entering an elevator. The doors close, and while we are inside the poem, reading it to the end (if one does not get off and take the stairs instead) is a claustrophobic experience, a forced cohabitance with a stench that is mortal. Good poems live long after their authors died. Good poems by the living make the lives of their authors cease to matter.

Dotage

Dotage

My dotage, a fool’s infatuations spew
Forth like gurgling, geothermal geysers, run amok
As your bouncy, flouncy body sachets and
Surrounds my heart

Awakened from a dream, bleary-eyed, I gape
Transfixed at you, a fairy in Midsummer’s night
Lighter than air, magical, dancing among stars
Exquisite and bold

Extravagant passion, short-lived, my folly
At an age when embers have turned to ashes
And old men feed birds, recall from park benches
Yesterday’s stale news

Burning brightly, your sun shines through my window
Reflects off the girl with the fish, her smiling picture
Gold-framed, adorns the wall, and brings me bliss
Lights up the day

The cliché, “No fool like an old fool” rings true
Doesn’t matter much, changes nothing because
Each day with you, I feel brand new; immortal
Awake and renewed

kbris

A Quest

A Quest

Odd and reticent she is seldom willing
To reveal the tangled web of her emotion
Wily, sly, she’s followed her own salvation
Since the beginning

A world apart punctuates her storied life
Lonely sandcastles she builds, to be torn apart
By the cruelty of sibling rivalries
Envious and spiteful

Beaten by an abusive, boorish husband
Humiliated, benumbed, her goodly spirit
Muffled and muted, her brightest colors darkened
Her life a gray scale

Sons and daughters, dispassionate, turn away
To howl at the moon, mired with self-baggage
Bewildered and lost, sheep on a snowy mountain
Seeking the Shepard

Searching for solace, she queries everywhere
Curious, questing for real love’s Holy Grail
Explores high roads, low roads, no satisfaction
Finds empty spaces

Sometimes we like the quiet, sometimes we don’t
Hers, a lonely uninhabited planet
At times feels stark, unfriendly, deadly silent
Vicious and voiceless

Humorously, she defends her being; cosmic
Jokes, jumbled words frame her own unique language
Cryptic and macabre, designed to perplex
A crossword puzzle

Dangerous her poetry, confusing, surreal
Disguises obsessions, dark camouflage
Perplexes ordinary minds; an enigma
Cast in a shadow

Aging transforms, desensitizes the pain
Mellows the hurt, eases the old transgressions
Growing old is balm, salve for her tortured soul
Memories grow dim

Familiar agitations become stale
Encrusts with mold, unfit to eat or digest
Like poison mushrooms, only toxic if swallowed
She avoids eating




Kbris 2005

Adios Amiga

Adios Amiga

Words fly, old venoms begin to inject,
Then diffuse, in petty, small lies, accuse me
Of treason, cheating and posing with my
Deceitful smugness

She screams; blood pressure begins to ascend
Then plunges as wild-unsteady vertigo, enkindles her
With red-faced rage, a descent into madness
Accusing; wretched

I don’t need to tell you about this lovely
Insane girl I’ve long been an ardent man of:
We were hooked up in a gentler time with
A loving spirit

We began as lovers, poignant, enamored
Filled with passion, bursting with blind pride
Wrapped up in each other like Christmas presents
Lost in each other

Times have changed; we sleep in anger and dream
Of places far away in separate worlds
Of unfulfilled promises and secret desires
A painful nail bed

Tomorrow I leave; she’s impossible
To live with, to sleep with, to do anything with.
She needs a new beginning, so do I
Far away from her

KBris 2005

Second Tour

Dedication Memorial Balad Iraq 2003
Originally uploaded by hombreciego.

Second Tour

Once again our soldier’s off to war
Once again we count the anxious days
Sad Days before he shuts the final door

On family, friends and normal ways
To fight for freedom in foreign lands
Once again we sleepwalk in a daze

And pray on bended knee with folded hands
For safe return of this dear boy of ours
Once again the winds of war have fanned

The fires of dark, infinite, fretful hours-
Once again our soldier’s off to war

KBris 2005

Podomize

ipod
Originally uploaded by hombreciego.

