Wolf And Owl Take Shape
Smoke and red cinders rise together in retrograde simplicity
On counter rotation, winds sing through birch and oak
Marbled moon remains sour yellow through the ecliptic edge
Cryptic night, where owl and wolf find warmth and cover
Nestled in the coarse blanket warn by Tabitha, the young one
Her tribe sleeps through winter
She holds them in her mystic spell, mild heart and smile
They breathe cold mist together in history hallows
Unfolding cold reveals their open eyes
Reaching out into the distance as wolf howls
Unknown mysteries of life feel their kinship
Heaven opens up to them crisp on the fire light
Wolf moves his wool but only slightly in a twitch
Owl takes flight, returns alarmed
Back to the blanket and young girls arms
It rests with comfort feathers by her heart
Wolf and owl take shape, Tabitha smiles
They all take one long last breath and hold it in
Wait till spring to release it again below the mystic stars
10/17/14 Free Verse, Prose Poetry, haibun – Poetry Contest
Bob had been a lonely man ever since
His wife of fifty years had passed.
“Lord, let me join her.” he would pray.
“Let this day be my last.”
Each day, he went to the cemetery,
Just a short walk down the street.
After their talk, he would water her flowers
And hear passers-by whisper, “How sweet.”
One gray and misty morning,
He had hoped for sunnier skies
To plant fall bloomers at her graveside;
But, there, to his surprise…
Stood an old dog beside her stone;
Thin and dirty, but he struck a handsome pose.
He whined as Bob approached, as if to say,
“I could use a friend, you know.”
He sat calmly as Bob planted flowers,
Carefully sniffing each one Bob put in place.
Then, after the last one was planted,
He sniffed it; then turned and licked Bob’s face.
Bob smiled. “I had a dog when I was young…
Pal…he was a mighty good one too.
So, if you don’t mind old fella,
That’s what I’ll call you.”
Pal may have been an old dog,
But he was smart and handsome in his way;
So they made a deal, Bob would give him a meal
And a bath, if he decided to stay.
Pal loved his bath, then rolled in the grass.
He slept on a blanket in the den.
In the night, he dragged it next to Bob’s bed.
He intended to be Bob’s best friend.
Pal was such a good dog, housebroken too;
Never made a mess or got in trouble.
He knew about newspapers, slippers and Frisbees;
And when Bob called, he ‘d come on the double.
Yes, Pal gave Bob’s life new purpose.
A special bond of friendship was cast.
And never again did Bob pray,
“Lord, let this day be my last.”
For twelve years, the very best of friends,
Together night and day;
And so it was, until one night,
Both quietly passed away.
The next morning, an old woman,
Tears welling in her sad and lonely eyes,
Brought flowers to her husband’s grave;
But there, to her surprise….
Stood an old dog beside the stone,
Thin an dirty, but he struck a handsome pose.
He whined as she approached, as if to say,
“I could use a friend, you know.”
He sat calmly as she took old flowers
And put fresh ones in their place.
He carefully sniffed the fresh ones,
Then turned and licked her face.
She smiled. “I had a dog when I was young...
a good one too. His name was Pal.”
A lonely tree stands in a field
Branches entwined in one
And as those branches come to life
They reach up to the sun
This tree with all it's energy
just like a woman so it be
It's branches swaying in the breeze
just like a mother's offspring, these
And so the lonely tree does age
The human kind out living
But we all end up just the same
Our flesh to earth be giving
And thus our lives all end the same
No matter what we be
Some have long lives, some much less
In life's sweet mystery
I walk deeper and deeper into my own mind, looking for something while completely blind.
Nights embrace only makes me travel deeper, with the road only getting steeper.
Not knowing who I am or what I need, I will continue my 1 man stampede.
Searching for myself has become my addiction, staring at my hollow reflection is my confliction.
I resort to pouring my heart out in the form of text, pondering upon what sign will start my next quest.
The quest to finally know why im here,
The path im headed down is so unclear.
Casting the veil over my face by day, and removing it in the comfort of night, I will continue soul searching, until my purpose is in sight.
