Archive for poetry

Some Exercise Would Do Me Good

parker / March 7, 2009

Some exercise would do me good
(Deep down inside I knew I should)
Yet faltered with the cold air’s nip,
That moment’s hesitation grip.

Dressed head to toe in running gear
And with a band to warm my ear
Yet just a step outside my door
My healthy joy did seem a chore.

Besides, the race is months away
So, what’s the harm to skip one day?
With that decision came a chime;
I pondered how to spend the time.

Athletics in the house won’t do;
Convinced it was the wrong venue
I chose instead to treat myself:
Luxuriate as though of wealth.

Instead of pounding on the street,
With tightened lungs and aching feet,
I’d lounge and give those feet a lift
And start a film—a recent gift.

I bounded up the narrow stair
To slip into my softest wear;
With cocoa and a cookie tin,
All comfy, let the show begin!

At intermission, freshened up:
Another tin, another cup,
What genre shall I next perchance?
A comedy? Perhaps romance?

And thus I gobbled up my day;
My private, day-long matinee;
Enjoyed and relished all the more
For countless miles theretofore.

Parker Allen Stacy, IV
3/7/2009

Copyright 2009 Parker Allen Stacy, IV. All Rights Reserved.

 

Category: general / Tags:

What Am I?

parker / March 18, 2009

I’m a household item, short and stout
Here is my handle and here is my spout
When I get all steamed up hear me shout
Tip me over and pour me out.

I have got no body, just a face
Three slender hands in perpetual chase
On a wall or in the hall is my fair place
Counting that which leaves no trace.

I have got a body, neck, and pegs
I can’t stand alone for want of legs
I sing for all the world, from prince to dregs
Strum and lyric, the music begs.

I have neither form, nor shape, nor sound
Enkindled within hearts that race and pound
Enrich, vivify, enchant, astound
Though unsighted, I’m known when found.

Parker Allen Stacy, IV
3/18/2009

Copyright 2009 Parker Allen Stacy, IV. All Rights Reserved.

Category: general / Tags:

No One Has Ever Successfully Killed in the Name of God

parker / March 20, 2009

cloudsYou cannot kill in the name of God.
‘Tis far more futile an attempt
Than keeping little brother kempt
Or clever baby sister shod.

It matters not from whence you trod,
Adorned with trinkets or topaz,
No man or woman ever has
Slain another in the name of God.

No court or rogue or firing squad,
With paperwork or heartfelt prayer,
In person or some distant lair,
E’er did slay in the name of God.

Oh rhetoric! Oh great facade!
They try to sell neath blazing sun
Absurdities that can’t be done:
To try and kill in the name of God.

Parker Allen Stacy, IV
3/20/2009

Copyright 2009 Parker Allen Stacy, IV. All Rights Reserved.

Category: general / Tags: ,

untitled text message mini-poem

parker / April 3, 2009

(Note: This poem was originally sent to a dear friend via text message, where there is a 160 character limit. There were no line-breaks in the original.)

Stretch, sigh, stare.
Sigh, stumble, slippers, stairs, thunder.
Peanut butter, bread, paper plate, black tea, white sugar, stir.
Sofa, book, silence.
Sigh.

4/3/2009
— PASIV

Copyright 2009 Parker Allen Stacy, IV. All Rights Reserved.

Category: free verse / Tags:

The Horrible Homograph

parker / April 10, 2009

Live!
Or, should I say:
Live!
For, which is which?

And is it clearer to say, that
I read
or that
I read
Hmm…? What thinkest thou?

Perhaps that is why,
In my youth,
I gravitated toward the Sciences:
Less ambiguity.

Words should convey the story
And let the story contain the mystery.

Conduct and conduct
How a six-year-old behaved in class,
Or what one, perhaps three score more,
Does to an orchestra full of peers?

And wind and wind: how silly, really,
To muddle and twist the language so,
When just a gentle “H” could clarify!

