Showing posts with label poetry. Show all posts
Showing posts with label poetry. Show all posts
Saturday, February 28, 2015
One Part Invention
The earth leans,
the waves rise up,
the raindrops fall,
the snow piles.
We feel nature's complexity
and reassurance in
steady Bach measures;
the perfect interweaving
of chordal harmonies
fortify our spirit.
Patterns ever changing,
while repeating,
calm and comfort us
with the same warmth
and reassurance
as the kitchen table,
a baking apple strudel.
Our spirits lift.
We forge ahead.
(c) Gay Reiser Cannon * All Rights Reserved * 2.28.15
Saturday, September 27, 2014
Losses
She looked at the spot on her arm.
She still referred to them as freckles.
Raised, turning purple,
another little cancer.
Another little thing to have removed
before it could become a large living entity--
attached yet separate from her.
Her life seemed
a series of excised entities,
now remembered as discarded tissues.
So many had come and gone.
She tried to keep emotionless;
had sublimated those resentments,
those what-ifs.
Once she was without blemish;
but, she loved badly and her parents disapproved.
It was so long ago they took that little bit away,
the one that would have been a boy.
She was given no choice.
Thinking, as she considered the growing puffy freckle,
which one of these removals would destroy her.© Gay Reiser Cannon * All Rights Reserved
Wednesday, October 9, 2013
Destiny
April's perfection
breathing essence of strawberries
the maple showers me
the maple showers me
a stream of samaras
pirouetting on the breeze
they dance along the garden walk
then I encounter a crowd
women knitting, embroidering ̶ with children playing
and men discoursing the day’s events
I struggle to pass by
the group surrounds me ̶ squeezing closer
no gaps to move through
the group surrounds me ̶ squeezing closer
no gaps to move through
the chartreuse grass glistens ̶ dew dressed
Looking up, I see only trunks
of trees
tight forming a stockade
tight forming a stockade
I look skyward to see a leafy canopy
stretching high above
I seem to shrink
streams of light filter through leaves
lifting me as though I were
a mote of dust
suspended in a dizzying rise
my heart pounds Feeling the rush
I ride a single beam
an eternity passes
I am floating toward
infinite blueness
suddenly I see a vast shawl
of iridescent lace
spread among the branches
exquisite
in design
jewels caught at the cross threads
at once I stick
jewels caught at the cross threads
at once I stick
my redness spreads
I am my beating heart
a throbbing ruby
encased
glittering by sun
glowing by moon
endless seasons pass
I freeze pink
I melt cerise
one autumn
as the foliage echoes
my crimson song
a cardinal
plucks me from the web
and we fly free
Originally composed for the article on Beat poetry; however having second doubts about it filling the bill although it is rather surreal.
© Gay Reiser Cannon * October 9, 2013
All Rights Reserved
Thursday, October 3, 2013
DUPLICITY
Gay Reiser Cannon - 10/3/13
Thirteen moons
Wicked
Sanctuary
Wounded in the House of a Friend,
As I Lay Dying,
I Capture the Castle.
Tuesday, October 30, 2012
Transporting Pirates of Penzance for Battle of the Bulge
My own clockwork reset when I arrived;
seems that I'm shaped as man-sized teddy bear.
I had expected 1945,
But arrivals read 1954.
Not Paris' Gare du Nord but London's Paddington
with a ticket in my pocket for Penzance.
Was met by contact Sir Frank Henry Brown.
It is a cover to fit in with pirates; quite a dance
transporting crew and major general
back to the front by small derigible time machine.
Their craft awaits them on the River Rhine.
I left with Brown a robot replica
to act as a children's torch in case I'm seen;
Who'd guess such fun would come from that design.
(c) Gay Reiser Cannon * 10/30/2012 * All Rights Reservd
This is my "attempt" at a steampunk poem. Not exactly Victorian; but growing out of the Torchwood, Dr.Who steampunk vocabulary. Also from the gratification I now have that since my first trip to Paddington station, when finding NO Paddington bears there.
Thursday, August 30, 2012
Her Apple Dance
On the walls I watch the moving shadows.
Imagining her apple dance,
the way she bowed to make us smile.
The tricks she used to bring a smile!
When we were sad she'd cast shadow
puppets on the wall and make them dance.
She brought to life both song and dance -
always a lilt in her voice; with a smile
she swept away all trace of shadows.
Shadows sway in apple dance; I see her smile.
