Best Fevers Poems
Wonder not
if my thoughts are thrilled and twisted
daily and deeply by the albums of your ways,
I succumb severely to the impulse of imminent interplay
so dumb with joy, grateful for the fusion of our fevers,
I've never let you leave my mind,
you haven't finished eating your portion of my heart,
there is so much more for you, still in my chest, on my eyes,
I am your rare happiness,
that bare beast of a woman's best distress,
trigger your storm sirens with a single drop of Goodbye,
serve you with the most sensational sadness,
replenish your youth with an admiration that won't die,
knowing that I am not a makeshift man, nor a loyalty within a lie,
that I'll punish your pulse with peppered pleasure
because I can, because I must,
pull your hair just to hear those breaths beg for big flares,
treat the smooth and sweet lascerations of love's lament
butterfly cut into the surface of a girl's search for sincerity,
we get intoxicated on performance of personality,
buzzed beautifully from believing in the addiction of adoration's affliction,
We know we can handle one another's hurt
as warriors bleed hard because they sell themselves the sacrafice,
that we can process history with humor by breaking the shame of blame,
synthesize epiphany with sympathy to nourish symphonies of Divinity
we realize that intensity is the regal implement of our tournament,
I like it when you tell me the tough truths,
that you want to be loved for more than one reason,
that being respected in segments isn't enough,
that he will never be me,
that words can outlast the disappointment of distance,
that the world overwhelms you when you most expect,
that sometimes you'd rather be a heart attack
before being a pretty song or a favorite memory,
I understand your need for absolute affection, absolute attention,
lets allow our love to be confusing, dazzling, on the verge of villainy,
it isn't steady as a sleeping heart beat
or ready for celebration like a " gee wiz " graduation,
it is our Love, and its undefinably volatile and lovely,
Your cosmos gives a question that feeds one answer,
that love is ours, safe in the arms of Armageddon,
I remember the ember of our future
spazing on the hearth of fresh earth,
don't ever miss me Babe, just keep lovin me -
J.A.B.
Winter Sonata 11-29-23
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Winter Sonata
In grave allegro solo grey gathers,
Strings of winter fantasias
Brewing staccatos of frozen fall remnants,
Downbeats for the first movement
As shivering sleet wipes away bucolic barcarolles
Rocking on sapphire barges,
Harbingers of hoarfrost and hibernation,
When leafless boughs conduct the opening motif
To summon deepening darkness
From restrained shadows of turbulence
To beat warnings on frosted windows
Of snug dens – sheltered hallows.
Sweet solstice flutes sing adagio
Then scatter crystalline mists across snow packed paths
In the movement pathetique when sunglow
Glides between aspen,
Ankle deep in fleecy billows,
Sugar flakes flutter in Heaven’s perfect pitch
Rhythmic silent rests hypnotize crisp midnights
When fluttering flakes of dreamy andantes
Ride on melodic cantabile whispers
In flurries of fleecy decrescendos
Spells of codas, enthralled by idle snowfall,
Glitter in lyric tinsel of sparkling crystal beads on twigs.
Movement presto crescendos in frenzied storms
Snowfall pizzicatos fall in descending measures
When rondos of wind song ensembles
Ascend in frigid notes of icy scales
That pirouette in pulsing beats with resonate strings
Plucked by boreas in thundersnows percussions,
Vivace mistrals whirl in powdery ghosts
That spin in tremolo trills of icicles,
And in whiteout scherzos of blizzard sonatas,
Dizzy with solstice frosty fevers
As winter’s thundering cadence modulates
Into vernal sighs of resolution.
Oh, how we are poisoned!
The Yonega, the Wasichu,
a new creature,
different from us in more than just their
white skin and sunflower hair.
How did such a people come
across the great waters?
They come to our people with gifts of death.
Their ulcers wrapped in calico cloth.
Their fevers traded to us for our good food.
Oh, they do share these devils, equally,
with all the tribes on mother earth.
Baskets of evil spirits in jars of glass
and crockery made by hands not their own.
Pouring toxins, shame and sloth,
into our proud warriors.
Our people are blinded
by their shiny metals
and made deaf to the ancient beat
of our ancestors drums.
We weave their stories
into the braids of our youth
who forget the stories
of our people.
Oseronni eyes of blue and green
cannot see the wind that moves the land,
shaping it and making the soil sing.
Sunlight steals their sight.
Mother Earth and Father Sky, and Brother River
nourishes the Three Sisters who sustain us
with their corn, squash, and beans.
They are offended and leave us to our folly.
The white man teaches us dishonesty and sloth,
making of our backs the bow
that draws the arrows
that break our hearts.
