She stands there like she has for years
The life in her all gone
Once she wore a coat of green
And she'd be filled with song
As feathered friends of every kind
Would rest among her leaves
And as in life the same in death
Our tree will never grieve.
So all alone, she looks, this tree
All etched against black clouds
Although the life in her be gone
She stands there looking proud
And all her majesty is seen
By those with eyes to see
I take her picture once again
Try to catch her mystery
21 September 2013 @1920hrs.
The ranch on which I hang my hat, though short on most the frills,
Is thirteen sections, give or take, of rugged trails an’ hills.
We call it ‘home’, our little world, our very own frontier,
Amongst the cattle, sheep an' goats; the varmints, hogs an' deer.
Today I watched the breakin' dawn an' whiffed the mornin' air,
A time I often set aside for things like thought an' prayer.
A Mockin'bird an' Mornin' Dove, an' other birds at play,
Were there to sing an' set the mood to start another day.
This mornin' saw the strangest thing, like time itself had merged,
An' all the souls who once were here, appeared an' then converged.
In swirlin' clouds of mist an' fog, right off the bluffs they rolled,
Till all had gathered in the glen, the modern an' the old.
The Indians, conquistadors, an' other ancient men,
The soldiers from this country's wars, an' cowboys from back when…
They all had come from yesterday to help me understand
Our link with those who came before, to heritage an' land.
A crazy notion, so I thought, that they could just appear,
But as the morning went along the reason got real clear.
They rode along with me that day to show me things I’ve missed,
The things I’ve seen a thousand times an’ some I’d just dismissed.
Those wagon roads of long ago, still evident today,
Are carved in rock an' rutted earth, not apt to wash away.
They linked the missions, forts an' towns those many years gone by;
An' left their mark for all to see, as modern times grew nigh.
The artifacts an' weathered ruins attest to yesterdays,
When others came an' lived their lives in very different ways.
We've seen their skill in arrowheads they honed from fired stone,
An' craftsmanship in beads an' tools they fashioned out of bone.
At ever turn and trail we took was something to remind,
The Maker must have had a plan laid out for humankind.
The Earth He made’s been feedin' us a half-a-million years,
An' used it's wonder, force an' change to challenge pioneers.
I do not know if they'll return or if they’ll feel the need,
But I’m prepared to ride the trail, where ever it may lead.
We all are spirits ridin’ time with bodies of the Earth,
Whose time has come to take the reins an’ offer up our worth.
The land has been the legacy we cultivate an’ reap,
The life has been the heritage our father’s fought to keep,
An’ we are bound throughout our time with those who came before,
To put our hearts and souls to it, and make it something more.
what grows from these petri dishes?
when will these hives
with their metal monsters
their deceiving smiles
their artistic like visages
like a virus?
what of the fertile land they cover,
the resources they consume?
what of their ravenous appetite?
a forest untouched.
I am the ring around Saturn
spinning words as particles of ice and dust
with the power to transcend
I am the original chosen to be right here right now
transmitting verbal frequencies
through speaking my thoughts into existence
I am the heir of omnipotence,
born with a direct connection to profound abundance
The one whose words will age, yet still have substance;
since there are no boundaries attached to my pen
I am constant energy
Translating personal experience into imagery
Vulnerable to tyranny,
yet i continue attempting to share some truth
through this abstract language of poetry
I am the core
I am that I am more
I am the Divine Presence that is the Source of my rewards
I am the green you get when you mix too much yellow with the blue
That shade of gold you get when the sun resides into darkness
and when it ascends in the dawn burning dew
I am the transition between the third and fourth dimension of time;
the love you feel when you realize how it feels
I am the poem that is abstractly direct
because I write beyond limits
absorbing frequencies from 3 to 8 hertz
through meditation for several minutes
I am the one bridging the gap between
the analog ascension and the direct connection to spirit
The one who is love
because I am a descendent of it
I am the rhythm that the wind blows
I am the beginning and the ending of stories told
about the universe and how miracles unfold
I hold the power to accept judgement from those who will do just that
Not knowing that I am them in the absolute reality of me
I am knowledge beyond measure because that is my right
So I continue meeting the different parts of me
when I meditate and write
Who am I?
