The world is a sea of gigantic aquarium
Of immeasurable acreage;
With eclectic species of humans:
Coal, Amber, Snow and Bronze;
365 score days in the whale's gut,
Junketing from Kolkata, Kalamazoo, Kathmandu,
East, West, North and South,
Hustling, jostling, bustling, brainstorming;
Angling for a mess of portage
At the close of season;
Like Jonah,
We will gracefully, and discretely age and be dispensed,
To the other side of the divide,
To interface with the HeadMaster of all Master's!
freshly mowed backyard
like a farmer's acreage
during summer's heat
Dreaming of verdant meadows and amber acreage
flush on the banks of a dazzling blue lake's ridge
Jousting with villains for the hand of fair damsels
or expounding the writ close by the chancel
Forsooth, verily, indeed and indubitably
though others kvetch and moan lugubriously
Verily, forsooth, by my troth and a tad convolutedly
I've plied my trade unfailingly jubilantly
Always meant to be a poet from the age of nine
~ crafting dainty vials of nectar with zesty grape wine
clear cinnamon and pumpkin spice
bringing October into view
fall’s sweet presence is very nice
oranges and yellows in autumn’s hues
spider creates intricate web
clear cinnamon and pumpkin spice
produce in garden grown by Jeb
apple cobbler give me a slice
quick leaf movers – squirrels and mice
oaks let down their hair all around
clear cinnamon and pumpkin spice
acreage of leaves duly found
air is calm, mornings are cooler
Can school wait a year? No dice.
Jimmy needs his brand-new ruler
clear cinnamon and pumpkin spice
Written 8-11-2022
Contest: Hint of Autumn – Quartern
Contest Host: Regina McIntosh
Just off the busy road there’s a dirt lane
that leads to a weather-worn covered bridge
where Red Tails gather at eventide.
In the sunlight the birds flicker on hot winds,
rest and watch on pylons and poles,
then rise to hover
over berms and hedgerows along the highway
driving small birds and field mice
into the shelter of scrub and thicket.
At days end they convene;
shake corn-dust from their wings,
bathe in the creek's shallow waters,
then the hawks perch
along the eaves of the bridge
while its oak rafters retreat to shade.
I arrive as the late evening
paints one last aureate sheen
over the slow rippling stream.
Hawks hunt alone - an acreage of sky
can support but one raptor.
I have photographed them many times
as they swooped and spiraled
scything the sky
with their swift-winged threats.
In this light a different picture emerges;
the row of muted birds could be sleeping
yet their eyes are wide open, alert.
A last twilight gleaming
briefly reveals their sentinel forms,
now in the gloom, only their eyes can be seen -
each one a blood-red sunset.
Forgive me, my friends
if I don't get back to you
quite as fast as I usually do
Because I'm a bit overwhelmed
at how international conflicts are swirling
So even though I know God's at the helm
I fight back when bombs and barbs at my people they're hurling...
One small request of you I have --
Look at a map of the Middle East:
Compare the area of the 23 Arab nations
with that of Israel, the size of Penn Station*
Yet with all that acreage of their own
The Arabs would kick the Jews out of their tiny home.**
_____________________________________________________
*Actually, Israel is about the size of New Jersey. I.e., a 'nothing.'
**Keep in mind that the nation of Israel was there 2,000+ years
before Mohammed's revelation, i.e., before the first Muslim Arab.
While Cataloguing Catacombs
in ancient Kathmandu
he chanced upon a Catamaran
from nineteen sixty-two.
He Categorized Caterpillars
in an old Catalpa tree
he grabbed a limb that wasn't there
it was a real Catastrophe.
At night his Cat would Caterwaul
out back behind the house
but he Categorically denied
that he smoked Catnip with the mouse.
He had Cattle on his acreage
and Catfish in the lake
he knew a mighty Catamount
who went by the name of Jake.
He retired to Catalonia
where he grew Catawba grapes
but Cataplexy did him in
from which there's no escape.
With a Catafalque for his coffin
inside the Cathedral tall
they Catered in a dinner
and mourned him one and all.
Mountains survey checkerboard acreage
Valleys squint at lonely peaks
A storm is brewing, black nimbus gathering
Could the earth speak, it would shriek
A forlorn, gray cottage, streaked with the first slants of rain
Joints creaking, grandpa battens down the hatches
He secures the shutters, lights a welcome-warm fire
Then he bolts down every door's latches
Ready at last to sink into his chair, Grandma's voice startles
'Look up!' He sees he's forgotten the roof
Up the ladder he races, just in time
before his flickering candle goes poof
Safe from the storm, eyes tightly shut, Grandpa leans back
His dreams serene ~ in the morning, flapjacks
Autumn harvests provide pumpkins and corn
With glowing sunshine mists across bare fields
Despite the fact that summer we must mourn
Inspiring us to can and freeze great yields
Crops that have given back to us safe shields
From the loss of acreage that we grow
Taking time to gently weed, dust and hoe
The many fine vegetables we’ve sown
Cultivating these kernels that we throw
Into a garden filled with joy we’ve grown
DIZAIN Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Emile Pinet
September 20, 2020
Just off the busy road there’s a dirt lane
that leads to a weather-worn covered bridge
where Red Tails gather at eventide.
