Silent in its violence, the sun
lays its ancient fire hand on the heat-scoured
concrete of the promenade,
the boxy seafront chalets tilting and creaking at angles,
the scorched, salt-stiffened gardens,
sand dunes, the screaming blue sea.
It is so difficult to accept a loss, a deprivation.
Innocence flaps its winding sheet behind me,
its mummy cloth of myth.
As from an isolated moon I see
the first cold breaker rush to engulf me:
an underwater undulance,
undercurrents of menace, of malice.
The sand-strewn strand stretches into infinity,
shimmering with the visions, the voices, the echoes,
the faceless departments of government and society.
I watch the insouciant people around me,
they possess a flatness, like blank paper.
They hump and lug plastic picnic paraphernalia,
ridiculously, all beach grime and blistered backs,
reduced to a red cindery glow.
Ice creams, scooped from the freezers
in trinkety seashore shops,
are clutched in sunburned hands.
They are spreading striped sunbathing mats,
snide and smiling slyly.
Is it a mirage, a delusion,
plucked from the desert-dry air?
The air snags in my throat: the flat summer stench
of warm wood, sun lotion, billowing cotton -
blank but expansive; the creaking, the flapping.
A strange wind howls and banters in my ear.
And the train shrieks through its station -
the station of my brain -
a riddled red abyss, poker-hot.
The sun is sinking:
a disc of fire, a blood clot.
Water floods the ridgy shallows,
eddying into treacherous pits.
The black gun muzzle of my mouth
flays the oxygen from the air.
My nerves a hive of wires suffering
the scarlet atrocities.
Pokers put out my eyes.
Squeezed by the forceps of agony
I see nothing, nothing
but a mirage of wavering dunes closing in
and the sea splintering; a multitude of glass glittering.
In The Desert
In the desert walks a man with no name
within its barren sands he seeks no fame
Survival is his only wish and only game
all burns, sticks or crawls nothing is tame
The rattlesnakes strike with poison gifts
nothing soothes, quenches or uplifts
A heat that singes as it burns on down
Rarely, if ever relief from a cloudy gown
Yes, O' yes, beauty does still hide here
found only if he can conquer his great fear!
note: Fear of the danger a desert presents often clouds
the beauty lying within. A proper emergency plan is a must
when entering a desert.
Food, water and a compass are just the basic start..
Robert J. Lindley, Contest- In The Desert , 09-14-2014
Summer scent is the smell of freedom
where we can escape the flavor of boredom
so we plan to have our vacation on the beach
where we can relax and fresh air is within our reach
The warm wind tenderly embraced my spirit
I felt excited on this first visit
on an island where refugees can find paradise
an island where spending time is wise
The dulcet breeze gently kisses lush green trees
and the mirthful sun smiles over the vast seas
Where surfers play with gigantic waves
and are not certain on what road it paves
The fluffy clouds are smoothly sailing
the birds are singing and harmoniously dancing
There are butterflies that are colorful in hue
like enchanted fairies changing colors from pink to blue
I need my sun block, it's time for swimming
the tables are full because later we're all eating
Ladies are smiling to many cool surfer dudes
Children are hungry seeing delicious exotic foods
I picked a shell that whispered peacefully in my ears
and we built castles that we fancied over the years
out of the small grains of white sands
and all you need is helping hands
God was really great in creating splendid wonders
that were loved by all especially the nature lovers
There are numerous oceans that are aquamarine
and abundant trees and grasses that are green
The brother sun was slowly hiding
because the sister moon was coming
I guess it was our time to pack
but there will come a time for us to go back
Go back to a place of leisure and freedom
where you'll not taste the flavor of boredom
It would be hard for us to say goodbye
because truly we will come back and say Hi!
Golden goddess up above,
shine down on me rays of love.
Summer dreams, they come to me,
bright white sands on the beach.
Rays of sun that warm my skin,
waves of blue come crashing in.
Sailboats sailing in,
summer breezes, summer wind.
Sandcastles along the shore,
summer rains, they always pour.
Summer dreams they come to me,
children playing on the beach.
Rays of sun that warm the sand,
couples walking, holding hands.
Baby blue summer sky,
summer dreams of you and I.
In the cool morning the sun rises.
Over the sleeping jungle lies:
Cold, still fog—from the sun it flies
To wake the sleep of lonely night.
The parrot’s feathers shake with chill.
As through the trees the sun does peep;
To wake new life in things that sleep—
And banish all the thoughts of night!
The tiger’s hairs stand up on end.
