Saturday, July 29, 2006

Ringing of The Bards VI - Into Cybernia

Hello fellow adventurers, I bid you welcome. If you are reading this Sixth Ringing of The Bards then you too have sought your own glowing portal and willingly entered the wondrous world of Cybernia, a place where, through the magic of words, anything is possible. Forget your preconceptions and problems as the awesome power of imagination meets the artistic ability of expression to transport your mind to new areas, and don’t forget – where the head goes the body follows.

The sky is preternaturally blue and clean as we approach the demesnes of our first and foremost Wordsmith – Billy the Blogging Poet. An artist, philanthropist, and an inventor of some renown whose latest contraption, a flying machine that doesn’t fly, helps him spread his words of wit and wisdom across the dimensions. As chairs slide on the floor and desks softly creak in the barely air-conditioned classroom we find ourselves raptly transfixed by a mild yet confident voice sharing a love of words that almost defies explanation. Listen now as he reads some verse on Day 3 In Mister Billy's Poetry Class:

Mister Billy said, "Write a poem
no more than five lines long,"

Now travel with me over granite gorges studded with dense clumps of lush evergreens that cradle nature’s mystery. We come upon a rustic home tucked among the sighing trees. Close by a beautifully tended garden is alive with vibrant colors and glorious scents which remind us of the beauty in this world. Here it is that we find our next cultivator of words – Shirley Whiting Allard of Housemouse. This lovely lady shares a tale of awakening, which will hopefully have a happy ending, sporting a title that applies to all of us at one time or another, Guilty of Innocence:

A troubled child in a grown up mask
so sad, your fate is sealed
burdened with a lifelong task
the sword, is now your shield.

Speaking of gardens brings us to another fertile mind, Rohn from rohnbayes journey, an elusive secret agent on a mission to share his unique point of view with the world. Of course escapism is possible in Cybernia, but social revolution – only time will tell. At the moment we find him on some distant beach, hot sand between his toes, and a blank notebook in his hand. Surveying the glistening bodies of sun worshipping vacationers he begins to jot, perhaps more clues to his intentions? Either way it’s bound to be a great read just like Soliloquy in the Garden:

it's over
the turning turns
we are building the new world my friends
right here hooked up on the internet talking
about it and demonstrating at least one simple fact
that we work well together when we're connected

Once more we zoom off; now approaching what appears to be a relatively isolated but bustling island community. Tangy salt breezes enliven our senses while the skies seem to sparkle with mystical energies as we near the fabled Aotearoa and one can hear a thrumming, as though millions of hearts are beating in unison. Here we find our next practitioner of wily wordplay Glenn of Crunchy Weta. With a style all his own and a lively mind attuned to the infinite, he mesmerizes us with the beat of Heart String Theory:

Dimension 0: From the void, the point of my existence.

Dimension 1: The line - the big I. I am.
Dimension 2: Fragments of being. My mind is split, my heart is broken. Continents drifting apart on a map

Before departing this remote place we are drawn to our next stop. This person proves just how powerful these words can be as hers were inspired by those of her fellow islander Glenn. Prepare yourself for another journey within and without, as our next vivacious versifier Leigh from Sleight of Mind responds to the pulse of creativity with some rumination that is anything but slight offering Ad Infinitum - In response to Heart String Theory:
move backwards
into the future

I don’t know about you but I am tingling with anticipation as we cruise up to another destination. Hmmmm seems like another academic setting. The musty smell of old books wafts through the air as the murmur of passing students gently lulls our next purveyor of prosody, Russell from Yuckelbel’s Canon, into a meditative trance where deep thoughts percolate. Pull up a chair and have a waking dream as ethereal language takes us along for a ride into the subconscious with Ruined Choir Exit:

This is that day we’ve been dreaming of
This is the day when all words rhyme
And are such sweet music,

Listen, do you hear that faint ringing? It echoes across the quaint streets packed with people of all shapes and sizes. The tantalizing smell of food from street vendors is intoxicating, and everywhere metropolitan commerce is in full swing. The former hostess of the dramatic ROTB V, Cecilia from clearcandy daily, sits on a balcony watching the commotion, taking a much deserved break. The smell of vinegar stings the nose as she digs into some yummy tocino, and remembers things that transpire on certain breezy evenings with Try Me:

on some nights,
your gargoyled chants emerge from the grounds,
riding the breeze that enters my room

And speaking of former hostesses we find ourselves headed over a rocky coastline, enchanted by the winsome Katy of somethingkaty, a dynamo of poetic inspiration and fellowship. This hostess of ROTB II gave us all a bit of fun at the fair earlier this summer. The glow from her portal is almost blinding as she is constantly heading into Cybernia checking on Poetship, Pilot Eye, and Wet Poems, some of the other sites she dedicates her boundless energy to. Here we get a chance to see her playful side as we are asked to consider the meaning of value with $9.80:

we took the kitten to the produce department
of the local grocery store to weigh him