I mind not the weather and whether
Or the which’s and witches of the world
(Well, most anyhow—a few made the list)
And embrace the word “cleave”
‘Tis diabolically clever: its own antonym!
But, the horrible homograph just won’t do.

Parker Allen Stacy, IV
4/10/2009

Copyright 2009 Parker Allen Stacy, IV. All Rights Reserved.

Category: free verse / Tags:

Between The Headlines

parker / April 14, 2009

I see, this day, from time to time, online
Profiles once pretty, polished, now wan—
Aging pix and broken links—with headline
Proclaiming: I Need to Find a Good Man!

And hear, in this unsweetened cry, a trope:
The subtle whisper of synecdoche.
For love, true love, is truly not her hope
In truth, her want is part, not all, of me.

For, this unperfumed beckon doth present
An air bespeaking all that’s pure and good
And yet belies a wanton, musky scent:
She lures stiffs to spicy womanhood.

Hence, here’s her honest herald—nay, her heed:
Desire Not the Chaff, But for the Seed!

Parker Allen Stacy, IV
4/14/2009

Copyright 2009 Parker Allen Stacy, IV. All Rights Reserved.

Author’s notes:

  • The first stanza of this poem is intentionally a mess. It represents the chaotic state of these personalized profile web pages being described (and, in truth, the ladies they depict). Here are some of the “messy” choices made:
    • The meter begins as iambic pentameter, but the last foot is not an iamb but a clashing trochee, which starts the choppiness of the sentence.
    • The rhyme of online/headline is inane and the sight rhyme of wan/man adds to the chaos.
    • The words “profile,” “pretty,” and “polished” are a bit of a forced alliteration, with trite adjectives.

Other notes about other choices:

  • The rest of the poem is in iambic pentameter and should read much more smoothly.
  • The phrase “this day” is intended to represent these modern times or “in this day and age.” And, the use of the word “pix” also is more modern and typical of the online banter these days.
  • The word “chaff” is a double entendre as chaff also means “banter.” As if to say, “I’m not looking for small talk, let’s cut to the chase.” Other (not too subtle) double entendres are “stiffs” and “womanhood.”
Category: sonnet / Tags:

The Three Perfumes

parker / April 16, 2009

I sit on a stool this evening
Quietly watching three women walk
Arranged almost arm in arm
Then stand themselves at three seats
Circling around a cozy corner
Of the bar

And catch a cacophonous clash
The pungent friction of competing perfumes
One sharp and musky
One bitterly floral
And one, the sweet vanilla scent of Obsession
I recognize

As I sip from my frosty glass
They eagerly entertain each other
With clearly captivating chatter
And libations lifted in laughter
They shimmy and clap and shout and snap
To the music

They share their slim cigarettes
And tastes of their tropical drinks
And refuse dance requests from the riffraff
Tittering and tightening together instead
Desperately bound and determined
To have fun

A half hour more I head home
With a stroll and occasional strut
Where a dimly lit kitchen awaits
And a living room, unlived-in, lifeless
And wonder which one was wearing
The Obsession

Parker Allen Stacy, IV
4/16/2009

Copyright 2009 Parker Allen Stacy, IV. All Rights Reserved.

Category: free verse / Tags:

This Is Just to Say

parker / April 16, 2009

Note: “This Is Just to Say” is a short poem by William Carlos Williams. I heard on the radio the other day that it’s a favorite for poets to emulate, because of it’s non-apology apology nature and refrigerator-note simplicity, and thought I’d give it a try. The original is first, then my variations. Enjoy.