The monkey wakes to scream and shout:
“The dawn has come. The sun is out!”
Vanished now are the things of night—
For dawn is only the reign of Light!
Summer is here once again.
The breeze is warm,
I smell salt on the wind.
The same sandy beach between my toes,
The same waters I learned to swim.
Sun burn on my nose,
To the Ocean I dive in.
I submerse myself in the waters of the Atlantic
Warmer than the West Coast Thankfully
Cold, I simply cannot handle it!
Further out I paddle faithfully,
For my mother ocean to keep me sane,
this is my therapy,
to soothe this migraine.
This place gives me energy,
a weakness with a name.
Pleasure Island, NC.
A place hidden with fortunes
and undiscovered fame.
Never could I stray from the ocean
my passions would never be fulfilled
and I would never be the same.
Dedicated to my Dad on Father's Day 2013
The man who introduced me to the ocean and educated me about it and gave me reason to love appreciate and respect it.
She's highly sophisticated and full of undefiled wisdom
Yet a crowned Duchess in a paradise kingdom
Quite a beautiful angel flying with black wings
Covered in gold jewelry and precious things
She dresses like the women of ancient Egyptian class
Her wealth is generous and her money grows like grass
She loves orange scented candles with dark room flame
She rules thirty legions of soldiers and Bune is her name
Her comely warrior voice can wake and relocate the dead
Her armies of soldiers gather around the cemetery
She is brave and deserves a princessly crown on her head
Her facility of speech and flair for words is legendary
A beautiful queen to be treated with respect and honor
Instead of blasphemy,wanton abuse and fictional horror
“God bless us all when the door is shut behind us,
only then will we breathe our first breath,
from the long dream…”
Forging past the indisputable summit onto the
shelf of the perfect medium (ah, ‘tis noble here!)
he sits, contemplating his balance. He does not sweat.
The winds breath breaks upon his predestined neck,
bestowing the gift of lily white scent upon a lapel that’s
stiff, yet pliable – just stiff enough. A 72 degree sun
shines its neutrality, (fueling his desire for nothing at all,
just the concept of sun giving heat, like a heartbeat,
unnoticed in its certainty) upon his stagnant face.
He is wearing his favorite pants (soft, worn jeans with
a little give, but not enough so that he forgets to hold
in his stomach), and from the ample pocket, he takes
an apple. It is a Red Delicious. Not quite living up to its
name, but unassuming and secure in its redness – he eats.
It’s not the best apple he’s ever had, but its good enough.
The vultures, native to this coveted desert waste circle,
vying for the core of his Non-Delicious, yet edible fruit.
And as he Bites into the last white taste of just fine, a glint
of sunlight flashes briefly – like infinity within dreams,
off of the vultures black eyes. And all at once he knows –
everything is. The death birds orbit the terracotta desert
peek (red and inviting in its dry and unforgiving reality),
the bird turns away so fast after catching his eye,
he forgets that he’d ever seen its pulsing recognition.
The forgettable sunset mollifies him - sedates him,
pacifying his every forgettable non-movement.
It is then, when the last dripping light of day descends
behind the obvious rock mount; the definite edge
of darkness falls. Shadows creep slowly and quickly
across the terrestrial rock spine, (engulfing its redness
in its totality) leaving just the remnants of burgundy
skin between yellowing teeth, and a deafening black desert.
As the sound of raucous wings and ripping jeans dominates
the guttural desert - the vultures take their coveted prize.
*Reposted for Deborah's Something Wicked This Way Comes, Wickedness Contest. :)
Summer is a lemonade
Summer breeze blowing the grass around
with a warm sun kissing my face
blue skies wrap and hug me
as I watch the butterflies race.
Summer gives me lazy days
coloured flowers and dancing trees
smell of charcoal and starry nights
brings back childhood memories.
Summer is an endless beach
sun cream, bikinis and beer
salty seaspray, fish and chips
postcards saying "wish you were here".
sunburnt shoulders and fun fares
laughter never seemed to fade
grab the ice and share around
yes Summer is a lemonade
On that cloudy weekend in June
I hear a soft and graceful tune
from the grey bird on the tree
Singing sweet lullabies felt
blessed in the moment
My body tingles of joy at sight
Gazing out through
my open door,
Letting thoughts fly free
Releasing love out into the horizon
Heart filled with emotion came
Grey bird stood playing its tune
for awhile and on the wings of
Then as the rain fell from the
sky the grey bird flew away
I blew a kiss to the clouds and
utterd these simple words of I
Love You father ( who's now in
heaven ) and yet I hope to hear
that grey bird sing again once
more for me
Farewell, love your son
Poem contest for Debbie -referential
Clouds, white or gray gone
Not leaving a trace behind
And pure azure blue skies, drown
In blinding sunshine.