I AM, THAT, I AM
we strive to make sure
each day enlightens us
and brightens us
even as light fades to gray
may we keep fighting
with two swollen feet
beneath the body and soul
and intense life lessons
meshed with stresses
may we persevere
turn off fear's song
may we stand firm
as we glide along
through shifty winds of change
that may cause things to sway
but we hold true
inside the values and morality
we stand for
fall for nothing
may stumble along the trip
may swerve at the wheel yet
do not lose our grip
because no one
can eclipse the sun
before they're done
Just when situations arise
flooding us with pain we despise
and just when it seems like
our tear ducts are dry
from ongoing cries
we may think
things are on the brink of ending
then God shows us the ways of faith
by way of love that he's sending
we make sure
every day enlightens us
and brightens us
as each day takes its turn.
Born of glaciers, rivers flow,
turquoise ice and untouched snow,
deep green valleys far below,
ancient stands of hardwoods grow.
Icy rivers running deep,
through the mountain's midnight sleep,
darkened waters crest and leap,
earthbound secrets rivers keep.
Stoically the mountains stand,
nurturing the age-old land,
born before mere time began,
when Earth was pure, devoid of man.
River rocks were once rough stone,
water-smoothed, by eons honed,
each grain of sand is sand alone,
truths unspoken lie unknown.
Listen to the waters speak,
every river, ocean, creek,
there lie answers all must seek,
flowing from the mountain's peak.
Now my tendrilled soul,
Has found its pergola-- Christ--
To wind its way up....
You are the wild flower in my palm
With no stem to keep you anchored to this covetous earth
You are the fragile thing I dare not cup,
As your petals whittle away under the wind
And flit unfettered in the air;
Exaggerated fear leaves my fingers numb
Hungry need leaves my fingers twitching
And my hand is paralyzed by turmoil
As every breath of wind takes another petal from me
And brings to my lungs, my chest and my heart
An overwhelming scent of need-
You are the wild beauty in my palm
And I dare not hold you to my chest
For I fear to crush you
To know first hand
That caged beauty, is beauty no more.
Sad Heart, now thou art wither’d from the Sun,
What man, or god, will near thee run?
Wrought in twist like branches in Tempests' gasp,
What Comfort, or Gauze, shall be near to grasp?
True ones begotten are the ones now Rotten
And the ones now Rotten will never be forgotten
They are merely sad remains of assiduous Tears
That have been meddl’d with and tatter’d Raw throughout the years
And thou, cruel Mind, that sat’st still thru toiling trail of Night;
Must dream your broken Dreams; thou’rt a sanely flight!
Can thou extinguish passions of Fire, Disease, or Rain?
—tho thy distinguish’d influence trains to abstain
Thy Remnants brought to debris in thy Empty street,
Devour’d by Vultures, their bestow’d beaks entreat
Merely are they cleaning an inexhaustible Mess
Alas! Leaving thy rudiments of Identity to redress....
You think you’re alone out on the range
Sittin’ silent under starry sky,
Just a marvelin’ at the universe
And wonderin’ ‘bout that ol’ question: why?
You shake your head at worlds of worry,
Knowin’ it ain’t often that you’ll find,
All the answers to your queries
Beneath the clear black sky and pine.
You wonder if we rose up from mud
And walked straight and tall upon this earth—
Or was it all created in a moment—
A conception that gave us true birth.
Are we all no more than those monkeys
Evolvin’ slowly down life’s long line?
Or is there more to earth and heaven
Touched by something truly sublime?
We keep on punchin’ clocks and cattle
And tryin’ to get through each new morn—
But is there more to life than dyin’
And will we somehow be reborn?
