Sunday, March 6, 2016

Mike Bayles Finishes Up the Fall/Winter Contests....



with a pantoum....





A Gray Stillness Found



a spell of gray morning
warmer after the cold front
desires stirred by a silent calling
waiting for spring

warmer after the cold front
a day of passage I find
waiting for spring
a dream longing for the sun

a day of passage I find
the journey of shadows
a dream longing for the sun
melting into heartfelt desires

the journey of shadows
along the road where I live and die
melting into heartfelt desires
as this winter unwinds

along the road where I live and die
silent conversations with untold spirits
as this winter unwinds
a calling of time

silent conversations with untold spirits
the silent song
a calling of time
in a moment, an eternity of desires


The next poem is not a pantoum.  Instead, it evokes winter in a Midwestern park.




A Winter Day at the Prairie Preserve



Golden prairie grasses standing still
surround a frozen pond at the edge of town.
Misty skies of a winter day cast a spell
cutting through my thin gloves,
and I feel a chill run through me.
I feel the weight of a change of weather
after a brief thaw in January.
Stillness in the air speaks of life and death
on an ageless land where I hold my sign.
Distant headlights cut through the haze
as omens when I look down the road.
People in passing cars wave
as if long-lost friends,
the women and children
the golden retriever sticking his head
out an open window,
and I feel a sense of longing
for a life I once had.
In solitude I hold secret conversations
with spirits in the air.
Gaggles of squawking geese
hold conversations echoing around me.
Entwined formations swirl
creating a cloud in the sky
until they land on the frozen pond and stay.
A woman with a red coat in the haze
walks alone on a path next to the pond
and over a patch of ice,
arms slightly outstretched to her side
like wings of a bird. 

Bio

Mike Bayles, a lifelong Midwest resident, writes poetry about human connections with nature and rural settings, and connections with each other. He is the author of three books of poetry: The Harbor I Seek, The Rabbit House and Threshold. Threshold won the 2013 Book of the Year Award from Rockford Writers' Guild. WVIK, Augustana Public Radio, has featured his writing.

Thank you, Mary Jo, for introducing Mike to me, and thank you, Angelee, for letting us know about the poetry challenge where we met.

Let's finish with a little music.

We'll start with the Mulgrew Miller Trio's version of "Skylark," performed at the Kennedy Center: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IduqNOye7x4

Here they play "What a Difference a Day Makes."  It's not necessarily a song about the transition from winter to spring, but it will do!

I'm switching gears a little bit, but I read about harpist Brandee Younger the other day, and I wanted to post some of her music.  

Here she and her trio play "Games," a song that Dorothy Ashby included in her remarkable album Soul Harping: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-_ZgcfZC5y0

Younger also composes her own work.  Here is her "Respected Destroyer":  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DuBYVDtVfOU

Tuesday, March 1, 2016

John MacDonald (and Monk)







 Tonight as we turn back to winter I'd like to post John MacDonald's poem in the fall/winter contest.   



Those Parties We Talk Shit about Monk








"I didn't like his comping," she said to the gray yellow

light

that settles in

about 2 am,


"Too much stabbing…"


Here

she made stabbing motions

– STAB STAB STAB –


with piano-leg-claw hands, with mad

hair

tangle glistening

flare

of sanpaku eyes.


It made us

all

laugh (especially her)


, and a bottle of ginger vodka Doug made went round and

round,

sweet and sharp

and so=o=o=o dangerous, like...

"… those chords…


they were so pointy,"

somebody said (maybe me), "… wouldn't

stand up like
some pretty white vase,

with

curve of red rose

, he (Monk) had to grab 'em and

POUND 'EM


about a foot apart, maybe, kinda

wabi-sabi,

kinda perfect,

so


he could string melody

around.


He wanted

a fence


for everyone to c-l-i-i-m-m-m-b

up so

carefully through,


so carefully down…"


but here

am I tangled in that fence

again

, at least until the B

side's finished

(what would you do?)


I laugh

about that poor

fool,


put up a struggle in the

barbed wire, watching

the moon over the the ruined castle,

until the blood flowed over

the keys and down the black varnished legs onto

the floor

where

I slept

for the night.

Oh right.

That was me...


… and that bottle of ginger vodka Doug made
goes round and round like

an emery grinder,

dulling


the knife note edge,


dulling the barbed wire

melody into end-

of-party iron filings piling on the


carpet.


