A Modern Day Romantic

I find the only poetry of mine that's worth while is the sort written in the English Romantic style, pardon my rhyme.

[nowjustthinkaboutit]

Dreamers yet undone

Are you there Auphoellowei, Daughter of the sun? Are you there Ilyysirenne, Widow of the moon? Is your father dZious the only Burden hewn of stone-- Asleep above the public eye, Dreamers yet undone?

[nowjustthinkaboutit]

An afternoon at City Park

I. Rectangled, like apostrophes, two double-seats on concrete sheets open on a water bank abound in city-streets Have you heard “the word” dear reader? news of the quotation. I would say colloquially, most are connotations. For here I sit apon a bench to breathe some in vocation, tangled in quotation marks my aptly named, “City Park” I I. a “landing party” orange breast white speckled brown belly, black head, white collar soot-blue back, black wings, tail Starling?/ miniature Robin unfound before a “fly by” the y-curves of a jazz metronome quick & erratic smooth in (wing-)beating tempo, A type of starling then. Murmuration, sky invasions recalled against memory-foam clouds tangling quotation marks above my “City Park” I I I. a "launch pad" well-springing from the center, hexagonized in once-red stucco echelons a blue-white whale breaches nose, plastered in position, in- consistent flaunts of fourteen orchestrated hoses sparkling refractions, frozen parabolic cone poised in motion in the middle of the inner-city ocean. I V. When free-time is filled with rhyme I often find the water lines are rippling inspirations on my bench at City Park So heed disclaimer of the youth of time I've joined with humble “booth” and know that in our passing I will pen the future part

[nowjustthinkaboutit]

When you are blue

When you are blue, I feel the Earth quake when I walk. Each step accepted in waves Emitting from my epicenter. When you are blue, I experience the sway of Gravity. Each slight push and passing wind Witnessing mutual stability. When you are blue, I paint the sun gold. Each eve’ the blue sky oozes Refractive hearts of purple glass. When you are blue, How I am sustained and alive! Each worry has some tissue Soaking in the joys of lifeblood. When you are blue, I bathe in the fountains of youth. Each dead cell removed Until old conviction stands renewed. When you are blue, I succeed the very night itself. Each man-made light in hand I am a Promethean being. When you are blue, I feel it too For you are me, and I am you Attempting to correct our view With all we have to see When you are blue, I feel it too Arrested in rejected views So when you open eyes anew Just try to follow me

[nowjustthinkaboutit]

Dark Horse Turns Tables

Rectangled carousel vinyl steed skewerer Encircling a smooth tune Scratch tracks on a pregnant belly Loud motions of the womb Electric matchstick phono-phosphorous tip Groovy reverberations bloom Satellite dishes receding in orbit Transmit the dark side of the moon

[nowjustthinkaboutit]

Imaginin(k)

Imagination. I indulge it, I invite it in(k).

Into infuriations Into infatuations Inside ill-born indifferences Inside innate indilligentness, Implying issues intricately Imbuing inklings intimately, In inspiration, is Imagination. I invoke it, I inhale it's icky ions Inundated in invirons It increases, Imagination, It invades internal inlets Improvising impish interests It impresses information If importance is ingraining, Insert, import, Install, improve, I increases.

I is in its iffy image, In I’s ilk it is inherent, Inker is I. (if imagined)

[nowjustthinkaboutit]

welcomed disaster

My belly full of yesterday’s wine soured on her lips Wide hips Ice drips Tall sips I, crippled by her parachute strings She, carried away only after welcomed disaster

[nowjustthinkaboutit]

Tarped pitches under rain delay

When your eyes catch mine for the first time, pupils squint acuting view. Tarped pitches    under rain        delay. Superpowers skeptical of trade, issuing sanctions for uncertain relations with a tip of the lid, twinging brow.

[nowjustthinkaboutit]

Take Heed, Take Care

Each flake that floats the flurried storm is stiffled in a race To blanket troves of floral groves beneath a brumal face Inside the blinding arctic bind that burries heart and soul And scatters each perceptive seed of life without a trace.

