Best Chargers Poems
The Black Hills wept for Thee
East of the Black Hills of South Dakota,
On the Pine Ridge Reservation,
Live a proud tribe of Oglala Lakota,
Part of the Great Sioux Nation.
On saddled chargers rode half the Regiment,
of the Seventh Cavalry.
A tune they played on behalf of the GarryOwen,
was such a sight to see.
While climbing through Prickly pines, they spied,
near the summit of Porcupine Butte.
Spotted Elk with Hunkpapa Lakota tribe,
the chief of the Minneconjou.
Five miles West through the cold day they walked,
the Lakota and soldiers of the Seventh,
Where Wounded Knee creek's icy waters balked,
between hell and heaven.
The Colonel ordered all of the tribe's rifles confiscated,
while the braves danced the ghost dance.
For rumor had spread of a new religion, long awaited,
that would turn the tide of chance.
Then suddenly came the report of rifles fired,
as the women and children fled to a ravine.
From the heights the thunder of cannon, now inspired,
close quarter fighting and lead, now convened.
Who knows where Providence went,
on that cold December morning.
Both guilty and innocent, now spent,
lay dead with little warning.
Bodies of the fallen now sprawled across the snowy plains,
with faces frozen in a moment of violence.
One mass grave with all, is all that remains,
of tears and laughter forever silenced.
In the days that followed medals were pinned to chests,
who proclaimed victoriously.
Though God only knows why, ignoble and divest,
life taken in vain, ingloriously.
In the shadow of the land of Sitting Bull,
was now told the tragic story.
Passed down from Mother to Daughter were recounted,
days of lost glory.
“Let us put our minds together to see what life we can make for our children.”
-Sitting Bull
A flush of adrenaline
A river running high
To fight against a carnal harmony
No dam can be erected
Was it the builder's creation?
Or a flaw to be ignored?
Butterflies abandon
Surge over sinew
A course, not yet to dry
Pleasure or pain
Cycles unknown to me
Besides the motion
It strives to drive the dancers out
The partners to lure in
As music screamed
Pounding churned the walls
Where the drapes were once scarlet
Now white streamers
Ran silkily to sigh
Veins and vessels away
The apartments were stable
No alarms sounded
I slept unfeeling
Forgotten by the party
Missing their advance
On feminine, the virility
A chargers onslaught came
While I had no thoughts to disturb
Judges at the ready
Curling, hardening to guard
Against an inevitable trial
The doorbell rang incessantly
Banging and scratching around panes
To be desired and devoured
My core shattered
A dividing ecstasy began
Soft and red, a breath taken
Then I conceived I was
Books to the library
photos to family.
Paint cans and lumber
from renovations years ago.
Most of the furniture
including the piano.
Fastest way to do this
is rent a dumpster.
On the internet
nothing’s permanent,
nothing's gonna happen.
Photosynthesis, evaporation
as if your spirit disappears
when the sun appears.
It’s a burden lifted
not to have to persevere.
Edits
for clarity
and brevity.
One owes the reader
a respite from
the tonnage of
fructifying English.
To drown one’s book is devoutly to be wished.
Coupla trumpets,
big comfy couch,
four beds and dressers
and the contents of closets.
Tools we don’t use,
surge protectors and chargers,
lawn and patio accoutrements,
table settings for ten.
Lamplit underground,
the stray branch,
synchronized chaos,
a red fez.
One canary,
map of Antarctica,
three deaf little otoliths,
six or seven sybils.
Extra salt and pepper shakers,
sharpies and crayons,
a printer and a scanner,
the Bible and Koran.
Kaput calculators and computers,
subscriptions and prescriptions,
a host of vitamins
and the ghosts of ancestors.
Time itself
but not nature.
Wealth
and most of culture
but not my health.
That I’ll keep,
and sleep—practice
for perfect rest.