Podomized

The techno-man instructed me on how to podomize
"Tis simple" said he, to succeed, you need a podience
First you need a line of code, which I will soon devise.
The techno-man instructed me on how to podomize
Next you find a news reader that you can sodomize
To i-podsense your empty words to an mp-3 audience
The techno-man instructed me on how to podomize
"Tis simple" said he; to succeed you need a podience

Kbris 2004

Thanksgiving Mail Call

Thanksgiving Mail Call
Originally uploaded by hombreciego.

Thanksgiving Mail Call

Now is the season of families living
round the table, home and hearth
This is the blessing of Thanksgiving

Soldiers silent,with comrades set apart
Some read letters, stop, read again… of time
round the table, home and hearth

of moms and dads; they do not opine
about war, in the gritty desert storm;
Some read letters, stop, read again… of time

among old friends, brothers, sisters… a swarm
of love. Warmed by the heat of radiant fire
they find war, in the gritty desert storm

Rudely awakened by the rockets red glare,
faraway from the peace of home and hearth
the desert is heated by radiant fire.

On hold, the reverie of joyful hearts.
Now is the season when heroes are living,
faraway from the peace of home and hearth
This is the reality of Thanksgiving.
...Kbris 2005

Puzzle Pieces

Puzzle Pieces

Puzzle pieces, chaotic fragments
Take shape within a boundary
Loose rules dictate form, contour
Piece by piece order replaces chaos

Takes shape within a boundary
A tidy map fills a space
Piece by piece order replaces chaos
Imports meaning to disarray

A tidy map fills a space
Rendered from the mind’s stream
Imports meaning to disarray
Structures agonistic anarchy

Rendered from the mind’s stream
A poet’s rules, boundaries set in shifting sand
Structures agonistic anarchy
Finds lost pieces, completes the puzzle

A poet’s rules, boundaries set in shifting sand
Contours flotsam and jetsam of reality’s riddles
Finds lost pieces, completes the puzzle
Piece by piece, order replaces chaos

KBris 2005

Burning Piano

Burning Piano
Originally uploaded by hombreciego.

The Burning Piano

Melodic flames erupt like an ancient volcano
As the dispassionate father feeds the fire
Incinerates to ash the burning piano

His child’s teary voice, vocalizes shrieking soprano
Laments melting keys, in the crackling funeral pyre
Unmerciful flames erupt like an ancient volcano

Chants a requiem to the Top Banana
Expressionless, his white rage and ire
Incinerates to ash the burning piano.

He once shot her dog on the farm in Montana
In a flap, blasted out the old Ford’s tires
Discordant flames erupt like an ancient volcano

Excused by his aged mom as a “plain ol
Country boy”…unlike those other liars
Incinerates to ash the burning piano

Broods like a man overdosed on oregano
Fancies himself a grand stunt-flyer
Bitter flames erupt like an ancient volcano
Incinerates to ash the burning piano.

...Kbris

Heroes Among Us

Heroes Among Us

Tragic darkness intensifies the light
Bright minds rise to angry occasion
Wars, storms, famines require persuasion
Heroes rise from bloody carnage to fight
Deep sinister blows dealt by nature’s blight
Brave hearts ascend the soul’s invasion,
Swiftly swooping downward, birds of suasion
Carry hope, messenger pigeons in the night
A flight for life amidst the dreadful strife
Purifying nature’s inundation
A rallying cry restores normal life
Caresses every child, husband and wife
Each glorifies the American Nation

Kbris 2005

_La Vida Amorosa

_lovebirds
Originally uploaded by hombreciego.

La Vida Amorosa

We banter in fragments, uncertain, as the words
slowly tumble in hesitant, often apologetic phrases
We, unsure of the new direction, fearful of the dark path
hypnotically leading us to bliss or destruction

Slowly, we tumble in hesitant, often apologetic phrases
Lives torn by the ghosts of yesterday's traumas
Hypnotically leading us to bliss or destruction
Tender touches change our dread of commitment.

Lives torn by the ghosts of yesterday's traumas
Fragile ice on a winter pond, hesitant kisses,
touches, change our dread of commitment
as our bodies shudder in unforeseen passion.

Fragile ice on a winter pond, hesitant kisses
intertwined tongues melt our frozen resolve
Bodies shudder in unforeseen passion.
We release as reflected mirror images

Desire unthaws our frozen resolve
We Banter in fragments uncertain of words
Released like reflected mirror images.
Unsure the direction, fearful the path

...KBris

Wily Widow

Wily Widow
Originally uploaded by hombreciego.

