Best Basalt Poems
Mist feathery drifts
last night’s breath loosening
above basalt slopes of Huatung
Pacific swallows trace morning brushwork
over Fuli’s rice paddies
new green scented with rain.
Xiuguluan River flows jade mountain-born
among ancestral stones
white willows in Ruisui weep
dew-kissed
cycad fronds catching first sunlight
Leaf pearls gather on my thatched sandals
Walami earth holds stories in its coolness.
Bihe Pond rests hidden in Wanrong’s stillness
waters reflecting the tribe’s quiet prayers
Bamboo leaves in green and gold
crested mynas gather in quiet repose
wind moves with the chime of a temple bell.
Ancestral path wanders into the Central Range
oolong tea clouds drift
above Qilai’s blue ridges
A white egret lifts over Guangfu’s terraces
air clear as poured Longjing.
A bulbul calls
blue magpie glides
the slow unlayering of day
Huatung Calligrapher’s span warm to newborn light
time unspools—
bright
unmeasured.
Light widens
dawn follows Yu Shan’s shadowed valleys
the world in quiet promise
soft light
drifting into morning.
Stepping over the threshold
Locating the floor buttons
I press the 3rd floor
~ my brain images still flashing ~
Disfigured long flames curl around
Cherished memories-
Dry spruce branches smoking and crackling
Glowing coals cooking steaks in a fire
Above the crashing waves on the North Shore
Of Lake Superior with mom and dad
Laughing and sipping root beer
Spying a twisted piece of petrified oak
most likely a plank
From an ancient sunken vessel splintered
In the Gale's of November
Loosening the piece from the grips of glistening
Basalt boulders, etching our names and place
Of discovery above striated agates embedded in
Crevices a millennial ago
Proudly displayed on the mantle above my fireplace
Gone
Now
Only precious memories remain
I flash the card lock on my hotel room
Entering
The
Future
2/18/23
Rivulets of ice hung greedily
to the barren, brown, basalt,
like ribbon-candy in a baby’s hand.
The sweet, wet, drool oozed from Mother Earth,
like a frozen curtain draping the mist scattered day,
hiding the promise of spring.
The beach at Orca Praia – Funchal Madeira
The powerful deep blue ocean
Expends its tidal force
Pounding down upon sea pebbles
With thud and smash so coarse
Watching from a vantage point
From the horizon to the shore
The lines of sea swell building up
Growing bigger more and more
Low, rumbling ocean rollers
Waves curling with such symmetry
Then the breakers quickly form and crash
Tossing up a plume of spray of sea
Incessant surf on shingle
Swash, swoosh and susurrate
With that endless marine motion
That will never dissipate
The waves break up and flatten
The tidal rush now gone
As the pebbles roll and rattle
Against each other as they tumble on
The roller spent, the wave now dead
Or that is what it seems
Then the backwash slithers downwards
Sluicing pebbles like big grey beans
The unending flow and ebb of tide
Today a calm but restless sea
Incessant waves wash and whoosh
So soothing it can be
But at other times she’s not so kind
Or benign to beach or land
Dashes disastrous desolation
With a fury on rock or sand
But for now I stand and wonder
At Mother Nature’s gentle reach
And watch and taste and listen
To the ocean on that basalt beach
I miss you, already
Your rough beauty
How you pretend to be wild
Being already postmodern.
The swings in your mood
Welcoming and repelling me,
Caressing me, bringing me down.
Your invitations to dive into sins
Gluttony, sloth, lust and death -
When in fact, you were bringing me back to life.
A part of me is kept with you
Taken by the roar and fury of your waters
Against the Moles
Against your basalt towers.
Kept in the flight of the lapwings,
Of the swallows
In the height of your trees
In the stones on the corner of the beach of Cal
In the shyness and candor of your people
In the insensitiveness of your guests
In the sincere passion of one of your sons
With pearly blue marbles for eyes
Who never tires of telling about your beauties
Remains with you, a piece of me
Stuck in the whistle of these very waters
When they calm down
Washing the sands
Shaking the mussels
Shhh ... shhh ... shhh ... shhh
One day I will come back to see you, Torres
And make myself whole again.
Torres is the first city of Rio Grande do Sul State, the most southern state of Brazil. I've fallen in love with it.
Redoubtable, unparalleled
Victoria Falls displays the
power of the Zambezi River.
Carving through basalt rock
from an ancient volcano the Zambezi
deserves the awesome accolades of its
native audience - the Smoke that Thunders.
Work more trenchant still, this river
provides subsistence, protection,
and inspiration for people in six
southern African nations.
The Zambezi is rightfully called
their river of life, christened by
their hallowed, Nyami, Nyami!
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Victoria5.jpg
Laborer and oxen are drawn
to slumber and to toil.
trodden fields of dawn
through basalt seeded soil.
A consistent daily chore
broken and blistered skin
farming out of folklore
the spirit from within.
An iron age passes by,
ploughed by tools of wood
Faces etched, livelihood.
(The traditional farmers of Nicaragua)
buttercup of gold
in cracks of basalt and sage
the yellow dress shines
Lake Superior
Strong- shouldered waves crested
the rocks below Split Rock Lighthouse
with frothering glee-
happy to be home among the orange-lychen,
basalt-boulders and Gulls-
high above the lake, mountainous columns
of clouds drifted in legions towards Canada,
against a sky so blue, no reasons were needed-
where the sun peaked through, sparkling
diamonds scattered across the lake……existence was enough
existence
was enough
08/16/10
© All Rights Reserved
The rivulets of ice hang greedily
To barren brown basalt
Drooling downward steadily
Like ribbon candy halted
a crystal ooze assault.