Super Bowl Sunday is finally here
same excitement as Staubach and Griese
drinkers have an excuse to drink more beer
today’s Super Bowl not sure if I’ll see
the Super Bowl is much more than a game
those commercials bring excitement also
Fritos and Pepsi will also get fame
for many the game is the only show
I’ve have been to two Super Bowl parties
last one was the Chargers and the Niners
I worked those Mondays without a tardy
I’m not granddad I’m not with those miners
so eat drink and enjoy the game today
once the work week starts there is no more play
He stands atop the ancient towers, both grey and cold as skies
Which howl about and bow the trees, and blow his longish hair—
His countenance stern, he stares below to where his army lies;
Full bodied knights on chargers swift, with strength and skill to spare.
Across the moor, tempestuous skies recall the sounds of war;
Of legions lost, of fierce assaults, just as the wailing wind.
With stalwart pride and courage bold, a pilgrimage afar
Will leave behind the fortress, and the tears of Rosalind.
Although she weep and wilt away, he still must onward go,
Nor will turn back until he's sacked the distant Irish shore.
She, from her window watches him depart as bugles blow;
Face bathed in tears, she greatly fears she'll never see him more.
As warriors weave a path across the Connemara Isle,
Their fate may be of pain and loss, or death could be the cost:
And thus, resigned, was Rosalind— her courage must not fail.
The castle walls are cold as stone, but love is never lost.
Though love my fly, or love may flee, love's blind and cannot see
The growing gulf 'twixt man and maid, as mainsails catch the wind:
And salty spray sides down his face, out on the open sea,
As at her window, facing west, fall tears of Rosalind.
Each fragment of her hope resounds against the shadowed moon:
Two seasons pass, then springtime comes to cast the gloom away.
At last! Her warrior, crowned by sun, rides down a purple dune!
Her anguish lifts just as the mist. Within his arms she'll stay!
{Collaboration by Carrie Richards and Isaiah Zerbst
Written from August 10-25, 2015}
Call me silly
But I enjoy being on a beach with a good book
Minus the worry about chargers or glares on my screen
It's just me and my handsome hero, his beautiful love
In that far away land, in the middle of that intricate mess.
And what is the point of a family meal when all you hear now
Are beeps of Berries or tunes of GaGas
Call me silly
But I prefer the pleasures of a snail mail letter
In comparison with emails, pings and tweets
Instead of worrying about internet connection and hackers,
I do not need to worry about the internet service provider
Who can one day take away my precious memories
Just because his terms and conditions says he can
Yes, call me silly
But these are my memories of love and failure
Peace and turbulence, that will be my gift to my children
The silly letters that my best friend wrote to say
That he loved me for better or for worse and I believed
Without worrying that he may have another wife
That I will one day find through online Spaces or Books
Call me silly
But even as I am fascinated with the wonders
That the world of social media can give me
I worry more often about how I am misunderstood
In a world of instant travel and friendship
Where rules do not exist
And when they do, are rarely followed
Call me silly
But in a world where everything seems so easy
One click, everyone says
We spend so much time on the whole world
Instead of on those who really need us
In a world where rumours are a trend
And truth is an afterthought
Call me silly
But why do people trust what this online world says
When all it takes is this,
I have a secret you see, says this person
Let's listen, say another hundred or more
Who cares if its true? Who cares if it hurts?
Simply nobody you see
Yes, call me silly, if you will
But I think this is exactly, what it means
When our parents told us
Too much of a good thing
Can actually be a bad thing.
San Diego
are now Chargers less
will they win LA?
Once upon a time of mobile
chargers,
Lives a small frighten
kittyhawk,
Sacred and lost in the jungle
of Xs!
Trapped for months and
hours,
One day she broke her chain,
And flew days until she reach
a place,
A tree beside a brook called
'POETRY',
And met many new friends,
Caught a glance of a Nuhawk
by another branch,
They soon got along well and
broke into song,
Romantic duet so strong,
Hundreds gathered to listen
and dance.
By late that evening a few
remain,
An Ancient Ox,two
turtledoves,a GhostOwl,and a
ladybug,
When it was finished she
rested her head on his crest.
Which brought the crowd into
rapture!
A happy ending is what we
are after,
Love is not blind for these
fellows,
More to come from the leaves
of Poet's Corner,
Would you stay and hear
some more...?
Until another present us a
bard to tell,
Of lonely hearts finding love
again,
I leave you with the story of
Kittyhawk and her lover....