The Wily Widow

A cunning fox, the shiny spider spins
A deadly web…ensnares unsuspecting prey
Within sticky filaments, captivates enthralled quarry
With lushly disguised stark beauty

A deadly web…ensnares unsuspecting prey
A self-seeking woman, she twirls the trap.
With lushly disguised stark beauty
Her black widow's hourglass, marks lethal time

A self-seeking woman, she twirls the trap
Beguiles her victims with toxic charm
Her black widow's hourglass, marks lethal time
Smothers the duped with poisonous stings

Beguiles her victims with toxic charm
Lures lost lovers addicted to her snare
Smothers the duped with poisonous stings
Futile false promises attest fatality

Lures lost lovers, addicted to her snare
Transfixed, hypnotic comeliness deceives
Futile false promises attest fatality
A cunning fox, the shiny spider spins …
a deadly web.

KBris 2004

Scented Candle

Scented Candle
Originally uploaded by hombreciego.

A Scented Candle

A scented candle, her fragrance permeates
Opens the senses, illuminates dark paths.
A shaft of light stimulates neurons,
Flickers between the known and the unknown

Opens the senses, illuminates dark paths
An elegant taper liquefies, melts, shines
Flickers between the known and the unknown
Casts sensual shadows from darkness

An elegant taper, liquefies, melts, shines
The rigid candelabra’s softened shaft
Casts sensual shadows from darkness
Rays, pixilated; primitive urges

The rigid candelabra’s softened shaft
Oozes dripping, insoluble hot wax.
Rays, pixilated; primitive urges.
Disclose a lover’s deepest secrets

Oozing dripping, insoluble hot wax,
Stimulates sensitive motor neurons
Discloses a lover’s deepest secrets.
A scented candle, she permeates the being.


Kbris 2004

Embers

Embers
Originally uploaded by hombreciego.

Embers

A curly Shirley Temple double
Expressive eyes betray her inner lust
A wry smile displays experience
far beyond the innocent façade

Expressive eyes betray her inner lust
Divulge furtive fervor, unmask the fire
Far beyond the innocent façade
Burning deeply within the bosom

Divulge furtive fervor, unmask the fire,
Fingers probe, fan the embers of passion
Burning deeply within the bosom
Celestial strokes strum divine music

Fingers probe, fan the embers of passion
Intensify the combustive flames
Celestial strokes strum divine music
Blissful paroxysms placate desire

Intense flames of explosive combustion
A blaze, ignited from a tiny spark
Blissful paroxysms placate desire
Within the Shirley Temple Double.
KBris 2004

Homecoming Convoy

Homecoming Convoy
Originally uploaded by hombreciego.

Homecoming Convoy

Restless iron horses,war weary cannons
Roll swiftly across the dusty desert.
Abandon battle, unspeakable memories.
Paled riders; fatigued frayed soldiers

Roll swiftly across the dusty desert
Leave behind bloodshed of war.
Paled riders; fatigued frayed soldiers
Bypass unsullied iron horses

Leave behind bloodshed of war
Unvoiced tears of fallen comrades
Bypass untested iron horses,
Comatose, the survivor's guilt

Unvoiced tears of fallen comrades
Dampen the homecoming elation
Comatose, the survivor's guilt
A surreal dreamscape haunts.

Diminishes the homecoming elation
A convoy of consideration ensues
A surreal dreamscape haunts,
Abandons battle,unspeakable memories

KBris 2004

Great Falls High

GFPHS
Originally uploaded by hombreciego.

Great Falls High

Evergreens cushion the old school from harsh winter
Her ivy-league façade displays a bygone era
Moves memories, echoes vanished voices.
She reminds of deep Montana roots.

Her ivy-league façade displays a bygone era
Long-gone from empty halls, aging pupils
She reminds of deep Montana roots
Spreads her magical mists far and wide

Long-gone from empty halls, aging pupils,
Old Bisons hold onto her shadow
Spread her magical mists far and wide
Hear faint cheers from the old coliseum

Old Bisons hold onto her shadow
Hoof beats impress the historic trail, as
Faint cheers from the old coliseum
Stir nostalgic tears of adoring alums

Hoof beats impress the historic trail
Fragments of forgotten stories reappear.
Stir nostalgic tears of adoring alums
Moves memories, echoes vanished voices.