All the cattle know my hard proddin’
As I lead them along time’s sad way—
We live for but a flashin’ moment,
As we watch life go by in one short day.
So make the best of trails you ride, cowboy—
Each tomorrow is both yours and mine—
And gaze long at stars in that vast sky
Placed there by intelligent design.
poetry is a tale told
like a spinning top
musing its point
Flowers of the Curious Mind
Sent were flowers of the curious mind
following echoes of Cantu's muse
No curses , words grossly unkind
insults hidden deeply in clever ruse
Dare not stab sweet music of mortal man
with deeds sordidly played tho' sweet
Transgress not Nature's surviving plan
with arrogant contempt born of defeat
Embrace life's melody as a lost friend
dancing within it's tune so fine
Live, live gloriously until life's end
drink, drink richly of it's finest wine!
Adrift in this vast,
empty sea. Silent,
save for the beckoning call
of distant gulls,
your only friend. And
the makeshift mast and sail is
by the dangling sway,
moss-green ribbons of waving kelp,
is the dark murk
of unknown depths.
Then the wind
arousing your sail and
it swells into life
and draws you towards home.
Today I saw thunder leak from the sky,
As if the sky was water and the thunder was dye.
There was no sound there was only red,
I asked a woman if God was dead.
She led me to a house with just one door,
Inside there was a painting of an open shore.
She painted it herself she sees colors by touch.
The ocean is her mind the beach is her crutch.
She said each stroke is a single thought,
Some of them flowed others she fought.
She rubbed the painting at a boat with a sail,
And said only the blind man can scream in Braille.
The boat is a person she said it's a saint,
God is the canvass, reality is the paint.
We were created as the artists so the universe will grow,
Because words can't always explain all that we know.
My soul is the paintbrush as a pen may be yours,
Once you begin there are infinite doors.
She only paints at night it's when she feels whole,
The stars give her the strength that society has stole.
Quiet your mind and you will feel the yearn.
Evolution is our creativity to explain what we learn.
Much like wings give birds the gift of flight,
We have gifts that solve the experience of life.
I do not know?
The twilight of night
casts a pale subtle glow,
as the tide of the ocean
puts on a magical show.
There is a warm rolling breeze
sea salt in the air,
shore lined with shells,
as if placed delicately with care.
This serenity and peace
which cannot be bought,
is proudly on display
for humanity, it does touch.
Regardless of colour,
of creed or of race,
the gift of nature;
opens eyes and offers faith.
Connecting with nature
Walking along I find peace…
Autumn leaves surround me
Crunching rhythms at my feet
I Step inside harmony ~
Brown leaves start swirling
A Tiny tornado forming
Admiringly…I stand glowing…
A mighty wind blows off my hat
Quickly…I wonder …what was that?
As I hold onto my head
It blows away end over end
Nature playing games instead
My gracious hat…ahead it blew
I ran after it fast and true~
Blown up against a Willow
Floppy hat blocked indeed
Tiny raindrops starting to fall
Cool drops kiss my cheek
Nature’s spirits forever speak ~
I love rain
It's a month now into spring
And still the rain pours down
Hey, is it ever going to end
There's many here that frown
They want the sunny weather
That will come soon enought
But right now, I'm enjoying it
Rain, I love the stuff.
Next week we're off on holiday
Now it really does rain there
And I'll love very bit of it
As it soaks up everywhere
To hear it's rhythm on the roof
It makes me feel so grand
Though many think that I am strange
They just don't understand
We don't get much rain in WA
So when it comes, for me
It makes me so excited
I guess it's how i be
So keep that rain a coming down
Let me feel it's soft, wet touch
I don't know what is wrong with me
But I love rain so much.
23 September 2013 @ 0624hrs
The sweetest sounds of burning trees
A gentle stroking in the breeze
The calm has lasted past the storm
Cloudy visions, Satan’s roar
Too many sights have passed my way
A time found only in the haze
The softest screams are running bare
My aching bones creak as I stare
You walk a distance towards me
The fall’s eternal, can’t you see?
