Best Ceremonial Poems
Eyes are the windows of a soul and they say ‘Love is blind’
But how do you describe colour to a sightless person?
Such depths to your violet eyes
The windows of your Soul
A flickering source of emotions
Speaking volumes ~ though sightless
Not limited by vision
Not obscured by darkness
Your dazzling beauty of true colour
Conceals your inner world
Of complex greys
Your smiles create rainbows
That stay
All through my day
In a world of colour
For some eyes
Sadness and mistrust linger
Your eyes mirror only
Beauty and Hope ~ Love and Joy
You ask for a detailed description of
the colour of your eyes
How can I?
Futile will be my try
No Master’s artistic brush can decipher
That deeper shade of violet
Changing like the sun’s ceremonial display
Retaining an aura of mystery
Seeking only truth
In your abstract blur of colour
Though ~ let me try
Here place your hand on my heart
How can one see colour
If it can’t be felt
Look through my eyes
Feel that majestic sky
With its beautiful variations of blue
Serenading the aqua sea below
Through sparkles of iridescent silver bursts
A tinge of pearly pink lazily drifts past
I hastily dip my brush just a touch
Do you see? Swirling pink with the blue
Another dip into the aqua of the sea
Hints from the bushes of lilacs below
A smidge of the red poppy
Blended till it’s the right shade of a violet hue
Can you feel my colour?
Behind your veil of black velvet?
My humble artistic attempt
Going beyond my range of limitations
Your
eyes glow
in approval
In that spinning vortex of
violet complexity ~ We dance in your world of darkness
As you whisper to me ~ that your eyes have always seen the stars.
We both look~~~~~incredulously ~~~~~at the same spot
A starburst ******************of light
A ~~~~~~~~~~~~~shooting~~~~~~~~~~~star
My wish ~~~~~~~~~~for you~~~~~~~~~~my love
To be ~~~~~~~~~~~~forever and~~~~~~~~always as
Brilliant as~~~~~~~~~~*********~~~~~~~~~~~you are
** **
*** ***
***** ****
****** ******
******** ********
True Colors movie clip – with vocals Anna Kendrick and Justin Timberlake
We Are One
Dear Ancient Sister
I hear your distant calls finding me on a gentle breeze
You have lived in my dreams for many seasons
My voice
Your voice
My soul
Your soul
And our Coming of Age
I have always known you...
I have heard your
Quiet whispers echoing in
The night coming close to me
I call to you ...
Let me be a part of your breath
I have always known your wounds and sorrow
I see the light and magic in your eyes...
The pain you carry so eloquently
I see your reflection in the clouds above
Carrying your soul wound on your sleeve
I see the deep crevasses and lines
In your grandmother’s hands
I hear the secrets beneath the earth of
Your grandfather’s footsteps
I see your reflection in the twilight
Of the evening... against pink watermelon hills
Your voice beckoning me onward closer to you
I see you in the moon and stars
Your buckskin dress adorned with
Ceremonial beads
Abalone shell against your forehead
The dirt beneath your moccasins
Grateful for the kiss of your dancing feet
I hear the echo in the distance of songs
The Elders sang...
During their passage here
You are born into a woman
Before my eyes and heart
Before your tribe
Before nature
A wise new feline
A mystical power with endless allure
A force that lifts and unites us all
As one
Your rays blessing us and leaving
A welcome imprint on our hearts
My Ancient sister
I drink in your wisdom and grace
I fly on your wings
You have shown me your world
Watching you dance
Becoming you for moments in time
Your silhouette etched by
The wild flames behind you
A glow radiating into
The night sky
The stories of your Ancestors
Filling the air with
Words and lessons and song
Notes sung into clenched fists
With bloodstained hands
The children and animals
Sensing all that was
And all that will ever be...
The call of a distant bird
The thumping of your cane on
The hungry earth
Keeping time with
The movements of your body
You will look back on this
Day as you walk with the
Same cane down the path of
Old Age...