Kbris 2004

Artichoke Heart

artichoke
Originally uploaded by hombreciego.

Artichoke Heart

A peeled artichoke, her self-image erodes
Stripped away, leaf by leaf
Exposes a naked, sumptuous heart
Vulnerable to vicious consumption

Stripped away, leaf by leaf
The fragile soul bombarded by attacks
Vulnerable to vicious consumption
Protects itself with a cosmic dance

The fragile soul bombarded by attacks
Hides in the madness of comedic profanity
Protects itself with a cosmic dance
Skillfully masks the painful truth

Hides in the madness of comedic profanity
Infuses sanity into the mainstream
Skillfully masks the painful truth
Refuses to melt into nothingness

Infuses sanity into the mainstream
The exposed, sumptuous, naked heart
Refuses to melt into nothingness
A peeled artichoke, her self-image erodes

...Kbris 2004

Night Vision

NVG3
Originally uploaded by hombreciego.

Night Vision
Hovering silently above desolate sand
The predatory Blackhawk observes its prey,
Turbaned men scurry about the desert floor
Unaware of ghostly-green night eyes

The predatory Blackhawk observes its prey
Tracks each movement, poised to swiftly kill
Unaware of ghostly green night eyes
Sunnis plant deadly bombs, the lethal bird

Tracks each movement, poised to swiftly kill
Sights lock and load, on shadowy Arabs
Sunnis plant deadly bombs, the lethal bird
Delivers death and heavenly virgins

Sights lock and load, on shadowy Arabs
They plant rockets in the soft, silent soil
To realize the promise of virgins,
Clueless of useless, unseen swift death

They plant rockets in the soft, silent soil
Turbaned men scurry about the desert floor
Clueless of useless, unseen swift death
They are vaporized on desolate sand
Kbris 2004

sea anemone

sea anemone
Originally uploaded by hombreciego.

Sea Anemone

A sea anemone contracts at danger
Shuts out intimacy, isolates
Receptive circuits shut down
Shields from enemy’s harm

Shut out from intimacy, isolated
Her eyes, ears, mouth, nose, fingers
Protect from hostile attacks
Separate from physical surroundings

Her eyes, ears, mouth, nose, fingers
Close to sensations beyond the self
Separate from physical surroundings
Numb the sentient feelers

Closed to sensations beyond the self
Encapsulated, she suffers detachment
Numb are the sentient feelers
Receptors of love, trust, emotion

Encapsulated, she suffers detachment
Withdraws from life’s rough touches
A Sea anemone contracts at danger
Shielded from enemy’s harm

Flashbacks

Flashbacks

Edgy, he leaves early to avoid traffic
Snipers lurk behind buildings and billboards
Diesel fumes trigger nightmarish flashbacks
Fling him back into the horror of his acts

Snipers lurk behind buildings and billboards
Hears the dying woman’s last bloody breath
Flings him back into the horror of his acts
Medicates his tears on the busy freeway

Hears the dying woman’s last bloody breath
Rigid beside her child’s charred corpse
Medicates his tears on the busy freeway
“I should have freaking died over there,” he sobs

Rigid beside her child’s charred corpse
Images of his daughters flood the mind
“I should have freaking died over there”, he sobs
Intractable pain stiffens his soldier’s body

Images of his daughters flood the mind
Diesel fumes trigger nightmarish flashbacks
Intractable pain stiffens his soldier’s body
Edgy, he leaves early to avoid traffic

...Kbris

Doomsayers

Doomsayers

Beneath the ancient caldera
Hibernates the dormant dragon
Bubbles from the Mesozoic era
Beneath the ancient caldera
Gases infuse the hideous chimera
Long suppressed the primeval gorgon
Beneath the ancient caldera
Hibernates the dormant dragon

Multitudes watch Old faithful blow
World- wonder of nature’s splendors
A remnant from a long time ago
Multitudes watch Old Faithful blow
Primordial volcanic overflow
Every puff not a storm engenders
Multitudes watch old faithful blow
World-wonder of nature’s splendors

Inimitable Yellowstone, the nation’s park
Symbol of spaces, wild and free
A stark, geological question mark
Super volcanic, a strange quark
Deaf to the howl of winter’s bark
Silent of what’s going to be
Inimitable Yellowstone, the nation’s park
Symbol of spaces wild and free