I’m a memory in your heart
I whisper to you in the dark
The battle’s started at the end
No one is coming to repent
The sinners grab their wine from prey
No judgment calling here to stay
The sport is reckless to be told
The one is laughing at his souls
It falters nowhere to be sure
The power grows forevermore
Like a spirit in the wind
I have no say in where you’ve been
But cross the line to come to me
And pay the price for ecstasy
You walk a distance towards me
The fall’s eternal, can’t you see?
I’m a memory in your heart
I whisper to you in the dark.
Through a fluttering veil of luscious hues,
Fair Lady coquets with the majestic Sun,
As the wicked Wind caresses her tender cheek,
The harshness of Winter all undone.
Sparrows perched upon the towering trees,
Whistle sweetly at the colorful array.
Fair Lady hums and sways in warm ecstasy,
As the wicked Wind drifts away.
The sinful Sun glows after a wearying day,
And spans its gaze upon the fields of fruit.
Fair Lady drowsy, lies upon the prickly grass;
The darkness envelops as all goes mute.
Golden objects are most outstanding,
But without loving, they are missing flavor.
But let’s not forget stunning silver,
That the maid often loves to savor.
And brilliant copper, with its rosy sheen,
That every craftsman should well know.
But cold iron, as Kipling likes to say,
From all of these, takes the show.
Not mentioned yet, but not to be overlooked,
Is platinum, our bright and lustrous pal.
Thought to be impure for thousands of years,
But now more valuable than them all.
'Tis strange where we should get the notion
That poetry expressed in motion
Should within the human form reside.
When nature gives us many chances
Unpractised and ephemeral dances
Like in a muddy field when sheep collide
Truth is, that nature's not so humble
And doesn't mind the dancer's stumble
There's nothing that it ever seeks to hide
Uncaring it leaves all revealed
And is not shamed if one small field
Has crazy sheep and one long muddy slide
They're mad, they're bad, they're having fun
Those naughty sheep and every one
Is doing what convention has denied
The hillside's muddy, wet and slick
With crazy sheepies sliding quick
Down to the bottom, down where sheep collide.
Many count good nature's fare
The birdsong and the country air
Among the wonders of the countryside
But strange delight can yet be found
In woolly bodies sliding round
A simple muddy field where sheep collide.
While nature guides celestial spheres
In cosmic dances, it appears,
With majesty the earthborn are denied
Down far beneath in mud and grass
A sheep slides on its woolly a***:
A sense of fun, though not a sense of pride.
I am whatever you say I am...
but, let's get back to reality...
Three short years ago, this room shined welcome mats across a screen of doldrums.
A place of unfamiliarity that screamed,
"You don't belong!"
Yet, a voice of reason spoke and said,
"Expand yir' roots. Venture beyond the comfort zone. Academia resides inside that room, but know you won't be alone."
Repeatedly,brainwaves declined what my wife and editor had told me.
"no way, I'm givin' up my soul for free, they read, they pay, like it's always been, the way it's going to always be!"
Unbeknownst to me one day, and with a slight of hand, my "Open Sores" were put on display and surprisingly more than a handful of great ladies and nice guys began to give feedback on what I had devised.
This interaction was something very new, helpful, and impressive. For a change, it was something real.
For years, those around me were quick to give praise with hidden reasons. Constructive criticism is amazing, and I welcomed being corrected or set straight.
Now there are those who choose to shut me down without explanation, and call me names.
DO NOT mistake me for sophomoric! These words bleeding from my guts have no style and need no approval. There is no thinking involved here, no plan. If you don't like it, fine...don't censor or bracket me in. So what if I am illiterate? If you don't like "street poetry" or the pathetic stuff I write, don't read it. If I offend you, tell me.
We should welcome those who are different than us.
Words of truth inspire movement, like fire.
I came to this room to expand my horizons, step outside the box, learn, help, grow.
