As River flows.
As river flows so peacefully
I sit here just content to be
As Ravens fly so high above
This morning, it was made for love
It enters deep into my soul
It’s sweetness making me so whole
This softest morning mystery
Oh, how it reaches out to me
The trees, they dance so gracefully
They wave, and flow upon the breeze
Bird song drifts from happy branches
Oh lord, how this my heart enhances
Silence rules above all this
A kind of stillness filled with bliss
Captivates my very core
Oh, I’d not wish for any more.
The river peaceful, calm and still
So wonderful it makes me feel
As it reflects those dancing trees
I watch and let the morning breeze
Caress my skin so tenderly
Then all is gone, there’s only me
The emptiness of all that is
I’m sailing on the waves of bliss.
15 March 2014 @ 0705hrs.
If 2012 prophesies prove true
And Earth’s life cycles again renew
Mysteries of man will be more than a few
Challenges may await future life forms
With intellects far surpassing our norm
Created to live without doing harm
For if they decipher man’s history
What will they make of our great mystery
The one we refer to as bigotry
Black labs, gold retrievers live side by side
Wild stallions and mustangs on prairies ride
Both red ants and black, free to colonize
Man’s refusal to accept differences
To wiser beings may make no sense
What in man’s makeup can give it credence?
Earth’s subsequent creatures may reproduce
Not needing two sexes to call a truce
So mating rituals may be pursued
A single-sex species might not comprehend
Why women workers were paid less than men
And why “free speech” was not just a given
Questions would most certainly arise
How a believer in God denies
Rights to free worship without compromise
And how could so many wars be waged
Evoking God’s name in death-march crusades
With killing, torturing in every age
Indeed such mysteries in man’s history
Would leave a perplexing legacy
Sure to confound any new species
New cultures may thrive on diversity
Of religion and genealogy
And speak of our inferiority
Note: This is dedicated to Christopher Higgins whose poems about prejudice inspire readers
to do more than just think about one of the greatest ills in our society.
Dead men tell no tails, or so the winds of
On judgment hill from on high,
Voices do echo downwards, as the
Noose does sway, back and forth, on the
These gallows, of oaken branches, act as tethers,
Shackles, holding the forsaken, souls prisoner.
Ghost phantoms cling, to it's rotten limbs,
That break beneath times endless rampage.
Regrets fallen horsemen, of the old west,
Stand guard, sentinels on horse back,
Wearing a tarnished tin star.
God's law keepers, are branded, sworn,
By their honor, to protect even after death,
The gates of heaven, from this spawn of hell.
Beware evil desperadoes, no mercy will
This the lord's posses show unto you,
For these riders bare a different mark.
A silver cross of justice, given by
The Almighty’s hand himself.
Say thy prayers, all lawless men,
For on this day, does the rope tighten,
Around your neck, there is no reprieve,
No salvation for evils deceit.
Hell bound are thou, the devils breed.
But beware, there is no escape,
From this grave site.
At dawns first light, as it spreads
Across the western horizon.
Know that yee, are one of many spirits
Doomed, to be weaved within the
Tangled limbs, called the hang
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
I do not know?
are like my thoughts
falling down into my mind
sending goose bumps down
Their cool aftermath
cleanses me of my thoughts
of fear and uncertainty
about what tomorrows
pain may bring
They make me feel,
wet with creativity
drenched in my optimistic
raindrops, my thoughts
leave paths of pleasurable
distress, and hope of success
which road, less traveled
may be the best
Forget an umbrella
when these raindrops
arrive, I walk outside
arms open wide
Ready to Receive
the mind storm may bring
because raindrops are
as my thoughts, falling
down into my mind
sending shivers down
My brain, yearns
for the rain, to wash away
the pain, tomorrows worry
One special drop
could speed up life's clock
to the time
I can handle my own
and not dwell inside my controllers
For raindrops are,
like my thoughts
falling down into my mind
sending goose bumps
down my spine
Poetry is a highly personal endeavor for all who write
And answer the inspiration of Our Eternal Poetry Muse.