Evolution tracked from outer space
Warnings sound apocalyptic alarms
Destruction of the human race
Evolution tracked from outer space
Civilization gone without a trace
Unleashed fury with spelling charms
Evolution tracked from outer space
Warnings sound apocalyptic alarms

Beneath the ancient caldera
Hibernates the dormant dragon
Bubbles from the Mesozoic era
Beneath the ancient caldera
Gases infuse the hideous chimera
Long suppressed the primeval gorgon
Beneath the ancient caldera
Hibernates the dormant dragon
KBris 2005

A Never-Ending Process

As I re-read some of my poems, it is apparent to me that most of them are never finished. Always, new ideas creep in, something doesn’t sound or feel right, a word here and there is misplaced or inappropriate for the occasion; rhythms are off, rhymes are trite. The process of re-thinking, re-working and re-editing never ends. I strive to make the perfect poem, but it eludes me. I am the product of my own limited imagination and ability. I continue to struggle with the creative process because it satisfies a deep inner need, but I fear that my poems are not destined for greatness. It is my hope that some gentle beings will enjoy a few of these poems and feel what I do about my experiences.

Nurture

Nurture

Divergent paths impress dissimilar
Experience determines development
An untended garden overruns with bitter weeds
A father cannot forsake the necessity of nurturing

Experience determines development
An irrigated flower blossoms
A father cannot forsake the necessity of nurturing
Tenderly tended seedlings precede adult blooms

An irrigated flower blossoms
Cultivated with love and care
Tenderly tended seedlings precede adult blooms
Watered with tears of joy and sorrow

Cultivated with love and care
The marigold does not envy the rose’s fragrance
Watered with tears of joy and sorrow
Each to each their own scent

The marigold does not envy the rose’s fragrance
The adult does not covet lost childhood
A father cannot forsake the necessity of nurturing
An untended garden overruns with bitter weeds

Kbris 2005

Mountain Volcano

Mountain Volcano

A mountain volcano shakes the desert floor
Stirs the fragile tectonic plates of passion
In a bat cave old flying bats rise and soar
A mountain volcano shakes the desert floor
A cyber quake as never felt before
Thick lava spurts and flows in unseemly fashion
A mountain volcano shakes the desert floor
Stirs the fragile tectonic plates of passion

K Bris 2005

Repent

Repent
She left you, and will leave once more
If your old ways remain the same
She won’t be treated like a common whore
She left you, and will leave once more
Just confess, how you abhor
The affair, those lies, your shame.
She left you, and will leave once more

KBris 2004

Vulgarious Hootarious

Vulgarious Hootarious

The Devil makes me vulgarious hootarious
Yahoos the sly girl, comedic and wicked
Satan’s avatar cackling from the bright screen
Entices improper deeds from fragile foes

Yahoos the sly girl, comedic and wicked
Discomforted by the horny purple visage
Enticing improper deeds from fragile foes
Incites her evil interior, quiescent beneath the surface

Discomforted by the horny purple visage
An objective correlative of the mind’s demons
Incites her evil interior, quiescent beneath the surface
Exhorts her new to love beat it. A meaty, needy affair

An objective correlative of the minds demons
Offbeat words and phrases surface from Never Never Land
St. George, the Dragon Slayer’s ghost re-appears
Exhorts her new love to beat it, a meaty, needy affair

Offbeat words and phrases surface from Never, Never Land
Comedic eruptions, earthy, improper, naughty
The Devil makes her vulgarious hootarious
Satan’s avatar cackling from the bright screen

Kbris 2005

Time Alone

Time Alone

Time alone is time well spent
A respite from cares and woes
A time to soothe the discontent
Time alone is time well spent
To heal the pain of torment
To sniff the summer damask rose
Time alone is time well spent
A respite from cares and woes.

Kbris 2005

Two Strangers

Two Strangers

You told me your sorrow and I told you mine
Our clouded eyes masking the light,
Two strangers frozen in a capsule of time

Words eased with pungent red wine
Revealed the horror of that terrible night
You told me your sorrow and I told you mine

I recalled the pain of my horrible time
While our gazes met in an awful fright
Two strangers, frozen in a capsule of time

You smiled at me, compassionate and kind.
A moment's relief from my psyche's blight
You told me your sorrow and I told you mine

Desperate stories of a different kind;
Neither of us wrong nor right
Two strangers frozen in a capsule of time

Fused together on a common vine
We sought solace from a shared plight,
You told me your sorrow and I told you mine
Two strangers, frozen in a capsule of time.

