Looking Thru the Divine Doors

Castles of Spain like Byron’s rhymes
Impulse of rising Goya’s soul
Waters as blue as serene saints
How the heart yearns for permanence
Fresco deeper than a bold sea
Picasso has left the vision of love
Firing squads trample the poetry
Dark colors in every ivory kiss
Matisse stands in the corridor
All resolution hidden in the doors

Red flag where women resurrect
Delacroix sees a new freedom
Sky is a great mystery lost in beige
Little do they know when rain rules
The earth is swept with storms
Joan Miró soft as fading memory
Dali as bold as brazen frozen sin
Alchemy of color like scattered poetry
Reality has many crevices

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poem by Joseph Narusiewicz
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An Educated Crocodile Is Still A Crocodile

Rabbit
with a habit
lived in a hole
next to Vole.
And his habit was his link with the beginning of it all
and kept him looking different
from his neighbour, Vole.

So they laid a proper treat on,
washed his face and brushed his hair;
and they took him off to Eton
to be educated there.

There, they dressed him in a boater,
smart black jacket, white bow-tie;
and then they took his photo,
just to please his Auntie Vye.

And they fed him on cucumbers,
Wordsworth, Byron, Shelley, Keats.

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poem by Brian Taylor
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Out Of The Blue

(byron hill, robert a. johnson)
Out of the blue
I needed someone to take me
Out of the blue
It seemed Id always be alone
Till out of the blue came you
Out of the blue
Waiting for a love to take me
Out of the blue
I thought love had passed me by
Till out of the blue came you
Spreading my wings alone Id fly
That empty sky of blue
Hoping that I would someday find
That someone just like you
Out of the blue
Someone whos love would take me
Out of the blue
I had almost given up
Till out of the blue came you

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song performed by Reba Mcentire
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Of All The Hearts

(byron hill/j. remington wilde)
Of all the hearts
In this big ol world
Please tell me
Why did you hav to break mine
For every tear Ive cried
There must be a million fools
That could have caught your eye
What were the odds
That you and I would meet
We were just strangers
On a crowded street
Of all the hearts
That you could have loved
And left oh
Why did you have to be mine
Whatever made you
Choose me above the rest
Is there some unlucky
Charm that I possess

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song performed by Gary Allan
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A Poets Hope

How we long to reach the shelf
Currently held by the poetic wealth
Shelley, Keates. Byron & Poe
Amongst those names we’d like to go

Love and description
A verbal prescription
Cured by Heaney, McGeogh & Cope
We try so hard & pray & hope.

Rhymes may come & we fear
We can never compete with Shakespeare
Yet with couplet descriptions, we can
Compete with Milligan & Betjeman

What is the magic potion
Leading to the fame of Alex Motion
How do the stanzas of Ted Hughes
Continue to sell and top the news

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poem by Keith Oldrey
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Green Green Grass Of Queensland

Wind rocking sway through cloudy sky
My eyeballs fixed on pure smile face
On Byron beach, mirror calm bay
Passed a tiny hole of Ausie law

Lay down over green green grass
Seat over horse's saddle, eying the cows
Anxiety heart turn to peacefully
In the middle of jokes of mixing couple

The job killed the memory of cheeky girls
In my hometown and Borneo island
But longing of Nun Hilla, Nun Baun
Timor homeland villages
Haunting, never fade away

Surrounded by multicolor garden flowers
Green green grass of ranches environment
And traditional Savu scraps in Whites resident
The copy of my beloved homeland

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poem by Pinondang Situmeang
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Equally Yoked

Golden light shines on your ankle
I am the serotonin of the stars
Thrones in the mind
Perfidious wine in the shrill night
My whoredom is hidden
My mind has become a stranger
I live in caves like a fungus

You came for me
You seen my burnt forests
Indolence in the serpents dance
These shadows bother my solitude
Evil seems to fascinate the very best
Ships of bedouin sun
The world becomes a closet

Every woman is the Nile
Jewels of Byron
Those that can't love conquer
Land of a thousand mirrors

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poem by Joseph Narusiewicz
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Winter Years

Every thing fades into winter
Temptation dances like summer
Lilac eyes with the fire of roses
Stars laugh with mystical wonder

Mirth strewn with laurels of lovers
Spanish poise with enticing words
Flamingo lament in odes of red
Passion cries with a belated dirge

