I recite "Uppity Miss Priss, the Critic." 7/30-31/2013

Uppity Miss Priss, the Critic

Uppity Miss Priss, the Critic
January 20, 1999

"The over-illuminating frills of

silver, lace doiles were gaudy;

slumped on a dry, brown coffee table.

An informal get-together was all it

was, all it is.

Overly flamboyant the dress were on

the freakish guests -

Much too much white donned to serve

with only coffee, finger sandwiches,

and a mild bisque,

And the senseless, mouthy hullabaloo;

patrons with pieces of bread unchewed,

sojourned on the lips; a half hitch of

crumbs staged as wet pillows, caught

in the corners of each mouth.

(Get me out of here)

Then they dared to dab and dip

the sandwiches in the scalding

brown bean and water mixed,

And I, the offended, was clearly

but willingly prohibited."

© 1999 Jarrod C. Lacy

I recite "Colossus" this week. 7/24-25/13

Colossus

Colossus

November 3, 1998

Monolithic,

A sharing of cool stone

While position and place

Is avarice alone.

The mountain rumbles,

Boulders dance and do,

Opponent, incumbent.

Composite bugaboo.

With a crumple of the clift

Downtrodden are those

Draped in elective lure -

Wanton woes.

Eleven and three

Should be Morse Code,

For flanking marks, scripts in a box.

Unscathed stays the node.

Parlous partition;

Geography will rue

Division shields a shield.

Cry, who's who.

Nyet.

Je ne sais quoi

Inter nos

N'est - ce pas?

The process in favor

Is the order of the day;

Still knells

For a cathartic way.

Mountain, now a stomp,

Bleed needlessly, land.

To regrow is constructive

Mend new your hand.

© 1998 Jarrod C. Lacy

I recite "My Commander." 7/16-17/13

My Commander

October 11-14, 1998

I've tried so very hard to stay way from this.

It is much too easy to wane.

My pen from paper I tried to miss,

But kismet will not detain.

To turn away from the 'crystal clear'

Mocks a current blotch, the broadening hole.

The obviousness of this is nothing to cheer.

Now, there's the frigid end of the pole.

More than a moment, and in tenacious time,

Custody in the hands that pander.

When the land proceeds to reclaim its prime.

Agreement confounds you, my commander.

The parties are dreary.

Perfection is not perfection, but only a suggestion.

When reproach repines, endorsing the weary,

This, the first confession.

Chamber to chamber visits the louse.

Tailor-torn from each side.

But, in the midst of an unclear house.

You failed to rebuke, then opt to hide.

All the articulate speeches that follow:

What a gift for the repetitious.

To quickly fill the deepest gorges; all hollow,

Hungry and ambitious.

Determined to keep your seat,

Why do you, now, spring from your current station?

Does your heart, from only worrying, beat?

Or tainted by the spree of your creation?

Causes and effects, and whatever;

However, the people's business, thus

The stuff that held firm is no longer together.

Who will catch us?

How many more hits?

Will there be yet another mistake?

The majority is in fits.

We all tremble and ache.

You are my executive and chief,

And respect is due to you,

As credence is belief,

My code stands true,

But what of the dazzled youth

With burgeoning inquiries that are lone.

Is morality a play thing or an unwanted truth?:

A crack in a once valuable stone.

You will play it till it's finished, out.

Mark more than eyes that gander.

Some will remember a like, other a lout.

Accept it, my commander.

You, both, have and had my recognition.

Silent, loud, shameless, proud.

It dies. The race. Dead is the ignition.

I'll accompany you, though my head is surely bowed.

© 1998 Jarrod C. Lacy

I recite "Parade." 7/9-10/13

I recite my poem "Parade" this week. 7/9-10/13

Parade

October 2-3, 1998

Cocoa flesh,

Or haven't you guessed?

Don't you know me by now?

I am grass made golden

blades, baked by an Indian summer.

Though my head is in a book,

I see my own world;

Ballards aren't my making.

Parades of me, awn and leaf, crisp,

rich in autumnal brown.

Headstrong with whatever prose

comes spewing forth,

My body is ample, my spirit's a

sample, my mind is a partial

force.

Obtrusive states that I create,

a cocoon flowering at any time.

Huntsvillian hopeful to remember

home, soil of my Tennessee Valley.

I am limited, however,

That mass of mist that cradles

the diamond of deceit - the jewel

that shouldn't of offered me more.

Gathered in a grand garden are those

iridescent occupants:

A dulcet choir that trains my

dreamworld with tracable cadence:

"I and I and you and you and we

and we and to be and to be and

the collective we'll be - come to me."

To withdraw from this lovely appeal,

on occasion, is my way; nontheless,

I will know the minus of instating

that something lambent, in the

coming days - I shall deal with it.

Becalming such joy, I do employ,

are fundamental for my part-time,

erroneous equation.

I espy every shade and every light,

I crumble dry earth in my hands,

I fumble over muddy puddles after

the rain.

I dote over neighborly pets. This

is the start of an outing.

I am entranced by the winds - when

they come - that carries both the

silent and the base voices of the

of the world,

I am a stargazer with little knowledge

of the constellation;

I stand the sunshine.

I labor in the teeth-chattering snows;

If I could, I'd embroider the edges

of new beginnings with silk lace.

Nothing more than mentioning could

make it towards the end, so I'll

wait with only a friendly image,

until it turns around again.

© 1998 Jarrod C. Lacy

******

Reciting my poem, "Candles Do," this week. 7/2-4/13

Candles Do

Candles Do
August 16-19, 1998


Dip us in paraffin and keep us to stay.
Adorn the top of our craniums, so we may light your way.
We'll perish, but recall the flame, each aura bright for you.
To act as a calm of brilliance; that's what we candles do.
With your caravan of thoughts during a quiet evening at home,
Be alone with our solitary sunshines, and let your mind roam.
Occupy some chose space: dark or dim, commodious, or you cramp.
Give yourself to a mild remission; we shall be your lamp.
When in tears over a love that drowned, and distrusts the bees do swarm,
Lie your head upon your pillow; let our zeal be your dorm(itory).
Then, the thunderstorms. Utilities tried a bit.
While nightlights are in stasis, our camaraderie will guide you through it.
Whatever your writ, whatever you write, when you open a good book,
Keep us at your side, the chess is set, know the board but be the rook.
And while you yield to confronts of compositions, jotting on pages,
Allow our glows to meet your worlds. The czar of our wages.
Birthdays, some holidays, those times to mourn.
You will lift us to show some honor. All a celebration to be born.
Do pause for a moment of brightness, wherever you're resting, you'll
Return to rightness soon.
Peek out your window-curtain, see impassioned nights, adjorn our radiance
to the charm of the moon.
And, though we are not those sparklers that dot the upper arches
Allow our late morningstars to sound and kindle each beat of those listless marches.
We, together, are a limited sort, and, of course, our stay is never long.
For feelings are you, but faster we melt, and our cries are much more strong.
Many of us are made to be plain, many of us are wonderfully scented.
We come in many designs. Oh, to be invented.
Each a tallowy, little soldier with a slender, skeletal wick,
Burning ourselves to cold, burning ourselves too quick.
Thus, the true wax figures on this earth mostly blue.
An inescapable duty we candles must do.

© 1998 Jarrod C. Lacy