...KBris

Toxicity

Toxicity

A jealous heart discerns not reason
A venomous viper, envy repels
It knows no hour, week, nor season

Broken vows amount to treason
A dragon’s wrath one cannot quell
A jealous heart discerns not reason

An enraged mind accepts no pleasing
Spews acerbic words from anger hell
It knows no hour, week, nor season

A witches’ potion of toxic poison
Erupts without a warning bell
A jealous heart discerns not reason

Invidious spirits tolerate no teasing
Enraged they cast a magic spell
They know no hour, week, or season

Angry, cantankerous they imprison
Friends and lovers in a toxic cell
A jealous heart discerns not reason
It knows no hour, week, nor season

Kbris 2005

The Neighbor

The Neighbor

His manhood wanes
He forever complains
Flaccid, angry, abusive
Explosive, temperamental, effusive

He ingests Viagra
to recapture Niagara
Where the betrothal vows
Echo beneath the falls aloud

His vigor gone, He can’t get it on
Porn fills his screen dusk to dawn
A voyeuristic spectator unable to act
With the Devil he’s made a pact

A spiritual wasteland his life
Unrecognized by a puzzled wife
Surly, dispassionate, sleeps in his chair
Slowly erodes without worry or care

Begins his day with a cyber chat
Instant messages “Miss Pussycat”
Graphic exchanges fromYahooland
Describe fantasies out of hand

A seedy desert motel liaison
Came, went, is gone
Deplorable degree of dissatisfaction
Repugnant their physical attraction

The void is deep and bleak
Purpose lost, nothing to seek
Cyber love a strange illusion
Suicidal musings contribute confusion

His manhood wanes
He forever complains
Flaccid, angry, abusive
Explosive, temperamental, effusive

Kbris 2005
"What to make of a diminished thing?"....paraphrase of Robert Frost's "Ovenbird"
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Old Man

Old Man

An old man mustn’t feel like this
In the prison of her hands
Hard, heart pounding, full of bliss

Radiant heat oozing from each kiss
Exploding rockets and marching bands
An old man mustn’t feel like this

Decorum lost in love’s abyss
No sane soul will understand
Hard, heart pounding, full of bliss

An old fool they swiftly dismiss
Dealt a bad beat poker hand
An old man mustn’t feel like this

When wagging tongues snarl and hiss
He smiles when folks misunderstand
Hard, heart pounding, full of bliss

Within a burning flame exists
Natural, impulsive and unplanned
Hard, heart pounding, full of bliss
An old man mustn’t feel like this

KBris 2005

Words Fail

Words Fail

You are a poem, which is why
A better one I cannot write
Written words fail me as I try

To find a phrase which strives to
Capture beauty that delights
Echo sounds of your soft sighs

Touch your lovely supple thighs
Record the groans of passionate nights
Written words fail me as I try

To pen the sadness of your tears
That moves my heart to greater heights
You are a poem, which is why

Compelled, I cannot tell a lie, or
Pretend to shine a perfect light
Written words fail me as I try

To describe the passion in your eyes
Fill my senses with your delight
Written words fail me as I try
You are a poem, which is why.

KBris 2005

Subtle Changes

Subtle Changes

With the morning light comes change
Yesterday’s thoughts but fading memories
What seemed important feels strange

Under the mind’s eye at close range
The agony of overstepped boundaries
With the morning light comes change

From divergent views normalcy deranges
Transforms simplicity into anomalies
What seemed important feels strange

A fettered spirit dares not exchange
Words of freedom, address generalities
With the morning light comes change

Delicate balance befalls challenge
Subtle phrases resolve contraries
What seemed important feels strange

Distorted facts and memories rearranged
A haunting flute’s strange melodies
With the morning light comes change
What seemed important feels strange

KBris

The Farm Wife

The Farm Wife
Alone, ashamed of bruises, hot tears on her cheek
quietly sobbing, the battered farm wife, recalls the rage
unleashed by her beloved man, once loving and meek
Winces from pain in her tiny body; a sparrow in a cage