The bone in our back bends our faces to mother earth.
The only color left to us is
the crimson in each salty tear that falls.
Oh, how we are poisoned!
~Bone in her back, as named by the Cherokee, her mother's people. Sometimes called Elizabeth Thomas by her father's people. Written by her hand on this day, January 28, 1812, New Orleans, Louisiana
(Fiction)
Painting You
Before painting, I first sketch you
In my mind’s eye…To compose
The lines, shapes, shadows and lights,
That work altogether to form a semblant sight
Of you for any relative, friend or acquaintance…
Next, I embrace the required courage
To face the blank canvas; to dip my brush
In sublime tones for my wild orchid wishes,
Wanting to stroke across the heavens
For reflecting starlights bright,
Which I’ll situate to split the darker places
Where the inks bleed and branch out
Around you, smudging your purest colors…
That I endeavor to recover
When illness tries to smother
You with a viridescent blanket for on-going days;
Cloaking the glance of your azure blue eyes;
Pulling gray and white from your skull
To streak through your forest brown hair;
Rushing flag red moments to your cheeks
When you growl, “No. Don’t—“ when I
Try any way to help you through the fevers
That hang dredged plum-violet clouds over
The sofa — away — where you stay sleeping…
While I sit crimson awake worrying,
Watching you breathe…And asking
Through faith’s golden prayers for your healing;
For our holy Lord to send some ministering angels
— With their glistening opaline feathered wings;
Who side by side, place hands on you ~ veiling
My first view of prayers’ answers coming true;
Lifting me to a bloom of rosebud gratitude.
I paint you never far.
I paint your ocean blue eyes opening.
I paint you always beside me in a sandcastle brown.
I dapple the air over us an effervescent pink.
I paint your prism presence close.
I paint your mid-night’s Arora Borealis dancing hues.
Our love is a stippled, rolling color wheel
Of our linked diamond destinies: journeying
Together on amber roads under sapphire skies.
—————————————————
(c) sally young eslingwe 10/17-18/2023
Glory to God…
"This New Eden"
This eden
rolls gently over me
like Sunlight beams
the car lights shine
luminosity along
the road, the dark night
dims eventually and
morning arrives
This eden
rolls gently over me
life through pages
the antithesis of
a booker prize
don’t get all
literal on me
I’m in draft
it's messy
notes in the margins
left for heart
right for mind
the middle road
a highway of words
the body parched
the tyres all melting
sticky slow grips
the wheel shifting gears
up a notch or two
This eden
rolls gently over me
like Sunlight beams
they can’t see the
forest for the trees
the stings of bees kissing
velvet bookmarks silky
stretches of moist
long-necked fevers
I’ll park here for
a little while
the dark night
dims eventually,
morning arrives
this new eden
rolls gently over me
(LadyLabyrinth / 2023)
Last night I awoke to the sign of Orion, and the big dipper pouring beauty into her
countenance.
Though the stars say she is a Capricorn, a meager goat, I see Orion’s majesty every time I
stare into here full lips and wide Sophia Lauren Smile.
Her sleek and slender body bodes of Spartan stubbornness.
A stubbornness that’s had me fuming on the wrong kind of sides, of the wrong kinds of days.
Most days, we spend our lives like firefighters, putting out 101 degree fevers, cars
breaking down, and trying to make ends meet on a student’s stipend,
And as days pass, we see separation as an impossibility for how could we possibly survive
without each other?
But last night, I was freed from the stress of overfilled garbage cans and overdue
research projects,
To see her high and lifted up in the unconditional light which she shines for so many,
So many children, to whom she’s been a second mother, screaming, “Ms. Lucas!!!, Ms.
Lucas!!!,” as we see them in the mall.
The countless times that she’s saved me form suicide with a hope unfettered and sincere,
You see last night, I got a quick glimpse into my life as heaven sees it, and I saw my
wife for the first time, lifted high into the deep night, shining for the world.
Oh don’t get me wrong, I truly see her everywhere,
Every where there is courage, I see her wringing the neck of the crack head that almost
kidnapped our oldest in Chicago,
Every time I see kindness, I see her soothing voice in my ear saying, “Keep going baby,
you’re almost out of the tunnel.”
Whenever I see pain, I see her face when she looked down at her dead father’s body, stoic
and resolved that his tragedy would not mar her memory of his greatness.
Every time I see strength, I see a woman who buried her brother in the same summer of her
honeymoon and still smiled wide with sincerity.
But last night, God removed the veil, and I saw her through heaven’s eyes,
Glorious and heroic,
And in that moment I realized that nothing can stop me, because I sleep next to Orion.
Machel, the hero of old.