The picture above is certainly not John's party.  It's from 1947 and depicts Dizzy Gillespie, Hank Jones, Thad Dameron, Mary Lou Williams, and Milt Orent.  However, I like this picture with John's poem.

I've posted so many of Monk's songs here, so I hope that these are not duplicates.

Here is "Let's Call This" with Sonny Rollins as well:

Although it sounds similar to some other songs, this is "Hackensack":  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V3NKHCkwKjc

"Friday the 13th" also features Monk and Rollins:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NT9xGJvW13c

I'll finish with their version of "The Way You Look Tonight":

Thursday, February 25, 2016

Claudine Nash and Alex Conrad




We may not be done with winter yet (although I did see some purple crocuses poking up in my neighbors' yards), but the fall/winter poems are drawing to a close.  Enjoy poet-activist-psychologist Claudine Nash's riff on the color orange!  As Claudine notes, this poem "was inspired...by Dean Martin's version of Pablo Beltran Ruiz' Latin song "Sway" (or "Quien sera?" as it was known in the original Spanish version)."




“Clean Up”

I started leaking orange
again. Today, in four
different ways. No need

for alarm or urgent
care;  as unpleasant as
it is, I’m told fatality is a

seldom occurring event.
A drop of marigold escapes
me when I group

a bouquet of seasonal
leaves. Another seeps
from my wrist after an

article on waning
solar storms. Chance
images of you bathed

in black and white are
always good for a minor
saffron-infused spill. But

even I admit
it gets a bit awkward
when an old-fashioned

lounge piece like
the type Dean Martin
might have sung

drips from the overhead
and I hemorrhage
a sunset.




Originally published in  The Westchester Review

Claudine Nash’s collections include The Problem with Loving Ghosts  (Finishing Line Press, 2014) and Parts per Trillion (Aldrich Press, forthcoming).  Her poems have won prizes from the Avalon Literary Review, Eye on Life Magazine  and have appeared in numerous publications including Cloudbank, Asimov’s Science Fiction, Haight Ashbury Literary Journal and The Westchester Review. She is the submissions editor at SolarNation, an organization that utilizes art and writing to draw consciousness to climate change. She also has a Ph.D. in Clinical Psychology and is a practicing psychologist.

Websites: www.claudinenashpoetry.com
          www.solarnation.com

Next I'd like to post a new poem by Alex Conrad.  You may remember his poems from last summer: http://thesongis.blogspot.com/2015/08/poems-by-alex-conrad.html  It is wonderful to see how his poetry is evolving.


"Dans le ciel Je rêve" - Alex Conrad 

Tower of Babble
By Alex Conrad

In the sky
There is a house
Within which weathers while the wind blows
A young child holding a serpent.

The serpent whispers holistically to the child
About the wonders of the world.
That city on a hill
Is hidden poorly.

The earth shall be ridded
Of the wretched souls
Who believe they are better than thee
But are clearly not.

When will the people realize
That they are not here
For the rest of their lives
But are obviously headed somewhere else.

A beautiful city,
Not of bricks and stones,
But of men standing around
Looking at the sky.

Let's finish up with a little music.  Of course, I have to include "Sway," the Dean Martin song that Claudine mentions:


I'm going to include a little Frank Sinatra, too.  "The Way You Look Tonight":
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h9ZGKALMMuc

Erykah Badu sings "Orange Moon" here:  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0bvdnS_eBCg

Charles Mingus and his Quintet play "Orange Was The Color of Her Dress, Then Blue Silk":  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TNlQ0lrIEMs

Sunday, February 21, 2016

Rita Marie Recine and Toula Merkouris


Recently Rita Marie Recine introduced her cousin Toula Merkouris to me.  Tonight I will be posting their poems together.  Perhaps one of these days they will collaborate on a poem as some poets do at Karen O'Leary's Whispers.

Rita's first two poems were inspired by Valeri Beers' prompts at Poetry Pasta.

Mama and me

As I lay awake at night i reminisce upon yesterday , so long ago.
when i was very young ..

The words that come to mind are the ones my mama said
Life is tough, life is rough you need to pave your way.
Life is tough, let it be it will get better you will see.

No need to fear, no need  for tears...My words are what you need to hear
for mama said "child don't you cry..