Happiness in a Wrong way – Zamreen Zarook
In the notion of seeking happiness,
I thought of stepping in to nonsense,
I dream I could find success,
But I had only little access.
Every attempt that I lend,
It was an utter failure at the end,
My life was full of difficult bend,
But God is always there as a good friend.
My deeds travel in various ways,
Some times in subways,
Or in times it goes in highways,
But I had the belief, God is there always.
North and south families surrounded,
East and west friends are rounded,
Every time fear on death soughed,
I am trapped, and my merits are loaded.
I do not know?
Ever since I have stepped into modernization, I have been pinched with values of the ancestors,
I cannot believe that the inside does not reflect the outside anymore,
When one says he or she has changed and become open minded,
Is it only to make one feel temporarily pleased or is just to enjoy hurting a person,
Why has age become a factor or an excuse to start a new problem?
Every time a heart skips a beat, the warm sensation takes place, a friendly chat takes place,
Numbers begin to swirl around. The intellectual chat, attraction of like minds,
Or even the rebellious differences stand in a corner against numbers.
Time flies and so does one progress with various experiences.
Does it matter if you are too old or young to be with someone?
Who gets to judge about numbers?
Nothing occurs very young but takes place during adulthood with mature thinking.
How should one deal when age becomes a problem to a new relationship?
More or less, does anyone have the right to judge if one is not married at a certain age.
With observation, reading various articles, numbers have created a nuisance in the mind of shallow thinkers in many societies.
When all the feelings are right, then why do numbers go wrong?
Doesn’t sensibility, love, responsibility or even security count or is it overshadowed with age.
Still one may try to let go and filter some thoughts, but how does one filter attraction and passion.
Years have passed by and still the jackpot of excuses concerning numbers have polluted various communities. A spark of hope is still there when faith and true love will attain blessings from the higher self and well-wishers always.
A Mistake of Time and Structure
It was forty by the formometer
The moon closed in
It was a cold and numbered day
If I remember
It was time to waste
If not It was a memory
And there it faded
It was thirty by the hidrometer
The sun fell out
It was a full end
If I remember
It was a gifted part of nothing
If not it was a clock
And there it stopped
It was twenty by the timeometer
The wind gave up
It was time with space giving way
If I remember
It was a place called winter
If not it was a thought I had
It was ten by the elderometer
Morning came to night
It was a place to sleep
If I remember
It was a slower moving body
If not it was a part of time
And it had passed
It was one by the nonometer
The mind froze up
It was a full stop in mid air
If I remember
It was a cold and numbing moment
If not it was a motion forward
And there was nothing there
It was zero by the outometer
And night filled in the void
It was a cold and numbered day
If I remember
It was a matter of time
If not it was a poem I wrote
And there it was in the dark
-Folly in Grin-
Ask his ink why he slumber
Or his papyrus
Words they themselves would forget
Since their lord is indisposed
An Era Gone.
An era gone, what's it about?
This life as folk move in and out
And Mum and dad now they're gone too
To be recharged then start anew
A funny dance this life it be
Dancing on eternally.
Yes life it be a complex tale
wrote on the screen of here and now
Brief images just dancing by
Their aim, to make one wonder why
For man can never be like beast
Who happy be, yet know the least.
So deep within my core I feel
A stream that flows and always will
There's spring, then summer, Autumn too
And then the winter. Start anew
So round and round and round it goes
Forever on the river flows.
So me, I see old mum and dad
Reunited, happy, glad.
within a garden filled with splendor
Together oh so loving, tender
As they wait once more to come on down
As the circle keeps on turning round.
Modern day Empire
The same as old,
Man doesn't really have time
Just Inventions and different clothes.
Still craving our nature the two split purpose,
Consumption and reproduction
All else is conjuring vanity,
An evolving Microchip of lost perception, a tinted clarity.
Yet we entrapped ourselves into a diamond cast,
Being compounded by every grasp that meets ear, eye and touch.
Never forget the truth bearing lust,
that feeling of inner-ness that splinter-hair precision awareness
And ask the question you've subconsciously locked away
Why are you being and what are the aims?