How hope still clings in the maze of youth,
though a vessel so tender,
not yet cured, apt to blow in the wind
as a ripened daisy,
a fledgling ----
too much a babe for a serpent's wile;
A helping hand awaits in the arms of time,
where moments pass to eternity,
the winds are hushed with reprieve,
always,
there is a friend staring to dawn
From love roars the mightiest wind,
of a warmth most enduring,
The rose sifts most sweet
in youthful shallows,
not deep of a withered old;
ere anger is bred and seasoned,
tamed to mother's ease,
The old man forgets, the harridan scoffs
while the child rides the winds
of rosy-dawns and soft remembrance,
somehow, the ancient are redeemed
Let love speak her tender tongue,
atop mountains too aloft for wicked ears,
Soothe she the weeping wayward,
the broken bone, fevers ungodly;
though she is mysterious to the ignorant,
confounds the tyrant in his self-genius ----
only God could know her name,
whispered infinite
(she is love)
** Excerpt from my epic ' The Blood of the Prophets'
(unfinished as of yet)**
Spending the Night in a Temple
The ice rains hard upon the temple walls
As the fires within keep the visitors warm
The 2 brothers deep in a fever lie head to head
And hold hands
A girl raised above them on a cot reads sacred scriptures
Only she can understand
And the ancient grandmother and grandfather hold vigil
Over the shivering boys
The temple keepers bring bowls of food to the weary
As apparitions appear and disappear
In front of the dragon shrine
Another tired band of travelers wander in
Bringing with them a gust of frigid air
And take refuge on mattresses lined against the wall
Everyone gathers closer for warmth
Even the mouse cat braves the human presences
The boys’ fevers rise higher and higher
Hands are held more tightly
The ice falls harder echoing throughout the mountain night
And the entire temple slowly drifts into 1000 years of sleep
LIFE IS POETRY...POETRY IS…
Poetry wears the words of smiles and tears,
And speaks of stumbling through graveyards
And up the aisles to ancient altars;
Falling off of sidewalks and through the cracks of life
Then rising up to stargaze from thin lines;
Tripping over can’t and could have,
Butting heads with treasured idols;
Tracking sticky mud across the new waxed
Marble floor of the soul –
Scratching graffiti on the walls of the heart
Or gently laying kisses on fresh jagged wounds –
Carrying baggage filled with
Stones of calendar pages;
Chanting loudly of sunrise and sunset,
Blending crystal snow with newborn leaves;
Escaping clutches of midnight marauders
Embracing the fairness of rose and mauve;
Ignorance ignored screaming,
Scrapping tender knees and elbows on pebbled concrete,
Painting chaos – weaving breaths – unclogging drains –
Knitting together quietness in blooms of Claire de lune.
Poetry wears the words of frowns and grins
And tells of fat ducklings waddling through spring;
Wrapping scars in isolation,
Discarding blindness
In ancient hearts and newborn souls
And all the in between;
Cleaning closets stuffed to overflowing
With emptiness;
Running with ambivalence,
Looking into the eyes of the unresolved,
Fighting wrinkles or teetering on high heels –
Tuxedos rushing by the tattered,
Ragged holding hands with
Fire dancers balancing upon tight ropes –
Drinking fully from a trough
Of clearest spirits, giving up thirst,
Then wrestling with the fevers
Of inspiration through witness eyes,
Shouting across the centuries in baritone and soprano,
Reaching out and gathering in – juggling balls and overflowing plates.
The very marrow and the core.
The words of a poet yesterday – “Pretty, hell, poetry is life.”
Robert Penn Warren – June 1986
China reaches out for power
Over land and across the seas
Raging fevers crush the flowers
Of fragile weak humanity
Nothing known can quell the wake
As ripples drown the soul
Visions of this tragic fate
Interred as church bells toll
Rest for those no longer living
Under a blanket of broken sod
Sins without forgiving.. left to the will of God
Update
I am suddenly very sick with fever , freezing, burning up, headache, nausea
Truth in New Hampshire:
I spoke with 4 medical personnel today on phone.
They have no testing, only for medical personnel and severe cases in the hospital.
And. They have no treatment. They told me only to go to the hospital if I cannot breathe, for a ventilator.
They ordered me to stay home in quarantine away from all people and even medical personnel.
With all my underlying medical issues over the years, I have not had fevers, or anything like this. !
I will write when I can, but if I am not posting or answering, this is why.
Please be safe and take this seriously.
Thank you all
Soft somnolent skies have ceased seething, for day’s nearly through,
while winds echo whispering thoughts of returning to you
and heavens throb, pulsing and bleeding in crimsons, once blue -
their passions, like flames, fill my veins as you pass into view.
