Monday, March 28, 2011

Sampling With Stanza and Meter

One day, possibly, this blog will open up to more people, and lots of different works will be on this - works that will help all involved make some difference in this world we live in.  For now, I am content with putting on work I've made, and some of my favorite poems.  I know it's been a little lopsided, but I will change that soon.  For now, this is my attempt to play with an iambic tetrameter with a Spenserian stanza. 


The Song of 'I'
by Matt Catania


The winds’ first song blows swiftly by.
Its music is so sweet to hear
and steady as a mountain high.
The cool, crisp gust brings eyes to tear-
but others cannot listen here.
They hear each other wail and moan!
Such company betrays the ear:
I like it when I am alone.
It’s far more fair to be alone.

The pairs hold hands and speak in tongues
and softly hold each other close
to feel the heat from lovers lungs.
A sadness fills my heart for those
who settle with that life they chose.
I flee to nature’s dulcet tone
beyond the jagged tongues of foes.
I like it when I am alone.
It’s far more fair to be alone.

But oh- how tender their embrace:
an mmm… the touch of lips: a kiss;
How satisfying love must taste!
A touch of tongue electric; this
excited rush of limpid bliss!
If only they could learn to hone
their hearts to hear… but-  I digress.
It’s just as fair to be alone.
I like it when I am alone.

The wind is all the love I need
(but I can never hold the wind.)
That peace I found is all I need
(but I can never kiss the wind.)
The subtle songs of silence blend
to lesser lovely light unknown!
(forgive my heart, it never sinned…)
- I like it when I am alone.
It’s just as fair to be alone.




The wind could never break my heart
(it doesn’t have a heart to break.)
The peace it brings will never part
(nor does it give a love to take.)
But… tangent love I cannot make
from that content I’ve always known!
(I fear I’ve made a grave mistake…)
I like it that I am alone?!
It’s not as fair to be alone!!!






The pairs, they move along the shore
sublime beneath the twilight sky.
A lonely man finds peace no more –
How slow… the years… they pass me by.
A soft, swift wind, and flask of rye.
The song, it plays a different tone.
The empty requiem of ‘I’:
“I like it that I am alone.
It’s just as fair to be alone.”
 

Friday, March 25, 2011

I Have Put Up Enough Poems

I need to find some other people to put up on this website.  I might as well put up another poem here.  I don't feel like putting up any of my opinions on this, especially about my sound poetry class or my professor, or the people that have infested my classes in every college I've been to.  Yikes.


B_OG
by Matt Catania


What is the Rationale of Verse now?

I have the world at the tips of my fingers
I own the world but the best of it lingers

It dances with Death on the edge of coincidence
Where fate dare not bear the thought of incidence

The Song (Link)
We crank the handle on the phonograph
We tap the lyrics on the telegraph

Pray to God for daddy’s sins upon
your flesh, the ones you brought this on
yourself!

Awake into a dream
where all around you seem
oh so very real
a real you cannot feel
A freedom you cannot touch
Life as such
inside a cloud
Safety so well endowed
What if it all fell down?
Burned to the ground…

What is the Rationale of Verse Abuse?
All of our poems became excessive use
of lackluster ill-gotten effortless dialogue!
No verses, no meters …

Story has to be short.
Longer than a page
Reading becomes a burden –
Make the poem short. 

Monday, March 7, 2011

These Poems Are All In Progress

Of course you can say there is no final draft of a poem, if that is your point of view.  I like to think that some of my poems though, I have put enough time and thought into them to say I cannot change them any more.  This is one of those poems.  My first villanelle. Inspired by Dylan Thomas.


Elegy
by Matt Catania


Aphrodite remains her illustrious beauty complete.
What wondrous pleasures! flee ever from fools who ignore
her salient smile so sweet, so sweet, so sweet.

The Sun wakes only to love her with gentle heat.
The Stars to bed, and even though parting they abhor,
Aphrodite remains her illustrious beauty complete.

The Wind, often quick to shriek, assault and retreat
cannot help but stay if just to feel once more
her salient smile so sweet, so sweet, so sweet.

Yet we, as men, with jaded eyesight meet
a warm sun and soft breeze with awesome discontent long before
Aphrodite remains her illustrious beauty complete.

Our world rends true beauty to shreds obsolete.
Fated to a mob so dire, no love could restore
her salient smile so sweet, so sweet, so sweet.

True beauty became an elegy doomed to repeat.
Writ by the very eyes entrusted to assure
Aphrodite remains her illustrious beauty complete.
Her salient smile so sweet, so sweet, so sweet.
 

Saturday, March 5, 2011

A Poem For My City

My first attempt at writing a poem for my city.  It is still relatively new, so it may need some editing as well.


Cleveland
by Matt Catania


You are an icon.
You will be a giant long after
Jim, Bob,
or LeBron.

What declaration can this be
that will control the heights you reach?
Good fortune you wish to share with us
What more do you wish to share?
In Winter I long for your hot orange
Summer nights
running through the dim lit alleys
while the fireworks still explode behind our ears
at the Jake.  We win together.
We used to Win much more.
Much more than these games.
Chasing up the ramp in the dark, excited parking lot
dirty with our victory
I long for your cold, damp air
carrying my calls down to the Browns.
What more can we win
than this!

I hope this I write will be the word
that will hold tall the Terminal
the Society
for a hundred years to come.

They are greater declarations than this.

We can only listen
and hold their voices in our hearts.
We can keep our history a whisper
heard under the shouts of those who ignore us.
They call coast to coast
as our words keeps us close.

For
it will not be how loud we can shout
that makes our voices heard,
but it will be how wisely our declaration stays
a whisper on the tongues of those who
hold it most dear.