Fugitive Fragments

by Mike McGuire

Bridge Keeper

bridge3Fragile bridge ahead
Leave behind all troubled thoughts
Only dreams may cross

Leave your conflicts here
I will fight and conquer them
Bearing arms of love

I have battle scars
Soon my fighting will be done
Happy I will die

Friends of fellow man
I now leave this legacy
Save this bridge of dreams

 

 

 

Eidolon

Behind eased eyes
an aura appears
flares and rarefies
like the afterimage
from a bright light
shifting and shaping
to gaseous lace
or eerily esoteric
fairy aeriform.
Into the dream
wisplike she springs
finespun and sparse
fashioning a face
from a lifetime ago
to be touched
one last time
before vanishing
to the void.

00b

Shakespeare Today II – The Sequel

ShakespeareSonnet2

Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore,
So doth my tights now hasten to their end
Though only aged five hundred years or more
They’re now past mine ability to mend.
O loss! their colour Read more…

Needlegate

camel

 

 

 

 

 

 

Psalms in prayer from a parish in Prague
Muezzins mustering from mosques in Mashhad
Incantations in India, Read more…

A Fortunate Man

Originally posted on Fugitive Fragments:

fortunateman

My son is dying, dark eyes fever-flared,
He bravely smiles as we await his fate.
72 virginal houri abide
Visage veiled but vaginas revealed
Or 28 pre-pubescent puerile pearls
If such preferred, as promised by Hadith.
The vest bears down its weight and cumbrous heft
On fading heart of this my blessed scion
Compressing tread-marks of his final steps
On venerated path through ancient dust.
I watch now from this place to the bazaar
Where wretches beg and fallen angels profit.
Honour will be paid to me for loss;
Tribute will be brought and I will feast;
His act speeds my path when my time comes.
A muffled
Holy
rumbling roar of rage.
Still-twitching parts from those of lesser worth
Fragment and reek of vile impurity.
Clouded in blood-mist their blackened meat
Stains every desert star to crescent moon.
Lacerated limbs lance wall and roof
Mangling men reviled like scorpions…

View original 66 more words

The Syrian Rap

Hysteria in Syria
they’ve lost their equilibria
it’s causing wide dysphoria
no food and getting wearier
no water aid criteria
some praying to their god Allah
and others to the Curia
depends on their insignia
But everyone is angrier
Assad has monomania
he’s fixed on his dystopia
while all around is bloodier
His wife is getting bitchier
her greedy hands are itchier
for dresses from Pierre Cardin
or trendy shoes from Louboutin Read more…

The Brain Has No Nerves That Feel Pain

A brain has no nerves to feel pain
so medicos rest their case here
the hypocrites of Hippocrates
engrave this in stone as fact.
At a laboratory in my mind
a sample of cerebral cells
are observed to divulge
Read more…

Shakespeare Today

ShakespeareSonnet1

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

When I consider every thing that grows
Is modified genetically today,
I wouldnst ere have giveth thee that rose
With GE strain that causeth skin decay. Read more…

Haiku – Sculpture Series

3cIce sculpture will yield
its fifteen minutes of fame
hot in the city Read more…

Thoughts from a Bog

a day in a bog

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In the County Clare
there’s a spot I know
where a curlew calls
from a berried rowan
as a hurried stream
joins the salmon-slewed
broad Shannon’s course Read more…

The Sound of Silence

 

The unheard tree that falls in forest far
The probe of sun’s long finger at the dawn
A dancing leaf succumbing in the Fall
An opening bud’s slow-motion waking yawn Read more…

Russia Haiku

vladdabad1

Revolution failed
Power and wealth for the elite
workers paid in grain Read more…

Spice

400px-SOLOS lic

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I shut my eyes and wait till you draw near,
My senses vie for auras you’ll dispense;
I do not feel for pulse or strain to hear,
Your first trace comes, as always, from a scent Read more…

Mysterious Ways

220px-Rugendas_-_Aldea_des_Tapuyos Wikipaedia2

 

 

 

 

 

In pagan lands with purpose grand

They build a church or two

And educate the cannibals

To abandon human stew.

They show them how to join their hands

To kneel on bended knee

And explain the impropriety

Of yawns at homily.

They give the men some loincloths Read more…

The Crisis, The Fox and The Wardrobe

foxy_gentleman_by_sailorangi half

 

 

 

 

 

When I was a wealthy broker I dressed dapper, mode-de-jour

Then some greedy Yankee bastbankers ended all my haute couture.