Your wisdom
Cupping your heart gently
Ancient Sister of mine
I am in gratitude for
Your strength and courage
The kiss of your words and
The teardrops of your loss
Susan Lawrence
Copyright 2020
Original Artwork
Susan Lawrence
Cherokee Tears
ceremonial drums' rhythmic heartbeat
impassioned tribal chants
echo in Smoky Mountain mist before dawn
tortured spirit of an ignoble president
Andrew Jackson seems imprisoned here
haunted by wailing ghosts of tribe members
too old to meet Jackson's mandate
rise up, carry all you own
except your memories, your hopes
abandon graves of your ancestors
trek the "Trail of Tears" to a barren land
restless are the rising souls
natives who passed the pipe, welcomed whites
campers still report sightings
spirits walking and wailing from dusk till daybreak
specters bearing blood-spattered treaties
mingle in the Smoky Mountain mist
created by Cherokee tears
*Written November 20, 2018
For Line Gauthier's "Tribute to Native Cultures"
I woke up to the soft
marigold melodies
of whistling waves,
reverberating in
turquoise tunes,
stirring the sleeping
sunrise within my soul,
while the hermit crabs,
soaked in salty sand,
creep along the ivory
shores at a slow pace,
too eager to find a
faulty ray from my
honeyed horizon.
Yet I refused to allow
the crawling crustaceans
to obscure the serene scenes
unfolding in shades
of teal zeal beneath
azure spheres,
for I am the
metaphorical mermaid,
weaving aquatic anthems,
awaiting the crystalline
calling from the warm
arms of an oceanic heart.
I remember walking
on colorful clouds,
tiptoeing my way to
the psychedelic gates
of seraphic realms,
oblivious to the
hibiscus haven thriving
in tropical fruitfulness.
Perhaps the flavors
of twilight cocktails
were blended with
trippy ingredients,
untying ribboned skies
to unveil a
kaleidoscopic staircase
to untouched bliss,
where no breathing
footprints can blemish
the pearlescent purity
of an exotic paradise.
There, in the rhyme-less
roots of palm trees,
you’ll find my inked dreams,
kissing the cinnamon sun,
unfurling herbs of
seasoned sanguinity,
a singing siesta
soothing ruffled crests
rippling with topaz tranquility
along celestial currents.
This is me turning perfumed
pages of my grounded reality;
a picturesque painting
sketched in the
amethyst arena of
my sixth chakra,
and I will forever remain
in this island of romanticism,
collecting conch shells,
writing poetry with
evergreen stems,
and floating weed,
a lyrical hideaway,
without scarred flowers
envious of the sapphires
I knit in ceremonial silence.
If tomorrow, there is
no sailing catamaran
to steer your lusterless shadows,
here upon porcelain dunes,
forgive my need to
strive in sweet seclusion,
I am no longer strayed
on ruthless routes that
lack emerald empathy
and camellia compassion.
She writes about Fall's beauty in the rain
The falling raindrops' dance ascribing thence
Bespoken verse that lightens her refrain
before the time they met - her steps commence.
She listens to the soft and rhythmic thrum,
her love turned to escape and cloudy string
Where nimbus mistletoe fell, tears to become
Their kiss of Autumn was symbolic ring.
The first light cotton mists with summer rays
While skyward cheerful laughs adorn the land,
their ceremonial dance diffuses grays,
affectionate embrace, where dreams expand.
Upon September's sky the raindrops gleam
With half of hidden Sun to laugh and beam.
--------- 8-29-13
‘neath the halo of a full moon
Wind Talker gives music to the night
flute carved from a fallen tree
he plays to the dwindling forest
trees that remain and creatures losing habitat
softly the melody resonates through the woods
Wind Talker recalls stories handed down
tribal legacies of prosperity, joy
an era when animals were protected and revered
glory days of spiritual people
proud Native Americans who honored their culture
cast away even as treaties were signed
so much has been lost
so much
clad in soft skins
Wind Talker wishes for what might have been
if settlers had never made their way to his land
yes, the land is his
it always will be; this he knows
his heart’s sadness emanates from Wind Talker’s flute
development is approaching, encroaching
more houses, more highways
fewer trees, less land for animals to roam freely
resignation sets in
no way to reclaim the past
ceremonial drums fade in the distance
so much has been lost
so much
In the twilight spirits come to play,
listen closely to what they have to say.
