van Gogh Sneeze

This poem was inspired by this picture.

van Gogh, Gauguin
Gauguin, van Gogh
In the south they painted don’t you know.

Gauguin, van Gogh
van Gogh, Gauguin
It was Vincent’s Arles studio plan.

Paint and easels
Easels and paint
At first the project seemed so quaint.

Easels and paint
Paint and easels
Good intentions sometimes hide evils

Art and disease
Disease and art
Can drive the best of friends apart.

Disease and art
Art and disease
Shaving is dangerous when you sneeze.

(c) 2012, Norman Dziedzic Jr.

Cicada Serenade

 The long days of summer 
           allow me time
   To cut the grass late
        into the evening.

I am accompanied now by
This orchestra of
Insects.  My own cicada
Serenade.

 To many an annoying din
          Of white noise.
     To be shut out with
          Closed windows.

5, 13 maybe 17 years
Waiting to
Sing out loud, called
To the sunset.

   Every tree around me
       Its own ensemble
     Rising and falling
          Almost as one.

It starts in the elm.
Then fading,
The ash takes up the
Rolling line.

   Patience reveals the
               Patterns.
     Not of seconds but
      Minutes and hours.

By the honey locust's
Encore, the grass
Is done and the song
Fades into the night.

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(c) 2012, Norman Dziedzic Jr.

Like a Simile, not Similar

Like a river
         not a stream
Like an Illusion
         not a dream
Like a car
         not boat or plane
Like going crazy
         but not insane

Like a wanderer
         never home
Like a hermit
         always alone
Like a mute
         never heard
Like a clown
         always absurd

Like knowing
         all that's messed up here
But having to speak
         to a deafened ear
Like doing all
         receiving none
And sweating
         just to get it done

Like having bosses
         so confused
When things get tough
         they think they're used
Like being blamed
         by everyone
For things
         you haven't even done

Like trying so hard
         you just can't sleep
With no reward
         you have to weep
Like going back
         time and again
And hoping that
         this all will end

But likenesses
         they aren't what's real
The truth
         is what they will conceal
I hope you see
         and most will claim
It's all just part
         of playing the game

Endothermic

99 Degrees, just wait.
Leaving the A/C of the office I
Close the door and start the car.

Breathing deep the hot air, windows closed
Fan off, I am endothermic.
I am sweating now.  Dripping.

Letters ooze out of
pores. My shirt is stuck
To me, stuck to this image.

Turning North the sun
Irradiates my left arm
I know the signs of heat stroke.

Words drip, formed from
Sweat condensed across
My back.

I should cool down but,
She will be sweating too
When I pick her up.

Demi-plié, assemblé,
Pirouettes will ooze grace
From her feet.

The steering wheel
Pirouettes in my hands,
Almost too hot to touch.

Now all the stanzas cling
To my jeans and my
T-shirt and matted hair.

This fire, this
Energy has run its
course, entropy flows.

Closer to the studio
I give in and hit the button
That brings cooling air.


(c) 2012, Norman Dziedzic Jr.

Lift Up

This poem was written for the July 4th Challenge at the site 20 Words a Day

---

Li e

Lif      e

                      Pur              e 

Life

                         suit

 if

                d          i           e

              and the    s           in s

              and the P           a  in  s

Lif        t           u           p

      Li   t        e                in

        b     a         rs     f     ine s

      L       and     Pursuit

 if                              Happiness

            y       e    s

Life          and the Pursuit

Life          and                Happiness

      Liberty

Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness

---

(c) 2012, Norman Dziedzic Jr.

Poetry on Prose

The writers of prose
The thinkers of things
The keepers of time
The scribes for the kings

They write not in verse
But their hand isn't lost
For their meaning is seen
Their symbols aren't crossed

And their place is as true
As a great laureate
Their message as valid
As anyone's yet

Though their feelings aren't clear
The facts they stand tall
And their purpose is served
When they answer the call

They work not in meter
Or neatly trimmed feet
But perfect every sentence
And make paragraphs neat

Where I would call rain
Tears from angels on high
They say, "precipitation"
From clouds in the sky

As I grapple for adverbs
Or fight with a phrase
They just say, "this is it"
And erase all the haze

No matter how different
Our tactics might be
Our goal is the same
To get people to see

As the facts they make known
And my feelings I show
We walk side by side
Making known what we know

---

(c) 2012 Norman Dziedzic Jr.

Caviar

Click for Larger Image

On Words

If you have seen my other stuff you will know I don't normally do traditional rhyming patterns.  This is an old poem from when I did.  I will follow "On Words" up with two others which are On Prose and On Poetry when time permits.

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The equality of words I think
Is perfect most agree
For one word isn't more a word
Than other words you see

In other words a word's a word
That is as words I mean to say
Just standing there all by itself
A word's just that in every way

Now groups of words I've heard have weight
That is some think some sum up more
Than other groups of equal words
As if they give each one a score

But words of heart they have no weight
I mean their weight we cannot see
Heart's words can move your feelings much
And leave your brain without the key

When words and groups and feelings mix
The weight is there but can't be found
And endless sayings are all said
Without a single talking sound

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(c) Norman Dziedzic Jr.