And then at that moment your shell will fall apart
so remind yourself of the real truth the binds mind and heart,
and roam among your ancestors in the lyceum of endless fascination
in one's mighty reflection and complacence.
When this shell is gone
Here in this little ditty
I’ll tell you how I feel
I like to put my feelings out
And guess I always will
There’s one thing that does worry me
What I really want to know
Is ‘when I leave this blessed shell’
Will my words then lose their glow?
Don’t need the whole wide world to see
Don’t want that kind of fame
I’d just like some little group
Where people feel the same
As me, to learn to love my words
And gain from them some joy
I’d like to think that when I die
My art, they’ll not destroy.
I really don’t know why this is
It’s just the way I feel
I won’t know much about it
This fact, I guess is real
But still I’d like the knowledge
That my stuff it will live on
Even when, this shell I ride
Has been a long time gone.
9 August 2013 @ 1737hrs.
I have loved it all
I have loved it all
Adored the whole of it
All those foolish dramas
The dirt and all the grit
The joy, and all it’s sorrows
I’ve really loved it all
All in all my life is beautiful.
I’ve heard folk moan about old age
But not me, never, no
Cause every day forever more
I’ll always feel that glow
That comes from living happily
Within this now, and here
I’m holding each new day so very dear.
I have loved it all
I have, that’s how I be
Oh, I’m so glad to be here
With my philosophy
My fate knows what she’s doing
And she’ll do right by me.
You’ll never hear me moaning
About my years so far
Cause all is an adventure
With me, the leading star
And when I leave this shell behind
I’m quite prepared to go
Though where I’m bound for then, I do not know.
Hither I stand, at crossroads,
And then I gaze, at the yonder end-
The vague horizon from where I began;
And all that I may ever deem
Is that- my days
Have been a waken dream.
Hither I stand, at the edge of my dream;
Then I wonder, at the depth of my trance-
An adventurous journey through the wondrous woods;
An idyllic stroll through the vicissitudinous meadow;
And from the final station as I depart,
All that I can ever say, is that
Perpetuation has been a rouge
Of fleeting phases of my life.
St. Stephen’s College.
When He breaks you
It is to re-make you.
If given the choice
To give destiny your voice
You would undoubtedly have picked this state
Such is the irony of fate
He breaks you now
So you later see the how -
How the pieces of your journey come to be
A slow but eventual solving of this mystery
He makes you work work work – then fail
So that you realize your means are of no avail
Without His will -
But feel His mercy fill -
Even through the aches still
He punctures your bubble of hope
To teach you the meaning of struggling to cope
To avoid you saying ‘this was all from me’
Which you might say if it always did come so easy
He lets you fall
So that when you stand
It’s straight and tall
Your past sorrows
Not letting you drown
Without your ego
Weighing you down
Even while the road appears smooth
He lets you trip and trip again
So that you might stumble upon hidden treasures
From the dirt, which you may otherwise not gain
He knows Best
The perfect Teacher
Who puts the perfect test
He breaks you
To re-make you…
The confusing world of poetry
Clerihews, and couplets
Acrostics, and Haikus
Me head is spinning round and round
Oh Lord I’m so confused
I’d like to read about the stuff
But I really ain’t got time
I’m too busy trying to write
In rhythm and in rhyme
I never was so very clever
I flunked in all at school
I guess me dad, he got it right
He called me village fool
He tried to make me turn out clever
But he didn’t have a chance
Cause I’m a dreamer through and through
You can see that at first glance.
So I don’t know about complex things
I’m just a simple man
But me, I’ve wrote eight thousand songs
And I’ve done it cause I can
The words roll out like a waterfall
And they come just like they are
And I talk about love, and I talk about life
And the flowers and the stars.
25 July 2013 @ 0925hrs.
Out the window I watch the world pass by.
These bifocal glasses, useless for my vision is a blur through my tears.
Where has the time gone, why have I forgotten not only seconds but years.
My fingers trace my picture, there I was a star upon a playbill dated Sep. 8, 2001.
But why the blood upon the corner, a fingerprint not matching mine.
I trace the page as if it held clues to my forgotten memory,
Like a broken pencil, my images are no longer sharp.