First a margin call at Barclay’s, next old Lehmann biting dust

Even blue-chips like Armani saw share values slump and bust.

From the penthouse to the poorhouse was a fall that left me bruised

My creditors fought for my Porsche Read more…

Happy New Yapping

Grand_Duchess_Anastasia_Nikolaevna_selfie_smallPS

Year of the Selfie
makes it impossible to
photobomb yourself
Read more…

Great Divides

Originally posted on poetrybyclaudie:

We kissed a few frogs
and we dated some dogs
yeah we climbed into bed with some slime
It took time to learn
that it pays to discern
who should take up our money and time

We partied all night
got home drunk at daylight
feeling seedy and tired and spent
we could laugh at ourselves
and our hangover hells
man, it feels like those days came and went

‘I’m too sexy’ would play
while we’d dance round the place
we were looking for fun, friends and love
then I flew off one day
on a cheap one way plane
-the recession turned push into shove

I cashed in my bets
while you looked for To-lets
It was time to start living our lives
I found myself there
just a case and long hair
while you soon settled down …

-great divides

Now we catch up sometimes
and we talk…

View original 28 more words

On Irony

fishyin_fishyang_yinyang-555px6

Defect of mollusc germinates

Pure pearl of phosphene sphere

Effulgence from pestilence

Adonic from diseased

 

Albino fawn is ostracized

It dies for its own gloss Read more…

Hoc Didici

Hoc Dedici

Madiba Haiku

Cape peoples hark now

Xhosa tata Madiba

binds you to his path

madiba3

Fade to Grey

img_7x500

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Pied tombstones circumscribed

by misted mountain nearing

under adumbral clouds.

Pressed down by black umbrellas

timeworn melancholy mourners

slate-faced under chrome-combed hair Read more…

PlayStation haiku

ps3

Grand Theft Auto 5

Out today and hindering

Poetic ventures

Rhapsody in Blue Ink

By Pablo Perez [CC-BY-SA-3] via Wikimedia Commons5

 

 

 

 

 

 

To pour a poem onto page
select a well of ink
try one with mood
or brooding shrewd
perhaps a wistful ilk

Some brands can have a tad of fear
or fourteen heartbeats loud Read more…

Book review: Silver Linings Playbook by Matthew Quick

silver_linings_playbook_cover_book2Did you hear the one about the Irishman who read the book AFTER he saw the movie? Well, he found a different and much more interesting story. And it wasn’t a Rom-Com.

Quick’s debut novel is a brilliant inceptive; a gifted work. It is told in the voice of the main character, thirty-something former teacher Pat, a mental patient who has just been released from a psychiatric facility into his parents care. The use of Pat’s voice for narration is inspired. His childlike utterances are both frank and funny. The author brings the reader inside the jumbled mind of a Read more…

Syriana

Untitled work © Neamat Badawi - Syrian Artist - by permission: facebook.com/thesyrianart

Untitled work © Neamat Badawi – Syrian Artist – by permission: facebook.com/thesyrianart

The Love of Art
and
The Art of Love
will
ever outlive
War Read more…

Seamus Heaney RIP

The pen now idle

a way of telling silenced

next Tollund Man dies.

.

From furrow fertile

blackberries ripe each August

anniversary Read more…

“Digging”

Mike:

Valé Seamus Heaney, Bard of Ireland – Mike

Originally posted on sigurlaugs:

The Irish poet Seamus Heaney has died aged 74. Heaney received The Nobel Prize in Literature in 1995.

“Digging” by Seamus Heaney

Between my finger and my thumb
The squat pen rests; snug as a gun.

Under my window, a clean rasping sound
When the spade sinks into gravelly ground:
My father, digging. I look down

Till his straining rump among the flowerbeds
Bends low, comes up twenty years away
Stooping in rhythm through potato drills
Where he was digging.

The coarse boot nestled on the lug, the shaft
Against the inside knee was levered firmly.
He rooted out tall tops, buried the bright edge deep
To scatter new potatoes that we picked,
Loving their cool hardness in our hands.

By God, the old man could handle a spade.
Just like his old man.

My grandfather cut more turf in a day
Than any other man on Toner’s…

View original 91 more words

For Lona

tp_sunrise_edit_large3

Boris Johnson opens Melbourne Writers Festival

adamprocter2006

I went along to see London Mayor Boris Johnson open the 2013 Melbourne Writers Festival last night. The man declared himself impressed with the venue, our city’s quaint mid-nineteenth century neoclassical Town Hall, deeming it more appropriate than his own sterile and modern energy-saver abutting the old Pool of London.