© Gay Reiser Cannon * 8.30.2012 * All Rights Reserved
Posted for the awesome Sam Peralta's article @dVersePoets Pub today on the Tritina Form -you can read it here and try it yourself!
Wednesday, August 15, 2012
Dragonfly Caprice
 |
| Green Dragonfly (public domain) |
He lifts in a jeweled grazioso
afterwards he hovers above the leaves.
His iridescent wings ostinato
when he flashes an allegro reprise --
darts lively, then dizzily starts to weave
dazzling con fuoco designed cadenzas
marked next by his rallentando segues
ending in opalescent mazurkas!
Definition - Caprice: a tendency to change one's mind without apparent or adequate motive; whimsicality;
Posted for Gemma Wiseman's article on Huitain
8/16/2012 @dVersePoets Pub FormForAll
Paganini Caprice No. 24
Friday, June 29, 2012
Swift Song
 | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| Alpine Swift from Whatafly.com This is my "attempt" at a square poem. It almost makes sense.
|
I would probably write it this way:
The swift builds nests on high
Nests weaved with twine - tongue laid;
Laid with sticks, filled with eggs.
Full leaves latched among sweet dreams
Of all bound things, vows grant
Swifts spring, strong, pure--fly free.
Swifts produce large amounts of sticky saliva that glues their nests together - which are sometimes adhered to tall buildings or tall trees so that the nest is glued to it somewhat on its side. They fly at high altitudes and both parents care for the chicks. If the weather is bad and cold, and they can't hunt for them they will allow the eggs to break thus permitting them to lay another couple of eggs a few weeks later.
Posted late for FormForAll 6/28/2012 hosted by the fabulous Sam Peralta for d'VersePoets Pub
Tuesday, May 15, 2012
Celtic Burial
Ivory innocent too young to die;
forest whispers why. Verdure covers her.
Indigo eyes now sleep, no longer cry;
harsh life's antidote - a killing measure.
Celtic snakes carved on a wooden casket;
flute notes tie and entwine the branchéd wood.
Wrens dart trailing reeds through curving foulards
where eggs lie still in braided baskets.
Women lead processions into the copse
Chant haunting songs for resurrecting breath
Even-fall sifts lattice leaves, linnet calls.
Murmurs of incantations for the corpse;
shoes leave footprints upon the eager earth.
One bell tolls. Beyond the mottled light falls.
© Gay Reiser Cannon * All Rights Reserved
This is my link for dVerse Poets Open Link Night, week 44.
This is my link for dVerse Poets Open Link Night, week 44.
Thursday, April 19, 2012
BEYOND
 |
| Dark Matter Universe - NASA |
Spiders weave a web their prey can't see
binding them in wound transparencies.
Eyes of creatures are designed for what's
vital to specific needs and wants,
ruled by laws that seem invisible,
tooling lives by laws empirical.
Laws may change; although they're measurable,
follow models mathematical.
Threads unseen may fill the infinite
heading life in paths indefinite;
Though the riddle's solved, there's sensible
notions where a void or time is visible.
Paradise may lie concealed some place --
where dark beauty hides or deep in space.
© Gay Reiser Cannon * 4.19.2012 * All Rights Reserved
Form invented by Hector Gutierrez.
Thursday, December 29, 2011
New Year's
Bubbling wine initiates the year;
dissolving reigns that end winter's drear.
Bright shoes and gleaming glass invite;
designed to cheer time's arc in flight
Sing Auld Lang Syne both old and new
through romance, nostalgia doth renew.
Pleas for absolution
absorbed with cold, determined resolution.
In village soft or by city light
death and birth in one at midnight.
Through art restore creative ration
Inspiration, love and passion--
Shining smart, exploding into words;
your poems, mind-bursting fireworks.
© Gay Reiser Cannon * 2011 Dec. * All Rights Reserved
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
FLAMINGO
 |
| © Julie - South Carolina |
blazing hot pink reflected flash on glass.
Burning! Burning! Lone flamingo
at one with setting sun's last glow.
Waking en pointe, when moon grays to dawn's light,
burning Ra then lifts sickled bill in flight.
A phoenix rising not from ash, but love's
blazing return from aching crash. No doves--
this love! this love! burns luminous;
white hot, melding souls. Our dance turns
this flamingo passion; excites, expounds
this love, a ballet that flies without bounds.
© Gay Reiser * 2011 * All Rights Reserved
Posted for FormForAll - the Stacatto Form
Hosted on 11/17/2011 by Beth Winter at dVersePoets
*NB:
Flamingo - birds in the genus Phoenicopterus (from Greek φοίνικοπτεροςmeaning "Phoenix's wing"), the only genus in the family Phoenicopteridae.
