Friday, February 25, 2011
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Thursday, February 17, 2011
Poetry
Ron Koppelberger
The Will
The rhythm in nations of drawn skill
And design. The will of flashes in summons to
Arousing perseverance and grace. A reaction
In governed approach and assembly. A tense quality
Of testimony.
Ron Koppelberger
Ivory Lace
The poise of an amazing ecstasy
And an allure in scarlet gossip,
The delicate caress of gentle eyes and
Pleasing sighs, a love in dashes of daring
Embrace and ivory lace, a rouge bliss
In dandelion affections and sugary
Confections of fresh blood and
Salty tears.
Ron Koppelberger
Ashen Gray Ghosts
The meek and unpretentious flight of ebony
Swans and ashen gray ghosts,
An intimate assurance of what’s different
In pointed thorns and sharp assay,
In stone, in concrete and half-light wonder,
The employ of dreams in cognizant
Realms of stout awe, in sane transfer of spirit.
Ron Koppelberger
Evening-Tide Allure
The calm passion of reminders and flittering
Buttercup essence, carried in the light of emergent
Awakenings and ascending heavens in passage
To the paradise and bliss of yielded azure
Nature and given sashay in cattail dander.
The Saffron glimmer of fireflies in deliverance to evening-tide allure.Ron Koppelberger
Tragic Delicacy
Here to there and everywhere, in the brilliantine halo
Of love creating the cadent aura in your amber eyes,
In your sighs and with the love of your sweet sensation,
A warm breath of perfume in rose blush will,
In the mystery of triumphant journeys and passing
Fanciful bliss, your smile amiss in worlds
Of untoward tragic delicacy and tempted, affected
Creation.Ron Koppelberger
Corn silk Seams
Qualities of humble cure, in the thrall of what is
Sure and sated by the blood of martyrs
And angel song,
A day in backwash, the way in half distant long,
A quandary of firefly spite
In silhouette at night,
The anatomy of what’s anchored by the cries of
Enmity and rancor, an unfettered dream
In bonnets with corn silk seams.Ron Koppelberger
The Way of Dreams
The diversity of beasts and burdens, in nervous feast,
The more in ways of the least, a turn in tide and lonely abide,
A husk for the seed in dire passionate need, a born comfort in rare brilliant
Summits of pleasing dawn, in foolish reason and labor
Wild by moments gone, a candid truth by the ways of dreams
And devoted wondrous
Vermouth.
Ron Koppelberger
Warm Bark
Bracing for the whim of doubt and wise diversions
In raven’s breath and sparrows in profound repute,
Unto the migrant will of souls and tears in somber
Everlasting brand, an exiled ambition borne with the
Caress of desolate vagabonds and silent airs of honor,
The mournful cry of bone weary seductions in velvety moss
And stagnant morass, cattails and warm bark, by the
Western sunshine flowing beneath the spaces and between alabaster clouds
Even tall pine bough fur, the respite in terms
Of bidden suns and the way to
Pearls, the way to gentle
Solace and the way to dreaming
Dramas in silhouette.Ron Koppelberger
Tears of Passion
The revolt of roughhewn tempers
In crowds of interposed dreams, a hastened flight
In winds of chance and azure beaded tears of passion
And desire. The love of grasping perceptions
And gasping whispers in silent shores of shelter,
The charm of sweet smiles and tender touches, in
Custody of hearts and spirits dancing in evermore
spells of light.
Thursday, February 10, 2011
Monday, February 7, 2011
Poetry
Ron Koppelberger
Smiles and Ecstasy
Tantalized by the tender expressions born unto beauty
And poise, innate, ascending the court of designed
Passion, in relish and desires of fire, sweet, sated, allayed in
Quiet consent and whispering touch, a forward bond in acceptance,
In contrite tears of warmth, a suffering gallery of wanton allure,
By the divinity of smiles and ecstasy, by azure skies
In evolving revolutions of romance.
Ron Koppelberger
The Thrall of Youth
An ambrosial season of wheat
In the course of scarlet alliance and seized shores
Of grain, a tender field of furrowed welcome
Defined by the rare wellspring rush
Of wild beasts and tame entrance to magical calm
And solstice, a serene quiet in the wills of balance
And the attested thrall of youth.
