Tuesday, April 10, 2012

The Poetry Toy Box

Finley has many Finleyism's.

If he had his own reality show, I'm guessing I could get a partime job deciphering his lingo for the programs producers.


The words Toy Box.

Finley loves to say "Toy Box", but if he used this phrase on the air, a directors cut scrawl wouldn't easily be able to produce a simple definition.

In Finleys world "Toy Box" is another way of saying Jack Pot.

Other times he'll use it for some kind of Utopian existence.

But more often than not, when Finley drops "Toy Box" on you....he's simple referring to the thoughts in his mind.

Over the years, I've kind of pushed "Mental Vault", but I think it's too formal for him, and therefore lacks credibility.

Recently Mike wrote a poem about Atheists in Heaven.

When I complimented the piece and asked when he wrote it.....I shouldn't have been surprised by his response....

"I think that I pulled that one out of the toy box 2 years ago, but it sat in there for over 20 years before it ever saw daylight."

This is a huge difference between Finley and I.

I hate knowing that somewhere is a place where orphaned poems exsist.

God only knows how lonely popular poems can get.

So during the last couple of days, I have been clearing the cob webs in my toy box, and thinking of ideas, or poems that needed final tweaking.

The following is my first attempt ever at pulling discarded words from the past, and trying to create a platform for them in the now....

Mr. Finley, this is is several "LOVE" concepts rolled into one, but that doesn't mean you need to feel bad about tearing this down and reconstructing it in a public arena...I can take it.


God's the true artist
Not Pablo Picasso
I traveled his sculpture
Early in April
The ocean, a tribute
The mountains, cathedrals
Such a sight to see

Creation divine
Aesthetic sublime
But still
You would have to be his masterpiece

So grab the pot
And pour some coffee
Save room for the cream
Your morning face
A flawless canvas
While those brown eyes gleam
I salute the architect of your temple
For producing such a dream

A Goddess dwells in the people’s empire



  1. The poem is exhilarating and it gets better as you go on ... you dig a joyous hole for yourself with ecstatic language ... God, cathedrals, mountains, sculpture, flawless, architect, sublime ... it is hard to do those words justice ... maybe that's why so many poets prefer unhappiness ... the cool words are all there ... cobwebs ... murk ... frown ... it's not like you can just reach into the toy box and pull something out ... it has to stagger out, with the last throb of its batteries ... your poem is doing a lot of things ... an argumentive part of me wants to ask ... why look for God in beauty ... doesn't that pull you away from the beauty and toward the abstract idea behind it ... I'm sure the thing to do with beauty is to see IT, or deal with it any way you can ... not flip it over to dig for the gold ... people disagree about this ... anyway, ecstasy i a tough thing to pull off persuasively ... easier to do it in your own heart and mind than to make it palatable to others, who are trained to shield themselves from outbursts that fail to convey the feeling, the experience ... I would challenge you to find words to describe the one thing in this poem you know for a fact ... that it felt the way it did ... but it's a steep challenge ... happiness is always uphill

    1. "It has to stagger out, with the last throb of it's batteries" LOL, that was cool. I really liked that. And yeah....happiness is kind of uphill huh? You never seem to get to a point where you get to coast through it.