As the years go by a child of yours may come your way.
You guide it , you nurture it, you teach it to pray.

so long ago, i still hear her echo, her words...
today , when I shed a tear,,, mama's words are what i hear.
"Little child don't you cry.

look up at the  stars and reach for the sky.
Now i am older and look at whom I have become.
I realize and understand where my strength comes from
The echos of long ago.. remain ..no refrain

Everyytime I shed  tear , mama's words  are what I hear ..
Her face is what I see 
this is what makes me be me.

Standing strong and free.
My mama and me

ritamarie recine
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
blank paper

I saw a blank paper by the walkway.
picked it up.
It was blank

There was  so much to write,so many words may have been revealed
Yet i left it blank
I speak with my heart.
for silence is golden

Words are etched in  stone 
words are etched in my spirit
i think with my spirit
i write with my heart

i speak  yet nothing is heard
my lips part
similar to the  sounds of silence
i dont speak of anyhting in particular
simply scattered verses

i dont speak , 
i write with my heart

I write, I compose
I live my dream

Ritamarie Recine
January 23, 2016



Toula's poem was inspired by her husband.  As she pointed out in her cover letter, "it highlights pivotal moments in [their] relationship over the last twenty years."

Walking Amongst Time
By Dimitra Merkouris

Walking amongst friends
Eyes recounting jokes not yet spoken.
In a throng of backpacks
There was one. Only one
With a bag slung across his chest. Across his heart.
I leaned back in my chair
Red lips smiling
Feet tapping
Unaware.

Walking amongst trees
Ears filled with birdsong not yet heard
There were two. Only two
Sets of footprints on the Earth. The hard earth.
Pine needles cushioned
Our steps
Wood smoke
Filled
Our lungs.

Walking amongst sheep
Heads hung low under the weight of a burden not yet lifted
Waiting to be carried. Always waiting.
An insurmountable
Feat

Walking amongst waves
Ankle deep. Knee deep.
Over our heads
We jump out laughing.
Salt stinging my eyes and the tiny razor cuts on my legs
And your face.
Watching a buoy bobbing in the distance.
A marker of time. Water flowing past.
I turn and stare
At the tiny hand grasping mine.
Red lips turn to blue. It’s time to go.
It doesn’t matter.
I know what to do. Because of you.
My eyes recount jokes not yet spoken.
You smile.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I'll finish with some more of Rita's poems:

Efferescence love whether

 love, young love, adoration, infatuation 
Their roles laid their foundation, significance of their devotion and admiration,  
a fundamental creation. 
 
Their names on a rock by the river side are etched in stone, 
Never had the sense of being alone... 
They write their initials on a tree childhood was so carefree, for her and he. 
 
Adulthood, they grew apart, their futures differed but, not the heart... 
Unknowingly  from the start they were consumed, in the air a breeze, the scent of their perfume. 

The essence of time passed them by,  
thoughts of one another remain,  
no matter how hard they tried  
 
Their lives were beginning to unfold,  
they wanted THEIR STORY told... 
their LEGEND OF LOVE was  of shimmering gold, 

Collegium years, University, many years had come and gone. 
Lives continued and they swiftly carried on. 
Their hearts were broken, similar to a life without laughter, without, song... No music.  
.Compared to broken thread, Their facial expressions everyone read 
 
Their hearts would never be the same... the love they had, 
time and time again it never came. 
 
Neither is a mother or a father, neither is a husband or a wife 
Each thrusted wholly, immersed in their own life. 
 
Many years have passed them by, sorrows, and pain, grey skies and rain... helpless... like the hummingbird who was unable to fly... 
Forever  there remained a tie. 
Their lives had once again intertwined, Suddenly their lives once again became intertwined a glance, they became anew, 
Fresh  like their once true love which is shared by few. 

Rita Recine 
 
 
 
Together they would walk, side by side, no longer they would hide, 
they talked, an everending prose. 
Hand in hand united, they would forever stand 
Young love was once again reunited, 
Similar to the summer garden's flowers which forever are abloom. 
 
yesterday's tragedy, is today's harmony... 
Content is the heart 

Only in death they do part...  

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

Let's finish with a little music.  

Here is the Platters' version of "Sentimental Journey": https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_iKuOxIgyzQ

The Flamingos sing "I Only Have Eyes for You": https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xFnIwX7C8i8

Have I posted Hank Jones' "In a Sentimental Mood"?

Here is his "Beautiful Love": https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qor0j5T1JNU