Now on to a future hostess, as a matter of fact she is on deck for ROTB VII. Cruising over rolling hills we come upon a pleasantly rural setting. A lazy river is winding its way slowly onward, the muddy water deep and silent. There is a small trail that runs parallel to the river and it’s here that we find Erin of Poetic Acceptance, taking a leisurely stroll, thoroughly at peace with herself and the world around her. Take a deep breath and a long look at the journey with Fully:

I've learned to be comfortable
with my inner idiosyncrasies,
come to appreciate the peace
found in a patch of toadstools
and the sadness in spring.

There’s smoke on the horizon mixed with the smell of cordite and fear. Even in Cybernia the darker side of humanity finds a way to make itself known. As we celebrate our artistic inspiration others choose to harness their creativity to increase pain. If there is one thing that will always be universal, it is human suffering, and at this point in our existence it just doesn’t make sense to fight wars. Over the last couple of weeks Ashraf from arch.memory has shared his pain with us and many people have responded. Here we are asked to contemplate which does more damage, bombs, helplessness, or cold detachment as Ashraf pours his heart out to his Mama:

_____my anger has eaten the best of me;
now I am farther from who you are
_____or you'd like me to be.

This time we go from the heat of battle to the fire of passion, descending through the clouds to touch down at a tropical locale. Palm trees wave as warm gusts carry the scent of coconut and ocean mist. We find our next essayer of eloquence, Danny Sillada from Anatomy of Despair, with his easel up capturing the perfect sunset on canvas. Here Danny paints a picture of the darker side of love with Upon Waking Up:

Your sweet-scented breath has turned
into a rotten rose, thorns growing on my chest,
poisoned blood decomposing…

We now approach someone so enigmatic that I don’t even have a clue what type of environment he may live in, but in Cybernia he is inviolate. With this tag line from his blog - MIXING HYPOCRISY AND PROCRASTINATION WITH SEVERAL SELECT VICES, I leave you to make your own determinations. All I know is that he is one of my favorite writers/people I have met, and from what I can tell a really nice guy. Displaying his usual flair, Ozymandiaz of Paper Tigers gives all new meaning to the term ‘all wet’ with his Immersion:

My body attempts buoyancy
To no avail
Follicle after follicle
I am consumed

And finally we find ourselves slowly coming to a stop outside a brightly lit window to visit our last, but certainly not least, bell swinging bard. The staccato tapping of a well-used keyboard greets us intermingled with the soft strains of soulful jazz. I would like everyone to say hello to Nadia from It’s Clever, But Is It Art? I believe she is a newcomer to our festivities and a very talented one. I chose this poem to close because it is exquisitely beautiful, and the title is one of the main reasons I like to enter Cybernia, Escape:

At night on the fairground
hanging upside down from
the monkey bars, clothes
falling from me, you
would kiss me in secret places,

Well that’s it, I hope this little virtual tour of one of my favorite places helped you escape, even if only for a little while. I can’t believe how many people responded and I thank you all. Next week we are fortunate to have Erin of Poetic Acceptance hosting so head over to her site and see what’s up. I’m off to an all day gig and probably won’t be back in Cybernia again until tomorrow. If anyone has any problems just let me know and I will address them asap. Now get reading these great poets!!

Friday, July 28, 2006

Ringing V

The Ringing of the Bards part V is now up at Cecilia's, and it is quite a performance. Please go on over and check it out. I will be hosting the affair next week so send any and all entries with links to bobhazelton AT by midnight friday with the subject 'carnival entry' and it will be up and ringing by the weekend. Until then I think it's time for a standing ovation for the current host - Bravo!!

Too Good?

This was inspired by a recent poem in my local paper about a proposed dump.

The courting scene can be a drag
while many look alluring
they seldom have the goods to bag
a profit that’s enduring—
attempts to salvage industry
should auger every angle
when carats of prosperity
bedazzle with their dangle.
Although Fred Sanford makes me smile
it doesn’t hurt to flirt with style.


Well since I started this blog I have endeavored to post something new every day, after all that was one of my main reasons for starting it, to motivate myself to write, even if it's only a few lines a day. I have encountered some gifted and truly kind people that have been generous with praise and also with time. Everything takes time and often my time online is limited which results in my not being able to comment on a lot of stuff I read. But I do read and enjoy and marvel at the myriad forms of expression that are out there just waiting to be discovered. Tomorrow I will be posting up the ROTB VI and I want to thank everyone that has or will send in an entry, I am honored to be a part of something so huge. Once I post the ringing I will abstain from posting any new poems for at least a few days, if not the week. This is for my fellow writers and artists to shine (or should I say reverberate) and I salute you all. Plus a special thank you to Billy, Shirley, and Katy for helping ring up some interest, go check out their great stuff.

