Modest woman moderate woman
Your inner beauty strikes me
Like the tongue of noble eloquence
More than gold even refined gold
Or our purged fulgent silver.
Black woman proud woman
Your pride is not haughty
But a humble pride of eaglets;
Your black eyes are so glittering
As the eyes of our dark rivers
Filled with messages of peace
That banish the broody turmoil
From those panting hearts
Of your foreigned offsprings.
Gentle mother diligent mother
Your kindness kindles the fires
Of my heart –
Your dexterity dresses
The table of our ageless history
And the thought of your being
– Oh kind mother! –
Makes the most delicious menu
For my heart.
I remember your naked feet
Fast and fair as a pigeon’s limbs
Treading the invisible paths
Almost covered by shrubs
Small shrubs misted by the prime mist.
I remember the wood from the wood
The water from the water
And manifold items from jungle alleys
Borne by your delicate hands
And upon your soft black-haired head.
I remember the constant match
To markets and to farms
And your bright face smeared with
The ash dust
Making you more beautiful
Than any woman whose feet
Ever touched the naked earth.
I remember those burdens
Upon your cheerful kin-souls
And babies strapped to your backs
Babes full of unspoken words
To unborn others in patient wombs
Waiting in an endless turn –
Indeed, mother is dove!
A black dove and a dark huntress
A hunter’s gift from the maker?
Mother is like a weaver-bird
Building a big foot-like nest
Filled with corn and warmth
A bundle of eagle-flight
Mother is dove
And the hunter calls her
The clan’s eternal dove.
Oh, mother loving woman
Gentle as our black horizon
To you we humbly come
From these far and lonely lands
Hoping to grace our love and beauty
Before that jealous grave
Makes her temporary feast.
To escape sin, I built a glass box around me.
Though sin like water started leaking through the cracks upon me.
Soon the water would consume me.
Forced hand prints scattered inside the glass by me.
Trying to break free of what I built around me.
No one is near to see or help me.
No one to call, to assist or guide me.
Tears accreting to the water wasn't helping me.
The water is slowly getting deeper around me.
The strength is fading away within me.
Please, someone save me!
Oh God, please forgive me!
Thinking I had all the answers to build this glass box around me.
Sin, yet and still captured me.
I need you now Lord please strengthen me.
Eyes closed beneath the water crying out for him to save me.
His voice appears, "Come as you are to me.
You made a decision to consult with yourself without me.
For I am the only way the truth and the light; not you but me.
All the tools you need are provided by me.
I will bring down this glass box only for your life to be with me.
For I make no mistakes because I am me.
I will send you back to be a living witness for me and only me."
curiously peering over a cloud
Angelica stepped a bit too far
wings fluttered and disappeared
stolen by jealous demons below
angel flying too close to the ground
leaving the harmony of heaven
sensing a need to save a ravaged planet
landing gracefully on soft soil
Angelica hears the bulldozers
weapons of environmental destruction
sauntering through Earth’s rainforests
curiosity beckons as water reflects her image
her lost wings still reflect in the pond
seen as ripples from her pink, silk gown
orchid floral tiara crowns her long auburn hair
even water lilies envy her beauty
captivated by this pool lit with filtered sun
immersed in an image of herself
in God’s light all angels appear the same
bright beams to welcome new souls
fly again she will
bubbles of hope spring forth
Earthbound for but a brief time
cherished cherub sent as nature’s guardian
halo of comfort surrounds
Angelica leans forth to feel the coolness
sparkling water caresses warm lips
her kiss renews Earth’s freshness
other angels transparent in sunlight
bestow a new set of wings
mission accomplished, they escort her home
once again she revels in heaven’s light
For the “Reflection” contest, sponsored by Constance La France ~ a Rambling Poet ~
By Carolyn Devonshire
I could smell and sense
the showers coming in the air
with an approaching storm.
I inhale this
light little scent of heaven.
The rain will never dampen my spirits.
No umbrella for me tonight.
But, I don't mind,
I'll walk in the rain.
I savor this
sweet little taste of heaven.
The flavor is cool and refreshing,
with a purity
that is almost indescribable.
