Stone Fog
Stone Fog
i think
she is your alter ego
someone you pine for
the dizziness
is your inebriation with her
and may be due
to atmospheric pressure
differentials
she comes and goes
like a fog sculpture
or a De Chirico muse
without a shadow
she's pure fog
with consciousness
and a heart of stone
~~~
Alex Nodopaka Nov©2009
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A Lightweight Ode to Ars
A Lightweight Ode to Ars
or A Not So Fauve Muse
Fernand Leger watching me
Bloats my limbs
But when Salvador Dali comes
He makes my edges flow.
And if Pablo Picasso shows up
My face looks
Like it hit the fan.
Of them all I adore most
Marcel Duchamp’s tongue.
He says I taste like
A cubed sashimi roll from
A fauve Rousseau beast.
A the roaring sound
Magritte pops his head out and
All gaga about her says Dada.
~~~
Alex Nodopaka Feb©2009
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Love in Rubber Balls
From a seashore wedding
all that’s left at ebb’s tide are
discarded hot air balloons.
Once inflated egos
now in flaccid condoms
are the only ephemeral remnants
of flushed adulation
feeding foreign shores.
Lovers gone,
paramours in search of passion,
only barren lovers’ wishes
fill imaginary baby carriages.
~~~
Alex Nodopaka Sep©2009
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Clowning in the City of Lights
I looked and looked
beyond the deep and the shallow
and connected the dexterity
of my fingers to your brain
Of course you want to know
if I can throw circles
round the Eiffel stake.
And after more looking
I convinced myself life is a circus
and I your smoking puppet
blowing rings
around your Fingers
Yes, YES your Sleight of thOughts
gOt me diZZy and oFF kilter
and I wAnt to be in Paris
a juGGling clOWN just like yOu
~~~
Alex Nodopaka Sep©2009
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Funeral Flowers never Fade
I’d rather remember
the colorful blossoms
surrounding the departed.
I’d rather remember
their character and their scent
not some waxen faces
straight out of the mold.
I’d rather remember the roses
and the reds and the yellows
and the whites and the pinks.
I’d rather forget the thorns
and the pricks and the angst
and the contradictions
between existence and extinction.
I’d rather forget
the pallidness of life
and never watch
funeral flowers fade.
~~~
Alex Nodopaka Sep©2009
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Less than precious Stones
Less than precious Stones
I'm so glad you asked
a brilliant question for which
I have a dull answer.
Brilliance has to do
with shine and
dullness with personality.
Like in dimwitted.
A brilliant can be dulled
which makes it less brilliant.
Yet it doesn’t make it
dimwitted. Like some people
are smart but not intelligent
while others are intelligent
but not smart at all. Like how
I'm trying to answer here.
Let’s bet with your polish
you can hone my answer
better than I can lap it.
~~~
Alex Nodopaka Nov©2009
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Goddess Durga
Goddess Durga
Astride on her tiger
in menstrual throes
She feels she has a
Tiger in her tank
But her retinue trumpets
that he lost his woodies
and that she should club
her Wood
~~~
Alex Nodopaka Mar©2010
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Ace of Hearts
Ace of Hearts
I ain’t goin’ nowhere
And that frickin’ raven
Ain’t gonna make me write
No Poe poem
Nor this goddam bridge
Ain’t goin’ nowhere either
Not even straddling
Sarah Palin’s arse to Russia
~~~
Alex Nodopaka ©2008
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The M & M Candy Telephone
The M & M Candy Telephone
The device is switched to mute.
Not a sound comes from
the Raisin Bran guys except
for the pre-programmed
visual message on the LCD screen.
When the receiver flashes
instead of ringing
the Venus de Milo deodorant statue
doesn't move an arm
to pick up the handset.
~~~
Alex Nodopaka Feb©2010
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I have a story that’ll
I have a story that’ll
bury Tiger Woods
under 6 feet of sand.
It’s the wishful thinking
of any golfer
to eagle their balls
in Alice’s hole.
But I wonder if anybody
wants their balls
to shrink fast enough
in the time they fly
from the golfing club
to birdie Wonderland.
~~~
Alex Nodopaka Apr©2010
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Sestina
I have come, alas, to the great circle of shadow,
to the short day and to the whitening hills,
when the colour is all lost from the grass,
though my desire will not lose its green,
so rooted is it in this hardest stone,
that speaks and feels as though it were a woman.
And likewise this heaven-born woman
stays frozen, like the snow in shadow,
and is unmoved, or moved like a stone,
by the sweet season that warms all the hills,
and makes them alter from pure white to green,
so as to clothe them with the flowers and grass.
When her head wears a crown of grass
she draws the mind from any other woman,
because she blends her gold hair with the green
so well that Amor lingers in their shadow,
he who fastens me in these low hills,
more certainly than lime fastens stone.
Her beauty has more virtue than rare stone.
The wound she gives cannot be healed with grass,
since I have travelled, through the plains and hills,
to find my release from such a woman,
yet from her light had never a shadow
thrown on me, by hill, wall, or leaves’ green.
I have seen her walk all dressed in green,
so formed she would have sparked love in a stone,
that love I bear for her very shadow,
so that I wished her, in those fields of grass,
as much in love as ever yet was woman,
closed around by all the highest hills.
The rivers will flow upwards to the hills
before this wood, that is so soft and green,
takes fire, as might ever lovely woman,
for me, who would choose to sleep on stone,
all my life, and go eating grass,
only to gaze at where her clothes cast shadow.
Whenever the hills cast blackest shadow,
with her sweet green, the lovely woman
hides it, as a man hides stone in grass.
poem by Dante Alighieri
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The Costumed Oscar Eve Party
Mickey has big ears and hears secrets
he's not supposed to. I think of pinning
and taping my droopy
fleshy excesses (the visible only)
with clear adhesive strips and suspend
my eyelids from my eyebrows and
stretch my cheeks to my earlobes
so I can fasten them behind.