Adios Amigoes and
Senoritas !!
Abasiama
what are you?
An Angel?
A goddess?
what have you done to me?
What Is It?
Can I express the feeling?
The puff feeling from wraps of Marijuana.
The feeling of cold bath on a sunny day.
I am a victim over pampered by kind words from a beautiful mind.
Abasiama,
I am drawn to you
Like Algae to fungi,
Monkeys to bananas
Moths to fire
Phones to chargers
But why?
Why would my gypsy heart be willing to
abandon my wandering spirit
to the billows of your anchor
I, am swayed, Abasiama
By the peace you bring,
You are special,
Special kind of lithium
To my insanely mind.
You,
Special form of Opium
You create rest
To the impulsivity of my carefree soul
Wandering recklessly free, fearfully of stability.
I think
I know the physics,
Life has a twisted way of creating life
through atomic collisions
the feelings are inescapable
continuously afflicting.
How else can one explain it?
Abasiama
The magnetization by the stretch of your lips.
Brightness by the sway of your hand.
And resonance watching you walk away.
Uyai
I am lost,
Lost to your stare,
Lost in the musky scent -around the sonnet of your aura light
Look at me.
I am lost
Like the flame from a match struck in the wind.
Lost
What is it?
Is it the Efere Etidot
that cleanses my mind?
Or the Afang that creates better images of life
Or is it for me to discover
The pot of an Ibibio woman contains efficacies to a better life.
Abasiama
So this is the chemistry
I am at the point of
brewing temperature
Steam will emanate from me in search of answers
Of how one can only see clearly by your side
Of how memories without you are empty,
Like indomie packaged without the seasoning
Empty like days without sunshine.
Abasiama,
Forgive me
If I could I would deny these emotions
I would hang up all the times
where we affectionately skirted
over the pebbles of the
obvious mutual intentions.
I have yet to find the answers, to the questions which here lay.
All I know is when I’m with you, all my worries fade away
Efere Etidot- vegetable soup
Afang soup
Rolf Benirschke place kicker.
Ulcerative colitis
nearly ended his career.
He made a comeback.
Rolf defied the odds.
He holds the Chargers record
for the most points scored.
Rolf brought soccer-style kicking
to professional football.
I thank wikipedia.org online encyclopedia for information I obtained to write this poem.
Dodoitsu with tanka attached
It is the third largest city in California.
It lies just north of the border from Tijuana.
This is a nice big town where many a tourist stays.
The municipality is home to the Chargers and Padres.
The weather is warm and sunny, and hardly every raining.
It is where the U.S. Marines take their boot camp training.
This place has been around since the Conquistador.
It has much to see and experience, and more.
The California city is a place I am sure you know.
It is none other than the City of San Diego.
No one could hold a candle to you now,
There were two minds and two hearts,
And we together with one sacred vow,
Somehow the secret of night imparts
No one could hold a candle to you now.
Time stopped still and froze in thrall,
The theme of music hungered on,
Flowing through ambience draping all,
As though the outer world was gone,
Time stopped still and froze in thrall
Arabian knights rode burning sands
On snow white chargers galloped by,
Imposed upon the meeting of our hands
As though time merely blinked an eye,
Arabian knights rode burning sands.
No one could hold a candle to you now,
A hummingbird set, no nectar sips,
For starburst eyes reflected how
We as beloved statues, touching lips,
No one could hold a candle to you now.
Making wishes on Dandelions in the moon light.
Knights on white chargers, oh what a sight.
Two good looking princes having a fight.
Swords drawn and fencing under starlight.
A ballet performed for the man in the moon.
A singer serenades you can't help but swoon.
Ballerinas dance with stars to a beautiful tune.
All done with silhouettes against a full moon.
Hand written love letters in flowing prose.
Flowers and chocolates wrapped up with bows.
I will stay with you for the highs and the lows.
All for the favour of a girl called rose.
In Life’s old garden nations lived who all its fruits enjoyed,
While others longed in vain, while some the winter blasts destroyed;
Its trees are legion; some decay, While others flush with bloom,
And thousands still their birth await, Hid in the garden’s womb;
A symbol of luxuriance, The Tree of Islam reigns,
Its fruits achieved with centuries of garden-tending pains.