There will be no apologies dealt for being different, or for being labelled as something uncomfortable to you.
This has been an ok room so far, but there is some clique trickanery going on.
If the dictionary must come into play, let me recommend looking up the term "Poetic License."
True, I may not be the writer you prefer, or aspire to be....but tread carefully my friend, for you have no idea of my profession. I've made a fine living, for a good long time, spewing words onto paper. I came from nothing, and may still be nothing to you...still, I do what I love, have no boss.
I am not an aspiring writer who dreams of a life, I live my dream. In conclusion, I must wish you luck in finding what you peddle poetry for. Until then, keep
Sanguine blush, outreaching its origin,
Roses bloom across the painting.
The sky extends its insubstantial limb,
Spreading its fingers- in gesture towards you.
A great fan, coral but crimson,
Shifting, yet still- tumbling across eternity.
The horizon appears, in a flash of pink rainbow,
Love, of the universe, of humanity,
Of life, appears… and evaporates; a gradual decline,
of colour; but so sudden too,
And we are left once more,
Full is the sea of your memories
Seaweed meadowed, deep cave treasuries
Stories that summon the lost and curious
Legends embossed in silent reveries
Drift the illumined waves of your home
Wide the blue realms in which you may roam
Your spirit alive beyond undersea depths
In echoes of songs over silver green foam.
What is it - what does the mermaid know
Beyond the clouds and the winds that blow
That she is woman and nature combined
Her wisdom of this on mankind will bestow
I do not know?
Don't worry child
Don't let fear
Don’t worry child
Still needs you
You will find life
When you find
Don’t worry child
Beside the cold trees
Find your way out
Find the life inside
Don’t worry child
May the branches of doubt
Lead you to the leaves
Where everything is calm and green
Away from the screaming steam
Don’t worry child
in the forest
Between the ashes and shadows
A mystic soul shines
Among the trees of life
Always by your side
Don’t worry child
Your soul is bright
Your tree will shine
You will find
You are one of a kind
So Don’t worry child!
a twisted tree
casts a single shadow -
mirage on horizon
death’s breath is warm
a welcome reprieve in the
winter of life
Sponsor: Charles Henderson
Contest Name: HAIKU 101 FOR NEWBIES TO HAIKU AND/OR POETRY SOUP CONTESTS
Everything goes round in circles.
Everything, it goes in circles
So why the worry all the time?
It seems to me all our impatience
It really is a blessed crime
Always frightened death will touch us
Thinking there is but one life
Fear is such a foolish action
Gets us all in so much strife.
In nature there is not a straight line
Straight lines just exist in mind
The seasons sun and moon above us
Look at them and you will find
That all of them go round in circles
Everything goes round and round
I have looked, it seems forever
And this is all I’ve ever found.
And so my friends just drop your worries
Don’t be foolish, live your life
Without the fear, and the impatience
These they cause you too much strife
Life goes on, it does forever
Take a look so deep within
To worry, worry till forever
This is such a blessed sin.
17 May 2014 @ 0745hrs.
I do not know?
To the divinity within all of us
The wind blows outside my window
Reeling mercilessly against the trees.
Its power deployed, their will to destroy
And I can hear them yell in rebellion.
Daring the wind to try with all its might
Had gone there before, they know the score.
They know the fury the wind can carry
Whatever is in store, they cannot ignore.
They stand out, proud, arms stretched out
Bonded are their souls, holding the same goal.
Their unity, a fortress that found no distress
They would face this trial as they did those prior.
It was their legacy born in tenacity
From the beginning, it was God given.
So that man would come to understand
The extent of his God given potential.
To walk his way through life's hills and valleys
Building character, until he is one in heart with the Creator.
Copyright © 6/1/10.
Metaphysical Moment (The Haiku)
Metaphysical Moment …
… Nature’s Mysteries
This Haiku is for:
The Haiku Master ‘Raul’ Moreno
Metaphysical Poet Extraordinaire’ (smile))