Why do we write poetry?
This a very important question for all of us who “spill ink.”
Poetry for me is a most wonderful magical medium and
An art and methodology which bespeaks the realm of the
Mysterious, Arcane, Uncanny, Mystical, Esoteric, and Divine.
Poetry is my personal endeavor to master the complexity of
Relating my deepest thoughts and connecting with the reader;
Developing a memorable and intriguing theme or subject;
Choosing the right words and composing meaningful verse;
Finding the best metaphors and the proper tone and balance;
Exploring key theme attributes (to name a few):
Feelings, passions, emotions, light, dark, happiness
Sadness, humor, good, evil, intelligence, stupidity,
Right, wrong, ethereal, ignorance, and indifference.
Our Poetry Muse touches each and every one of us at key times
When we least expect it: morning, noon, evening, after midnight.
Our Muse, for me, captivates my thoughts and illuminates my soul
While compelling me onward to communicate and share with others
What I see and perceive, sense and feel, think and understand about
A theme as it resonates in the depths of my innermost psyche.
I know that I have much to say now in my life . . .
Verse, meter, rhyme, tone, metaphors, metonymy, allegory, imagination—
All enliven my efforts and make easier my attempts to mirror my
Thoughts and views to the reading public.
I want my thoughts and doubts, as my passion abounds, to connect with
Those deepest elements of my human psyche and my emotions
In making my written message to be something that is:
Meaningful and significant, resolute and spirited;
Full of passion or compassion, humor or sadness, courage or fear,
Strength or weakness, Heaven or Hell, bliss or misery—or whatever
Motivates and inspires the Creative Process for me.
Our Muse is there with all of us, in reality, to inspire us and help us
To bring passion, meaning, certitude, and direction to our thoughts
As we attempt to infuse these very attributes into our poetic narrative.
Our Muse, in the end, leaves it up to each and every one of us
To go one further step beyond Her ethereal influence and inspiration:
To invest and infuse at the end of this process our own “Free Will”
In making the final decision pertaining to what our final verse or
Narrative product will look like To Our Reading Public.
This is my take, my view on what happens when Our Eternal Poetry Muse
Tantalizes us and awakens within each of us that undeniable Spirit of
Inspiration, and that giddy zest and irrepressible desire to “spill ink.”
Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved, Schoeningen, Germany (October 3, 2014) (Narrative poetic format)
Superstitious, a black cat left unaware, stepping
Lightly in front of thee, I'll side step in the other direction,
If you don't mind, I'm not one to tempt the wicked finger of fate,
Tall is the ladder left unattended, never go underneath
If you wish to come out unscathed on the other side.
Scat cat, that darn pussy-cat not realizing
That she is in the danger zone.
Long and sleek is kitten's pretty tail,
In a nursing home, full of rocking chairs.
Friday the thirteenth, a superstitious holiday,
For the unlucky not to celebrate, never have
I heard one of these poor souls say, Yippee,
On this the unluckiest of days.
Creek, crack don't step on that crack,
Or you'll break your mother's back,
Remember this on mother's day, for her
Heavenly sake alone.
Toward off bad lucks evil spell, toss salt
Over your left shoulder, but always use
The refined version kind my friend, never use
The rock salt variety or you may hurt whom
Ever is right behind thee.
Drop a penny, heads or tails, face up is good,
But tails leave it lie, for its bad mojo, and that's
Superstitious people are we, to believe in all this
Mubo Jumbo, rubbing rabbit foots, and really come on now, do four
Leaf clovers bring good luck, so if this is true, I'll plant a garden of
Them, then I'll play the lotto.
Humanity, we are a funny species, to give credence,
Faith to any of this stuff, but just encase I'll eat an apple
Everyday to keep that nasty doctor away, ok.
Superstitions voodoo woman, rattle them bones, of super natural power.
Up side down horse shoes, bring only misfortune to the cowboy, turn it right side up.
Premonition's foretelling should be marked down not brushed aside.