The Egyptians believed Ra sometimes took the form of a flamingo
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
Art in 5.7.5 - Sestina Variation
 |
| © Chuck Close, Self Portrait (detail of right eye), 2000 In Haiku Form with Sestina Formula Repetitions |
*i
A fold in his mind
where the brain hides lines; faces
retraced, drawn by marks
the work imagines.
As it becomes art itself,
the copying ends.
*ii
Where goals find their ends
in ardors learned by the mind,
eye detects itself
in seas of faces;
colors what he imagines
in shapes that he marks.
*iii
Repression leaves marks
expressed through whatever ends,
Aha! imagined.
Right back of his mind
where filmed masks become faces,
he shapes thought itself.
*iv
Work wrought, by itself,
unlike those others he marked;
read in their faces.
Beginnings to ends--
disconnected from his mind.
Now, they imagine.
*v
What's meant, imagine
how to arrive at itself?
Where's that in one's mind?
The point that he marks
where every achievement ends,
found in their faces!
*vi
In all of their faces,
what lights do they imagine,
when their viewing ends?
Surpassing itself,
moving past color and marks--
to shadows in mind.
*e
In ends and faces
Art's what the mind imagines--
Done, it marks itself.
© Gay Reiser Cannon * 2011* All Rights Reserved
where the brain hides lines; faces
retraced, drawn by marks
the work imagines.
As it becomes art itself,
the copying ends.
*ii
Where goals find their ends
in ardors learned by the mind,
eye detects itself
in seas of faces;
colors what he imagines
in shapes that he marks.
*iii
Repression leaves marks
expressed through whatever ends,
Aha! imagined.
Right back of his mind
where filmed masks become faces,
he shapes thought itself.
*iv
Work wrought, by itself,
unlike those others he marked;
read in their faces.
Beginnings to ends--
disconnected from his mind.
Now, they imagine.
*v
What's meant, imagine
how to arrive at itself?
Where's that in one's mind?
The point that he marks
where every achievement ends,
found in their faces!
*vi
In all of their faces,
what lights do they imagine,
when their viewing ends?
Surpassing itself,
moving past color and marks--
to shadows in mind.
*e
In ends and faces
Art's what the mind imagines--
Done, it marks itself.
© Gay Reiser Cannon * 2011* All Rights Reserved
© Gay Reiser Cannon * 2011* All Rights Reserved
Art in 575 by beachanny
 |
| Chuck Close in his studio with self portrait. |
Thursday, September 8, 2011
Blue Butterfly
I am led to a pool by a blue butterfly.
The path there runs uphill through struggle and sorrow.
At the pool I seek answers within its deep sky;
I am given a sword which I'll only borrow.
The path next continues through struggle and sorrow.
With a blue butterfly to lead me and guide me,
I carry the sword gift which I'll only borrow;
in its blade lies the truth shining bright here beside me.
With a blue butterfly to lead me, it guides me
to the halls of Tuatha de Danann, magically lit
by the truth of this blade unsheathed here beside me.
In the glade of the moon Dúnedain again sit.
From the halls of Tuatha de Danann, magically lit,
to the woods of warlords dried dark with spilled blood.
By the glade of the moon, Dúnedain again sit
while invoking the spell to cleanse sin with a flood.
In washed woods of warlords dried dark with spilled blood,
rain would flow to blue pools that reflect the deep sky,
peace invoked by a spell that cleansed sin with a flood;
I return with the sword and the blue butterfly.
© Gay Reiser Cannon * 2011* All Rights Reserved
Blue Butterfly by beachanny
Posted for Pantoum at dVersePoets FormForAll on Thursday 9/7/2011
Join us there for a discussion and challenge of a Pantoum
Saturday, August 20, 2011
MISSIVES
My words sail, silk calligraphy slides
across a page breathing spirits.
I unfurl my notion scarf and ship it to you..
It finds you drowsing in the leaves.
You release the essence of my gift.
Diffused as ether, at first they cloud, then
distill in your waters of contemplation.
See how I'm sentenced to scatter
emotion-petals fragrant with allusions,
cartographs that draw you into me.
© Gay Reiser Cannon * 2011 * All Rights Reserved
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
A Winter Sunset
Clouds freeze the winter sky
bare-bones of bark crisscross it,
soul haunting as a woman’s cry.
The aging house sags against
its ghostly garden in shredded rags
of summer’s last silhouette.