No regal purple crown will last
Romance needs the blood of soul
Castles haunt me in the night
Moonbeams like dreams unfold

Her jealous thighs speak of Byron
Languid Venus has learned to cry
Nothing lasts except golden gates
Roman feasts become a sea of sighs

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poem by Joseph Narusiewicz
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Back Seat Bus Culture

Back Seat Bus Culture,
Draws me towards it like khakis to a vulture.
And they don’t need no plead to indulge ya’
Coz these kids they got phones and ringtone clays to sculpture

They Press play; Say ‘We’re too tired of this silence
And be quiet while we let of our musical sirens
Coz all day we behave to grey faced, teacher Tyrants
No getting stoned, just ringtones, forget violence’.

Ok I have ears but these ‘musical sirens’?
Can I request that your breath speaks of Byron?
‘More street’ you say, then try Armitage, Simon
Coz they has idea’s but got a pen to apply them.

Thanks say the kids, your words taste like those Stella’s
While the girls lick their lips at their track suited fella’s
With all due respect we don’t mean to indulge ya,
But were onto some new stuff, it’s called Back Seat Bus Culture.

poem by Jackson Worth
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History Stuff

Magical Mystical history and mystery,
Painted and woven on tablets and tapestry.

Cave painted hunts and sand script on tombs,
We dig for our history then fill in the wounds.

The secrets of Stonehenge and Silbury Hill,
That tapping and digging will never reveal.

See Picasso and Van Gogh, read Byron and Shelly,
Then watch the war on a plasma screen telly.

Chipped marble statues partly destroyed,
The wisdom of Nietzsche and ramblings of Freud.

Thank Romans for wine and Columbus for tea;
Thank genetics and Science for deciphering me.

History is stuff that lives in the past,
Historical characters the sets and the cast.

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poem by Mark Fullick
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Job Interview

Think you, if Laura had been Petrarch's wife
He would have written sonnets all his life?
DON JUAN, III, 63-4

"Where do you see yourself five years from now?"
the eldest male member (or is "male member"
a redundancy?) of the committee
asked me. "Not here," I thought. A good thing I
speak fluent Fog. I craved that job like some
unappeasable, taunting woman.
What did Byron's friend Hobhouse say after
the wedding? "I felt as if I had buried
a friend." Each day I had that job I felt
the slack leash at my throat and thought what was
its other trick. Better to scorn the job than ask
what I had ever seen in it or think
what pious muck I'd ladled over
the committee. If they believed me, they
deserved me. As luck would have it, the job
lasted me almost but not quite five years.

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poem by William Matthews
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To David, About His Education

The world is full of mostly invisible things,
And there is no way but putting the mind’s eye,
Or its nose, in a book, to find them out,
Things like the square root of Everest
Or how many times Byron goes into Texas,
Or whether the law of the excluded middle
Applies west of the Rockies. For these
And the like reasons, you have to go to school
And study books and listen to what you are told,
And sometimes try to remember. Though I don’t know
What you will do with the mean annual rainfall
On Plato’s Republic, or the calorie content
Of the Diet of Worms, such things are said to be
Good for you, and you will have to learn them
In order to become one of the grown-ups
Who sees invisible things neither steadily nor whole,
But keeps gravely the grand confusion of the world
Under his hat, which is where it belongs,
And teaches small children to do this in their turn.

poem by Howard Nemerov
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Drinking Song

There are people, I know, to be found,
Who say, and apparently think,
That sorrow and care may be drowned
By a timely consumption of drink.

Does not man, these enthusiasts ask,
Most nearly approach the divine,
When engaged in the soul-stirring task
Of filling his body with wine?

Have not beggars been frequently known,
When satisfied, soaked, and replete,
To imagine their bench was a throne
And the civilised world at their feet?

Lord Byron has finely described
The remarkably soothing effect
Of liquor, profusely imbibed,
On a soul that is shattered and wrecked.