The breeze holds her breath as you touch, then embrace me anew
and smouldering clouds withdraw, blushing, then paling their hue.
The twilight is painted with wandering dreams of your charms,
so close your eyes slowly and slip into sleep in my arms.
The pendulous moon appears, sweeping the fog from up high
distilling the drops into notes of a hushed lullaby,
their quavering tunes spinning tales which amaze, mystify,
while tremulous stars fling a fire that fevers the skies,
for stories they tell reflect love as revealed by your sighs -
their fury is burning, alive in the depths of your eyes.
The twilight is painted with wandering dreams of your charms,
so close your eyes slowly and slip into sleep in my arms.
The shifting shore’s moaning, seduced by tempestuous tides
which flow with the rhythm of flesh as our senses collide,
and quiet explodes as the stillness of night’s amplified.
A lingering kiss bids adieu till the morning breaks wide
when cockerels come conjuring dawn with voluptuous pride
enticing the sun into banishing night, starry-eyed.
The twilight is painted with wandering dreams of your charms,
so close your eyes slowly and slip into sleep in my arms.
SWEATS and SWEETS
Shooting sighs and moans we fired last night still glows
As tangoed silhouetted shadows hungered love dancing
Peeping breeze outside match our whispers and calls flow
Desiring to dip and sway like leaves our top wanting
Our hands and lips pastel strokes to light brushes show
Two bared torso's touching amidst silken sheets warmed
Daring palms to fingertips send fevers upon hungry hips
Heartbeats stomps and thumps like bass drums stormed
Thrusts and pumps to nerves draw carousels of round trips
Stirring sweats to trail slow on curves adorned
Sweet scented heart lips in nonstop loving caress
As tempos rising aplenty voice fusion fueled cries
Torso's now blossom blessed by their loving impress
Gyration waves ebb after reaching heavenly skies
Legs twine, breaths calm, sated souls fall finesse
______________________________________________________________
©J. A. Fraser and O. E. Guillermo
17.14pm, May 24, 2015
I’m a witch of the modern times,
Nay my caldron is not round but square,
It has four sides square, and it’s called a microwave.
No bubble, bubble toil or trouble, with this new
Modern age tool, I just add these mystical
Prepackaged ingredients, then sit there on my
Broom stick and drool.
Forget the bat wings, and the eye of nout,
I prefer the minute bag of hot popcorn instead,
Wouldant you.
I’m the wiz of a wiz with this squared box of
Miracles, from the mid-night munchies, to the
Commercial button pause freeze zone, on the
Talley blue screen.
There is no more a sacred sound ever heard
On this earth, then that dinging bell going off,
Then ever buddy scrambling to check out, what
Homemade goodies mom has cooked up?
Now the crook top is dandy, and the stove
Maybe handy for more flavor, or special
Occasions of the holiday persuasion,
But I prefer the minute satisfaction,
And gratification of this microwave
Magician.
My personal idea of home style cooking,
Is pierce the bags plastic top, and stir,
Then serve, boy that broke this fevers
Sweat, are you ready to eat my young ones.
Now in my spell books of cooking perfection,
There’s just no place to plug in this modern
Tools connection.
So these massive volumes are just dust
Collectors, but I have a dust buster for
This readies problem, I just have to pop
Dinner in the magic box first, before I can
Solve them.
So what will it be tonight my friend,
Pizza or Pasta surprise, with an Abracadabra’s
Ding, and a POP, I can feed a whole troop of soldiers,
Or a hungry family of five.
Just call me a modern wizard with technical
Support, the best invention of all times
My microwave caldron, with its four
Squared sides, excuse me please,
The bell just went off!!!
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
DEDICATED TO MY DAUGHTERS AMANDA AND ASHLEY
And also to the inpatient animals of the world, thanks mom!
Shooting sighs and moans we fired last night still glows
As tangoed silhouetted shadows hungered love dancing
Peeping breeze outside match our whispers and calls flow
Desiring to dip and sway like leaves our top wanting
Our hands and lips pastel strokes to light brushes show
Two bared torso's touching amidst silken sheets warmed
Daring palms to fingertips send fevers upon hungry hips
Heartbeats stomps and thumps like bass drums stormed
Thrusts and pumps to nerves draw carousels of round trips
Stirring sweats to trail slow on curves adorned
Sweet scented heart lips in nonstop loving caress
As tempos rising aplenty voice fusion fueled cries
Torso's now blossom blessed by their loving impress
Gyration waves ebb after reaching heavenly skies
Legs twine, breaths calm, sated souls fall finesse
©J. A. Fraser and O. E. Guillermo 17.14pm, May 24, 2015