Despite the way the day is spun along a beveled pole As hills and towns are pulled around apon a spool of wool; Wherein the streams have stitched a sheet of verdant earthen lace- To rest our heads in separate beds unseems the rightful toll.

The time is nigh, the theme is die, a limbo haunts the air When there appears above the peaks a lady fond and fair, With hair that gropes the mountain slopes she beckons through the frost With hands to hold a stranger’s mold that’s marred beyond repair.

She is the past, she is the present, she endures the cost, And she is there when all are scarred and every line is crossed. Hope will be her melody in dissonance with fear, For she will be the keeper of the love that we have lost.

[nowjustthinkaboutit]

Glory

By Alexander Leben

Where are all the dreamers in this sea of unbelievers Where are all the lovers, rebel doves and righteous brothers Where are all the voices pushing people to the choices Where are all the stories full truth and finding glory Blame the camera man, blame the magazines Blame the editor whose making love behind the scenes This is not your masterpiece, This is just a little piece of you Choose the public voice, choose the trodden path Choose the slice of viewership that satisfies the math We are not the fun police, We are just a little piece of truth Remember yesterday, remember yesteryear Remember when the memories of love were never clear You were more than just a faze, You were holding on the ace of hearts Now I’m just a kid, now I’m lost again Now I’m looking for a girl who I can call my friend Me and you are history, Me and you are finding freedom hard Driving through the snow, driving on the ice Driving is like love because sometimes you pay the price Cars will never let you know, Cars will swerve out of control and crash Living on my own, living without voice Living such a lonely way it couldn’t be a choice How’d we let our future burn, How’d we let the fire turn to ash Playing with the trees, playing with the smoke Playing with the others who allow themselves to choke We are not afraid to choose, We are only scared to lose the light Working through the weeks, working holidays Working through the shadows in a life of blacks and greys Fortune’s hiding everywhere, Fortune isn’t anywhere in sight Pardon all the rage, pardon all the sighs Pardon me for learning less about your golden eyes You have such a lovely heart, You will never be a part of me Let my mind escape, let me on my way Let the storm inside my chest be silent for a day Lost upon the Spanish sea, Lost without the freedom to be me

[nowjustthinkaboutit]

The Hour of Setting Suns

By Alexander Leben

The Earth’s contracting Summer fever from the mouths of passing cars,

Their rubber teeth are chewing gravel coughing through the clouds of dust.

This crooked bluff says Summer’s tough beneath the farenheight of stars

When half the state has fire ratings of “Extremely Dangerous.”

Breathers do beware the air you breathe into your human beings,

Do not believe that all the leaves have cleared the world of noxious breath-

It fills the wind, it fuels the streams, it paints the colored TV screens,

It cultivates the fear and hate that bleeds for life and lives for death.

Beaver Creek has billowed high above the blue horizon lines

Since lightning struck a dying trunk the nineteenth day a month past May.

Its tongues have licked the bark of seven hundred acres every day

And drowned our eyes in blacks and whites that blur the sun before it shines.

In the hour of setting suns the threats among the flaming veil

Disappear from eye and ear until alone our lungs can breathe,

Yet people choose to breathe in fumes that sting a little when inhaled

Despite the fact that in the fray they lose their love of liberty.

From Western Ashes through the Pines these woods have withered in the pyre

As granite knows that wind and rain erode the faces of the stones.

But there beneath the surface lies a molten core of ore and bones

That from the ashes comes the change to harbor life beyond the fire.

For in this hour of setting suns the storms are held accountable

For coughing death into the air and fooling all a promised reign,

But here the gift of life is true despite the uncontrollable,

For when the lightning is endured the seeds will feed and be sustained.

If Earth is fire and ash is life and we the embers that ignite,

I trust the fool who knows to rule means fighting fires through the night,

For when the flames are finally tamed and ash is all that will remain,

The rain will flow and life will grow repeating God’s entropic chain.

