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Grifters
With smug, aggressive faux urbanity
__They do their worst to seize control.
They think it signals perfect sanity
__When they adopt a regal role,
Expecting us to stroke their vanity,
__Lest our good hearts seem dark as coal.
We start to question their humanity
__When we discern what rules their soul,
And know it would be sheer inanity
__To try to turn them from their goal.
“Democracy” sounds like profanity
__When used to cover votes they stole.
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Cenotaph
The moon’s druidic fluid filters down
through elm and maple, saturating all
the chiseled mansions in the sleeping town.
A silken breeze invades the milky beds
of faded bloom and stirs them with a small
bequest of counsel drafted for the eyes
of anyone with will to see: the threads
connecting resting residents with those
who wander nightly, gloomed by sure demise,
are gossamer, yet bind the more. This clan
of human flesh is marked by granite rows—
the child that died at birth, the loving wife
who passed while in her prime, the lettered man
who mourned the vanished moments of his life.
First published in Harp-Strings Poetry Journal (2006)
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Bloodied, Bowed and Broken
__When the world is askew
And you face economic disasters,
__Then there’s nothing to do
But be sure that you bow to your masters.
__When the times get so bad
That you can’t be consoled by your pastors,
__Then it’s time to be glad
That you get to bow down to your masters.
__When your wheels fall apart
And you’re rolling around on hard casters,
__You can always take heart
By submitting yourself to your masters.
__Go ahead, write your stuff,
You inveterate lame poetasters.
__When you cry, “Hold! Enough!”
You’ll be sure to bow down to your masters.
__Pretty soon, doctors say,
Your remains will be pushing up asters,
__So let’s call it a day
And bow down to our excellent masters.
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C.B. Anderson was the longtime gardener for the PBS television series, The Victory Garden. Hundreds of his poems have appeared in scores of print and electronic journals out of North America, Great Britain, Ireland, Austria, Australia and India. His collection, Mortal Soup and the Blue Yonder was published in 2013 by White Violet Press.
Dear C.B.
Your poems sound very much like my husband’s comments on the current state of things in general. You two must be related ! I’m a little less subjective, and I say, “good poems!”
Well, Sally, I don’t think we’re related; it’s just that we both have our eyes open. As that old bluegrass gospel song goes: This world is not my home. As things here devolve, this feeling grows stronger and stronger.
C.B. Nothing like over-the-top cheerful optimism to brighten my . . . wait . . . oh . . . let me rephrase that . . .
Such eloquent cynicism works in quite a different way, steeling my resolve to resist, to laugh in the face of the heart of darkness, to not go gently into that dark night . . .
What I might term “a backwards call to arms.”
Nicely done.
Thanks, James. Yep, that’s me, just a happy-go-lucky guy who wishes he had more to laugh about.
The raw truth given a wordsmith’s touch comes with a frisson of horror, such is the potency of your poetry, C.B. The opening stanza of “Cenotaph” is magnificent! I’m gonna have to up my game. Thank you for the inspiration.
Please don’t up your game, Susan, because I am already struggling to keep up with you. Raw truth, once salted and smoked, becomes a delicacy few can resist.
I really enjoyed the use of humorous and un-trite rhythms in “Grifters” and “Bloodied…” , though they each expressed a non-humorous subject. “Cenotaph” is exquisite in its visual imagery and profound insight, especially in its comparison of “chiseled mansions” to “granite rows”. When I see cemeteries, I so often think of them as quiet cities. I like this poem’s interesting rhyme scheme, too.
“Grifters” is basically alternating lines of iambic pentameter & iambic tetrameter, while “Bloodied…” is anapestic. It turns out that New England is a great place to find eerie old cemeteries. But there is always the question of whether or not the person whose name is inscribed on the marker is really underneath it. I would say that though there will likely be some physical remains there, the person is not, so in some sense every gravesite is a cenotaph.
Luckily, I don’t have to give up my day job as I am now retired. I keep telling myself not to post my meagre offerings but what can I do when I am so inspired by you all?
When you have lived in exile
And steeled your heart to loss,
Conquered grief without giving in
Then take a bow for you deserve applause
But do not bend your knees.
When you have laughed at those
Who laughed at you and set your shoulder
To the wheel and carried on for those you love
Then take a bow for you deserve applause
But do not bend your knees.
Now when you face adversity
Yet again, whilst blooded and bruised
Nurse your wounds and take big breaths,
Do not give in, let the curtains fall if you must
And only kneel in prayer to the one who’s just.
Well…., that was uplifting, Mia.
Mia! I found your poem to be extremely powerful and moving.. those last two lines, took my breath away!
Grateful for the inspiration!
Patricia Redfern
Oh Patricia, thank you. It needs a bit of polishing but as I said it is inspiration from everyone here and I have Evan to thank for teaching me the power of the last line.
In “Grifters”, I’m impressed by what you composed with just two rhymes. Also, with “Bloodied…” all of the rhymes used with “masters”. I looked up “cenotaph” for the meaning. I’ve always thought that you have an excellent vocabulary, C.B. There must be thousands of words in a dictionary, of which we use a mere fraction. I’ve found that a useful exercise is to select a random page, just to study the words. You never know what might prompt a poem or be worth jotting down for future use.
Sometimes, Cheryl, I become infatuated with a rhyme and try to fabricate a reasonable poem based on it. I’m glad to learn that you, too, sometimes scour pages of a dictionary just for the thrill of discovery. If you want the complete list you must go to the OED. But even in Webster’s you will find words like “palpebral.”
I, too, enjoy and rely on the dictionary. The word ‘cenotaph’ brought to mind this thought on historical statues.
Their cenotaph may be removed
but the essence of their actions will linger forever.
Their place in history unceasingly taught and all results consistently proved,
the good and bad will be understood, but forgotten, never.
C.B., these are excellent poems with such fascinating contrasts! “Bloodied” could not be more cynical while “Cenotaph” is a heartbreaking visit to the cemetery. I love the chewiness of the moon’s “druidic fluid.” I’m not sure what it means, but I think it’s great! For me, “Grifters” is the stand-out poem — a tour de force using only two rhymes, fueled with the same cynicism as “Bloodied” but also sharply, uncompromisingly observant.
I’m not sure what “druidic fluid” is either, but just think of what it would be like visiting Stonehenge on a moonlit night. And by the way, Brian, “Cenotaph” is an example of what I have sometimes referred to as an Andersonian sonnet.
All three are great, though it’s hard for me to focus on the second between the other two. The last two lines of “Grifters” sum everything up.
And that’s what we have come to; that’s where we are today. And it’s a goddam tragedy.