Esp. is perceptions of things to pass, don't listen, and it's your own fault.
Rituals done wrong can be a big mistake so for heavens sake alone go to church.
Sinister is the wolf that hunts by night, as a silver bullets shot rings out.
Tooth to fang, garlic is just not a vampire’s thing.
Incantations spells of mystery, can get old witchy in a lot of bubbling trouble.
Trick or treat what a feast, remember don't over eat, or you may get a soar tummy.
Icy ghostly images with spots, remind one to take the sheets to the Laundromat.
Optimism is a positive force, against the negative on the supersitionious coarse.
No nonsense about it, I do so like the darker side of Halloween.
Superstitions are a great topic for conversations, especially on Friday the 13TH.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
She should have been Hera, goddess queen of heaven, the sister-wife of
Zeus, king of the gods; she would have caught him one Friday night tipping
Out while she sleeps to visit one of his plumy wives and over 100 relations.
She would have said, “Sit down Zeus; let me inform you about the laws of
Property settlement and child support in heaven with a concrete poem.”
She would have straightened up Aphrodite, goddess of love and lust.
Especially when Aphrodite was caught red-handed making love to
Her son, Ares, the God of war, she probably would have said, “Now look
Here woman, quit messing with my son and creating all this rumblings in
Heaven with the gods.” I could see some Lanturne poems floating
She would have acted as the sister of Demeter, goddess of fertility,
Agriculture, and harvest, a sister of Zeus. Because she would have
Blessed women with children who need them, and also farmers
With great harvest and crops to feed their families and sustain the
People across the land, by waving a haiku poem in her healing hands
She would have screamed as the sister of Hermes, the crooked cattle-rustling
God; son of Zeus and Maia, who stole his brother, Apollo’s cows, then
Lied, and swore before Zeus, their father, “That even if I knew who stole
Apollo’s cattle, I would not even accept a reward for finding the thief.”
She would have gave her crooked brother, and son of Zeus, a flying senryu
She would have been with Athena, the virgin goddess of wisdom, reason, and
Heroic endeavors; the daughter of Zeus, and Titan goddess of wise counsel
Métis, especially when Athena appeared onto Swift-footed demigod,
Achilles, and told him, “Sheathe your sword and defeat Agamemnon, the
Greek king with words of wisdom.” I could see some wise epigram poems
She was probably counseled by Apollo, her brother, god of music, healing, and
Poetry; the son of Zeus and the Titan goddess Leto. Because she has cared
For the sick in hospital emergency rooms, and has also stimulated us for years
With her poetic muse. She has counseled many along the way and has calmed
Many storms with loving charm. “Hail my sister in Christ—Karen O’Leary!”
Happy birthday angel and wishing you many more for years to come!
Eve my dear, God's word to us you did not heed.
You ate of the tree then gave fruit to me we did not need.
I can't blame you my dear for it was really my fault.
I didn't have the balls to tell you no, so thus the serpents assault!
I ate the fruit too and my eyes were opened to view,
Things that I'd rather not had to deal with in this life so new.
The garden was so beautiful and we had to leave.
Now here we sit beside this fire with our memories and grieve.
I'll have to work by the sweat of my brow now,
And till the soil so we can grow food as God would allow.
And you'll bare children in very much pain.
And we'll learn to build houses to keep out of the rain!
Is there an "If only?" I couldn't tell you.
In God's great infinite plan the grand over all view.
I believe it was meant to happen like it did.
But being a man I still want to blame Eve and in this I DO NOT KID!!!!!!!!!
Dedicated to my wife Linda....my EVE!!!
I do not know?
How ironic? Has God ever fallen in love?
I am sure the supreme power does have a clue about love.
Then why are many struggling with questions that have no answers.
If certain sensations are not meant to be then why does one have to go through it?
Or is it a good way to put a check list on Karmic activities.
One’s feeling doesn’t seem to make any sense and the restless notion only brings discomfort.
Even though some things seem so right and pulls one toward a make believe world,
Attempts and efforts don’t seem to fade away.