In case any of you are wondering why a politician travelled 16891 kilometers to open such an event, Boris Johnson is a writer with a dozen or so successful books under his belt. He came up through the newspaper ranks Read more…

Muse

Three Rivers Press2 (CA)

Something in the way she smiles
Sends vibes that feel so transcendental
Blonde with bright gapped smile and blue eyes
The musos fought for her heart
Composing her songs with art. Read more…

David Gilmour with Bill Shakespeare

David Gilmour of Pink Floyd interprets Shakespeare’s Sonnet 18

Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer’s lease hath all too short a date:
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimm’d;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance or nature’s changing course untrimm’d;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade
Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest;
Nor shall Death brag thou wander’st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou growest:
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives this and this gives life to thee.

Versatile Blogger Award

versatile_blogger_awardChristine Blackwell has very kindly nominated my blog for the Versatile Blogger Award.
Thank you again Crissy Read more…

Hawthorn Haiku

hawthornhaiku

the sun behind the
swaying hawthorn tree contrives
transparent leafglow

its shadow on the
wall conducts an orchestra
of soft woodwind boughs Read more…

see beautiful india

Originally posted on aayoung:

all i need to know of religion
is that jesus was john lennon
before john lennon was

View original

Sonnet 017

n45g2

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The figure on the headland faced the wind

It seemed from clifftop soil his body grew,

It angled forward to maintain the strain

Of keeping him erect as nature blew. Read more…

Facebook Status

Morning by Patrick William Adam. WikiCommons

Morning by Patrick William Adam. WikiCommons

A Sunday morning; the cold winter sun footprinting the carpet; wearing warm wool; the tea green and the fruit peeled; John Updike’s latest exceeding expectations; playlist pumps Tal Wilkenfeld, tactile and mellow on her Sadowsky strings; my five senses dovetail. Brain sends a wave when a particular soundbite agrees with the flash of sunlight on a crystal vase – synchronicity or synchrony? Whateva. It’s a sunny Sunday in winter and I’ll take what I have.

The Villanelle of Reading Goal

2N-2-16

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Queen gave gay love Royal Assent today,
The bells rang out provoking hype and spin
Some hundred years too late for Oscar Wilde Read more…

Roaming

This is my first blog post without an accompanying image.

Roaming
I heard the waterfall before I saw it. I allowed its thundering tenor to leech me in along the nebulous path, mud sucking at my bare feet. Then between dark birch branches a bright movement shimmered opaquely. It focused first as a covert cloud, then as serial stalactites sloping and sliding downwards. I finally viewed its full might Read more…

Dossier

Dossier

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dossier
The Hon. Smith, J
Born to Earldom
Mayfair, London
Played for Eton
Never beaten
Rowed at Henley
For the Friendlies
Married Heather Read more…

Orwellian Haiku

1984 George Orwell

NSA listens.

Cellophane cellphones reveal

our hatred for them

Love’s Thunderbolt

Heartstruck1

Love’s Thunderbolt

We met by serendipity
In range of Cupid’s bow
Her eyes had fire that spun me in Read more…

Losing my religion for equality…by Jimmy Carter

Mike:

NOTE: Jimmy Carter is a Nobel Peace Laureate, foundation member of The Elders and former US President. I came across what I consider to be this remarkable and commendable mind-shift for a man of his beliefs on women, religion and equality and thought it worth sharing – Mike

Originally posted on americansforcommonsenseblog:

25 JANUARY 2013

Women and girls have been discriminated against for too long in a twisted interpretation of the word of God.

I HAVE been a practicing Christian all my life and a deacon and Bible teacher for many years. My faith is a source of strength and comfort to me, as religious beliefs are to hundreds of millions of people around the world. So my decision to sever my ties with the Southern Baptist Convention, after six decades, was painful and difficult. It was, however, an unavoidable decision when the convention’s leaders, quoting a few carefully selected Bible verses and claiming that Eve was created second to Adam and was responsible for original sin, ordained that women must be “subservient” to their husbands and prohibited from serving as deacons, pastors or chaplains in the military service.