Summer has arrived
The sun beats down on the plains
Mercilessly, changing life
Once quite green, now pale.
Yet flowers do bloom
yellow accents fields gone dry
Vines in red, rose and purple hues
Cacti, their blooms bright.
Yet the earth suffers
Turned beggar, longs for water
Mountains turn rusty amber
River beds' dry stare.
But deep underneath
Thermal volcanic water
A treasure is found, healing
Giving courage, dream.
The winds pick up speed,
As the sun descends the blue
Transforming the ski's appeal
Orange and mauve hues.
Temperatures cool down
The earth is relief from scorch
People come out, still look out
For a sign of clouds.
When at last they come
Not a complain is heard, but
in all their hearts, dread is gone
The promise is up.
Copyright © 07.09.11
Holy order of the Devil
It was a long, long journey
To find that quadrivial
We had to trek across the mountains
Though it was beautiful
The danger it was ever near
Those priests with all their din
Had made this place an evil lair
A reservoir of sin
We came to where the meeting was
All the priest were Gathered there
One read a pericope out loud
The atmosphere so rare
His ligures shone like a thousand stars
From the breastplates that he wore
The words he spoke with intensity
Touched each priest to the core.
Oh it was unbelievable
That high priest had such power
That night it felt so mystical
Yet nothing it did flower
Because the Devil pulled the strings
And the high priest was his tool
And everywhere the Devil went
His world was always cruel.
15 July 2013 @ 1725hrs.
Please forgive my departure, silent and without warning, like the simmering
warmth of mountain springs that bubble, unexpected, in the pale tropic light of
morning. I am now straddling the equator, my toes naked against the earth,
tasting the sweetness of Indonesian soil, volcanic, fertile, undisturbed, and to my
soul delivering rebirth.
The air before dawn tastes of sweet-vanilla and dry nuts, at noon of ripe fruit with
caramelized sugar, and at dusk an exotic thickness of fresh leaves, moonlit
seas, and a richness of rare orchids all kiss in a soothing breeze.
By day I explore sculpted canyons and wet rice fields, secret Hindu temples, the
Mahayana Buddhist Borobudur, deserted for centuries; I discover a myriad of
mysteries the Island Mountains conceal.
At night Gamelan music is a spice that saturates the mind and your body exalts
the rhythm of double- headed lace drums, beating, beating, beating, beating
dramatic time. Gongs and bamboo flutes resonate, echo in the heart, the
passion of a culture preserving colour, tradition, sung poetry, and ancestral art.
My diet has been that of rice, fish, and lots of fresh fruit: berries, sprouts, sharp
tasting roots, similar to that of the Sun Sumatran Bear, stout, with sleek black fur,
resting in the trees eating the young tips of palm which he peels with care.
The sun is a golden disk that sits atop the Java mountains, painting light brown
skin, pearls of perspiration, with dirt and pollen burning in and out of yellow rays,
bringing dry heat to the excitement in the streets, where people infuse Life into
Life in extraordinary ways.
Finally in sleep, memories, spirits, emotion are lifted to the moon, cleansing the
temple of my soul with a delicate touch of porcelain white, beams like a melody
transforming the night, a surreal dream tangible to my skin, Indonesia swirls
around me – my desire strong to feel the strength of its pulse from within.
we live in an angelic world made by numbers
all that i know that its made by nature
stones fall and trees grow
day by day we all grow together
all along we live in a beautiful world
we all rejoice together and bound together like leafs on a tree
just like how they fall and die
we can all do it some how we all have
some one to lean on
close our eyes and get lost in motion transition between man and nature
we can all pull though
sea is spinning around the world
the rain comes and goes
every time you see the snow comes a white light in our eyes
we all grow with cakes and candles
the old faces fade and so do the new
but we all live in a beautiful world
the sun rises every morning
for some others have there backs turn
but wats ever happed to our souls its happened to someone else
so dont look back and grow old
burn your anger not your soul
just think that your still have this beautiful world
were the sun will always smile in the morning at you
every time i look around i see beautiful
long green grass
gliding objects all over my head
and me and you together
i know we can all live together as the light touches our hands we think of future plans
so make me unstopperble
Sunflowers turn slowly
to follow the sun.