In the early dawn, they will sit with you,
and greet the sun that shines anew.
As our sacred pipe gets passed around,
through billowing smoke, some prayers are found.
A ceremonial tradition that honours all things,
come join with us as the Great Spirit sings.
Enlightenment comes when you open thy heart,
it's never too late to make a new start.
Beings from the stars will you lend us a hand?
To help unite this Earth across every land?
This old oak-tree smiling through my balcony
Sways and swings cheerily, a happy emissary,
Budding new vigor upon tiny greenish leaves
Adorning exuberance of idyllic new morning,
Quivering golden-beams on dawning of spring.
When the sun rises, blushing mauve feelings,
Its gentle oscillations fetch tender sensibilities
Inviting sparrows to grace the stage of robins
In spontaneous outburst of ceremonial music--
Chirping, twittering, singing for the hatchlings.
As summer of my mind churns wistful stories,
Its white blossoms waltz tender warm breeze
And leaves flutter merrily, twirling to comfort me
When thoughts bygone nudge parched vagaries
Engrossed in realm of burned-out memories.
When autumn turns green into fiery-red leaves
As ruby sundown glitters on amethyst evening
And gusty winds rustle-in endlessly, ferociously,
Whirling flying colors, floating crimson revelries;
A few remnants cling-on, loath to forsake me.
Yet, brazenly I gaze away, ignoring its appeal
When harsh winter shudders essence of its being,
Quivering, shivering bare-skinned branches;
Staying beguiled instead on top of frozen hills
Where sunset articulates ochre-tinged themes.
May 26, 2020
Poem of the day on May 28, 2020
Placed 2nd: Brian's Choice Y Contest
I shook my head
Knew the day’d be messy
Some poor sap
Was marrying my Aunt Bessie
She’d slept with half of Brooklyn
Flaunting her exploits all through town
The mayor, the banker, the deli clerk
Even the birthday party clown
A wedding gown, so fitted
Her bellybutton showed
Boobs shoved up high enough
To violate building code
Minutes before the shindig
She pulled me on the roof
Snatched a flask from her garter belt
Downing one hundred ninety proof
She wanted to call it off
No way she could comply
To promise for all her life
To only screw one guy
I told her she could do it
Like many other people do
She finally calmed down
And made her wedding day debut
She stumbled down the aisle
Tripping on her gown
Her daddy kept her steady
‘til the pastor stared her down
She blushed but pulled together
Long enough to give her vows
After the ceremonial kiss
Everyone went to carouse
Letting loose at the reception
She danced with all the boys
Twirling, flashing, grinning
Making all kinds of noise
I’d like to say things ended well
That monogamy she would master
But before the night was over
She got naked with the pastor
For Andrea's "Show Me the Funny" Contest
Thousands of gentle caresses, soft touch,
From the potter’s hands to properly guide
Tenuously stretching sides he might crush,
If too much pressure his fingers provide.
Young heart made of clay, forming on the wheel.
To guide your unfolding, our sacred charge.
Push we must, yet your own shape you reveal.
A careful balance, an impact so large.
Kiln’s searing flame awaits, the piece’s trial.
But before, time drying, forming in place.
Away from well meaning hands and anxious smiles.
Then ceremonial paint brushed on face.
Tempered by scorching waves of heat, the bowl
Gleams triumphant, a grail to hold the soul.
