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Sunday, July 6, 2025

The Clarity Of Robert Frost

With ancient tongue the words he sung were crystal clear

Nature's bliss as a lover's kiss ever near

Wisdom of the ages written on his pages

In his book take a look you fools and sages

The highest poet of his generation

A step above the ground towards salvation

Where is the lesson he so grandly displayed

As a rotted Oak poetry has decayed

With images obtuse the reader is lost

That was not the way of Robert Frost

A master of control he touches the soul

Connects the heart as part of the greater whole

There is movement an ever flowing stream

An awakening, a capturing of the dream

Today us poets are a miserable lot

Meaningless mantras so quickly forgot

With all our style we cannot conjure a smile

As the morning mist it shall pass in a while

The circle turns, one learns, to be complete

Humbly I lay these words before your feet

I am a knight grand on a sacred quest

To inspire, to light a fire, to be the best

I look behind to find the way ahead

It is time to act enough of this dread

Farewell to these poems of ghastly cost

I seek the clarity of Robert Frost

The Clarity Of Robert Frost is from Polished Fragments. You will enjoy my other books as well.

POLISHED FRAGMENTS

Poet To The Poor

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Saturday, July 5, 2025

There was a strong man who was the strongest being in all of creation, and His name was the Wind. The Wind was blind, though. Unfortunately for the rest of creation, the Wind always had somewhere to go, and it seemed that he was always in a hurry to get there. Not being too bright and being blind, the Wind would unknowingly push others out of the way in a huff and a puff. This upset quite a host of people, especially the arrogant ones that considered themselves gods. I mean, if you're a god, you shouldn't be pushed around by anyone, especially a blind man. At the end of the day, the Wind would rest in his Oak Tree at the highest height of creation. Up there, he could hear every utterance in the entire Universe. The Wind would hear people curse his name with the foulest of words and meanest of intentions. This hurt the Wind's feelings, who did not understand at all, and it even made him cry, sometimes with bitter weeping.

Now there was the Blue Bird, and he/she was the most beautiful thing in all creation. The Blue Bird (who was really a shade of purple) would fly all around. Whenever the Blue Bird came, people would immediately shout, "Look the Blue Bird." Then every creature that was around would come rushing to see their wonderful, feathered friend. They, too, would scream and shout in their happiness.

Now far, far, far more beautiful than the Blue Bird's appearance was her song. Yet nobody would hear the song because they were too busy shouting and screaming in her presence! However, the Blue Bird would go to the Wind's tree late at night and sing her lovely song to him. Thus, the Blind Man saw the best of all.

I SHOULD HAVE BEEN A ROCK STAR

From Chaos To Cosmos

Words For The Future

Friday, July 4, 2025

Fourth Of July

It will not take six years to compose this pome

I am more Picasso then…

Van Gogh was insane and so am I

When I don’t take the Clozaril

When I cheat on my medicine I write

Glorious words

Wonderful phrases

But I am not manic now

Is that good or bad?

Rants of logical beauty

Therein we define

In the poem there exists the line

Text without a context is but pretext?

True or FALSE!

When Darius rolled the stone away from the lion’s den

(Yes we should all know this story!)

Daniel was wide awake!

Most likely steadfast in fearful prayer

I met a Native American in Canada

At the bread and breakfast Sylvia and I

Visited

The woman who ran the place was a

figure skater

She claims that she would have won the gold medal

Olympics

But her turn was 1976

And Canada boycotted

But she doesn’t tell that story much?

As I heard it repeated the next day to the

Other newly arrived guests

Her husband was of some local tribe

I talked to him briefly

“It’s a windy day”

The word wind and spirit is the same Hebrew word

He agreed

It was a windy day after all

The man, the Indian to be

Derogatory

For they are Native Americans

Indigenous peoples

Even Sioux

Is properly Lakota

Dakota

Nakota

The redskin

Well he paints pictures

He uses a sewing needle

And with intricate excellence

Applies spot by spot to the picture

It takes an entire year to create one of his works.

He told me

(And I find no reason to believe it is not true)

(He had no forked tongue)

That he sells

500 duplicates

no more / no less

At a $100 a piece

(Though I failed to ask whether he asked for)

Canadian or US currency

This pome is not like that

This poem uses a broad brush

It is raw

Like a starving snarling wolf

Tossed a Thanksgiving turkey leg

Gobbling gulping growling grotesque

It was the Fourth of July weekend

And Canada has a similar celebration

So the fireworks were on both sides

There is a straight line dividing most of Canada

And the United States

Just as nature abhors a vacuum

(Though what has the vacuum done?)

So a straight line is a bizarre phenomenon

Genocide

It has taken over five hundred years to write this pome

I resisted because I wanted a happy ending

Daniel

He was a homosexual

His real name was Joshua

I won’t use his last name for legalities

Maybe he don’t want the world to know

He was a flaming fag

Daniel

It means God is my Judge

Context

Without context we can conclude anything

The Road Less Traveled

Is the highway to hell?

I am here in the half light

Trying the capture

The rhythm the lucidity

I fail to feel a well placed comma will detract or enhance

You see no matter what style you paint the picture

As it hangs upon the museum wall

By definition you first view the picture from a distance

How you further

Dissect?

Inspect?

Reject?

Genuflect? ha ha I hope

That is purely up to you

One day and of this I am boldly sure

When we change the calendar

The

FOUTH OF JULY

Will be no more

POLISHED FRAGMENTS

Poet To The Poor

Click Here

Fourth of July

It came winter twenty below

Sky was weeping virgin snow

The sun was hidden by cloudy skies

But I saw a light in your eyes

A look that would never die