This view that women are somehow inferior to men is not restricted to one religion…

View original 825 more words

On choosing media

Composite

 

 

 

 

 

 

Put down your pen and think of when
You try to find the word
To best define a sight divine
With common noun or verb. Read more…

Irish Haiku

Trefle

…veins of Celtic blood

winding for infinity

no start point or end…

Liebster Award

I am indebted to and most appreciative of fellow blogger Brent Gladney for nominating me for:

liebster Read more…

Word foreplay

Originally posted on Rowan Taw:

20130608-110504.jpg

Embrace me in your language.
Fold words around me, as if they
were your arms enveloping my skin.

Let your expressions
fingertip
my expectant mind,
inked compliments
tingling
my life’s lexicon of loving.

Rhythmically, I’ll dance
to your creative meter,
and pulse to your I-AM(bs)
measured in lilting intonations.

Feel my imagination burn
with climatic desire, as
meaning traverses distance,
and semantics fulfills the sensual.

View original

Book review: Ulysses is an epic fail

1922 edition published by Sylvia Beach, Paris

1922 edition published by Sylvia Beach, Paris

I expected James Joyce’s Ulysses to be dense. I looked forward to it. Was I not equipped for the experience? I had been reading books for a long time; I enjoyed ‘Dubliners’ for its superlative renderings of human beings; I knew the route and streetscape of Ulysses and could picture the settings of the day; I was familiar with the Dublin vernacular and a good mimic of the accent to boot; I had schoolboy Latin hanging on by a thread to my vocabulary (both Joyce and I suffered Jesuit colleges); my Greek mythology was weak but could be bolstered by Wiki-places so yes, all in all I felt well equipped. I was wrong.

In Ulysses Joyce invented a literary voice and for this experimentation and courage he has become justifiably celebrated. This famed ‘Stream of Consciousness’ or ‘interior monologue’  has been emulated ever since, becoming a mainstay of modern literature and giving impressive voice to authors like Jack Kerouac, Salman Rushdie, Joseph Campbell, Samuel Beckett, Flann O’Brien, uncountable others and those yet writing.

To the professional reviewers who have phrased some of the most beautiful language and metaphors ever used to describe a piece of literature I say, ‘bullshit’.

Ulysses is not a good book. Joyce failed the most basic test of any author – Read more…

UNESCO World Poetry Day 2013

animationibnarabi_2

˄ If banner image doesn’t animate in your browser – click it ˄

Recycling

I’ll be recycling some pieces from previous years while my attentions are diverted elsewhere of necessity but I expect to keep visiting your blogs  – Mike

A Fortunate Man

fortunateman

My son is dying, dark eyes fever-flared,
He bravely smiles as we await his fate.
72 virginal houri abide
Visage veiled but vaginas revealed
Or 28 pre-pubescent puerile pearls
If such preferred, as promised by Hadith.
The vest bears down its weight and cumbrous heft
On fading heart of this my blessed scion
Compressing tread-marks of his final steps
On venerated path through ancient dust.
I watch now from this place to the bazaar
Where wretches beg and fallen angels profit.
Honour will be paid to me for loss;
Tribute will be brought and I will feast;
His act speeds my path when my time comes.
A muffled
Holy
rumbling roar of rage.
Still-twitching parts from those of lesser worth
Fragment and reek of vile impurity.
Clouded in blood-mist their blackened meat
Stains every desert star to crescent moon.
Lacerated limbs lance wall and roof
Mangling men reviled like scorpions loathed;
Unearthed rats bleed blinded by the flames
From Paradise, as porcine stench befouls
The gentle desert khamseen’s blessed breeze
Bearing joy to this most fortunate of men.

Thanks to Scriptor Obscura for recommending this reflective accompaniment, ‘Mazaar”. Sung here by Niyaz this old Afghani folksong is sung in Dari, a Persian dialect. The song includes a plea for all human beings to end suffering.

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The League Of Mental Men

A Fiendish Soz Satire Collaboration

Life: Haiku by Haiku

As with life, haiku's power is in its brevity.

the haiku diaries

two writers talking/about their lives through haiku/oh so addictive

Insight. . . !

A little writing space which means a lot for a young man to express his immature thoughts.

The Syllabub Sea

Where I'm free to be me

tzb airspace

poetry, mainly free verse and haiku

celestialwanderingsjournal(ŦŔἶƊ ѦИ SŦᎾἶŔM☁⚡ ✮ƬƠ ƬHЄ SҬѦɌS) ☁⚡❄☼☽✰❄☁⚡

contemplations/poetry/prose/darker poetry AmberElayne© copyright -all rights reserved 2009-2014/ (© not on pictures)

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