Slaughter House Rules and Timeless Poetry!

Before returning to poetry, I ask that you check out my interview at the Slaughter House with International Novelist, Richard Godwin. It was a fun interview.

http://www.richardgodwin.net/author-interviews-extensive/chin-wag-at-the-slaughterhouse-interview-with-denise-baer

I need to fill three poetry days, so I’m borrowing from a few classical greats. The poems I picked are from poets I wasn't too familiar with until now.

Charles Bukowski was born Heinrich Karl Bukowski in Andernach, Germany; his mother, a German native and his father, an American serviceman. After financial issues in Germany, the family moved to America, first making a home in Baltimore, Maryland and then settling in South Central Los Angeles. Time Magazine called him a "laureate of American lowlife.”

 

German by Charles Bukowski 

being the German kid in the 20's in Los Angeles
was difficult.
there was much anti-German feeling then,
a carry-over from World War 1.
gangs of kids chased me through the neighborhood
yelling, 'Hieneie! Hieneie! Hienie!'
they never caught me.
I was like a cat.
I knew all the paths through brush and alleys.
I scaled 6-foot back fences in a flash and was off through
backyards and around blocks
and onto garage roofs and other hiding places.
then too, they didn't really want to catch me.
they were afraid I might bayonet them
or gouge out their eyes.

this went on for about 18 months
then all of a sudden it seemed to stop.
I was more or less accepted(but never really)
which was all right with me.
those sons-of-bitches were Americans,
they and their parents had been born here.
they had names like Jones and Sullivan and
Baker.
they were pale and often fat with runny
noses and big belt buckles.
I decided never to become an American.
my hero was Baron Manfred von Richthofen
the German air ace;
he'd shot down 80 of their best
and there was nothing they could do about
that now.
their parents didn't like my parents
(I didn't either) and
I decided when I got big I'd go live in some place
like Iceland,
never open my door to anybody and live on my
luck, live with a beautiful wife and a bunch of wild
animals:
which is, more or less, what
happened

Khalil Gibran, born Gubran Khalil Gubran, was born to a Maronite Catholic family in Bsharri in northern Lebanon. They struggled with poverty, so he didn’t receive formal schooling in his younger years. After his father's imprisonment for embezzlement, they moved to the United States, settling in Boston. A school mistake changed his name to Kahlil Gibran. He is the third best-selling poet, behind Shakespeare and Lao-Tzu.

The Wise Dog by Khalil Gibran 

One day there passed by a company of cats a wise dog.

And as he came near and saw that they were very intent and heeded
him not, he stopped.

Then there arose in the midst of the company a large, grave cat and
looked upon them and said, 'Brethren, pray ye; and when ye have
prayed again and yet again, nothing doubting, verily then it shall
rain mice.'

And when the dog heard this he laughed in his heart and turned from
them saying, 'O blind and foolish cats, has it not been written and
have I not known and my fathers before me, that that which raineth
for prayer and faith and supplication is not mice but bones.'

Dylan Marlais Thomas was born in Swansea, Glamorgan, Wales. His father was an English Master who taught English Literature and his mother a seamstress. Too sickly to fight in World War II, he wrote scripts for the government. In 1941, the Germans bombed Swansea and left a shell of a town. He came to New York to participate in a performance of Under Milk Wood, and died soon after from a combination of bronchitis and alcohol. In America, his resonant voice with Welsh accent made him famous along with his works.

 

Interview and Poetry,

Bea

Chew on Change!

Sorry I’ve been slacking. I’ve been working on my novel.

This first poem is an Ode, which is a poem praising a person, place of thing. 

 

Ode to Chewing Gum

Privacy lost many days a week

sitting, suffering with different folks,

makes daily life seem so bleak,

we tend to wonder if it’s a hoax.

What can we say about little space

that revokes such good behavior,

while someone tries to put on their face,

and others recite verse to their savior.

Stench that rises from when they speak

leaves plenty to the imagination,

stuck in a cloud that makes us weak,

wishing away from civilization.

Only way to survive poisonous bouquet

search hard for a pack of chewing gum,

before it’s too late and we portray

the insufferable complaints of a bum.

A fresh piece of gum, we sniff its packaging

offer it out of kindness and care,

hope they can’t see what’s happening

and chuck it up that you like to share.

The chewing gum is a survival tool

for anyone taking public transportation,

important to keep with you as a rule,

so you can go on with your respiration.

This is an unrhymed poem called Sedoka. It is made up of two three-line katauta with a count of 5/7/7.

Change

Change of scenery,

inevitable in life,

risk near or far from safety.

Appetite to move

leave behind the daily rut,

make dreams a reality.

Gum and Change,

Bea

Cinque Terre This and a Cinque Terre That

Here is another invented poetry form created by Laura Lamarca called CinqTroisDecaLa Rhyme. That’s a mouthful. This is a 10-line stanza with each line having a 15-syllable count with a rhyme scheme of AABBCCCABC.

The name of the poem Cinq made me think of the Cinque Terre. It’s where we went on my honeymoon. 

 

Cinque Terre

Visions of such natural beauty goes beyond expectations

Designs sublime, magical to see, sustained generations

Hearts and minds amazed by the miracles brought forth in decor

Scenic nature, copies fail, originals we adore

Mountains, curves, straight lines of color, a glorious obsession

History of aged rock, earth corrodes, water makes impression

Creative arts are hard at work to find the right expression

Control moved from family to nation with declarations

Notable moments of love and war, bloodshed upon its shore

Its splendor holds strong; exists in peace away from aggression

Landscape and Emotion,

Bea

Three for the Road

I was on a roll and then it stopped. Since I missed a few days of posting poetry, I will include three poems on this post. 

This first poem is something I found amongst my mother’s things when she passed away. It is marked unknown, but I found the author through Google. I’m posting this poem in memory of my mother and my cousin, Ann Renee Maluska, who died at the age of nineteen. Ann was born on Easter Sunday, and she would have turned forty-six years old today. Happy Birthday, Ann.

Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep by Mary Elizabeth Frye

Do not stand at my grave and weep;

I am not there. I do not sleep.

I am a thousand winds that blow.

I am the diamond glints on snow.

I am the sunlight on ripened grain.

I am the gentle autumn’s rain.

When you awaken in the morning’s hush,

I am the swift uplifting rush or quiet

Birds in circled flight.

I am the soft stars that shine at night.

Do not stand at my grave and cry;

I am not there. I did not die.

Free Verse poetry is poetry that doesn’t follow meter or rhyme. Excuse the rush writing of this poem.

Treasures

Treasures

I thought I lost

I now have found

In the written word

and a picture to last

generations to come

Sometimes we

forget distant memories

that made us who we are

Because of all the treasures

I have found

It’s the one I carry around.

The treasure of

being a part of you,

letting that part shine right through.

I thought I would try another invented poetry form. This is a Memento, created by Emily Romano. It’s supposed to be about a holiday or anniversary, but I didn’t write about either one. The syllable count is 8,6,2 for each stanza, and the rhyme scheme is a/b/c/a/b/c. 

Unabashed Lovers

Ignore the judgmental whispers

That pour faster than rain

No worth;

Words that form on tongues like blisters

Creating endless pain

Unbirth.

To listen is to give power

Losing a bit of you

Hush now;

Stomp out the negative flower

To continue your woo

Avow.

Piecemeal and Three,

Bea