"May is the month of expectation, the month of wishes, the month of hope." - Emily Brontë
May, sweet scented month of fullfilled dreams,
vivid vernal birthstone wishing well,
green fingers for the world, planter of faith,
whose warm sunshine basket a miracle,
sowing golden garden bed awash with,
heaven’s heady hue that wing borne blessing,
white and pink blossom cluster soften angst,
boon to sagging soul in need of boost,
pregnant omens one can cling to,
such as azure blue sky lumens in May
It’s dark here—
Pillars of rain hold tears in place
as the thunder bellows
lupine laments
succor for saccharine hiboux
murmurs of misunderstanding
malice on the mind of mayhem,
unaware of the daffodil’s proclivity
for imminent destruction,
the madness of sacral lilies,
petrichor hymns
crooned to She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named
I scry through time with a crystal sphere
Asking of it my future, both far and near
Yet, the images I see were dismally unclear
(It should go without saying that I am not a seer)
I saw a black dog and it's rather cute
It doesn't bark though, perhaps it's mute?
Its silky coat shines like freshly ironed suit
Is it time to do the laundry? I do not compute
Then I saw an owl flying over my house
That's great! I hope it'd prey on the mouse
Who invaded my dresser and chewed on a blouse
The most expensive one too, that dreadful louse!
It then displayed my room, and zoomed in on my bed
Where someone had left on the pillow an old, felt hat
I tap on the hard dome, starting to get mad
Couldn't it bring a sign that can be more easily read?
Finally, it shattered, the infernal ball
I've been scammed! It couldn’t see the future after all
She called for me. I saw her standing by the window, transfixed by something outside. I stood at the door and could faintly hear a melodious tune. She beckoned me to come closer, and I marvelled at what she had seen. There were three colourful singing birds at the window, unruffled by our presence.
“They woke me up this morning,” she said.
“Wow,” I exclaimed.
There was a brief moment of silence between us. “It’s a sign,” she said, turning to look at me.
“What kind of sign?” I asked.
“It’s a sign that a soul is crossing to the beyond. A beloved one is easing into the night,” she explained.
Her words didn’t sink in deeply at the time.
As the morning light streamed through the window, the birds flew away. We were bereaved three days later when Nana eased into the beyond.
The earth got suddenly bereft of all life,
With a morose dullness so palpable and rife.
A tint of greyness crept over heaven’s vault.
All movements came to a freezing halt.
The wall clock didn’t toll the midday hour.
The babies no more blabbered but did glower.
The hen didn’t cackle after laying the egg.
The earth for some benevolent mercy seemed to beg.
The birds on trees at noon didn’t twitter,
And the foliage of leaves didn’t flutter.
No music came out from the well strung fiddle.
The telephone sat silent on its cradle.
Nature seemed to have lost half its mirth.
A mournful silence overpowered the earth.
Suddenly shattering the ominous silence,
Gun shots were heard from a distance.
The siren screamed many times, long and loud,
Announcing curfew on unsuspecting ears wild.
Behind the façade of a deceptive calm,
No one suspected the threat of a fierce storm.
The dumb presages of Nature, who can read?
A language mysterious, that only augurs heard.
What horrors in cosmic layers are concealed!
Through augur’s lens, future incidents are revealed.
Augury – 2-20-25 Edward Ibeh – Sponsor; Title Chosen - Augury; Pick a Title No. 49
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Augury
Embers of prophecy rise
In the haunting omens of owls
Divining tea leaves
Heralds speak future through opaque signs
And signals of frantic dogs
Before earth heaves in shock of slip strikes
Or the coming of rainbows
Born from sun and blackness.
Gossamer angels bend over vanishing logic,
Brooding envoys of dark horses
In clouds of fireflies or heresies,
Burned at the stake of mineral, mist or ice.
Messenger, from the mystical, utters the unseen,
The face of mute words, allegories in shrouds
Calling to fabled grails, emerge from mystery.
Heraldic voice stands outside algorithms
Wears a clear cloak named vision or terror
A visage drifting through past or dawn
In images without bones,
Unshakable the slow creeping spice
Built on shape shifting tides
Like mist from cloud castles
Before seeking birth in the hands
Of reality’s fiction.
One dismal gloaming while I was alone
inside my cabin in the woods so deep,
the wind whipped at my door; it seemed to moan.