Thursday, July 27, 2006


Anachronic aspirations antiquate allusions
Catatonic correlations complicate confusions
Impolitic intimations instigate intrusions
Diametric demarcations designate delusions.

Wednesday, July 26, 2006

Cut the Cord

In the midst of blazing heat
concrete bruises tender feet
as unwashed masses loudly bleat
cut off from the metered teat.

Stymied without constant flow
helpless sans that vibrant glow
grounded with nowhere to go—
snip that humming cord and grow!

Yes, it’s time to finally wean,
tap resources much more clean
forget the era of machine
kill this growing sloth obscene.

Tuesday, July 25, 2006


Jagged clumps of gory clay are fringed with smoke
which slithers among reminders of the fray
and curls up in the throat, causing one to choke.

Trenchant shards of patriotic fervor slay
all who get too close with government approved
ferocity, even some not in the way,

leaving these atrocities that may be moved
but whose fly encrusted condemnations reek
with spreading decay that is never behooved.

Rhetoric reverberates above the meek,
expressions of culture form a cool façade
disguising visceral rituals they wreak.

We bury our potential beneath the sod
a legacy of those who’ve spoken with God.

Monday, July 24, 2006


If all the paper
used for bills
demanding my remittance
was suddenly
transformed to cash
I’d have more than a pittance.

Sunday, July 23, 2006

Ask Questions Now

Young Stefan snuck out early
before the sun would break
to make a quick excursion
picking flowers by the lake,
his Mother’s warnings echoed
oh what a fuss she’d make
but how her heart would buckle
so he hastened there to take
a handful of the brightest blooms
whose heady incense swelled
to fill his mind with fantasies
not easily dispelled
which caused him to ignore the sound
when vicious soldiers yelled,
and there within a muddy ditch
that precious waif was felled.

Saturday, July 22, 2006

Saying Something?

Cultural cliche
nothing new to say
apathetic adages
replacing repartee,

freedom to express
aggravates the mess
speeding up the deficit
of true attentiveness.

Friday, July 21, 2006

Don't Tell Me How to Pray

I wouldn’t dare presume to plan your way
each mind is fit to follow it’s own star
so please, don’t ever tell me how to pray.

How easily the lonely heart can stray,
discouraged by a goal that seems too far—
I wouldn’t dare presume to plan your way.

Is your belief more potent; who can say?
The truth we cherish makes us what we are
so please, don’t ever tell me how to pray.

A Mecca to some holy land can sway
your searching soul to seek the highest bar;
I wouldn’t dare presume to plan your way,

I’ll recommend an option if I may
but you must find the door that is ajar.
So please, don’t ever tell me how to pray

and I won’t tell you where to go today.
Each path we take will leave a livid scar—
I wouldn’t dare presume to plan your way
so please, don’t ever tell me how to pray.

Thursday, July 20, 2006

Another Spin?

Ten twirls around the crowded floor
and still the tune inspires
well worn shoes to waltz some more
before the band retires.

You let me lead, reluctantly
then gently sway in time;
my world revolves in front of me
unfathomed yet sublime.

Our partnership has persevered
to flourish as we prance,
all emptiness just disappeared
pre-empted by the dance.

Wednesday, July 19, 2006


The jungle has creatures that feed on the least
they prey upon dreams like a big shaggy beast,
with red dripping jaws they sloppily feast
until the unwitting are good and deceased—
the prudent adventurer seeks a strong hut
when carnivores craftily come for their cut.

Tuesday, July 18, 2006


A tiny fragile crumpled leaf
is swirling in an eddy
reminder of the grand motif
cascading, ever steady;

from mountains down to endless sea
across the promised plains
the cycle flows eternally
beyond the day that wanes.

Monday, July 17, 2006


Aggression breeds unfocused hate
which left unchecked will escalate,
campaigns are waged within ourselves
the deeper this resentment delves
to brutalize the doe-eyed child
whose public death must be reviled.

Sunday, July 16, 2006

Ring a Ling

The Ringing Of The Bards IV is up at the ever original Crunchy Weta, go have a look. Great job and thanks for your time and efforts Glenn!

One Man's Junk

Loading every line with ore
whether fact or metaphor
hides a richly studded store
bounty of intense rapport.