3/5/16
>>>
cavorted about as elfin brides
under a saffron maple tree^^^^
Dressed in prism-hued layers
of chiffon in ethereal shimmers
and delicate silken gossamers
They having their group wedding in the fall
And fairy folk bustled about all round
as flimsy and flighty as they could be
while henna leaves fell upon the brides,
>>>>> in ceremonial nuptial
An autumn's breezy ritual>>>Branches denuded
Yet autumn's august>>>
in honey fallen maple leaves as well
>>>>Playing hide'n' seek
with browny brownie grooms
also camouflaged in the heap...>>>
( beautiful quote 7)
When soft colors of
the amethyst twilight,
dance amongst shadows~
swirling through forlorn forests,
I count sparkling syllables of
pirouetting peridots,
looking for metered refrains
from the emerald empyrean,
while wondering,
what am I but a
speck of astral dust;
garnet silhouette of
desert orchid dusk,
hanging on thin threads
of lilac-laced lines,
seeking sanguine
streaks between
black and white realms,
composed with rhythmic reasons,
that reveal pristine pathways
to still wander,
like a soulful sojourner,
sleepwalking through pilgrims
perfumed with peace,
to attain eternal nirvana,
there, I’ll no longer
be a wingless bird,
but will soar like a golden eagle,
feathered in fragranced faith,
and porcelain-tailed promises.
And as the pink pearl moon
unveils its hyacinth halo,
I twirl to the tamarind tenors
of twinkling topaz,
that fall upon healing hills
thriving with buttercup bliss,
below funeral fogs,
where melanin phases of faces
lurk in sweltering silence,
stimulating my quill to release
pastel pigments of contentment,
like glowing galaxies of gratitude.
Yet, I am an unfinished poem,
completely incomplete,
comfortably rhyme-less,
misplaced in a melancholic
meadow of magnolia metaphors,
too vague for the eye
that sees not beyond
my sun-kissed skin.
While from ethereal verses,
scattered across
seraphic spheres, I strive,
wishing that phrases I weave
across midnight skies,
would calm the soundless storms
beneath lunar-pillowed oceans,
as this glistening ink on
the ceremonial canvas
of life and beyond,
longs to be the epitaph
that immortalizes my voice
amidst ashes and stones,
skeletons and bones,
there I’ll slumber with
light still flowing
through poetic veins,
amidst the
piercing pandemonium
and turmeric tranquility;
yin and yang of existence,
I am both, earth and water;
aura of intuitive seas~
and cathartic currents
mirroring the crestfallen crescent,
soaked in infinite luminescence
from aesthetic lanterns.
(Gentle Summer Rain)
Listen to:
light pouring silver gray
enriched thoughts fall from the sky
complete path towards-
Blissful, Delighting Peace
small ceremonial rain dance.
------------
Gentle therapeutic rain
on a warm summer day.
falls of heaven on my skin
lovely healing memory
smiling tears
embracing promise land
means of escaping
utopia in a cloud
Solace-
light mist paints the Earth
"Drizzling summer rays."
Swimming in sunshine, rain.
by:??
At twelve years old
She sits in the cold
Engulfed by the dark
Sitting on an old tree trunk
By the edge of the silent river
From far she can hear the ceremonial celebrations
Drums beat with such elevation
The women sing in jovial spirits
The kids play and they all dance
Twenty fires burn brightly lighting the village in might
She sits in the cold
Her bare breasts scared
Her beaded necklace tightening
Her innocent fingers trembling
Her eyes dimming with every drum beat
She knows she can't run far
They will find her
And he will marry her
The dowry is already paid
The bed is already made
Adrift is smoke, that rises into the shape of a question mark...
Blurring the vacant night, with a ceremonial arc
Tomorrow, under a different sky, in a brand new way
I will wake up to a different sun, and to a wistful song of yesterday
'Though, I cannot find a star, through the drowning dredge of rain
Tonight the moon, left behind, wears a bitter frown of blame
Like a crying mother calling, with a voice of great devotion
A whistle's wailing sadness, resounds my own emotions
With tear-stained eyes, I witness the reflection
In view from where my heart once lived, a dismal day's rejection
I feel the rumble of the wheels, and a tumble of my heart
With a tremble, as the landscape is swallowed by the dark
The snake-like chain bends eastward into constellation courage
With strange misshapen shadows, streaking illuminated passage
Raindrops mimic my own heart, upon the window glass
Spilling over imprints of all the futile questions asked
I find my throat is swollen, and my will too worn to speak
Beside me, rudely flaunting, is a taunting, empty seat
Like a sickle for harvesting a lonely star…
Smoke sketches the sky with the shape of a question mark...
____________________________________________________________
Submitted for Craig Cornish's Contest
8/13/13