Your robe is free from dust of home, Not yours such narrow ties,
That Yousuf you, who Canaan sweet, In every Egypt lies;
The qafila can never disperse You holdest the starting bells9
Nothing else is needed, if your will Your onward march impels.
You candle-tree! your wick-like root, Its top with flame illumes,
Your thought is fire, its very breath all future care consumes.
And you will suffer no surcease should Iran’s star decline,
It is not the vessel which decides the potency of wine;
It is proved to all the world, from tales of Tartar conquerors,
The Kaaba brave defenders found in temple-worshippers.
In you relies the bark of God, Adrift beyond the bar,
The new-born age is dark as night, And you its dim pole-star.
The Bulgars march! the fiend of war in fearful fury breathes;
The message comes: “Sleepers, awake! The Balkan cauldron seethes.”
You deem this a cause of grief,Your heart is mortified;
But no, your pride, your sacrifice, Thus, once again, are tried.
Beneath your foes if chargers neigh? Why tremble you in fright?
For never, never, shall their breath extinguish Heaven’s light.
Not yet have other nations seen what you are truly worth,
The realm of Being has need of you for perfecting this earth.
If anything yet keeps world alive, ‘It is yours impetuous zeal,
And you will rise its ruling star, And you will shape its weal.
This is no time for idle rest, Much yet remains undone;
The lamp of tawhid needs your touch to make it shame the sun!
You are like fragrance in the bud, Diffuse yourself: be free.
Perfume the garden breeze, and fill the earth with scent of you.
From dusty speck, do you increase to trackless desert-main.
From a faint breeze, a tempest grow, Become a hurricane!
Raise you, through Love, all humble to greatness and to fame;
Enlighten you the groping world with dear Muhammad’s Name.
Sappho fragment #2
translation by Michael R. Burch
How can I compete with that damned man
who fancies himself one of the gods,
impressing you with his "eloquence" ...
when just the thought of sitting in your radiant presence,
of hearing your lovely voice and lively laughter,
sets my heart hammering at my breast?
Hell, when I catch just a quick glimpse of you,
I'm left speechless, tongue-tied,
and immediately a blush like a delicate flame reddens my skin.
Then my vision dims with tears,
my ears ring,
I sweat profusely,
and every muscle in my body trembles.
When the blood finally settles,
I grow paler than summer grass,
till in my exhausted madness,
I'm as limp as the dead.
And yet I must risk all, being bereft without you ...
Sappho of Lesbos was so highly regarded by her peers that she was called The Tenth Muse. That was high praise indeed, because the other nine Muses were goddesses! Sappho has given us our terms "sapphic" and "lesbian." And she wrote the first "make love, not war" poem more than 2,500 years ago! She was ahead of her time, and probably ours as well. Keywords/Tags: Sappho of Lesbos, Sapphic, Greece, Greek, translation, woman, women, girl, girls, girlfriends, love, lovers, lesbian, homosexual, passion, desire, longing, lust, sex, sexy, sensual, sensuous, relationship
SAPPHO'S POEMS FOR ATTIS AND ANACTORIA
Most of Sappho's poems are fragments but the first poem below, variously titled "The Anactoria Poem, " "Helen's Eidolon" and "Some People Say" is largely intact. Was Sappho the author of the world's first 'make love, not war' poem?
Some People Say
Sappho, fragment 16 (Lobel-Page 16 / Voigt 16)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Warriors on rearing chargers,
columns of infantry,
fleets of warships:
some call these the dark earth's redeeming visions.
But I say—
the one I desire.
Nor am I unique,
since she who so vastly surpassed all mortals in beauty
—Helen—
seduced by Aphrodite, led astray by desire,
departed for distant Troy,
abandoned her celebrated husband,
turned her back on her parents and child!
Her story reminds me of Anactoria,
who has also departed,
and whose lively dancing and lovely face
I would rather see than all the horsemen and war-chariots of the Lydians,
or their columns of infantry parading in flashing armor.