It is with the tornado of genuine feelings that keep the tingly feeling of love alive.
So does God understand this?
Even though modernization has struck onto the minds of many,
The devotion and willingness to surrender to that person develops a passionate and overpowering desire.
The sweet and sour, or bitter and sweet emotion creates fear or questions fate again and again.
Once the brave feeling has been awakened and humble efforts have been tried upon,
One cannot fight destiny, but can hopefully open a new change to Karmic policies.
As time goes by, one notices that it is no more days, weeks, months, but years that has shaken the foundation of a belief that finally love will conquer over the negativity,
Love is the feeling that has no answers but only a precious sensation is felt.
Again no answers, but more questions and experiences are shown and learnt in every way.
There must be something better stored for everyone that is why one walks through a chain of tests.
Happy living and sustain that positive attitude.
" From the debt of my heart"
The African child
Sat behind the bamboo fence
He was sober and tense
Sputtering and wondering.
He forsook the bush meat
And the gathering under the moonlight
For sobriety and the causes of his uncertainties.
His clothes were like dried leaves
His feet like openings in the eaves
He longed to see a brighter tomorrow
He clarified the causes of his sorrow;
Sins of the father,
Fighting not to make things better
Therefore darkening the weather,
Making his destiny falter and bitter.
Tears exuded from the sound of his flute,
His fears enlarged like a parachute
But one thing he never understood,
Watch and pray, oh! African root
For your foundation is stinky, filthy,
Faulty and guilty...... watch and pray.
I am Reality’s angel
resting on the broad shoulders of discovery
the truth feeds darkness and engulfs its target
ideas and concepts in turn become meaningless to you
there is a creator of all things
He is just and patient
many still have fallen into the masses of shadow
wrapped in their own filthy idols of philosophy
I have seen grown men fall like rose petals
and weaklings rise into unjust leaders
forever the follower of furtive evil
dominating only to remain inferior
the most important answers lie in the unseen regions
where no sense can fully give assurance
the mind that so many unreasonably twist and turn
grows weary because of the distance it must take
and truth be told the distance is not what frustrates
it is knowing we are seeking something far
that could very possibly not exist,
that our minds can twist into theoretical, idealistic nonsense
it is knowing all we really think we know
and yes—even a lie
all that has been written thus far rests under my wings
under the warmth in which you refuse to feel
can you believe in me—
though I am completely unseen?
how much more difficult would it be to see
Willie wagtail wakes the morning
With his song outside my room
He tells me that the day is dawning
And sings away all shades of gloom.
Lovely bird, back black and shiny
With his belly creamy white
He sits there on a roof so finely
Giving my Soul sweet delight
‘Morning’s here’ his song is singing
Every note so loud and clear
As his song to me is bringing
A feeling oh, so sweet and dear.
26 August 2013 @ 0657hrs.
In the darkness of the morning
In the darkness of the morning
There’s silence all around
Of the noisy din of people
Not a trace it can be found
Just the cars there in the distance
And the early morning song
Are all that’s heard here by this witness
And the peace is loud and strong.
The dog is lying on the ground
Just a chewing on a bone
It's an awesome kind of feeling
As I sit here all alone
And the silence fills my being
As the gas fire heats the air
I am dazzled by the sweetness
Of this feeling soft and rare
The morning sky is turning blue
As the darkness fades away
It seems the world is waking up
All the birds begin to play
As they flit amidst the branches
And the greenness of the trees
That sway so very gently
In the early morning breeze
early nightfall fondling skin
on glowing shafts from a world
so blind my body enters
cramps of memory
~ As early nightfall tousles my hair prism light,
the alchemy of a ceremonial parade begins
in this panel of a forest like a mystic scene
~ fondling my skin…jutting from nowhere,
a relay of tigers and flamingos swivel
on glowing shafts in the pale dark ... I freeze.
