Best Cairns Poems
The beach gathers its dead. Thousands of horseshoe crabs
come home on the full moon’s tide. Their courting dances,
scrawled with claw and carapace in the wet sand, leave
with the ghost hands of nursing Autumn wave.
Their nests of jewel-colored eggs, covered and soothed
seasoned in salt sea, gestate beneath a slurry of debris.
Right side up each skin colored husk with its barbed tail
rocks in the bubbling broth of Cape Cod’s bay.
Belly up, they appear as an open invitation to the plovers
who flock overhead and arrow down en masse to dine.
Piping plovers, masked in black, hopscotch through the
detritus, connoisseurs of this turquois egg-like caviar.
Among the life and death of sea we walk, barefoot, and
cautious wary of the scramble, the jutting barbs, the bits
of un-soothed glass, the desecrated cairn which barricades
the dying life from the living sea.
Published First in Sounding Review 2015
Liberty Bell, cracked and muted after the war
Apostrophe after every catastrophe under par
Homerun in the Long March of Second War
Coins on cairns of foes and heroes in jar
An exclamation point in war under par.
Old Persian expedition of eight ships
Eight hundred soldiers on board with whips
Traveled and vanquished Aksumites of good gesture
People of worship, peace and humane nature
Aksum of ivory and gold
Many stories, forgotten and untold
Ripped of faith, freedom and sold
Queen of beauty blazed houses of the laity and cold
Forty years all devouts left defenseless and bleak
On the frail grounds under scorching sunny peak
Yet stones of faith stood tall over the weak
Images of the Cross on coins, strong faith
of the banished people speak
Cairns of unnamed heroes and heroines of faith
Christians of unity, subjects of the saith
Above all afflictions and tribulations from the cursed breath
Bright lights dwell on good, strong souls
chained by shadowed wraith
Walls too high, above the grasses I see
Walls above my eye, below the world of me
Fencing my eye, lions of grey roaring
Reaching the sky, birds of prey soaring.
Walls of lamentation are memories of war
Galls of incantation are cairns in jar
Facing the wailing walls are men of tears
Groping for simping halls are women of fears.
Walls of life, memories in time
Walks of life, melodies in rhyme
Love from wells, portrait of loving souls
Waters in wells, vignette of redeemed souls.
On the deaths of Major John Cairns Bartholomew, of Wadworthshire, and a much loved Devizes tree...
Beneath a grey and monumental sky
In wild confetti clouds that dance in air
The blossom falls; all trees and men will die
However good, or beautiful, or rare
For years, beneath the branches of that tree
Have lovers kissed, have lonely mourners waited
All men and trees shall die; he, thee, and me
By that same force destroyed and yet created
The clattering of horses’ hooves, the sound
Of yeoman passing, ghosts that haunt the ears
All trees and men returneth to the ground
‘Till from the light new word of life appears
In red Victorian brick and petal glow
Are strength and beauty blended ‘fore our eyes
Good men and trees in season come and go
Such knowledge is the glory of the wise
Drink with your eyes each bright delight you see
And savour every moment of creation
For man will pass and wind will fell the tree
And wine will drop on coffins in libation
While blood still flows like sap, best drain your glass
Enjoy the fleeting sunbeam in your ale
For trees and men shall die; for all things pass
All moonlight fade and colours turn to pale
Let hops be gathered; make of sunshine, hay
Add rosebuds and ferment a heady brew
For trees and men shall certain pass away
As dark of midnight shadows summer’s blue
For soon enough last orders will be rung
Sad flags will flutter half way up the mast
Dark laments for men and trees be sung
And rest be found for dear old souls at last
Learn wisdom, child, from ale and wood and bone
Brew love in barrels down in cellars deep
And find it there when you return, alone
To watch the man in blossom rise from sleep
by Gail
She exits the shower
As I towel her down
Her long blond hair
Skin so brown
With her back to me
In masterly strokes
