Form Poem - Eileen Albrizio

Self-Portrait - A rime royal

If I create a wondrous piece, surround
it by a pure white mat and gold-leafed frame,
and hang it low upon a wall, astound
the most discerning eye, and set aflame
the coldest heart, arrest the feral, tame 
the wild, then.. I'd direct the world to see
a thing that's beautiful, instead of me.

If I could set the perfect word beside
the perfect word, and string a thought into
a line, and swing the morning sun inside
a rhyme, caress the wind with softest hue
that paints the clouds alliterating blue
and pink, then… lovely lilting verses might
convince the reader I am what I write.

To picture pulchritude is mere desire.
Reality presents an ugly fact.
To blind the world I must become a liar,
dependent on how others will react.
Delusions found in art, though somewhat cracked,
have always held a beauty in their flaws.
So I must work to carry out this cause

to draw away attention from my face
and put it on a wall, or in a book.
A wondrous piece created in the place
of that which I despise. And I, the rook,
shall step outside myself, so those who look
will be distracted long enough to see
a thing that's beautiful... instead of me.

 

Free Form Poem - John Surowiecki

Senior Citizens Without Air *

       Do you think the earth has lost
          its atmosphere, Willie?
                  Samuel Beckett

Mockingbirds no longer pinwheel through
the sky and oaks are much
weaker in their applause. The man
at the bus stop keeps pushing out
steam into something that’s more
like nothing at all. We’re beginning
to see the spaces between molecules
and what we have to say tends to

die at our lips. There is a noticeable
lack of music and fire. Many of us
will freeze in Chicago; some of us
will turn green like the patinas along
the more ancient edges of things. We
are libraries whose books go unread,
architects of heaven and earth now
that the one is the other, so to speak.

 * First Prize 2000 Poetry Contest