Best Envoys Poems
emerald envoys
endure chilling reception..
scarlet suffering
Sire she's been sighted
two miles south of Sinai,
our sentinels say she has brought a river,
her baggage train stretches into the ancient sands,
the envoys of her retinue spoke of marvelous gifts,
beasts and creatures of the Orient
gems that glitter like the eyes of children
summer baskets of gold bullion
and satchels of spice from Siam,
our men said they could smell the barrels of balsam Sire...
To travel with such unmistakable wealth
the Queen must have brought a war machine along,
have desert brigands been spotted near the route...
No my King, no raider encampments have been observed,
just the regular rabble and agape villagers,
it's been confirmed that her associates
are passing to the people pouches of cinnamon...
I don't trust the Egyptians,
they may try to incite the Bedouins to foolhardy thievery,
our Nation's honor demands
that not even the dust of the devil's danger
deign to dry upon the clothes of her most distant servants,
if the House of Zion can secure a partnership
with the trading powerhouse of Sheba
our supremacy over the Babylonians will be indomitable...
I pledge my life, and that of my family's
to her caravan's safety Sire...
So mote it be General,
your loyalty is my blessing,
may it be as strong as the staff of Moses,
dispatch 333 of the Lion's Legion
to reinforce the Queen's guard
and send a circuit of 15 water wagons...
What does a Queen dream of
in the calm desert nights...
I dream of roses melting
into snake bitten hearts,
I've dreamt of citadels broken
by the grips of greed,
I've seen a child walking out of a tomb,
what does a King dream of
in the shadow of paradise...
I dream of thorned stars,
the division of labor and wages,
of priests and Judges
whom wish to rule quietly without blame...
Do you know what thrilled me the most
about the Court reception...
Tell me, my cinnamon Queen...
The seduction of your Servants' silence
as I entered your meticulous throne room...
I understood their awe,
you moved so gracefully,
your body like an ancient lust
your face a flame of royalty...
I think I fell in love with your eyes,
there is something rough about you Solomon,
but your eyes and lips
relay a sweet mercy to me...
Mercy is never free Veronica...
I will pay the price...
We will pay the love cost together...
J.A.B.
* For Carol Brown's Story Time Contest
Feathered serpent was more than an Aztec legend
Depicted in multihued native art
Sculptures, paintings adorned humid cities
Spiritual sketches messages impart
Quetzalcoatl, a venerated god
Plumed leader was said to have sailed away
Prophecies forecast this spirit’s return
Devout Aztecs’ hopes soared one Holy Thursday
The Aztec natives knew no greed
Great joy spread quickly in the Yucatan
When eleven Spanish ships reached their land
Not Quetzalcoatl, just a European man
Aztec leader Moctezuma II believed
Hernando Cortez to be their long-awaited god
At Moctezuma’s command, bounties were gathered
And to the shore, joyful natives did plod
1519, the Cortez armada
Greeted by Aztec envoys bearing gifts
But Spaniards fired shots at their welcoming party
Pious souls ascended through tropical mist
The land-grabbing perpetrator’s intent revealed
Aggression from one who sought to conquer
Paying no heed to Moctezuma’s beliefs
Or the spiritual history of Aztec culture
Ungodly Cortez enslaved those who remained
Defiantly built cathedrals adorned by bells
Aztec spirits will rise on Judgment Day
To claim seats in heaven while Cortez endures hell
If “gods” without honor lack kind hearts
And advocate power instead of grace
Promoting war and killing of brethren
Then surely devotion has been misplaced
*The arrival of Hernando Cortez marked the end of a thriving Aztec culture. The natives
mistook him for a “god” named Quetzalcoatl who had sailed away promising to return.
Quetzalcoatl is pronounced ket-zel-cot-el.
There was once a king who decided that for him - beauty was silence.
He issued a decree that all sound was banished henceforth and that his land would forever more be as silent as snow. To enforce this impossible law he sent countless envoys to every corner of the land. Every creature was informed. No birds can sing. No dogs must bark. No man, woman or child could speak their needs and must now make them known by signs. Even the very thunder was ordered to be mute.
The penalty of course was death. Few were able to obey.
Flocks of birds were shot from the heavens. Dogs were slain before their master’s eyes. All the trees were stripped of leaves lest the wind should sigh through them. Brooks were frozen so water could not splash or gurgle down the stream beds.
It was like a permanent winter with bare trees and frozen ground.
Children at play were wiped out without mercy. Cows being herded were bombed for lowing. This unmerciful killing went on for many years.
The merest sound so angered the King that he ordered atrocious punishments for offenders that he did not kill.
The talents of artist were in great demand as they painted cards for all occasions for people to flash. in lieu of speaking. The effect on the population was to cause the formation of many covert societies where secret meetings, when betrayed, were raided and countless murders committed by the ‘silence’ enforcers.
The King was greatly feared by everyone and dubbed “Snowman - the Silencer”
Generations of good people were wiped out. Countless noisy species were hunted to extinction. Music was never heard or played.
Silent clocks were invented. Sound-proof rooms were built. Some desperate parents, to protect their children, opted to have their babies larynx-es removed at birth.