In the sunlight the birds flicker on hot winds,
rest and watch on pylons and poles,
then rise to hover
over berms and hedgerows along the highway
driving small birds and field mice
into the shelter of scrub and thicket.
At days end they convene;
shake corn-dust from their wings,
bathe in the creek's shallow waters,
then the hawks perch
along the eaves of the bridge
while its oak rafters retreat to shade.
I arrive as the late evening
paints one last aureate sheen
over the slow rippling stream.
Hawks hunt alone - an acreage of sky
can support but one raptor.
I have photographed them many times
as they swooped and spiraled
scything the sky
with their swift-winged threats.
In this light a different picture emerges;
the row of muted birds could be sleeping
yet their eyes are wide open, alert.
A last twilight gleaming
briefly reveals their sentinel forms,
now in the gloom, only their eyes can be seen -
each one is a blood-red sunset.
Lofty crafts of sensational creations,
Oily traits dripping affections
Vulnerable hearts somersaulting
Evisaging allusive hyperbole.
Damped dance, complex steps
Elating destruction with a breath
Acreage littered with confetti of gloom
Tainted trails, dainty doom
Hood hoisted, deep-six in hell.
Track embroidered with bramble brier
Innuendos of choices chunk at men
Mid-way mediator of the turbulent twain
End of love, beginning of death.
19:10:04:14:40
They are dug in under the screen door
where my foot swings, where concrete crumbles.
Fat and fuzzy the bees scurry as heavy as baby mice.
They share an apartment with a chipmunk,
and a long amber centipede
that sometimes emerges
to ripple-wave at something only it can see.
The bees skim a small acreage, meander low;
rotund whirring blimps that chase each other
in a small circle of light.
When night drips from the roof,
we share a living space
made for their hypnotic huddles,
and my unpacked shadows.
Wasted Energy
Darkness descends like a ribbon unfurling
As astronauts in space orbit the churning Earth
And observe the lit orb that is the world below.
Likened to a planet on fire in sulphurous yellow,
Though impressive to see, it is a waste of energy
To watch as photons flow at the flick of a switch
In the night when people should be sleeping.
Light pollution! Conservation is sorely lacking.
(The First Law of Thermodynamics states that energy is constant;
it is neither created nor destroyed but can be converted.)
Dams constructed flood lands to create reservoirs;
Waterfalls are shut down, and rivers diverted,
Destroying land use and animal habitat.
Fossil fuel stations and nuclear reactors are built,
Which pollute the air and swell waste dump sites
With radioactive and other toxic materials.
Fields are littered with windmills, solar panels, and mirrors
Consuming yield acreage and resources and killing birds
To generate electricity so that humans can live comfortably
In an electronic, surreal, guiltless, controlled environment.
Admissible adage abridge archaic ability about
Audit acrid admission artistic artificial array
Arrive anyplace, anywhere ardent atmosphere attraction
Apprehend apiece apparent artless atomic appearance
Adorable awkward admittance align ad-infinitum alienating anti
Activate acquittal addictive acreage administration
Attune audience's aspired aspiration assay alliance
Anxiety anybody's admittance approximate appropriate action
Auspicious aura avow angular anterior author's anthology
Artful animation architectural aftermarket affinity anon
Averse authorities axis align alphabetical acronymic
Abeyance actual abilities abide arbitrary audience abolish aborence
-Once upon a time II-
In a separate realm
Where cloud rains
Where dreams
Are dream
And due
To come true,
Where lives and lots
Are valued
Where chattels
And acreage
Are own
Love, fuddle,
Pamper, behold
And hold.
The most
Incredible deal
In this hectare
At this epoch
Is the way
Of their
Stewardship-
Ancestors are
Alive and
Still rule
The living
Land and humans.
Another bond
Is that of
To bide
Dumb and deaf.
No ruler;
Hail Kings.
And most
Essentially
The beauty
Armed queens
Are to
Be eulogized.
They are
Milestones of
These kindred
Kingdoms.
Food for thought
“This realm is majestic”
The news reaches
The Mighty helm-
The leader
Of the faraway cloud
And his ready
To journey and seek
Elsewhere like this realm
He just heard of.
“May you tell my mother
And my true people
That I, their lord…
Ready to cruise
Away and
To return
With answers
And panaceas
To the seemingly
Unruly
State of
Our land” ……
7/2/2014
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