Every part I caress
Her wanting stokes
She takes my hands
To her breasts she cups
Our torso's close
In standing up
She bares her nape
Invites me to kiss
As my blood responds
To my manly bliss
This path of passion
We tenderly follow
Our bodies racing
As we lovingly wallow
We lie on the bed
Two adventurers roam
Exploring new worlds
To eventually find home
Sensual finds
As they make their way
A pillar of strength
Through a secret gate, plays
Curvaceous mounds
With pert like cairns
Forested grasses
Wonderment stare
Through the open gate
In this warm moist land
Signals in sync
As we read our commands
In movement so tender
With sighs and groans
Between the V
As he's welcomed home
In rhythmic rhyme
Their music plays
Notes are hit
In orchestral display
Kisses shared
Bodies slide
Hearts content
In sensual glide
Eruption emits
His lava flow
Tanned maiden
Golden glow
Orgasmic glands
Climax embrace
In their world of love
This two have graced
. UNSUPPORTED CODE
Sugar Cane Blues
By
Kevin L Fairbrother
Sugar, Sugar it’s everywhere
From Proserpine to Cairns
The green fields of cane
Are in your face all the time
On the road I’m driving
The cane swaying on both sides
Radio blaring a Muslim invasion
Who cares when there is sugar everywhere
I’m feeling high with sugar on my mind
But deep down I feel no shame
I’m riding high there is no pain
That sweet smell I take it in again and again
A change of scenery is what I need
A different choice to smell and see
Maybe then I can forget I have
The sugar cane blues
Sugar, Sugar oh so sweet
Please give me some relief
Let it end this feeling
So full of sweetness
Need to come down off this high
Into the mountains I think I’ll go
Change the scenery breathe some fresh air
To take away my sugar cane blues
I took a stroll through Boot Hill Cemetery the other day,
To take a look at where outlaws and other rabble lay.
Some graves were marked by stones, others by weathered board;
Many covered with cairns of rock, residents known only by the Lord!
As I moseyed through the weeds and brambles from tomb to tomb,
I read interestin' epitaphs on how those fellers met their doom!
"Here lies the mortal shell of bank robber Tim McGraw;
Bad luck for Tim - the bank teller was quicker on the draw!"
"Beneath this turf resides big-time gambler Jedidiah Greeves;
He played Texas hold-em with too many aces up his sleeves!"
"Here dwells 'Hank' Hankston who 'borrowed' the judge's steed;
He was hanged from a lone oak tree for this nefarious deed!"
"Here inhabits Cletus O'Toole who had a run-in with the law;
The high sheriff won the battle on the dusty streets of Wichita!"
"Molding in this lonely grave is Joe Bronson, notorious cattle thief;
Wranglers dealt with Joe in a hail of lead with whom they had a beef!"
"Cody Blanks went on a drunken toot causing mayhem and injury;
The judge sentenced him to be hanged as suggested by the jury!"
These fellers were planted with their boots on accordin' to local lore;
That's why it will be known as Boot Hill Cemetery now and forever more!
The Bichon Frise
The Bichon in chiffon looks so frou
That the crowd duly wowed has to coo
‘Til the dog starts to droop
And its owner to scoop
Some acutely embarrassing doo
The Border Collie
It was not Albert Einstein who dared
To think E = mc2
But rather a Border
Who brought cosmic order
One morning while out with his laird
The Bulldog
My Bulldog won’t frolic or fetch
His face may cause others to kvetch
But he’s gentle and sweet
With the kids on the street
And the ladies all think I’m a ketch
The Cairn Terrier
Cairns have been bred to hunt vermin
Be it Spanish, Australian, or German
Its body is wee
Though as tough as a tree
And as ruthless as General Sherman
The Chihuahua and Great Dane
Chihuahuas and Danes one surmises
Are extremes when it comes to their sizes
The one is so small
It is nothing at all
While the other is big and wins prizes
The Chinese Crested
I passed one of these down on Lincoln
For a moment I thought I’d been drinkin’
He looked so bizarre
That I stopped in a bar
To keep my poor eyeballs from shrinkin’
The Collie
To many a Collie means Lassie
The wonderdog faithful and classy
But on re-run TV
(Or is it just me?)