Some quick time frames away, the jungle rises
with raw stirrings of wildlife; an explosion
~ from a world curving a zebra's flowing movement
of unrehearsed art, of twilight spontaneity
~ oh so blind to human, mental gazes;
they slide away from such calculated moments as
.~ my body enters their changing symmetry
collapsing in mindless trance that nothing
from my eyes is ever hidden, not even the low
gushing in my breath… I shut my lids to memorize
the anatomy of their kind faces, those rising limbs
simply estranged from rehearsed gaiety.
And I seize their impressions defying the seeming
~ cramps of man’s robotic strides;
yet, i cannot hold them inside this head’s waves
~ of memory , consumed with the grace displayed
by creatures’ unbridled rites to its gods…
I become the humble slave of divine beasts.
`~ ~ ~ ~``
*from my journal about a night safari in Singapore
for Debbie Guzzi's Etcetera by nette onclaud
Ain't a word, you said.
but it takes a daring gust
for things start to be.
I walk a mile to see the self in me that I believe to be,
I knew the road I choose to lay my head to sleep is called my home,
times in need I could barely see that in myself I will set free,
the act that held me down, something about me I could not see,
I lived a life when I decide that day I said that I don't care,
so young, so bright, I dim my light, traumatized for me to share,
love me please regardless of what you heard and what you have seen,
friends say that I'm only human, yes you're right, a human but who am I being?
My life will move in the direction I choose,
this I know I have always been taught
that I choose to be a winner or lose,
its entirely up to me its all in my thoughts.
He slowly opened the window sash
Deeply breathing the cool morning air
Feeling the warmth of the sunshine
Embracing the morning so completely
Bringing the spark of life to his face
Listening to the sonnets of Warblers
Inside the beauty of a summertime dawn…
Slowly wandering to the Lilac gardens
Resting on the soft greenery tufts
He leaned into the white purple blossoms
Inhaling deep the warm honeyed perfume
Feeling the silk tendrils upon his face
As the pure tiny droplets fell upon him
A baptism in a pergola of morning blooms…
The gentle whisper of Monarch’s in flight
Brought him to his feet in easy chase
Reaching out chasing the sound of flutter
He tumbled down the slope laughing
Laying in the flower bed he reached skyward
Decreeing the miracle of Mother Nature, he said
“I only wish I could see it”…
Night creeps in
How does one put it into words?
This beauty all around
This little camp in Pemberton
Such bliss there, I have found
I stand outside this tiny Chalet
Surrounded by green trees
As I melt into the song of life
And feel sweet mystery
I do not know the names of all
These trees that do surround me
The furthest ones be Karri trees
So vast and tall they be
As the shadows shade them into darkness
And fill them with such power
Then closer be a wattle tree
All filled with yellow flowers.
To see these trees dance on the breeze
Is a pleasure to the eye
As Sheep feed on the lush green grass
The day begins to die
The night time creeps on up to me
And birds sing goodnight songs
As I feel that here in Pemberton
My heart it does belong.
Dramatic Verse (Verse Drama)
Who can hear, the mornings call?
The dead dove's body, as it des fall.
Who can see through, the dead man's eyes?
As the burning sun, falls from the skies.
What once was new, has now become old,
What once was alive, has now become cold,
What you believed, was worth a lot,
Is burnt to ashes, in the melting pot.
Let's start again, I hear them say,
Let's start again, another day,
Let's make again, what we made before,
Spill more blood, on the kitchen floor,
Lift the cross, up on the hill,
Load the guns, to fight and kill.
Fight and slaughter, till there's non one left,
Till your mind is empty, your heart is deaf,
You thought that, I was a soldier too,
You thought that I said, I love you,
But I tell you now, and I tell it true,
The angles of heaven, and the angels of hell,
Are riding now, to the ring of deaths bell.
What you thought, was silver and gold,
Are ashes and dust, on the open road,
What you knew was good, what you knew was true,
The hot sun has dried, like the morning dew,
The very memory, of hope and despair,
Is lost in the hole, of your soul laid bare.