[nowjustthinkaboutit]

The 25th Hour

By Alexander Leben

Mirror on the misty lake amidst a luster hue

Angels resonate in waves that ripple through the blue

Rays of light reflect the night across the galaxy

Around the stars a voice is calling out from me to you

Green is blue and blue is white in moonlight on the waves

How Summer changes as the stars begin to steal the days

Every cloud of mist that shimmers in the luster fog

Reveals the hearts that lie apart across the milky way

Early blush upon the hills is calling out the sun

The trees are reaching for the warmth where lately there was none

Heel stir the gravel Earth and drown the air in dust

If I feel old today I’m not the only one

Somewhere here beneath the sun the sirens sing their song

Hunting in the summer heat I swear they did me wrong

Every time I hear them laugh it lifts me off my feet

And when my worries drift away they drag my heart along

Rainy days are spend inside concealed out of sight

There above the trees the clouds are clustering the light

But if my heart could not recall the place where it belongs

Every song I sing would disappear into the night

Looking past the snowy peaks I’m picturing a poem

Orbiting the Earth the words unravel as I roam

Naturally they bleed from me and lead me on my way

Gently through the longing blues I’ll make my own way home

Someday

[nowjustthinkaboutit]

Corporealism

By Alexander Leben

Dreams are deftly eloquent in constant contradiction Whom I see and what I feel are twice unreal and real To me each stands an equal to the great Homeric fictions Filled with naught but which imagination can reveal   From my bedroom down the stairs I once had found an airstrip Planes would rise high in the sky and turn to bugs and bees The distance ‘tween us hence would seem an arm’s length to each wingtip Fluttering on soundless wings they buzzed inside my sleep   Bones have broken, teeth have cracked, my cheeks have lost their color When cars can’t stop and legs don’t run I wake upon my death My heart revisits tender lips of past and present lovers Screaming their emotions to the motionless and deaf   A timeless barge no boat so large beneath my feet before Was drifting through the tumultuous blue of wayward waves But as a storm was threatening more with wind and rocky shores The ocean turned to porcelain, the boat was bathtub play   The deepest psalm where dreams embalm the brooding of the mind Which conjures free realities that sift like grains of sand You shan’t mistake the corporeal fate that slumber finds For something less than nature’s greatest blessing onto man

[nowjustthinkaboutit]

Like

By Alexander Leben

 It feels like the fresh pure air from a mountain peak

keeps flowing through my lungs long after I breathe.

It feels like the heat of a crackling fireplace on my feet –

Like the warmth of yours in between soft pink jersey sheets.

It feels like that weightless sense of freedom in my dreams,

like how your sleeping skin gleamed beneath the twinkling string-light beams

and seems to say that everything is just the way it’s meant to be.

 It feels like free lunch beside two busy pool tables

(like a modern day fairy tale, or a real-life fable)

It feels like sliding slick wood cues between pursed fingers,

like the steam from orange passion tea that lightly lingers

in the rooms beyond a single blue drawn curtain:

It feels like those two attached rooms only house one person,

Like I live and breathe because your heart beats, the way it’s meant to be.

[nowjustthinkaboutit]

Autumn Falling

By Alexander Leben

 Oh charitable carrier of dusk And able draper of the morning rain, Drown in shade the songs of summer glades And bathe thy bosom in the airy musk Of lumbering pines, their pointed perfumed blades Uneased as colored leaves that ne’er on eaves remain.   Inconstant breaths berate the swaying trees And tempt their fragile stems with fortitude When soft thy whispering aloft is heard Of swift release to drift upon the breeze -- Yet stubbornness of bliss does spurn your words Spinning intemperate winds in wrathful magnitude.   To you, whose fury turns the Earth around And breaks the sacred spirit of the sun Blackening her beams and sanguine steam To greet the bleak of pale cheeks abound, The thought of Summer comes a distant dream As all the prudent toil of verdant soil’s undone.   Underneath the red-gold pleated leaves Of a brimming crimson maple tree Squirrels rummage through the underbrush Pursuing mince and morsel in a rush. Upon the ponds the honking songs of geese Announce their southbound flights in flitting Vs, And when the call of fall is growing late, The bees and bear prepare to hibernate. The rate of honey glaze delays its drip, The streams are slowed inside a frozen grip, Nature tunes its tempered ears to hear These rife Autumnal warnings most austere.   Oh perishable patriot of life And lover of the pale face of death, Deliver to these sorry swaying woods A gentle slumber for the over-ripe, But ‘fore ye scorn the work of nature’s goods Enchant her tired branches with prismatic breadth.