Out the window I stare at the darkness, when has the light stopped shining?
Three missed calls flash on the screen of my cell phone,
A fingerprint epiphany rains in my brain, the memories flood upon forgotten space.
I know where the child lays with a limp body and blood blistered skin.
I have seen the hands that hurt the child, he must pay for his crimes.
My fingers begin to stroke the keypad, every touch getting me closer to confession.
Out the window I watch the school bus fill with children.
The lifeless cell phone screen holds no clue as to what time it is,
Where have the hours gone?
Like smoke in the wind, I cannot grasp what is before my eyes.
On the floor by my feet a paper catches my attention.
Now why didn't I throw that away with the rest of the junk mail,
into the trash the memories are thrown away.
For Contest: Chopped
The day I met my man
I met my man in sixty two
When life was mellow, peaceful too
It was outside a movie place
He had a shy look on his face
At nineteen all my dreams came true
He was quite tall, and handsome too
Never thought I’d meet a man like he
He beguiled me with his mystery.
Later he walked me to my door
Didn’t think I’d see him any more
As we both kissed and said farewell
Our future I could not foretell.
The next day he was at my door
From then I saw him more, and more
Some lovely times we had together
We’d never had such fun, not ever
Now here we are fifty two years on
The same sweet love, nothing has gone
This love will last until forever
Until our deaths, we’ll be together.
25 May 2014.
The soul shatters upon death. Sentience fractures into a million variables that swirl chaotically into piercing eyes that melt into the color sadness, spinning into galaxies that shrink to the size of ants and you twirl in a blender of being for eternities until finally, at long last, something sticks. Perhaps it may be as simple as a strand of hair, nonetheless all possibility spins around it, flashing contradictions of rainbow transparencies, empty solids and polka dotted space, continuing until a second hair joins the first, clutching to the nothingness and refusing to move. Soon thousands of hairs arrive and synchronize above a scalp unto a face, torso, limbs… materializing ever faster… and at once you are born. And just as the memory of your trial and error experiments and prior life evaporate, you embrace the arms of a stranger, gazing into her eyes, hung between this world and the next… sobbing in a fit of omniscience, in awe of your hard earned shape.
Fire – Of Ancient Origins
Cave walls with lit magic drawings
Sacred mystical deity
Cavemen prayed with fidelity
Their children delighted and grew
History ignited the fuse
Created by: Earl Schumacker on 11/19/14 for - Fire, Earth, Wind, - Poetry Contest
(Theme is – Fire)
Building a Better Box
To build a better box to store more things
Full of history, memory and other rusted stuff
Tools will have to cut and kill the trees
Trees will have to die and change their shape
Hinges made of metal will forever seal their fate
Nailed down, shut off in permanency
On other dates trees will be cut and killed again
To build a better box to store more memories
Close the lid and go to sleep
Stay there as it ends and come to a stop
Sealed up and in eternity
That which remains within will turn solid
To become the box
At the age of twenty two I gave birth to my first child to survive. A beautiful
and flawless daughter with dark brown eyes and hair like mine. When she turned five years
of age warts began to grow on her hands. My daughter cried with eyes looking to me for the
answer. The same eyes that looked up at The Healer Ms Agnes who cast away my warts so
As with me, Traditional Medicine did not work and Ms Agnes and my Grandmother were long
dead. Grandmother taught me how to use the herbs to heal when I was so young.
Remembering getting rid of warts was a BIG job made me take pause. If Grandma
couldn't get the job done who was I to think that I somehow could. I stubbornly tried all
Grandma had taught me, but only in vain. How my heart ached for the knowledge and power
of The Healer Ms Agnes.
Such fretful sleeps did come as I felt hopeless for the answer to my daughters plight. And
then it happened one calm and starry night. A deep sleep finally came so strong over me.
While sleeping, right before me came a vision of The Healer Ms Agnes. The very next
morning I awoke with an idea of something new to try.
With a calm and soothing voice I sat my daughter down. I took her precious little hands in
mine. Gently I touched and counted all the scaly knobs I could find. All the memories came
flowing back and the story I began to recant. I closed my eyes and for the first time spoke
about how my warts were taken away I felt a little detached as I recalled each
detail I could to conjure up the Spirit of The Healer Ms Agnes.
