Tuesday, October 6, 2015

Life Laureate


painting of leonard cohen from keelinggallery.com


Life Laureate

“A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense
of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness.”
--Robert Frost.

Our poetry reflects
who we are & are not;
a clever mirror.

There are those who consider poetry as a gift
                 to a classroom,
                 to a cherished one,
                 to the unwashed,
                 to the uninformed,
                 to the world entire;      and there are Others
                           who interpret it as a
compulsion, addiction, fault, blessing, catharsis,
blood letting, regurgitation, love making, or epiphany--
                 the most direct way to capture
                          the minutia of life, splendid role-playing,
                                   both vicariously & personally; to become

the eyes of a hungry hawk,
the legs of a racing cheetah,
the claws of a bear,
the wisps of mist on a desolate moor,
the powerful arms of a mountain gorilla,
the pool of oil on the tarmac,
the brown recluse feasting on a fly,
the barb on a wire,
the smoking tires on a hot rod,
the smooth pebbles in a stream,
the swell of a titanic wave toppling a great ship,
the chill of awakening under a bridge--or in a doorway, park, or alley,   
the reward of holding your newborn for the first time,
the chaotic & terrifying dirge of heated battle,
the target for a bullet, fist, insult, or a kiss,
the participant in an adulterous affair,
the act of a criminal, priest, dog catcher, whore, or politician,
the shame of a cop looming pridefully over an unarmed dead black man,
the callous arrogance of a school yard or elected bully,
the inspiring sight of steel, glass & concrete as a skyscraper rises,
the gorgeous flow of a blue highway stretching across a high plateau,
the climax of coitus as two incomplete souls merge into one orgasm,
the crack of a wooden bat belting out a home run,
the sensuous revealing of a lover’s breasts,
the aching memory of parents lost, of children stolen;

                all this & so very much more because
the is no end, no down side to poetic insights,
               no detour or wash-out or stopping point
for our words that spill, emerge, & are whelped 
out of every orifice,
or the accompanying emotion
that colors & spices their journey.     

When life stirs my gut,
I must reach for the poet’s quill
and record everything.        



Glenn Buttkus




15 comments:

Abhra Pal said...

" When life stirs my gut,
I must reach for the poet’s quill
and record everything. "

A great piece Glenn - thank you for this wonderful gift.

Blogoratti said...

Stunning and delightful piece. An envelope filled with unguarded dreams and so much more. Greetings to you!

brudberg said...

How true.. in the end, it's just that, a compulsion and a gift. Truly beautiful gift when we can capture it all, and serve it on a parchment to the world.. I really love that list full of images and contradictions..

Toni Spencer said...

Majorly butt-kicking senryu at the end!!! That poem in itself is a gift to the world, to my world. Thank you for those words you never hold back and the heart you put into them.

Pleasant Street said...

You have covered everything. That is a hell of a life. Ache, humour, and passion. This really lends itself to audio. Nicely shared

Buddah Moskowitz said...

Great images esp "barb on a wire" I usually don't like poems about writing; it almost seems too lazy, as if one cannot be stirred from one's activity to find a subject, but this is very well written, it overcame my prejudices. Cheers- mosk

Clystie Pruden said...

Wonderfully done. So proud of you!

Suzanne said...

I like the swelling flow of words in your poem but is the haiku at the end that really moves me.

Grace said...

Poetry is indeed everywhere and we just need to open our eyes to the nature and details of life ~ You are indeed blessed to have an energetic muse Glenn ~ Thanks for your support ~

Hedera said...

"Our poetry reflects
who we are & are not;
a clever mirror."

Oh yeah. I love that.

And this section:
" and there are Others
who interpret it as a
compulsion, addiction, fault, blessing, catharsis,
blood letting, regurgitation, love making, or epiphany"

This is perfect, Glenn! Right on, man!

Truedessa said...

Poetry is internal and external - it is a woven tapestry called life. When life stirs you simple must grab that ink and quill and let it spill.

X said...

When my bladder is full,
I go to the bathroom.

Poetry
is very much the same.

Bodhirose said...

Bravo...I loved every word of this!

lynn__ said...

Tough to choose one favorite phrase from this amazing barrage but "regurgitation" and "barb on a wire" might do...you leave a loud trail of poetic rumblings, Glenn!

Annie Jadin said...

Love your poem, love the Frost quote at the beginning. Thanks for sharing.