The King was surrounded by silent apathetic, joyless subjects.
The King’s obsession had effectively destroyed all the people, the life and the environment around him.
How much easier it would have been, if he, in wanting silence had only thought to destroy his own eardrums.
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.
Acoustic Shadows 4-8-26 Craig Cornish
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Acoustic Shadows
As screen doors slam an audible footprint of sound
Echoes in phonics of ice in glasses
And tinkling bells of ice cream trucks.
The solstice ripens
Growing large in the splash of rainbirds
And telltale whirr of hummingbirds at feeders
As humidity buzzes, the breath of summer’s envoys
Sound out a boneless resonance
With chords that tease and tantalize
Alluring in fleeting notes hatching hazy inklings.
Haunting memories of a solstice oratorio renewed,
Veiled in the caress of a mirage,
Reverberate in noisy shimmers of Luna’s fullness.
Ripples of ghostly illusions speak in clues
Like bards of déjà vu
When sounds trickle down furrows of skin and soil
Leaving hints that foreshadow dusky shades
Recalling the hum of warmth in cold bones
And cues that foretell of the season of crickets.
Christmas! The most loved time of the year!
Holiday magic: decorations and festive cheer,
Returning festivities of this late December day
Is a world-wide celebration of one, whose birthday
Set the Christian world aflame back in history!
This ever since, has been regarded the start of AD.
Millions have followed his teachings since that day,
And despite persecution, true believers seldom sway!
Strong were His teachings: to love our fellow man!
It’s a tenet, in which many believe, and by which we can
Strike down adversity, if we follow the “righteous way”.
Confident in knowing, when comes our final day,
On our being called, to give account for past actions,
Most of us hope our family and friends reactions
In recalling our life’s deeds, will prove a delight,
Not a litany of ill deeds, as our sternest critics might!
Gifts given today, represent the Three Wise Men, who brought.
As Envoys, presents for the new born King they sought.
Not knowing whom they’d discover on their arrival?
Did know He would be essential for man’s survival.
They were made aware, by the arrival of a star,
He was important, so they’d travelled from afar
In search of the place where he’d be born.
Such was their joy on that auspicious morn
In finding he was somewhere in Bethlehem,
Secure in knowing they’d find the Saviour child,
Which was their sole aim and chosen intent.
Herding sheep on the hills, resting in their tent,
Yet aware events were unfolding, lowly shepherds
Were visited by angels, and paid heed to the news they heard!
Everywhere, church bells, rang out loud in joyful jubilation,
Calling all mankind to rejoice in the celebration,
Extolled a birth which would affect every nation!
Lying soundly asleep in a lowly manger, for a bed,
Every inn full: Mary and child sheltered in a cattle shed.
But from such lowly beginnings, his fame and teachings grew:
Remembered with joy at Christmas, as most Christians do:
Although many years have since passed, Believers celebrate
This day as His birthday. Upon this most auspicious date,
Everyone who “believes” will rejoice and participate.
Rhymer. December 20th, 2016.
We all wish to be called Alice
And fly into a land of true dreams.
We all feel like connecting to beyond
The lines our horizon speaks of
Against the never ceasing ideas
That life is as good as music.
We could walk along the varying tempos of this music
And wander in dreamland like Alice
Whose wonder ignites ideas
That drums our dreams
And strings we strum; talk of
In our heart and breathe beyond
We join ideas of here and beyond
Like the different parts of music
Which spots our heart as we hear of
The wonders that she, Alice
Lived in her very dreams;
A beautiful, welcoming ideas.
We sometimes swim in ideas
In symphonies without knowing beyond
The powers of our dreams
Which sounds sweeter than good music;
Wishing we could hold the hands of Alice,
The magical being we know of
And maybe whisper to her of
Happiness which is no more just ideas
That we float in at the mention of Alice
The one whose life was beyond
The grasp of music
We can only listen to in dreams
Yet, we still believe these dreams
Our hearts yearn for and beat of
Like the constant strumming of music
As a once sickly but made whole idea
Beyond
The stories we hear of Alice.
We remain envoys of good music
Just in style of a wonder; Alice
Who will always give life to our ideas.
Soul Consciousness
Is it the consciousness of the soul we seek?
Or the “conscious” mind in search of its “soul”.
For the soul resides in the eternal unconscious,
is ever present in the eternal – present – moment’s
subtle “animation” of the physical,
stimulation of the mental.
My soul…..the essence of my being
has existed for all of time,
is but a particle of the whole
an aspect of the “deity”,
a facet of creations desire for fulfillment
seeking union with its purpose.
My soul is consciously aware
of creations incompletion,
of the need for men and women
to acknowledge themselves
as the envoys of creation,
unite in bringing the state
of heaven – on earth.
For the extrapolation of the words
“and they were in one place with one accord”
would bring into effect a
vibratory validation of the belief
that “we souls” have a responsibility
to sound a conscious tone
in word, in action, in living
not bound by the strictures of a credo
but of a soul consciousness
vibrantly animating our being.
