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Seekers of Gems
Clever huntsmen who have trained their hounds to savor the flavor of words — linguistic emeralds, rubies, topaz. Together, they roam hidden landscapes, subterranean caverns of the mind; searching for deep dwelling burrows, where gnomes work the furnaces of imagination, fabricate words — necklaces that when discovered in the dawn hours of magic days, reflect the flash of inspiration. And as royalty once valued their brilliance, sought their possession, so too do we seek to acquire and display them proudly in our poems.
Richard Bronson Medical doctor, professor, LIPC board member, many publishing credits, PPA prize winner, one book published |
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On Charlene’s Eyes
A leftover cloud Last night’s thirty-second hurricane Faded into the northeast on silkworm wings
A perfect beach day
I left early The parkway was a carpet ride Then a helicopter appeared due south A second audible in the north The ocean traffic stopped I turned inland To the Hempstead Plains Restoration
Goldenrod Switchgrass Broomsedge Speikelets of small yellow flowers On the turkey claw racemes Of big blue stem
On the linear leaves Of endangered sandplain gerardia A chrome raindrop In its white walls a blue skyscraper Blue granite Bedrock
Andropogon gerardi/Big Bluestem/Turkey Foot
Edgar Carlson Student of William Packard and John Ashberry, member of the Farmingdale writer’s group |
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SHORT POEMS
GATED COMMUNITIES A SAFE PLACE TO HIDE
GOOD AT MORE THAN ONE THING PUNISHED
TIDY FEELINGS NEAT MANICURED LAWNS VERY SCARED
DIDN’T MAKE A MISTAKE I AM A MISTKE QUIET DESPERATION
INTOXICATING BEAUTY A SIX PACK IS THE FOOT IN THE DOOR
KNOWING THE SCRIPT I DIDN’T ASK TO BE BORN AT THE END
LITTLE BAGS OF SKIN DRAG AROUND DREARY LITTLE EGOS
RESEARCH ABSORB WHAT IS USEFUL ADD WHAT IS YOURS
TONY BELLIZZI (AKA ZERO GRAVITY) performance artist, workshop leader, founder of “The Vault”, an underground performance project |
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October
I watch the young men running through the woods caught in the sunlight between child and adult and I think we forgive them so much because we know they may die as they follow our leaders and I want time to stand still until we can change it stop the wars save the world and make it safe for them so that this golden afternoon can last — perhaps — forever
B. J. Cassidy PPA award winner, one chapbook published “Cat City”, reads on the CD “Jack Celebrates Northport” |
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Performance Poets Association® |
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Fugue
My brother came to me in a dream not long ago, walking amongst the rushes by the river near our childhood home. He introduced me to his dark wives with whom I danced.
And they led me to a place where my father was not declared essential to the community, but remained in the Medical Corps during the War and afterwards, became an orthopedic surgeon, not a GP who would die a premature death from overwork.
And my mother did not become pregnant early in her marriage, resign from New York Law but became a prosecutor, when women were housewives.
My sister-in-law did not win the election that made her County Legislator, but stayed home with her family; and my brother not stray, find solace in other women, then divorce and die an angry death.
They showed me a world of possibility ─ one of many stretching before me as when one gazes between parallel mirrors and sees oneself perpetuated again and again to a distant vanishing point.
Richard Bronson |