They bow their heavy heads
when afternoon’s done.
What a golden vision
they share row after row
With deep amber faces,
their tiny seeds all aglow.
The summer breezes blowing
o’er the fields with warm air
Shares pride in a country
with its beauty so fair.
I smile in contentment
as I l leave old Italy
With a sea of them waving
good-bye to me.
© 2014 Connie Marcum Wong
Fiori della Toscana
Solefiori ruotare lentamente
a seguire il sole.
Si inchinano le loro teste pesanti
Quando ha fatto pomeriggio.
Che una visione d'oro
essi condividono la riga dopo riga
Con facce profondo ambrati,
Loro piccoli semi tutto raggiante.
La brezza estiva che soffia
sopra i campi con aria calda
Orgoglio di azioni in un paese
con la sua bellezza così fiera.
Sorrido in contentezza
come ho l lasciare la vecchia Italia
Con un mare di loro sventolando
good-bye a me.
© 2014 Connie Marcum Wong
Note: This translation is as close to my original poem as possible.
Click on the link to see a picture of sunflowers:
The morning fog settles low to the ground.
The clouds above are black and grey.
Thunder roars a mighty sound.
As I awake, no sun today.
The forecast tells of dark days.
Lightning strikes electrify.
Slicing through the great black sky.
Clouds continue to roll in,
keeping speed with the wind.
As I awake, no sun today.
Rain slaps hard at my windowpane.
The forecast tells of dark days.
Thunder shakes the walls in my room.
It rains and rains until the rise of the moon.
The wind begins to whistle a tune.
Forecast calls for dark days.
I hope its not a hurricane.
Wind spins the weathervane.
Trees fall across the lane.
I hope its not a hurricane.
I thank your dearly god for all the days
You've shown us beauty in so many ways
The crimson sun against the smoky sky
The speckles of villages from mountains high
When everything is covered with a film of dust
Painting your trees 'n shrubs with a film of rust
September's trees in warm attire all flush
As they cover their bareness in quite a rush
The fires that creep over the hills at night
A pretty red rope is all that's in sight
So much awe in the wake of destruction
As all your creatures struggle to function
Under October's sun bearing down
Upon the ground completely brown
The rivers trickle to an absolute nil
As all the land becomes deathly still
Upon the flats as the heat's haze lingers there
Survival a must we can hardly bear
But the trees remind us it again soon will rain
As in faith their green leaves refutably remain
As the darkened clouds upon the horizon meet
The hope in the air drifting past is sickly sweet
The parched earth eagerly waits to greet
The large drops of manna falling at its feet
And we all breath a large sigh of relief
As with the waters gift, gone is the grief
Thank you god for all we go through
When we can't really see what's true
Time in its circle such a complex thing
We know healing u always will bring
So much beauty does abound
That faith can always be found.
It is all in the Stars if you look hard enough.
There is always the morning Star twinkling.
And then there is the evening Star blinking.
And then there are layered clouds in a fluff.
Then there is the Sun and Moon and stuff.
Sometimes it looks like the Moons winking.
Sometimes it looks like the Sun is thinking.
Makes me wonder if their day can be rough!
What a wondrous world I live in.
What balance I live by every day.
My life must be granted and given.
So no wonder I take time to pray.
It is granted and given each day just to be me.
Just look up once a day and this you can see.
© Copyright: Ann Rich 2006
Ol' Sea Snake's Carriage Ride
Cobblestones wobble and rock the carriage,
as I circle these streets with Blue Bits and
Derby Boy on this vibrant morning.
With the sun on my back and a salty gale brushing
by, my spirits soar as I imagine what the day will bring.
People come from all over to tour this city,
and soak up it's history and scenic views.
Why not climb aboard my carriage and take
a brisk ride with me on this beautiful day?
As we trot through the historic district, I'll
tell you some of our most scandalous folklores
and show you their shocking locations,
like Copper Moon Ridge, where pirates once
dressed as dames to steal their first good swig
of America's finest moonshine.
It's still pretty darn good!
You'll see the towering cliff views of our granite
lighthouse, whose menacing design has weathered
decades of the ocean's pounding tides.
We'll squeeze in time to feed the beached seals basking
in the sun or catch a rare glimpse of the orca whales
playing in our bay.
If romance is your desire, I'll tool you around in the moonlight,
to our brightest vistas that magnify the star's diamond twinkles.
...Perfect for capturing your lover's passion-heart.
I'll even take a long stroll, just to assure you of your privacy.
...Gentleman's honor, I won't take a peek!