The empty hole, behind the clouds,
The music and the laughing crowds,
Are dead and gone, have faded away,
As a new sun rises, on a bright new day,
I tell you now, and I tell you true,
As the hammer of me hits the anvil of you
Extraordinary, I am
Craving for unusual thoughts
Endless exploration without boundary
Understanding the gift I shouldn't fought
Invisible drawings in my mind
Playing with the words in my head
The food of my soul
I feel so lucky
The random thoughts
A lifetime companion
A self esteem builder
A goal planner
Be my forever life saver
I write more
I talk less
I want to please
I chose to bore
What tickles me the most
Is to know what I'm for
Thinking is my love
When my mind goes empty
That's when I hate
My day dreaming lust
Organizing things in my mind
Playing roles of simulation
Where images of art is my vision
And words of attitude is my heart
She bounced right off the inkling
. . . . . . . . . golden rings and tinker bells winking
on tiny toes zzzzzzzzinging
through the galaxies spinning
. . . . . . . . . aglitter aflicker ~ her heart
atwist amidst anticipating ...
on Halley’s comet tail she flew
. . . . . . . . . in the genius of a snowflake parade
in search ... in search
. . . . . of something he once said
to the atmosphere on a cloudy
. . . . . . . . . day
over rooftops flurried in December snow
in a glance of her cosmic smile,
. . . . . . . . . she ... perched on the cusp of an eighth of a moon
sang songs of fields of poppies soon
budding beneath the snow,
. . . . . . . . . and she opened her tiny fists and let go her angel dust
upon the world
and the earth shimmered in many colors
and gave praise
. . . . . . . . . and the angels came and fetched her up ~
and He smiled.
Enter a storybook tale
Where I can be
The heroine you hail
Lucid dreams of soft reflection
A touch heated with lust and desired protection
A breathe a gasp as we succeed
Join the fairytale with me
Valiant night within dark eyes
the right movement and I make them shine
like moonlight on the steamy hot spring
care to follow for a little dip with me
Trailing like the water at my fingertips
Grasp me around my hips
As close as the breeze on my skin
Whisper lies as I let you in
Lips mumbling up my thighs
bare heart exposed to the sky
fire burning in my veins
Am I a mistress of this lust or simply a slave
Trembling with desire
Take me till we've lost count of the hours
enter this storybook tale
Where I can be the heroine you hail
Blunt is the winter season's cold;
resembles a theatric play,
the nuptial quilt, white cares to lay,
inside my verse, times to enfold.
And as the snowflakes dance with joy,
embraced is that conceived garden,
where past of years our lives bargain,
- best flight in clouds the tears deploy.
Outside musicians walk on road,
with brass trumpets strange tunes they play,
like soldiers left on mountain fray,
ghosts greet me with melodious laud.
In front of them I see her dance,
and snow flakes fly beyond my stare,
her flight transmits to meadow fare,
for passengers who felt her glance.
How beautiful 's this cold - ideal,
in soul I feel her dance's reach,
her hands she opens in the mists,
dimensions she unfolds surreal.
In ancient times she was a bloom,
became a thorn's glistening red,
she was my faith while winters shed
snow's bridal quilt - I was her groom.
© G.V. 12/14/2012
Some divine light
Beams upon my life
Every day the same sight:
A star beyond shallow sky,
Would I see you if I die?
Noah’s ark was real not a fiction
It had a door to escape God’s affliction
Noah delivered a warning message
But the folks mock their own presage
Men grew in sin and matured in transgression
And ignored Noah’s loving confession
The Door stood open a long time
Until time begin to climb
The Lord finally shut the Door
And the rain begin to pour
120 years of grace finally came to a halt
God administered judgment by default
The Door was a glorious type of Christ
He was the Lamb of God who was price
Jesus said “I am the Door of the sheep”
He is the only Door of that Great ship
Jesus is our Door of salvation
Wherein we enter and float as new creation
Behold He stands at your door this day and knock
Let Him in, you’ll find pasture as a partaker of His Holy flock
Then said Jesus unto them again, Verily, verily, I say unto you, I am the door of the sheep- John 10:7