You’re right about the big mouse
(a friend’s suggestion) that
his ears are big enough to hide
the decaying extent of my wisdom.
That way at the party incognito
I’ll flit from one guest to another
loosely talk about economics and
the worth of shrunken real estates.
In between champagne sips and
furtive glances at cleavages maybe
I shall make a cleavage photo series?
Yes, yes, we never know except
that a no always leads nowhere.
Well, so much for my simile-stream
Of consciousness written in octoplets.
Speaking of eights, isn’t it breath-
taking to rediscover there’s money
to be made from a large progeniture.
Because historically speaking,
when in dire economic times,
a freak circus is always a
hysterical place to watch an octopus
vaginally birth octopi.
~~~
Alex Nodopaka Feb©2009
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The Subject Of Death
The subject of death
or standing at night with a lit candle
under my chin in front of a mirror
prevents my humor
from spilling.
The stanza is romantic.
Makes me queasy.
And it's unfair to play
with silver dimes
when the dead
can see no more
nor have the will
to lift their lids.
Had they the capability
to wink & smoke a lid
I'm certain muteness
would reflect their voice
and their hallucinations
would be Dostoievski's.
~~~
Alex Nodopaka May©2012
poem by Alex Nodopaka
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On Iteration & Repetition
On Iteration & Repetition
Thanks thanks thanks for stopping by
& inflating me for a few seconds.
Yes yes to all you say & thanks for
posting your poems as a sidekick.
You see I see we see the problem.
This great entity created repetition
to make us want to be like it
experiencing everything first-hand.
(Actually, iteration is a dead-end
and reincarnation is a dumb eternity)
Give me a break! That infamous He
could’ve done better
than a Rube Goldberg Design.
~~~
Alex Nodopaka ©2003
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The Stone That You Love
you are unique
for having loved a stone
how did the stone
entice you?
are you seduced by
its silence?
are you tempted by
its solitude?
you take the pain
poking the stone to
your heart
and you bleed
you rub the stone
in the skin of your body
hoping that someday
the stone may have
feelings and
love you
but this is all useless
the stone is a stone is a stone
and there is no love
in its blank stare
there is no softness in its
belly
i ponder upon this
and come to think of it
you and the stone
are the same
on this hardheadedness
this futility
this numbness
this suffering without end
the stone can never give
a part of its cracks
it will never part with its
dust
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Einstein, Nicholas, My Fantastic Wife And Our Dog On The Beach At Home
a stone
a relative stone
a meteoric stone
a Newtonian stone
a photoelectric stone
a stone from Manhattan
a thermodynamic stone
one stone
a son
in my life
in my wife
a sun
alone
poem by Nicolas Grenier
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Rainy Day Women #12 & 35
Well, they'll stone ya when you're trying to be so good,
They'll stone ya just a-like they said they would.
They'll stone ya when you're tryin' to go home.
Then they'll stone ya when you're there all alone.
But i would not feel so all alone,
Everybody must get stoned.
Well, they'll stone ya when you're walkin' 'long the street.
They'll stone ya when you're tryin' to keep your seat.
They'll stone ya when you're walkin' on the floor.
They'll stone ya when you're walkin' to the door.
But i would not feel so all alone,
Everybody must get stoned.
They'll stone ya when you're at the breakfast table.
They'll stone ya when you are young and able.
They'll stone ya when you're tryin' to make a buck.
They'll stone ya and then they'll say, "good luck."
Tell ya what, i would not feel so all alone,
Everybody must get stoned.
Well, they'll stone you and say that it's the end.
Then they'll stone you and then they'll come back again.
They'll stone you when you're riding in your car.
They'll stone you when you're playing your guitar.
Yes, but i would not feel so all alone,
Everybody must get stoned.
Well, they'll stone you when you walk all alone.
They'll stone you when you are walking home.
They'll stone you and then say you are brave.
They'll stone you when you are set down in your grave.
But i would not feel so all alone,
Everybody must get stoned.
song performed by by Bob Dylan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Stone
The days have passed, nights are gone,
I'm still in love with a stone,
The seasons changed, the clay too came,
I still hold it with no moan,
The clay comes to me in so many shapes,
Wants me to hold it, whatever it may take,
But clay can hurt me, clay may fake,
Even if it's clay, I have a heart it can break,
The season may change,
The clay may go,
Slowing my heart beat,
All time low,
Stone is hard,
Stone is black,
Stone is emotionless,
Doesn't stab at back,
The clay, the stone, both make me die,
But if a stone does, even the clay may cry...
and I'll never ask why...
It's better to live with a stone,
not clay,
Clay is soft, but it hurts,
which is not the stone's way.....
poem by Apurva Jain
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Stones
unless you use a hammer
a stone is a stone
with its steadfast character
cold, shapely and colourful
a consciousness
linked it to the centre to my heart
we are one
if there are enough men
who have more characters
than these stones!
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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The Silence Of Stone (revised)
take a stone,
from the beginning it was
a stone in form
and color and smell
and stone to stone
it shall be stone
unless you take it
in your hand
and keep it warm
in the hold of your palm
and take it home with you
you talk to it
and then it becomes
beyond itself
now
it is not just a stone
but your beloved
your lover
you will discover
that its silence also speaks
in tongues
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Existence First, Then Essence
take a stone,
from the beginning it was
a stone in form
and color and smell
and stone to stone
it shall be stone
unless you take it
in your hand
and keep it warm
in the hold of your palm
and take it home with you
you talk to it
and then it becomes
beyond itself
now
it is not just a stone
but your beloved
your lover
you will discover
that its silence also speaks
in tongues
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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