If it's fish and chips you seek, we'll head over to
Smacky-Bud's Mackerel Shack for the tastiest fish around.
But I'll be up front with you, don't feed any to Derby n' Bits
or it'll be a long ride back.
So jump aboard and take a ride with this Ol' Sea Snake,
while there's still time.
I'm not getting any younger!
You day-trippers spend too much of your weekly grind
in your lackluster cars.
Come, sit back and unwind for a short time.
I'll sweep you back to the golden age of enchantment,
when hearts would mysteriously merge on a slow-trotting
carriage ride. Memories like these could last you a lifetime!
I do not know?
This was written for the Belsan Tragedy....
Mother Earth has completed
the cycle of the sun
Searing agony; blackened dreams
Freewill has been undone
Vivid memories tainted by blood
Megalomaniacs on the prowl,
charging through doorways
Altering course of lives
Masters of predation
Masters of the gun
Masters of deprivation
No need to pull a con
Guns, robes, identity (un) known
Hunted by all
Entrapped by none
Three day of terror
If the sun should rise again
We'll never congregate
Just like Icarius
Who flew from Crete on wings
The sun indeed did rise
Alas! The sea beckoned as well
What was the purpose I wonder,
or am I an ignorant fool?
Multiple lives lost to plunder
Still I say, what was the use?
The sun sets over Istanbul
The days are so warm
The nights quite cool
We walk along the bospheros
Hand in hand
Oh what a mystical magical land
The sun The sea The sky so blue
Turkey is the place to be
To make your dreams come true
The people are so friendly
The people really care
Go and visit Turkey
I will maybe see you there
Walking along the beach on a Saturday morning
I can see the sun smiling from the horizon
The weather is cool and the water is calm
I can feel the gentle hands of sea breeze caressing my face
There are so many people doing different activities
Men and women lying in their shorts and bikinis ready for sun bathing
Young boys and girls in the water swimming and having fun
Little kids on the beach building castle of sand
The dogs are running around barking wildly in excitement
Where ever i look i see beautiful people with smile on their pretty faces
Life seems so perfect just walking along the beach on a Saturday morning.
I do not know?
On the pier, looking out,
The lake is waving all about.
The sun is setting,
Pink and orange colors, the lake is getting.
I watch the colors glistening,
It's time! Are you listening?
The sun just touched the lake,
Did you hear the sizzle that it makes?
Watching the final colors slowly fade away,
A peaceful ending to a busy day.
I do not know?
I am standing on top of a cliff,
Its pure white rocks gleaming in the sun.
The sea is gently lashing against them,
I can hear the waves rolling in, one by one.
I am standing at one of the furthest points,
Like someone about to jump.
The soft green grass beneath my feet,
Not a cloud in the clear, clear sky.
The Isle of Wight in the distance,
The sun gleaming down its beams.
The sea is just tumbling on and on, seeming to never end,
It is so still and tranquil, a pin prick would make a ripple.
The air smells sweet and fresh,
As I take a deep breathe in.
The birds up above, calling each other,
Enjoying the warmth of the sun.
I too can feel the sun on my face,
The warm glow of my skin.
I look down underneath me,
And watch the waves tumbling in.
I let out a big sigh.
Forgetting my fear,
Of the height that I am standing at,
Because... summer, is finally here.
Light relieved land stamped down and raised mounds and hidden folds, revealed the valley’s follies, farms and sunken rivers.
The bright afternoon eye-level sun painted radiance on the dead leaves’ shimmer, rainbowed the waterfall’s joyful spray, and drew eyemotes floating into dancing stars against the sheeted blue.
Outward away past the framed horizon, the sillhouetted church, the tiny Pike, crepuscular shafts healed the broken air and the shining clouds glowed.
The ancient ruin of a farmhouse still holds the ghosts of lovers that once longed across the valley’s gape, forbidden to cross. They rest somewhere near, whilst their dreams still fall towards the river where today, the clough throws its soul-drops over Lumb Falls. Follow the water, and the stream for an instant, becomes brief despariing citizens of the beck hurling themselves, flying and dying to join the river-republic of the hereafter and tumble on ecstatic to the sea.
The central beam, the backbone of the farm, cracked and snapped one day and still rests piercing the floor, now boggy grass. Where the foxgloves towerin early summer, the moss has taken over the lease and the sheep shelter in what is left of the larder and the parlour. Somewhere under the boulders, the bedroom continues to rot , and where their passion lived, the sun now lures weeds towards itself, rising and falling through the centuries.