This Is Just to Say

I have eaten
the plums
that were in
the icebox

and which
you were probably
saving
for breakfast

Forgive me
they were delicious
so sweet
and so cold

William Carlos Williams, 1934

*~*~*~*~*

This Is Just to Say

I have taken
one kidney
that was in
your side

and which
you weren’t really
using
too much

Forgive me
go to the ER
from that tub
of ice

This Is Just to Say

I have drunk
all the milk
that was in
the carton

and which
you were probably
saving
for cookies

Forgive me
it was refreshing
so creamy
and so cold

This Is Just to Say

I have sent
your son
whom you love
to war

and know
you were probably
hoping
for grandchildren

Forgive me
he was courageous
so strong
and so young

—The President

This Is Just to Say

I made soap
from your mother’s fat
that was in
the icebox

and which
you were probably
saving
for collagen injections

Forgive me
it was lustrous
so rich
and so creamy

—Tyler

*~*~*~*~*

Copyright 2009 Parker Allen Stacy, IV. All Rights Reserved.

Category: free verse /

Are You She?

parker / April 23, 2009

I watched you arrive just now
And walk across the parking lot.
And I had returned to my book
When a few moments more,
To my surprise, you glided past me,
Beside the row of carrels, and
Smiled at me politely when I
Looked up, then took a seat—
Just one or two back
Behind me.

I have been told, by so many,
That we each have a single mate:
A soul mate—a single person
We are destined to be with
In this life and the next.
And I have been told, by so many,
That I will meet my special someone
When I least expect it—
When I turn around one day
She will be there.

And I sat and squirmed and struggled
To read and focus on my book.
Instead, I heard the knock of
The air conditioner and felt its chill;
And heard you rustle a bit, settling in;
And I felt the impersonal hardness of my chair;
And I noticed others come and go in the lot;
And I heard all those words of all those many
And wondered if I should stand and turn and ask:
Are you she?

Parker Allen Stacy, IV
4/23/2009

Copyright 2009 Parker Allen Stacy, IV. All Rights Reserved.

Category: free verse / Tags:

A Turkish Café Set in the Suburbs

parker / April 30, 2009

It seems that summer in the South
It pushes out the spring.
And birds, so desperate to keep pace,
They just past midnight sing.

And in my slumber, lo these months,
The world around me changed.
So I decide to go explore:
See how it’s rearranged.

I came upon a luscious green,
Set just before downtown,
Where verdant trees cast thoughtful shade
On grasses newly mown.

And see a couple, years ago,
Beneath this very sun,
Whose quest—their café’s perfect home—
Say: Dear, we’ve found the one.

The patio is warm and broad
Where spring’s sweet breezes flow:
A nifty observation deck
Where amblers are the show.

Some tables linger, chatting on,
The remnants of the lunch:
A birthday trio, folks with babes—
Subdued suburban bunch.

And just inside a placard lists
Their Mediterranean fare,
In front of which the owner stands
And greets his guest with care.

I ask him if his café’s name
Was taken from The Faith
And though it rings a bell, there’s no
Connection so he saith.

So I proceed to ask what’s good,
First-timer as I am,
And ponder quick his savory list—
And then request the lamb.

I settle in a corner chair
And take a great, deep breath.
The springtime air is warm and sweet
With hints of baby’s breath.

An unassuming wrap arrives
On dishes white and plain,
But bread so soft and seasoned lamb
“Delicious” can’t explain.

Been ages since I’ve had this dish,
And never quite so good.
I ponder if perhaps their trick
Might be a seasoned wood.

The owner has a special treat—
Perhaps because I’m new—
He proudly offers, on the house,
Their Turkish coffee brew.

“The mother of all coffees,” says
He with a great delight.
And though ’tis but a thimbleful
He’s absolutely right!

Who knew that just a simple shot
Could pack that kind of kick.
Its flavor rich and balance sweet
And very, very thick.

I kick on back and contemplate,
This sated butterfly:
Emerged from my cocoon, ’tis not
The world that’s changed, but I.

Between the heat and stimulant
Tonight will see no rest.
Perhaps, since now I’ll be up late,
I’ll find that noisy nest.

Parker Allen Stacy, IV
4/30/2009

Copyright 2009 Parker Allen Stacy, IV. All Rights Reserved.

Category: ballad /
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