[nowjustthinkaboutit]

Hopeless

By Alexander Leben

*(Ok ok, this is the last throwback I promise. This one was written my sophomore year after I was dumped, obviously. I just love how spiteful I was.)

Pain, not of the sort found in newspapers, Nor the stories of injury, nor great endeavors. A deeper sting where my heart used to pulsate, singing melodies of a love so great. A mutual love it was, of late.

Until she told of another creature, One whom she had once been enamored. A lost feeling grown old and faded Had through my intermission created A nostalgia between the above conversated.

To my dismay and utter heart break, It does not ease my sorrow nor shake The drowsyness of my indifferent mood That I had no precursive notion or clue Of her descision or changed attitude.

"There is another" was all she spoke. The words a heavy surprise which choke my throat to replay in a halfway cry. To this other, this significant cactus, dry, needled, and alone, I hope you die.

*(Funny story, the guy I was dumped for actually became, and still is, my best friend. We go to college together now, crazy right?)

[nowjustthinkaboutit]

I wrote this poem my freshman year of high school about my first true horse companion, Jewell. It’s a little rough around the edges but ultimately quite cute and sweet, and kinda fun too (at least I think so…)

Pictured above is a spectacular view of the Ojai Valley from atop the Wyman Ridge and my most favorite little crazy mare, Delightful.

Jewell

By Alexander Leben

The van is filled with a sense of bliss For we will soon greet those we greatly miss. When we arrive, we search and we seek For friends we’ve left for only a week.   We came here not a week ago To drop our horses off, and so, We have returned to ride them again Back home, to the barns, the place we train.   The place they stayed in is very vast; It’s a huge expanse of trees and grass With rocky hills surmounted by An everlasting great blue sky.   There they herd all cooped up in pens, Shouting and fighting like cocks and hens. And yet I manage to find my mare, Jewell, a chestnut with long brown hair.   I unload the saddles until I find hers. I saddle old Jewell and pick out her burs. I put on her bridle and martingale too, And ride her around just like she were new.   We gather in groups and depart for home Where they will be fed and allowed to roam. I start off my ride with some of my friends. Will we be back by lunch? Well, that all depends…   We run through mazes of tree and bush, Through swamps and lagoons with ground like mush, We ride, we ride and we’ll never subside Till even our spirits have crumpled and died.   Through prairies of wheat and fields of fruit, We gallop so swiftly we can’t be pursued. Our finish is near, our mounts knew as well That we are quite close, so close they can smell.   We finally arrive at the place where we stay. So we untack our horses and feed them some hay. As I stand here and watch my loyal mare much, I suddenly think, we are back for lunch.  

[nowjustthinkaboutit]

Anchor

By Alexander Leben   A moonlit breeze greets crisscrossed feet beneath Orion’s Belt as passions sigh & hearts confide inside the love we felt. This starry night we spend aflight where heaven’s hymns are sung, n’ere voice is heard nor worries cured lest yours the mending tongue.   The axial turn of Earth concerns the motions of my soul and resonates in forlorn waves upon this grassy knoll where stars can peek between the trees along the cosmic plane and usher light in twinkled flight across your skin again.   Though true how sweet the sky can be through lens of night & day; In visions draped in cloudy shapes that puffing pass away – ‘neath speckled scenes I stare serene beside your tempered eyes, yet much prefer the pure allure of your euphoric cries.   What soul are you that sees the truth beyond the blackened night, who knows the turning of the Earth & bathes the day in light? How keeps this ship from iceberg’s tip & sinking out of sight when though the captain’s hands are stern, his course is rarely right?   Like the sun whose beams are strung across the branches high and gently seep in soils deep to seeds where e’er they lie, your love I find’s a holy kind that anchors deep my soul, for in my heart you’ve grown an art that supplicates me whole.

- to M from A