It is cleansing to my soul,
I can feel it
washing away my cares,
and making it okay to smile, again.
I experience this
gentle little caress of heaven.
When it soaks through
my jacket and my jeans.
My shoes splash
in the rain
with every step that I take.
I can hear it
tap dancing on the rooftops,
with invisible feet.
reflect on the wet pavement,
in pools of gold and silver.
The neon signs blink,
red and yellow,
blue and green.
Like drips of paint,
it puddles on the street.
to where there was none before,
only a flood of gray.
Now there is a palette
of fragrances to absorb.
Creating almost a rainbow
in the nighttime.
Written by: Kelly Deschler
November 11th, 2013
For Nette Onclaud's contest - "Fragrance Of Rain"
The thing about today is that:
It will be different than any other day
Many different factors will share in the reasons
That today will be completely original
The people we encounter can play a huge role
In the way that our day plays out
We have no control over how these people may act
No control over what they may say or do
We can however control the way we allow it to affect us
I have met and been friends with
About every type of person that there is
From healers to killers I have met them all
Shared meals and how we feel;the pressure of it all
I used to allow outside influences
Like these people
To play a role in how my day would go
Then one day I realized that if you remove the water from the falls
All that you have left is a cliff
And of course a hole at the bottom
All the breathtaking beauty of the waterfall is gone
All because some fool decided to build a dam to divert the water
The River had no choice in how its day would go
It had no choice in allowing an outside force
To change its course
Of where it would end today
We have a choice, no matter what anyone does
We can stay on course and maintain the original beauty of our day
As long as we always remember
That this day belongs to us
The only thing that can change that is God, for it is his gift to us all
Atacama, Eden of winds,
flower of abandoned rocks and of sapleter,
homestead of flamingoes and geysers,
and above all ,
below an azure sky,
mountains are carrying on their tops
ice of the past.
Old villages tell us their stories,
Toconce, Toconao, Chiu-Chiu,
carry in their canons
water from deep below
let flowers and vegetables grow.
Chiu-Chiu, oasis of the desert,
a green spot,
surrounded by fragments of history
with the colour of orange, red and brown,
embedded in fragile foam of salt and hope,
the history of the Atacama.
Still alive in their churches.
Fragments of an ancient culture
reflecting on the surface of Río Loa.
Like ants – far away,
dispersed in vibrant light
some Vicuñas are looking
for tranquility and forage.
The geysers of El Tatio
send their hot water into the cold and pure air.
How pacient the Atacama is with us,
slaves of modern times
with the desire for paradise
with the dual face of history and hope.
Salar de Atacama, show me your
cracked and wounded face,
your wrinkles of solitude.
Far in the distance the chain of volcanoes,
with towering Lincancabur,
and its shouldered knapsack of crystals and ice,
holding its splendour towards the sky
with the colours of lapis lazuli and light agate.
Toconao, the ruins of Quitor greet you,
dormant since ages
they narrate the history of the Inca,
of their last refuge and their last battle with
Pedro de Valdivia,
who came with his men
to break the bravery of Inca soldiers
with thunder and destruction.
The waterfalls of the hot spings of Puritama
shoot their water into the air with the colours of rainbows,
drawing delicate faces of life
on dry sand and charming stones.
The wind from the mountains carries songs,
flute music, ancient tunes,
stories of salt, gypsum and clay
to the Valle de la Luna,
to let it remain calm and unchanged
with its eyes filled with dust and stones
in the eternal canto of earth.
Atacama, heart of the North,
plant of wind
in the song of history,
you make the day sound
and rock to sleep the nights,
lonely between the arms of the mountains
and the Altiplano.
Those Were Golden Days of Splendor
Rushing clear water splattered over the rocks
melding into a huge spraying white foam
The sounds made sent heavenly tastes to my ears
the sight pierced my heart with love's stab
Stab that melds heart to a gentle Soul
a sweet pain born again and again so happily
Fast running stream in my mind's eye endures
stamps images with a clear splash of life
Just a swift stream from my youthful forays
days spent exploring Nature, the world anew
Memories time stamped , precious cargo aboard
faces of family waiting home for my return
Rushing water, a life in a bubbling brook
A memory, a love , a mental picture I took!
