Greatest Poems of the Early 21st Century: Volume One

Greatest Poems of the Early 21st Century: Volume One

By Douglas Gilbert

Copyright © 2013 Douglas Gilbert

All rights reserved.

ISBN 978-1-304-73033-6

INTRODUCTION TO THE GRAND SELECTIONS

These are the greatest poems of the Early 21st Century as determined by a consensus of the author’s alter egos.  The most obscure fictional critics who have appeared in the pages of the Great American Novel have, in their machinations, also lent tacit-ephemeral, imaginary praise to this magnificent tome of verse.  Alice says strat-tea-tackfully, every poem must have a pie thrown at it to lend it color and flavor, but

There are rumbles in the world where

every blade of grass cries, and

as we run through it,

it tries to comb the hair of our sorrows

Comb through these pages, and grow, or glow -- whichever comes first.  But for the benefit of mankind and for the ultimate salvation of narcissists everywhere, I feel compelled to reveal a secret:  I have received an official communication from the League of Benevolent Galaxies.  I am shocked to learn that I have been named the Poet Laureate of the Primitive Planets.  Secretary-General Chytchalrorix informs me that there is no stipend, but the paper certificate, made from the pulp of their long extinct keypapx tree is engraved thus:

Poet Laureate of the Primitive Planets, (Milky Way Division), Category 15297xt7388: Backward and Primitive Planets

Foamy Dream

There is an ocean at dawn

that skirts the night tides

crashing swirls and sea birds

There is a froth to morning dreams.

I've been staring at foam in my coffee

remembering the ocean starring in ending rain

a conjured dream of frothy us, stars

beneath an oceanic drink of dawn

It was

coffee boiling hot for

the exigency of a dream, and

when from the freezer I plunged

an ice berg scoop of ice cream in it

the titanic foam made giggle bubbles

that speak of the dream when

you laughed your dainty blessing,

so pretty your voice, your smile in

the swirl of your skirt like a current

or maybe I just imagine such formality

like the majestic blue of the ocean at sunrise

because you know I don't mind your bikini too,

love the virtues of shallow laughter-water,

know that the splash and the play

do pull tides from the deep imagination

I can be hot

to be cool

and we sat on the white sand

under the silly white umbrella we had borrowed

not imagining rain on our white beach, where we thought

if only sunshine would be in the heart then joy rises

for sunrise at the beach is

a glistening foam

silver crests

deep blues

an orange glow

and ice cream foam

and I dream of you

with fireworks in the sky

because...

maybe I imagine love

blue and foamy

silvery crested

Waiting

I used to think that

the twitter of birds

was like laughter, but

I'm not falling for Fall anymore

don't want to be

red-faced in autumn leaves

when the trees strip, and

my favorite birds migrate

You have gone far away, and

as I have no ticket to fly

it might as well be on a distant star

I will sing my blues

and wait for you

through the cold winter

without leaves

Oh I can't wait for Spring to be

naked with you in the sun of Spring

when you can return from exile with feathers

'cause I

know that you

can be true

and spring

back to me

like budding possibilities

that blossom into silliness

and I can't wait for Spring to laugh

can't wait to sate our hunger

'cause I

know that you

can be true

and the winter is not forever

I saw you in the Fall

and I will see you in the rise

won't it be a surprise

to be Summer love

Window Dressing

Waiting out winter here where

rose petals have long since

swirled upon winds

like naked sweet flakes

Too many cold dreams froze the day.

You could've hung around

waiting 'til snow flakes

melted on your tongue

I can't believe your

hot flakiness is gone

way out and far beyond

and I've

been chipping at a sorrow stone

like a flint rock without kindling,

cold slivers and flakes

You could've hung around

past winter's blue tongue end

waited for the equinox

to knock us into Spring

But layers of your patience

seemed to flake off

you couldn't wait

and cooled

Oh it

would've made us warm

that eternal vernal word on

the tip of my tongue

that winter day

looking out the window with you

Oh to wait for the ring

and the equinox

but you defenestrated my love

and from passion fever

defervescence

in abandonment snow

I can't believe your

hot flakiness is gone

way out away far beyond

while snowflakes are

melting on my tongue

Is there a vernal venal groundhog

you've bribed with flowers

to look through glass, not

see snowflakes falling

this frigid Spring equinox, when

we ought to sing and pop up?

But I've been jumping and unraveling

like an unwinding spring

snowflakes melting on my tongue

I hope flowers are coming back

dressed in red flakes

A Bridge

Where can I go

when you can’t ever know me

It wouldn’t be fair to tell you,

to let you drown in tears

though I know you love the rain

There is a bridge I can run under

when thunderstorms reign, but still

I always wonder if I can go anywhere without you

There’s an empty meadow

where I go to scream, but

I wouldn’t mind if you overheard me

And I might dry your wet face

and ask you how you are

There’s a bridge in the rain

we could run under, and

we might cry if you don’t mind

but I think we could walk to laughter after.