Sullen wind shrieks through shadows
whipping loosened boards leaving
frost to veil the timeworn windows.
An aperture to sky opens and
a single ray of light, delicate as a thread,
reveals a dried and broken chrysalis.
What butterfly has fled?
(c) Gay Reiser Cannon * All Rights Reserved
bare-bones of bark crisscross it,
soul haunting as a woman’s cry.
The aging house sags against
its ghostly garden in shredded rags
of summer’s last silhouette.
Sullen wind shrieks through shadows
whipping loosened boards leaving
frost to veil the timeworn windows.
An aperture to sky opens and
a single ray of light, delicate as a thread,
reveals a dried and broken chrysalis.
What butterfly has fled?
(c) Gay Reiser Cannon * All Rights Reserved
Thursday, July 28, 2011
Revenant
 |
| (c) Andrew Wyeth - Self Portrait - 1949 |
Low monstrous howls disturb our woods tonight;
the sea breaks ghosts in waves against the rocks.
Their echoes shriek within the house where light
and shadows shift in patterns on old clocks.
The hours toss on hollow, dark tick-tocks
The mirror oscillates with movement too
I'm shocked! Its silver casts the shape of you.
I jump as closet doors now creak, floors squeak.
The clouds outrace the moon to sheath the stars.
The room is cloaked in gloom and all seems bleak.
My mind plays tricks, I hear your bass guitar;
those ostinato beats resound afar.
In rhythmic drones they fade to solo song;
a sad oboe's atonement from beyond.
Poem (c) Gay Reiser Cannon * 2011
I broke the two 7 line stanzas (a b a b b c c) two ways to show the "dversity" of the form. The first a quatrain and a tercet; the second a terza rima and two couplets. I didn't have to break them but I broke and indented them for effect and to show the structure.
A study for Rime Royal at dVersepoets today 7/28/11 starting at 3 p.m. Eastern, 9 p.m. UK
Join me there, please!
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
Dans Le Jardin
Nearing twilight
by the balustrade
I behold the gravel path below
carved crystal cylinders sing
carnations and chrysanthemums
crimson hues cry gold-
en leaves from trees.
Fountains spray rain-
bows on violets and jasmine
a cockatiel squeals
trilling a procession of marble queens
royalty attired not so fine as peacocks'
plumage nor so much as sparkling jewels.
I see you in the shadow of the maze
you're not alone and although I can't see
her, your body croons so much
beseeching her with madrigal feats.
Our little girl in a golden swing winds
wide and wider circles with her feet
while she warbles words of a king named
Kubla Khan with silver notes swayed sweet.
In Xanadu did he betray a wife's rhapsody
And fall for the romance of a courtesan's
lay?
(c) Gay Reiser Cannon * 2011 * All Rights Reserved
My photos from Les Jardins du Luxembourg - Paris - 2009
Dans Le Jardin by beachanny
Monday, May 2, 2011
Surreal Night Out
 |
| Composite of Images in WikiCommons |
I walked into a loft one night last week
and rode the elevator to a stop.
I saw a man and woman there afloat
above the floor. The man appeared to be
asleep, the lady held two large balloons.
A peaceful scene at first and then the room
began to change; a hologram would flash
and stay before my eyes: a bird that flew
in cosmic sea; then Andy Warhol sneezed.
He turned a television on and I appeared
I spoke aloud about the unknown joys
Of Disney World, a flying, floating place
where we could all return to innocence.
The party guests began to come in twos
and ones and threes although the couple's feet
did not fall down regardless of how much
they drank and drank; they drank and then they slept.
A swimming pool arrived quite late. It was
a gift from David Hockney's brush it seems.
Refreshing as could be; I couldn't stay
for Damien Hirst took my arm to leave.
(c) Gay Reiser Cannon 2011 * All Rights Reserved
Thursday, September 2, 2010
AMARILLO
Or someone’s word for it
Was the name of my early place.
A dirt-blown, wind swept
Kind of a town
It’s name really should have been
BROWN.
Seasons of sand, snow, and wind
Shrilled through starry nights alone,
Defied by a few rare elms
Growing green in front of
Yesterday’s homes.
I remember
Bits of straw,
Sun-dried grass,
And tumbleweeds racing
Always chased by the wind.
Out from the town on those endless plains
The blowing wheat bent down too
While that great sky provided all there was
And all we ever knew.
© Gay Reiser Cannon. All Rights Reserved
This poem was published in 2006 in Bright Star Magazine
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