Ron Koppelberger
Visions of Eden
Devoted blessings and wonder, a fashion in fast wills of reason
And wont, in tender berths of unexplored
Treasure, the journey in muse and
Vaunt, the rusty fancy of whimsy
And row, of aggregate demand and satisfactions
In evening-tide indigo, in lay and assuming
Terms of amazing bliss,
A circle of light defined in
Visions of
Eden.Ron Koppelberger
Carnivals in Rust
Unshaken by the wheels of revolving metal and quaky rainbow
Light, a thrill in thrall and a scream of joyous
Event, by popcorn scents and greasy gears
In shifting conspiracy with the clang and clamor
Of childhood dreams, of clowns in Vaseline and paint, by the
Light of crescent moons and sodium lamps, by sooth and
The wonders of drama, the realm of carnies and
Ponies in galloping dusty row, by cotton candy cheeks
And carnivals in rust.
Ron Koppelberger
Autumn Sunshine
Reveries in cold autumn sunshine,
The inhalation of misty perfumes in formed
Shameless experience and sedate bond with
The desires of winter and the promise of a summer
Divine, a timely distress delayed by the seconds
Before need, by the spaces defined in fresh wont,
A gasp, suspiring azure by chilled wines and sweet
Confections in fall pleasure and simple
Revolution.
Ron Koppelberger
Upcountry Yearning
Tangles fanciful and stages kept in approval, the symmetry in
Gatherings of measure and sated masquerade,
The gloss given unto the dream and the fervid welcome of freedom,
A misty issue in mercies raging the applause of rare
Ambition and journeys in delicate faith, a sudden reception
Borne by the passion of performing charm and frenzied wild rule,
The upcountry yearning for praise and lauded honors
In soft shores of belonging.
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
Amber Tommorrows
Ron Koppelberger
Amber Tomorrow’s
Walnut secret centers in holiday patience and fall unveiled
By the taste of affairs and arts, in wondrous
Confusion. The engaged motley spray of frills
And cool window panes, in wide eyed fray untwined
By the distant vistas of autumn tabloo’ and
Misty dreams, a courtship of babies and mothers
In warm hearths of amber tomorrow.
Sinkhole
Ron Koppelberger
Sinkhole
Unmoved by the edges of the sunken yard, Moody Carol sat in his recliner, feet up and leaning toward the sky. He had hauled his beige Easy-Boy to the center of the depression in the yard; the hole had spread in a perfect circle swallowing the cottage and a portion of Peace Avenue. The lip of the depression revealed a small crowd of neighbors and the shiny red glow of a rescue vehicle. They were shouting down to Moody and pointing to a rope and steel ladder the fire crew had lowered into the incline. Moody was oblivious, eyes nearly closed, slivers of twilight sky leaking through to fill the void in his mind. He would ride the broken earth, the soils of encroaching perdition. He would sling low, six gun on his hip, breaths of Pabst Blue Ribbon tingeing his lips, a ride on the way to places bidden by dark shadows and bread crumb trails. “Yeeeeeeeeehhhhhaaaaaa.” he yelled up as the hole deepened.
The chair swayed in uneasy rhythm with the crumbling earth and he moved down, down to the depths of dramatic wandering pass, the sky becoming smaller until it was nearly a pinpoint of azure beckoning. Down, down and further down, finally he reached the bottom, the base of the depression, the center of the earth and close to the devils hearth. Whereupon a demon, winged in crimson, flew across the gulf and came to rest next to Moody’s chair.
“ What hath the lot of selfish wont brought you Moody?” Moody thought for a moment before answering.
“ A moment to trip up the lot of fate demon, I’m here early for the sake of a distraction and chance, chance before the last peal of infinity, chance for redemption, chance for a pitchfork in your backside devil.”
The gentle rush of a beguiling blue light filled the pit and Moody was transported to heaven where he was received in passionate embrace. An angel was heard to comment,” He has the temper of a tiger and the heart of a lion.”
Spring Birth
Ron Koppelberger
Spring Birth
The nothingness of not being was an overwhelming sensation and a point of ponderous wonder to the moment of birth. The birth of the universe and certain fated destinies that are propagated by the time we use in living. Victoria was born and borne of Lake Victoria, a spring blossom, wild rose and dandelion dander. From the warm depths of the spring that was Lake Victoria, eyes fluttering in premonition of life. Arms flailing in new birth, in nascent dialogues of exploration, she was given life. Rendered in youth, a gentle curve, corn silk hair and emerald eyes of flame. She stepped onto the rocky banks of Lake Victoria, unscathed, virgin in pristine absolution. Hyacinth nectar and honey dew dreams, she was an unutterable beauty and the blessing of chaste fantasy, sensual allure in naive ascertains of illusion.
The man stood back away from his rendering in quiet benediction. Rebel snatches of oil paint became solid and Victoria breeched the threshold between reality and illusive visions of Eden. Dripping, fresh she stood before the artist in silent betrothal to her creator. The man grinned and wept.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)