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poem by James Kenneth Stephen
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Jolly Old England

Sultry poetry older than Chaucer
Fresh roses for Elizabeth and Victoria
Horse and carriage, chivalry
Bards and skylarks, royal carpets

Protocol with silver trays and tea
Portraits old with ancient ghosts
Castles decor the novels of romance
Gothic knights alive in immortal pages

Green Scotland, tales of noble Wales
Language like the winds of love
Young Keats and brilliant Shakespeare
J R Tolkien with his beloved Hobbits

Westminster Abbey, the Tower of London
Dracula walks your dark streets
Is Dorian Gray the soul of Oscar Wilde?
Jack the Ripper will always stalk

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poem by Joseph Narusiewicz
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Born Country

Written by john schweers and byron hill
Clear creeks and cool mountain mornins.
Honest work out in the fields.
Cornbread in my mommas kitchen.
Daddy saying grace before the meal.
Family ties run deep in this land.
And Im never very far from what I am.
Chorus
I was born country and thats what Ill always be.
Like the rivers and the woodlands wild and free.
I got a hundred years of down home running through my blood.
I was born country and this countrys what I love.
Moonlight and you here beside me.
Crickets serenadin in the yard.
What more could two people ask for.
Laying here in love beneath the stars.
Now this is where I wanna raise my kids.
Just the way my mom and daddy did.
Chorus 2x
I was born country

song performed by Alabama
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The Dating/ Mating Game

Mary Delgado, what a bee-atch,
She’d thought that the proposed bachelor was rich,
The Bachelor is a reality television series based Hollywood fantasy,
In fact it is a total fallacy,
Based on false assumptions, and expectations,
The former Tampa Bay Buccaneer cheerleader won a battle with the Bass fisherman,
But eventually lost the war to the Seminole Police,
She was intoxicated and full of frustrations.
A Final Rose was given to her by Byron Velvick in 2004,
They were living together as husband and wife,
But a phone could not found under either name,
According to authorities, there was more
-for both were confused with their life,
They were planning to wed in 2007,
But they are running out of time,
But there is always next season,
For all those Harlequin romancers to watch,
A love story that is made in heaven,
gag me, if you please,
I hope that series will not run,

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poem by Joe Rosochacki
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God's Skallywags

The God of Scribes looked down and saw
The bitter band of seven,
Who had outraged his holy law
And lost their hope of Heaven:
Came Villon, petty thief and pimp,
And obscene Baudelaire,
And Byron with his letcher limp,
And Poe with starry stare.

And Wilde who lived his hell on earth,
And Burns, the baudy bard,
And Francis Thompson, from his birth
Malevolently starred. . . .
As like a line of livid ghosts
They started to paradise,
The galaxy of Heaven's hosts
Looked down in soft surmise.

Said God: "You bastards of my love,
You are my chosen sons;

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poem by Robert William Service
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Wen Gott betrügt, ist wohl betrogen

Is it true, ye gods, who treat us
As the gambling fool is treated;
O ye, who ever cheat us,
And let us feel we’re cheated!
Is it true that poetical power,
The gift of heaven, the dower
Of Apollo and the Nine,
The inborn sense, ‘the vision and the faculty divine,’
All we glorify and bless
In our rapturous exaltation,
All invention, and creation,
Exuberance of fancy, and sublime imagination,
All a poet’s fame is built on,
The fame of Shakespeare, Milton,
Of Wordsworth, Byron, Shelley,
Is in reason’s grave precision,
Nothing more, nothing less,
Than a peculiar conformation,
Constitution, and condition
Of the brain and of the belly?

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poem by Arthur Hugh Clough
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Blue Planet

Words of life last longer than diamonds
Byron writes with rivers of moonlight
His quill flashes through the centuries
Soul beyond the grave like distant stars

Everything glows tonight beyond sorrow
This moment contains the eternal past
Sown in time and raised immortal
The Moon of earth like topaz children

Planets of turquoise visitors tell the future
Born of a million fires of jubilant change
Orion's belt will lay down with the Lion
Man became a living soul created free

How glorious is the golden circle
Infinite love waits behind all discovery
Vast eternity in a moments awakening
Go out and look beyond the Vail

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poem by Joseph Narusiewicz
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About These Poems

On winter pavements I will pound
Them down with glistening glass and sun,
Will let the ceiling hear their sound,
Damp corners-read them, one by one.

The attic will repeat my themes
And bow to winter with my lines,
And send leapfrogging to the beams
Bad luck and oddities and signs.

Snow will not monthly sweep and fall
And cover up beginnings, ends.
One day I'll suddenly recall:
The sun exists! Will see new trends,

Will see-the world is not the same;
Then, Christmas jackdaw-like will blink
And with a frosty day explain
What we, my love and I, should think.

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poem by Boris Pasternak
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