Do her eyes look a little bit glassy?
The Corgi
The Corgi is not one to hurry
Much preferring a stroll to a flurry
If you happen by chance
To invite one to dance
He’ll say, “Hey, I am not Arthur Murray!”
The Dachshund
The Dachshund’s a marvel on skis
Little legs that stop short of its knees
It can schuss like a pro
Making furrows in snow
(Though its privates are given to freeze)
The Dalmatian
Dalmatians are doomed to be stuck
In the seat of a fireman’s truck
When they’d much rather cruise
In a Jag that’s chartreuse
On a track that’s for testing your luck
Drugs like anger and toxin like pills
Flashing from the side of the ditch.
Holding out the rain, trying so hard
to rot whatever it touches.
Curses to the sun
that drying *****,
flooding the world with her harsh light.
Waking all the thinking neurons.
Firing together, they hold the promise of death.
Drugs like anger and toxin like pills
Fast drain the clear expectancies of family,
borrowed sanity with debts to pay
forming alliances, with reverence for some,
placation for none.
Cairns long erected will go down for sure
tumble or crumble
the directions are set, no fanatic speeches will stop the flow
of the rotting water
It will saturate the sills on all the windows.
Drugs like anger and toxin like pills
Pity the sap still runs.
The corn yet grows;
where death counts twice
and admires your consumption.
I hate to chortle at the sound of broken laughter,
Just like I refrain from weeping when dancing smoke fills my eyes . . .
But when dogs mourn alone,
I chafe my hands with the cold of tears of solitude.
Monuments and cairns I crave among the icy
Terrains, where dogs’ paws leave eternal marks —
The print-marks of an important visit,
Evidence of life on desiccated earth.
On board The Fram they sailed majestically
In the beginning,
Before joining a steam of blizzards they escaped from,
Returning home, northwards, gelid and depressing,
For a funeral of dogs,
The ceremony of age,
Attended largely by silent yaps of strayed thunder.
In dank and dusty basements,
where people die alone,
and ancient cairns by weathered hands
were built with rock and stone,
in cabins long abandoned,
corners pile with leaves windblown,
on battlefields resounding as the
bullet strikes the bone,
when more than one has, indeed,
o're the cuckold's nest flown,
we realize that time is nothing
and nothing's ever known.
©Danielle White
White cloaked among the shine of brass and glass, Father waits,
cries of past and present mingle, among the cairns of dead.
He paces penitently within the maze
of the stucco glazed cemetery.
"Shall I pray for your dead? He seems to say..
Have you paid the fee?"
The dead rule here and he is their voice.
“How many Our Father’s shall I say?”
Money, as always the key….
“My child why do you cry?”
Father inquires with Priestly aplomb.
“Only God now knows where your mother has gone.”
Half dead flowers fall from the child’s hand.
Gazing over the plains nestled far below
Inching our way over rock-strewn trails,
The words resounding through our thoughts
Keep silent...like ivy growing wild, reaching
For moisture in several directions at once.
The attention we give these mountains needs
No conversation to make a point or hold
The soul rapt with an abundance of peace.
Air is as light as heaven when the nights
Rehearse their lines in circles of tranquility.
Silence fills the canyon walls...it is hope on a
Short string tied to quiescent ambiance. Stillness settles
Over us like shadows on the craggy back of Longs Peak.
Watching the dawn clothe massive cairns with a purple
Mountain majesty, our mute response serves only to affirm....
To speak would be a sacrilege.
****
Some enact outstanding feats
of altruism in the world,
some pray, administer and comfort;
both create shrines of hope.
Yet there are others tasked to
reveal waymarks on invisible pathways,
cairns and inuksuk, signs upon the trackless;
word-symbols,
akin to rocks and pebbles.
Poets who scribble, often by chance,
point a way, and when they do
God builds a small shrine
for them also.