Saturday, July 15, 2006


Another tower blinking red
unsettled by revolving tread
the road lays down before me
but I watch the sky instead,

that hazy yellow hemisphere
to which unfocused eyes adhere
becomes more indiscernible
the longer that I peer;

this wry insensibility
while shrouded in futility
reveals the path unfolding
which resounds with possibility.

Thursday, July 13, 2006

Razor Burn

I dutifully measure
but take perverse pleasure
in keeping my whiskers unkempt
suppressing a snicker
at each furtive flicker
of smugly promoted contempt,
the plastic excesses
and self-imposed stresses
decreed by your corporate clan
are not a gradation
to gauge variation
between a machine and a man.

Tuesday, July 11, 2006


I feel like just another unpronounceable additive
in this ready made pre-packaged world,
processed beyond the point of recognition
awaiting my chance to be sampled and hurled

onto the rotting landfill of civilization
where I’ll spoil, becoming rancid and foul,
a glorious feast for the gluttonous vermin
that scavenge and stealthily prowl.

Monday, July 10, 2006


The house light dims behind a cloud
expectant stillness grips the crowd,
archaic anthems fail to stave
this feeling that the free aren’t brave;
among the herd routinely cowed
synthetic banners limply wave.

Regaled by learned troubadours
oblivious to fading shores
insistent strings are neatly plucked
by those who greedily deduct
whatever will our faith restores
when we condone what they conduct.

Can You Hear Me Now?

Hi Ho and welcome to the Muppet Show, heh, sorry just feeling a little froggy after playing out all weekend. Well it’s here, the 3rd Ringing of the Bards hosted by the most gracious Ashraf over at Arch Memory, go over and take a look, he has done a great job showing how distances mean nothing when words are involved, and there’s some outstanding creative efforts to be enjoyed. Thanks Ashraf!!

Also I would like to throw in a little shameless self promotion here and announce that my poetry has been featured on Nic Treadwell’s Homegrown Podcast #35. I recorded some of my poems as mp3 files and sent them to Nic a few weeks ago. They’re a little scratchy but definitely decipherable (it may take a few minutes to launch/download). I really must thank Nic for emailing me out of the blue; I was so happy and honored to be asked. And please check out Nic’s link over in my links section, some awesome poetry he has written and all kinds of creative stuff will be found, not to mention he is looking for new contributors all the time. Thanks Nic!!

Saturday, July 08, 2006


I spew a million banal rhymes
then throw them all away
content to let my mind just wander free,
unyielding sun and supple wind
begin their polar dance
upon this scarred container that I’m in,
to coexist in harmony
with everything unique
is all that I aspire to achieve.

Friday, July 07, 2006

Human Touch

We all have people in our lives we know through occupation
but seldom do we contemplate their depth of dedication;
the public servant’s steady beat, the farmer’s fruitful wares,
a healer with a gentle soul that comforts as he cares.

Thursday, July 06, 2006

Curb Appeal

The shutters creak
the gutters reek
as shingles fall
right off the peak,

the grass is sere
a crass veneer
assaults the eye
of all who peer,

the panes are glazed
the paint is crazed—
a wreck that begs
to just be razed.

Wednesday, July 05, 2006


We celebrate autonomy amidst incarceration
by bureaucrats who quickly coined the cost of liberation,
these sticky pawed moochers manage misappropriation
despite the debt demanded by a former declaration.

Tuesday, July 04, 2006

Follow The Leader

What common trait transmutes the meek to great?
Perhaps the need to thrive helps them succeed
then orchestrate a plan the throngs mandate,
and thus decreed quite competently lead
with noble gait whose strides accelerate
a guaranteed improvement for those freed.
Important steps must sometimes be reviewed
to make sure that momentum’s not eschewed.

Monday, July 03, 2006


A juicy splash of vibrant life
some pumpkin pulp upon the knife
a friendly fire’s licking tongue
the eye of dusk when it’s still young
majestic sweeps of monarch wings
an oriole that brightly sings
or Tygers twixt their midnight bands
that stalk the distant Martian sands.

Sunday, July 02, 2006


Chatoyant nimbus circled the sky
an omen of oneness I struggled to scry
until browbeaten by smoldering glare
which quickly subdued my desire to stare.

Let it Ring!

Head on over to Katy's blog and check out the Ringing of the Bards II, some great stuff there. To check out ROTB I hosted by the magnanimous one himself, Billy the Blogging Poet, click on the badge to the right in my links. Thanks a lot both of you, great jobs!!

Saturday, July 01, 2006


A cage within a cage,
corroding bars contain the rage
that stalks with shaggy head held low
impatient to escape and wage
a war beyond the war
excited by inviting spoor—
beware the day this beast lets go
to terrorize the jungle floor.