Sweet sap cascading readily
frozen curtain seldom parted
clothe the breast of earth joyously
leave in mist oh mistress tart…
pierce not the lingering heart.
Red planet in the dark,
Iron Oxide lights your spark.
In search of great, there is not much greater,
then the planet of valleys, deserts and craters.
Spots of white look not unlike snow,
but, in fact, are storms and cyclones.
A surface scarred and cut by time,
holds a soil of Alkaline.
Cold and quite, howling wind,
Carbon Dioxide is what you'd breathe in.
Plains and highlands vast and smooth,
contrast craters the size of moons.
simply a face made flaccid,
beaten, meteor impacted.
Storms of dust bellow and swoon,
traveling to an unwritten tune.
An Argon sword, atmosphere built,
with carbon dioxide playing the hilt.
A Terra of martain Magnesium mass,
is it Basalt, or Silica glass?
Avalanches slope with a streak,
with weak gravity and slide to a heap.
Gullys carved from water of old,
lines can be seen where a sea met a coast.
Surveying mars is a difficult task,
about half of the time there are failed spacecrafts.
But despite all that, we now have a team,
of rovers exploring since 2003!
They have seen much of Mars, as far as can go,
though the poles are of ice, and the weather is cold.
But still, we have maps, and data and more,
we've explored the red planet like never before!
Peroxides and oxides provide color schemes,
it's possible life had seen what we've seen,
it's possible mars might invite human beings,
because anything's possible, when you have a dream.
From cradle to grave the sun baked
the skin leather, un-oiled
and rain did not fall
for Isis with held her tears.
From the bloody care of womb
children popped like bread from
the oven of women, the urns of life,
earthen were their colors
ocher, saffron, and
some as black as basalt, rich…
with a Nubian glow.
How the small ones squeal
at the wadi’s edge.
How the toes of man and beast
dance at the skirt of mother Nile,
sensuous, rippling with the wind,
or placid in the doldrums of summer sun.
Power points of dimensional spinning graphs are largely placed in cement viewfinders in aerated office space with dome foam chairs. Dome foam chairs are the salt of seats and seating is considered important for lengthy discussion tables whose droning voices appear to form no conclusion yet get salaried by the milliseconds. Thousands and thousands of bold shining gold bullion bars mean thousands of printed bull speeches. But leeches sit on beaches and sip nectar out if the environment they consider their haven. It is never really demystified, added up, or fractioned the carious deeds instead they are multiplications that divide and fracture causing much disharmony in a mustard coloured cereal bowl with many crunching sounds. Cresphontes calls crethus and cynortas then danaus appears in a silvery crown on a semi misted horse. For to be a simpleton at that time was to sport a dimple on ones forehead and bow easterly but only when a westerly breeze was chatting to northern flames. The burst of southerly inclines meant the little trotting army could approach from every angle and therefore a fisherman or shepherd could be made very alarmed and run around flailing arms in the air shouting aloooooo alllooooo alllooooo but no apologies were made to these innocent harmonic workers of the lands. Blup blup fishermen and Barr baaa basalt shepherds left their careers and began work on the structures that would stand to signal power. Processing plants of today are akin to planktonic paintings upon the grounds and are an eyesore to behold. Many an eyesore is many an era in waste. Napoleonic Neptune numbers nurturing ninety nice nimble nymphs nautically. Beam then. Go on beam. Great big grin. Split level chin wobble. Fantastic isn't it? Z autobiographical Z at seven jumping tennis balls in a stew pan to thirteen moons on motorbikes. Z xxxx z
Inspire me....
Even as I attempt this
Iambic nonsense
How can silence,
Emanate from chaos:
It's direct opposite?
A pure contradiction of concept...
Crashing, cascading.......
In a metaphoric ambiance of emotions,
Anger infused like an avalanche of retribution...
Unstable, fluctuating and unpredictable
Just like when the Centre cannot hold
Shhhhhhhhhh.........
There is a silent voice saying
Be still............
Chaotic, disorganised, shambolic and in a condition of total disarray.
Mesmerised, enthralled, spellbound or hypnotised.....
Kush-in, drunk-in, high on some pills of ecstasy, while you chill in cloud nine or
In a state of total mental confusion,
Like when the Falcon cannot hear the Falconer
Shhhhhhhhhhhh...
Listen,
To that silent voice saying
Be still......
When things fall apart
Hold the centre.....
Don't allow an avalanche free flow
Basalt, untamed and waxed......
Be inspired inspite of contradictions
Think before you act,
Ruminate before you speak
Chaos, chaos is the dance hall,
But the DJ maintains the tempo of the songs
Chaotic is the market place
Yet the trader never miss her balance
Chaotic the Arena might be
The gladiator is ever focused
Miss the general's call on the chaotic battlefield and you are gone.
Tis Iambic contradiction of sophistry,
An attempt to awaken the tiny voice of reason
That always question our silence while we are to speak
And
Our speech while we should listen.
©Chigbo S. Peter {April 2017}
COASTLINES
Wearing medallions on their shoulders,
The hero waves of the Aegean
Smooth rounded boulders.
Brightness outside, and shadow deepness,
Ruins of civilization with columns,
Calming wind and heat haze - solemn
Olives clinging to steepness.
Naked waves without medallions,
The metallic hum of Atlantic breakers
Cuts ranks of basalt prism battalions.
Wind’s gusty spray, its hazy chill,
Its greyness here and around,
Fills half-buried tumuli mounds
In wet pine forest, on heather hill.