Dahlia

Success is exciting to share,

newest growth of blossom from afar

I love translating her messages when

I wake up in a foreign land: she said

her newest Dahlia flower was so pretty in the morning, my

favorite blue sky color in the background, and I thought

so pretty in the morning if

she swirls around the innermost petals,

has an epiphany about the yellow middle of a Dahlia sun, and if

while I’m away, she takes a soapy long shower, listens

to the birds I’ve sent to chatter with her until I’m back,

pampers herself like she deserves, puts on some makeup,

looks at herself in the mirror and thinks of me as present

in the chirpy birds and wavy flowers of the day, or

at least I imagine she’s an extrapolation-ist, because

I imagine much about soft things and I think she knows

that certain bees don’t sting if I sent them

Laryngitis

As they say, dying is easy, comedy is hard.

I went with laryngitis to a funeral with cue cards

that I bought that were supposed to be comprehensive

But I got the order of the cards all wrong

It was such a senseless death.

She was beloved and helped

every high soul that we all are

when we have soared in our freedom bird

and flapped all our flights of feather

fluffy things warm and complicated.

So I held up my card that

said Hooray and I meant to say

most respectfully

I love you, and

I am flooded with tears, but

I don't have a card for that

I raise my protest sign

"Oh God, how could you take her?

I object under penalty of hell, but

I protest: she is too good to go"

An Undefined Drop in the Ocean

She's a renowned philosophy professor

an Atheist by trade, but

we looked out at the stars

one night on the beach, and

it seemed an oceanic feeling

when she professed her love to me

in her way, and I did in mine

Waves of happiness

swept over us like a

shared Yikeness in the Sillyverse

Lachrymose

Hurrying away from a shiver

she made me feel so cold in insults,

frigid when I rested morose in a sulk

Lying on ice is a chilly bump.

I'm warm when I'm walking

though a storm is stalking, but if

I rest a moment I'll be cold

Lachrymose skies hover

since she threw me out cold

without my umbrella or razor

A storm is stalking me in her name;

I have no umbrella for shame, no

it's a shame she never knew me

never knew how poor I was

how rich

I gave her all the grandiose she wanted:

the sunrise, the sunset, the expensive flowers

but she could not embrace a pauper who

might write a frozen poem to be

intentionally defrosted and served

growing lachrymal joy and flowers afield

Broken Dark Things

I know you've been seeing

that flashy vile thing:

he's a rag on the road, and I've

got a fine ramming car.

Fast, fast, fast.

Dead, dead, dead.

Yeah, over the edge, woman.

Oh you dirty down broken woman

you betrayed me so bad

made me cry so hard, oh damn

hell I broke my only hope cup

smashed it in shaving mirror

'cause I'm looking at ugly

gonna get that vile thing

you've been seeing, even

if it's fine looking to you

oh hell breaking, can't be braking

for no cliff

and I'll be racing to throw that

dead damn bloody rag over the edge

Hell broke my only hope cup

dark whisker shadows

looking ugly, and gonna

ram it ugly, uh, you know what

it must be hell's whisker shadows

if you'd laugh with another damn

broken down vile thing

it's gonna die, broken woman...hey;

know what I mean?

Oh you pretty bitty broken woman

you betrayed me so badly

made me cry so hard, oh damn

hell I broke my only hope cup

hell you don't know no better

than be broken and so am I

broken and betrayed many times

Gonna get that vile handsome rag

you patch on yourself

all hot and dirty

Oh you dirty down broken woman

you betrayed me so bad

made cry so hard, oh damn

yeah, OK, broken woman

go fix yourself

with that vile thing

yeah if that's your thing

OK

Hell I'm going to Shardsville,

know a woman who'll

put me in stitches

knows the joke

about being broke

oh broken hearted woman

go fix yourself

I'm going away

to mend myself in Shardsville

where crying is beautiful

and a cup of love is free

By The Rules

I knew a young upper class talking cat

who went to a trés chic hospital

with all the most enlightened accommodations:

they had singers and musicians

comics, spiritual healers and

shamans of all kinds

chanters and meditators

prayers

But they had manuals

for what to do for every contingency

Despite all, the cat reported some anxiety

That's when after consulting the manual,

they brought in the therapy dog

The healers all got bitten and scratched

but they prayed with ferocity

The cat went elsewhere for a face lift

and the dog did stand-up comedy

in a club that bars all cats

Fish Watching Paint Dry

Far off and oddly near,

deformity inheres a storm, where

the sanguine slosh of war reigns

a bellicose rain with thunder claps

applause in one-sided prayer cheers,

a dear victory one day at least apt

Power on

power off

power who

Some fishy things are left standing

a shard of a city, a hope façade

Too long the fish have watched

the decrepit peeling walls

from their tank barely maintained, but

the turret tanks have left in retreat

and the rebels have won a day

with a song, a prayer, and a slog

Time to paint the walls for now cheery

those celebration colors on the cheeky walls

where the fishys don't mind if I move them

now that the power is back on for a slosh

Though soaked in fish water and paint

I can brush victory colors on the wall, and

now finally take my long hot shower, soapy

in soothing melodrama upon the

skin of fantasy and the caress of peace, but

fish can not go back to the tropics

anymore than I could go to the North Pole

to mourn the memories frozen in agony

Icebergs

I watch beauty drift away on icebergs

see a doomed survivor last a moment

My thoughts are frozen screams

when my dreams of rescue are futile

and I speak with slow motion cream

like flotsam on foamy white waves

Mostly the chill of my face

is too ugly to observe in person

but in the ice cream of my words

many find cherries and berries, and

I am often delicious by the pint, and

when someone has a brain freeze

I giggle a little and think to myself:

if only you knew how slowly I would melt

if you thought I