I imagined creatures and how they creep
within the dark. Then suddenly I heard
an owl’s hoot. I recalled what Mama said
about three hoots from that nocturnal bird.
It means “beware,” and then I heard with dread,
another hoot. What danger might lurk near?
I trembled mightily that blackened night
in case a third hoot I should chance to hear.
The third hoot sounded. I was fraught with fright.
I could not sleep. Oh, would that owl hoot more?
It’s then I heard the scratching at my door . . .
there are very blurred lines between
what is coincidence and what is augury
omen, or fore-token
for in my dreams and meditation
I have been confronted with regret and shame
sorrow, and grief about my life thus far
my past is full of
condemnation and self-reproach
humiliation, self-punishment and tears
sending me on a journey of soul-searching
oh, I went for a palm-reading
for crystal gazing, for tea-leaf reading
and tarot reading with no real results
in my meditation I am looking for a sign
some signal or manifestation
some evidence of an omen
but can find none
so, I have concluded that my life
as it is
with its experiences is the same as
everyone more or less
The sight of a peacock gladdens my heart.
Is this because it's a form of fine art?
Good things are going to happen, my mind says.
Is a peacock, in any way, a whiz?
A black cat crosses my day-to-day way.
I am doomed—in my heart of hearts, I say.
Impulsively I press the reverse gear.
The sounds of souls and ghosts, within I hear
While the squeak of a squirrel is a fun
At the sight of an owl, why should I run?
Fear of death strikes me when I see a bat.
Diseases cease me when seeing a rat.
Why should blossoms fear the thorns around them?
Should, for the whims of snakes, the birds succumb?
Doesn't the sense of fear dwell in one's mind?
Shutting the sight of faith, should one be blind?
oracles as purveyors of all destiny
what was holding hints of that which shall be
the reading of cards with colorful themes
journey of select stars not what it seems
direct result of some predestined scheme
all caught up in some dice thrower's dream
digging through entrails of what's always been
for many the way the future is seen
predictions soon become self-defining
soothsaying just a short step from lying
all an indication your life's preordained
whispered with straight face, little doubt, no shame
a human future cannot be amassed
while one is fully immersed in the past
If we notice that this world
will change over time
because cities rejuvenate
with the years...
If the landscapes change
before our eyes,
If green turns yellow
when it matures
that white, darkens in the sun..
Why don't we portend
that life will carry on
in due time,
or with another time...
life is already eternal
such a long time...
Life is poetry within and a poem...
Poetry is God,
God does not die...!
Relieving from sorrows of ‘samsara’
Looking for an augury
Wasted Time is up
I will not close my eyes
Looking at the eyes of Buddha
Immersing in the
Overflowing metta stream
Enlightening the mind
Wash the dirt off
Awakening the five faculties
Taking the piety flowers
Blooming in the heart
Offer Buddha feet
Locate in Ariya path
Leading to Nirvana relief
Cutting off ‘Raga’ suffers
Wrapping my body
Worship Buddha feet
Each grain of sand is victim to the moment.
Our senses stretch so quickly to define;
the space we share so rich with our potential
while all we wish with all our heart - to shine.
Our stars were never so bright without
the added light reflected from your eyes
and I could never count the moments
from our hearts escaping sighs.
So much more than magic is eternal love
envelopes all our souls in timeless music, heaven made.
And said words tremble, and thoughts entwine
hearts skip beats; and eyes all shine.
The miracle has come at last.
Life forever mine.
The height, depth, breadth
of all my unimagined truth.
Yes my only answer.
All stilled, to be eternal.
Each day the rose un-petaled see,
the forefront of your touch to open.
Exhale, and thus do I exist.
The light in our eyes, God’s reflection
all love moves in one direction.
We are the space that holds us
in the cradle of our dreams.
We open doors together you and I.
A tug of war delicious
and at times delirious seems
lost between the one and all
where we forever lie.
Through the maze of time I thread,
Even in the darkest hour,
It was a box of dream,
I opened and what a site it was,
It was an oracle of augury,
A plenitude of arpeggio,
And amidst this realm of melodies,
And the plethora of ecstasy,
There was sorrow, hatred, deceit,
And with a feeling of dismay,
I asked my self,
What an augury of ecstatic sadness?
An unpredictable region of byzantine.
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