When I opened mine and met my daughters awestruck eyes her hands were still in mine.
As I gave them a gentle squeeze I said " Maybe. Just maybe there's enough of the Spirit of
The Healer Ms Agnes left in there for you too. A question came to the edge of my mind.
What if The Healer Spirit spell is reversed? It could be my curse for meddling with The Spirits
That Be. The answer came as quick as a spark. I would gladly wear mine again if it meant
my daughter' would not.
On the fourth morning after that day my daughter awoke me with such a scream. I rushed
to her bedside to see what was the matter. Lo and behold there among the bedsheets were
the remains of her warts. Dumbfounded and bewildered I was left with no comprehension
and speechless while I embraced my daughter with congratulations. As I took my leave out
of her sight I slowly stretched out my hands to see if my warts had returned. I mused aloud
when I saw they had not.
Continued in Part IV....
Dinosaurs drink history through straws
Chiseled out rocks and stones through time
Ubiquitous to the past and future
In the good old days before the comets came
They played dinosaurs games of war
Dreamed of making hot dogs and burgers from human remains
And drinking goo through elongated tubes
In the far far future, on special dinosaur holidays
Anthropologically speaking; we are just another meal
Archaeologists dig the truth, through flying dust with brushes
With fine and tiny tools they pick away the layers
Uncover bones born to die
They etch them out as prizes
Rocks wait their turn to bury us, to be discovered later
Some explorer will unearth humans in the distant future
To find out who and what we were
Uncover what the bones might tell them
Shape our remains into dice
Toss them on the ground with magic
Divine that human, an ancient alien species, once lived in cities
And drank through straws
That’s about all
When my life was spent
I lay on my death bed,
All bent and in torment
Wondering about where shall I be led?
I was scared,
The truth was now ready to be bared
Is there life after death,
Is hell there where I shall now give my worth?
It came, like a flash of lightning
I never felt any painful burning
I just closed my eyes
And opened them to new skies
He was there, a fair knight
He looked at me with expectation
My own spirit was shining so bright
I feel my heart melting, faced with this divine revelation
It was a world so still
Yet, I could not refrain myself from feeling a thrill
I was with God
I was, at last, with the leader of the herd!
A world it is, ruled by eternity,
It is there, a sanctity
The Lord, for such, entails!
It matters not, he said
If you believe your life was not lived
Life on Earth is a temporary phase
Meant to shower you with false praise
Those who get attached to its false vision
Keep returning to its endless illusion
Be calm, be happy, here, you shall be free
Free to be as you do deem yourself to be!
The palace used oil lamps for centuries
It came time to make a change
Electricity installation and wiring began
One thousand light bulbs were delivered
One hundred fifty watts should light things up
Each light was sealed within its box
No way could they get out on their own
The small boxes holding bulbs began to rise
Broke open the crate that housed them
Floated down the hallways of the castle by themselves
Then began to light up on their own
No electricity aided in this process
As wire installation had only just begun
The bulbs in all their mystery flew free
From the boxes that restrained them
Hovering along the corridors at night they roamed
Lit up brilliantly expanding but only for a moment
Before exploding, glass fragments, filaments flying
Cascading in the air in one big storm and burst of life and light
Before falling to the floor in one strange ghost like mist
A green dim glow of mystery, mess and chaos
The owners of the palace did not say a word
Did not venture the smallest guess or inquiry
Being dignified, regal and obviously, intelligent in front of friends
The palace went back to using oil lamps
In Saudi Arabia they say…. Oil is man’s best friend….. Oil is the best
this old man is always there
after your soul
no one cares
he's a greedy old man
he wants what you got
all to himself
he'll put you away
like a toy on a shelf
don't give in to his dark evil stare
you may not like it
but he is always there
there shining eyes
filled with greed
run while you can
he hardly let you breathe
run little boys
run little girls
or nothing will be yours
he hunts all night
even through the day
here he comes
the old man from far away
Blow dislikes in the aired balloon
Soar high and high in firm alone
Space even will not greet you fool
Why are you behind in the childhood of noon?