Robert J. Lindley, 08-26-2014
note: Looking back at the greatest time of my life.
I was ten years old, rambling the fields and woods
like a roaming gypsy on the prowl. My father was still alive,
my mother young and in good health and best of all my
baby brother was two years old, destined to live 12 more years.
A happy family of 11 children and two parents. Life was good!
The Computer Screen Light
Splints off The Fluid in His
Eyes, And Cascades The
Twinkling Against the Wall.
-She Curls up in a ball-
-He Takes up The Fetal position-
The Headset Poses Security
Against the Deafening Sounds
of Reality. The Light Outside,
Fades to A Deep Blue...
- She Cries To Pass The Time -
- He's Done Crying, No Liquid Left -
He Lies Back on his Chair, in
Sheer Agony. Stems Covered
With Leaves Burst From His
Veins. His legs Root to the carpet.
- Sleep Grants her little solace -
- He Hasn't Slept in Over Two Weeks -
Mimicking Womb Protocol, She
Folds. Clutching her Stomach
She Heaves Forward a Lunguful
Of Bark. Shes Changing
- She Smiles across the Water -
- The Water Ripples Following his Response -
Intertwined in Friendship,
They Grow Towards The Sun...
Blackness moving slowly into light!
becoming one existance
The stars gather like flocks of birds.
See the colors mix and mingle
Creating the perfect shades of colors, the
most beautiful blue and yellow.
Funny how words could form such a savage thing.
These islands come apart
Gods fingers pulling them into various directions
By his very words they are released.
Morning and nights wed, but they are never
essembled as one.
Out of some experiment called love?
To see us form into flesh and blood
And obeying of water slowly, a piece of dirt
Spreading as far as the eyes can see
Its water circled the new dirt, and calm and
sometimes sea's prevail!
Birth of nations!
The beautiful green, red, yellow, orange and
other shades of our humanity, vibrant fields I seek
and found before the eyes of the almighty.
New species arise, what perfection...
The heavens speak of many moods, and speaks
to us to know the time, are signs and marks of seasons.
Our days and years combined to reason. Two emotions.
One to sleep and the other to wake, His return on earth cometh
And will cease the same by partened clouds and running
horseman, out of the clouds into earth.
And then the ocean filled with the wild and tamed
A whisper into their hearts and souls to multiply
and above the sea which holds the sky, movements of
graceful wings sour the clouds freely, and glide beneath
a wise space
Below a newly born star.....
Atlas! the earth has formed to paint these?
and soon our hands which once held silence
and our hearts held peace! this is good
The earth is spinning, the oceans flowing, our blood passing
the woman exist, our beast wondering, the friut so bright!
This is good! Out of the garden. The murder of innosence
Into our ever lasting taste for flesh, obsession and power
Our need for greed and death! The birth of sin!
Atlas! the setting and rising, our beating hearts
and pulse which slows its rythem by the generations
Generations fade.. nearly rythemless life beats as the dying rose
Unorthodox, this water- bearer rules,
an Aquarian god moody yet calm in the
face of persistent winds…his pail of wine
gushing on mouths of February streams,
like an outpour into first night’s cycle
of unpredictable moves, reigning for thirty
days to unfold like a river-in-waiting,
this heir of brazen stars: a cool dip
born from rose-yellow...red, maybe for
hearts to quiver upon Cupid’s aim.
Oh, his vision is light years ahead of time;
breaking from clasps of tradition,
his maverick streaks defy life's norms
and ignites a Uranus heart to signal
the rise of new dawning…and while he
dives into a crest of independence,
fool he is for needing warmth and affection.
Yet,a blend of hermit's pride and gentleness
dares the element of air to brew a storm,
then romances the lusty sea of love in a flash...
pray tell, how can one define a mystery?
Though I'm Capricorn, this poem is for my
dear brother, my former boss, Sir Tory,
a special guy mate, and close buddy, Arno.
Leonora Galinta's Poem With A Theme,
Zodiac Sign Contest
by nette onclaud 7/09/2014