Quietly sobbing, the battered farm wife recalls the rage
blames herself. a victim of her own failures
Winces from pain in her tiny body; a sparrow in a cage
Sees her children's tortured faces, frozen with fear

Blames herself; a victim of her own failures
Dreads his return from the lonely field
Sees her children's tortured faces, frozen with fear
unable to recall the first blow; a blank slate

dreads his return from the lonley field
paralyzed by flooding fear
unable to recall the first blow. a blank slate
Silently waiting the new night's terror

Paralyzed by flooding fear
Unleashed by her beloved man, once loving and meek
Silently waiting the new night's terror
Alone, ashamed of bruises, hot tears on her cheek
KBris 2004

Imbecile Recluse

Imbecile Recluse

Always nibbling the imbecile recluse
Is no truck driver, but a crazy poet
Churning rhymes, a wiggly-squiggly Dr. Seuss
Always nibbling the imbecile recluse
A fool, a blockhead, a maniac on the loose
His calm demeanor doesn’t show it
Always nibbling the imbecile recluse
Is no truck driver, but a crazy poet

KBris 2005

Haze

Haze
Fog blankets my thoughts
Dreams cast in a shadow
Protects from evil my fragile soul
Obscures the lingering gloom

Dreams cast in a shadow
Hides away torment from prying eyes
Obscures the lingering gloom
Covertly clouds my secret

Hides away from prying eyes
Clandestine turmoil of chaos
Covertly clouds my secret
Sinister impulses of a tortured mind

Clandestine turmoil of chaos
Overshadows scars of grief
Sinister impulses of a tortured mind
Shelter a wandering spirit gone astray

Overshadows scars of grief
Masks sorrow with an unclear vapor
Protects from evil my fragile soul as
The fog blankets my thoughts

KBris 2005

Musical Genesis

Musical Genesis

An acoustic filter, the womb preserves
Intonations of a mother's speech. Thus,
the brain  learns to hear speech as a melody,
long before the dawn of nativity.

The intonations of a mother’s speech
A symphony of uterine sounds which
Long before the dawn of nativity
Infuse the babe with divine music

A symphony of uterine sounds quiver as
Heavenly harp cords, angelically strummed
Infuse the babe with divine music
Acapellic fetal tones inspire love

Heavenly harp cords, angelically strummed
Calm the chaos of prenatal agitation
Acapellic fetal tones inspire love
Await the beginning of new life

Calm the chaos of prenatal agitation
An acoustic filter, the womb preserves melodies,
Awaits the beginning of new life
Long before the dawn of nativity.

KBris 2004

My Daddy

My Daddy

My daddy, my daddy I will please you
My daddy, my daddy, I will ease you
My daddy, my daddy, I will tease you
With my wiles and my smiles
With my styles and my guiles
My daddy, my daddy, I will obey you
My daddy, my daddy, I will play you
My daddy, my daddy, I will bait you
With my fears and my tears
With my cheers and my dears

My daddy, my daddy, my rock and roll
My daddy, my daddy you make me whole
My daddy, my daddy, from head to toe
You touched my groove and saved my soul

Another Art

Another Art (Thanks to Elizabeth Bishop)

The art of winning isn’t hard to master
So often energy becomes diffused
To stay the swift from running faster

Play mind games everyday. Allow small disasters
Or life’s bad beats, the times when you lose.
The art of winning isn’t hard to master

Then focus running farther, running faster
Races and games; re-kindle the fuse
To dream. Stay the course, shun disaster

I conquered cancer’s race, Oh Boy! My past, or
Almost past, my life again to choose
The art of winning isn’t hard to master

I won two trophies, golden things. And mastered
Some lifelong dreams, two contests, small clues.
Placed on a shelf of alabaster

Even losing you (your willful choice, a gesture
I hated.) You shouldn’t have lied. From my view
The art of winning isn’t hard to master
The pain of losing you is no disaster!

KBris 2005

Impurity

Impurity

A soup-stained soiled shirt the poet’s
pen shamefully scribes
loathing and love
denials and doubts
wrinkles, vigils and dreams

Corrals shocks of encounter as
a cowboy clasps
a wild Brahma
in a bucking chute
afraid, excited, brave

Impure words and phrases pour
Through floodgates unfiltered
Raw sewage and seraphim
Share the flotsam of poem

KBris 2005