Where were you born no one known?
All die in time faith is fun
Dawn awakes to see you’re gone
Evening awaits you to see in tomb.
Crawling hopes have been shone
Don’t find place even in moor to bloom
Shrink yourself in the hell soon
World has united to ditch you gloom.
Villain you are align your self
Mind your business in the black hole pace
Light years cannot glow you the way
Here will be happy when you are away.
No one escape are tuned to you
Land is barren wind is foiled
Water cannot irrigate, your brain is dead
Depth is low wherever you go.
Sometimes you cry in the moor, we hear
Your ghost is there to scare for dear
Hearts are barren to cultivate you here
Vanish from earth throttling the air.
Have arisen mind to shred your bile
This is the message to elope your vile
You are barred to appear in aeroplane air
Parliamentary house is now most dear.
Hotel and rail way are far from your access
In towns and cities you can’t famish
Come appear let us know your gist and dearth
Humanities have heart to understand your fear.
Civilisation wants to fructify all
We secure the earth for the laughter sure
Baptize yourself to save from fall
Why are you short with bomb and gall?
( Completely fiction not solid to hurt anyone. )
Ancient Time Collapse
Ancient time collapsed on mirrored distances
Taking history, its ripples, down in the sand
Lost in the reflected wide eyes of children looking up
They will never know what time it is
Archeologists use the suns surveillance guidance system
Sextants by sea employed, sojourning to history
Compass by land, to point the way more solidly
Tools help them seek the depths to find their level
To shed light on missing times and parts gone dark
Sun fills the void once opened on the past
Apparently there is not enough light in the sky
Clearly there is not enough sight in the universe
To find what they are looking for
Exposing oceans of rocks and sand
Not much more
Mysteries undertaken in the making of the dig
Scientists unearth, burn, work, bake under sun
Nothing found underground can live forever buried
Mixed together, former human parts with sand, comingling there
Winds grind and blow the bones around about the rocks
Exposed on surface, air turns remnants to powder, so everything is fine
Mirrored in the distances are facts and fiction
Hollow words that fell through cracks
Collapsed with long gone columns
Not so solid at this hour
What stories history could tell us if we reassembled ancient artifacts
Separated them, along with sand and stone and bones
Still on the most wanted list of history
Forgotten and unknown
Turning time and darkened footprints
Paved promises and lost calls
Wilderness songs and wishful thoughts
Arrivals at the common cause
The seasons merge and we wrinkle
Skin rooting deep into history
Sharpened eyes and tired fingers
Grasping for words or a fable
Intelligence of the baby
Expanse of endless space
Are as innocent as ever in the void
They never really age but do mature
Smoke curls into the cosmic dust above
It is the cloud of thought
It is the fog of war
It stops at nothing in the dark
An infant yawns
And fills the universe with love
The void fills in much more
The Mystery Box
The metallic box housed four puzzled people
Imprisoned two boys and two girls of undetermined age or origin
Uniformed in gray attire with no insignia's or other clues
They stayed as choice was not an option
To reason out a plan or what to do
No idea of what was going on
Trapped in limbo for the moment near hysteria
A black and white world of secret
They looked at one another as total strangers
Perhaps a military exercise of sorts was afoot
Or experiment gone wrong without a warning
Odd surroundings now measure out their lives
No memories remained of how this happened
Their accommodations consisted of an empty floor
Four walls with an opening up above
Defined the absolute detention
Overlooking existence beyond the room
Just past the squared off rim
There could be nothing out there
And exposing nothing more for exploration
Except an empty sky void of color
The box too high to climb from
No doors, no props, to reach the exit at the top
Outside a mystery prevailed
That caused them deeper fears
Nothing stirred or moved in sky or ground
Not a single thing perceived
Speculations filled in their days
No one remembered anything
Not even names and numbers
In this existential game
This must be some sort of joke or prank
Was this an alien world?
Were they abducted?
And with a lack of facts
No rhyme or reason
All their thinking for escape is simply reaching
No one hears a thing within
Not even screaming
Mysteries in a box without a name, remain