John G. Lawless
5/22/2016
Breath of spring and fresh romances flown
Farther than where clouds their dew have wept!
Hither sweep your hand upon all seeds unsown:
Reap the gold in winter’s wardship kept!
Bashfully, the moon of March ascends,
Shedding rays of silver light on bright
Dreams of green demesnes, whose rousing blends
Green emotions fed by her delight.
Spoiled by sunny streams of warmth, the earth
Lures the mind of man away from cold
Misery to calm, resplendent birth
Shaped anew in firm and fitting mould.
Decked in snowdrops, Spring displays her crown
Carried high by nymphs and satyrs, proud
Envoys quick to hail their queen, whose gown
Cloaks the woods and awes the blooming crowd.
Dozing off on waves of rolling grass,
Lovers breathe the scent of youth and live
Fleeting hours of joy while bees amass
Nectar drops which lilies gladly give.
Transient beauty doomed to die! By what
Spell of old did crass reality
Close the grip of time and swiftly cut
Roots which fed your immortality?
Pleasant summer’s not too far behind,
But by autumn’s end you’ll be asleep,
Bound to rise again within my mind
While, in winter, faithful watch I keep.
Find my poems and published poetry volumes at www.eton-langford.com
If a half-baked idea hits you
And knocks you as hard as
A lightning bolt,
That it feels like a megavolt,
Sit and for a while ponder,
And in amazement and awe,
You’ll discover intense wonder.
May angels surround and protect
You from harm
May they
Roam in your life and
Fly in your every dream,
He has sent them, for you
And rank high in His esteem.
A celestial hug they might
Give you to dry up any tears,
And chase away nightmares,
Or any other earthly fears.
The love with which they encompass
Is a feeling that could
Last for years,
So spread this feeling of tender love,
That you have received,
Which cannot measure
Up to any treasure,
And will give perceivable pleasure,
No doubt you were chosen
Isn’t that just wonderful,
Wake up don’t act as if frozen,
You are a master-piece He has woven,
With great joy,
He is so busy, He sends angels as envoys,
They arrive on earth in convoys,
They are commissioned to deliver
All of the above,
Overwhelming, maybe,
Have you not felt their presence before,
In your every pore?
The concept of precious freedom
Was born in the bowels of heaven.
In the bondage the world offers;
Fear throughout our lives is woven.
God hates mental or physical bondage,
Common to many an earthly kingdom.
The Passover is commonly known
As the festival of freedom.
Blood on the doorposts of Egypt
Was God’s symbol of freedom.
Freedom from the plague
That held death in its bossom.
The faithful were under the cover
Of the shed blood of the lamb.
Freedom from death was provided
And is God’s eternal, freedom plan.
When church and state combines,
As we have seen in certain cases,
The freedom of God’s people
Always ceases or diminishes.
Enforced ‘religion of the day’
Always persecutes and destroys.
No freedom to worship
For bondage has its envoys.
Freedom is a privilege,
Born from walking with our Lord.
To delight in His law of love
Brings freedom from discord.
Fear is the common basis
Of every type of bondage.
Fear needs to dictate or control,
And both lead to freedom’s carnage.
By Maureen LeFanue
FAKE
mirrored alien
reflecting panics
plastic grin
repeating names
unnervingly with
with tainted fears
forging terror
ambiguity takes shape
scrambling shadows
hidebehind views
momentarily
then take plunge as
watered body
wavers
navigation sets sail
into freedoms vast
expanse
starting over
masking past
toward stars
that make us
real
fake envoys that travellers make
fleeting genuflections
a reuptake of life’s
new lessons
© Kim van Breda—7 September 2015
Setting sunshine and wine Pink horizon, black tree line Cerulean blue skies, the first fire fly Night’s envoys rise, sips from on high
The Conference at Mantua
Ah, what a scene of tranquil learnedness!
The scholars nurse their tomes like babes in arms:
white locks: heads cocked to savor the address
of Pius, in his charming Latin: balm
floats in through high-arched, airy colonnades.
The lake is laced with skittish little skiffs:
those rolling lawns of Mantua could be made
to sport a kick-ass golf course. Oh, those cliffs!
But life just ain't that peachy. Belching blame,
the Cardinals did squat, but bleat and *****.
No representatives invited, came.
And Mantua was a cramped, unhealthy pitch.
Scarampo wasn't much inclined to linger.
With imprecations colouring the air,
he gave the Pope the metaphoric finger,
and rode away, at haste -- to God knows where.
The Lake was nothing but a sluggish stream.
It bred mosquitoes in malevolent clouds.
The croaking frogs made sleep a pious dream.
The locals were more oafish than in Stroud.
Bessarion stayed true, and Torquemada.
A basis, then, for troops to rally on:
but Europe's bookends? "Altar y espada"
is not much use among Italians!
At last, some envoys came -- but far from helping,
they asked for help! From Burgundy came Cleves,
but not disposed for listening, more for yelping
about the local petulance and peeves.
And when they paint the frescoes of your life,
they'll airbrush out the unappealing grunge.
They'll strip away the struggle and the strife.
And you'll bequeathe what's pretty (dung expunged).