Best Hearths Poems
Harken...those hollowing drums
Over cold vales so beat,
Exhorting a multitude of glistening
Star-tipped spears,
As marching over shattered landscapes
In shinning replete:
Crunch Artumes eternal legions
Across the snow bound years.
Casting down from the mauve
And cloudless heights
The pale witch broods upon her dark
runes;
Chilled breath steaming mutterings
Of meddling spite,
Uttered under Luna risings
Of half waxen moons.
Repulsed from the presence
Of the holy alters sacred glow,
That cuts like a torch
Across Yules Feast of Lights,
She incants of harsh Boreas
To relent his fierce blowes:
Raising high her crystal towers
To breach the walls of stilled night.
Tis now, away from cheery hearths
And the warm fires they keep,
That warring frost tightens
Upon this hardened land;
Happily sated people
Turn in contented sleep;
Motionless vapours are crushed
In the grip of an iron clad hand.
For as the siege heightens
In relentless might
Heavens wheeling sentinels
Begin to slowly withdraw:
Retreating upon spiraling orbits
Fading from diminishing sight;
Ghostly armies embarking
For far frozen shores.
Loosen now the silver longships,
Afloat on tides of drawing moonlight,
For the Red Goddess slumbers
In deep canyons to the west;
Artumes armies sailing
Into grey dawns fleeting respite...
Awaken... Oh Glorious Aurora...
Scattering your foes -
Before Sunrises conquest!!
The meadow’s breath a gift to all, the mist, the morning dew,
a silent sigh, a heartfelt call, a prayer to me and you.
Green and warm, full of life, the forest's skirt, the Maid's delight,
where rabbits dwell in lovers’ dells, a dream in morning light.
Gold and bright, full of life, the forest's skirt and Knight's delight;
life lies in grasses high, where lovers sleep and passion cries.
White and fair, full of life, the forest's skirt of pearly white;
burrowers sleep in bowers deep, hearths alight on chill nights.
The meadow's breath a gift to all, the mist, the morning dew;
a silent sigh, a heartfelt call, a prayer to me and you.
The men have made the meadow home, no rabbits now play there,
no deer appear so near the roads for cars bring them dispare.
The meadow was home to many things, butterflies, birds on wing,
yet, few can dwell where men reside, the forest's skirt swept aside.
The meadow’s breath a gift to all, the mist, the morning dew,
a silent sigh, a heartfelt call, a prayer to me and you.
I’m the prince with calloused palms
up at dawn with stifled yawns; pulling on boots
feeding pigs and herding cows - stuck in mud, it’s raining now
and as I plough, I dream of life... not on a farm
of white walled castles crowned in gold (like the tales told of old)
where beautiful princesses dance and laugh
(with roaring fires in their hearths) blowing kisses at princes
brave and bold - none of them shivering, miserably cold
but dreams are dreams, and so I plough
heir to acres; fit and well (and down in the village, there is this girl)
I have no castle, but I’ll ask for her hand
in time, a son, and new prince of this land
The Face of Hope
The face of hope never masquerades in forlorn visages
Towering above spiraling pits in the dark midnight of essence
Breaks disingenuous chains of nightmare’s clutches
In bleak mansions of the dark moon to warm their hearths
Refusing to prostitute possibility
With poignancy that probes lost footsteps trying to hold onto
Perfect moments of saline life support
Steps in to shine with opportunities’ bright smile
Refuses to accept the suicide of love
On rocks of the torn heart’s tragedy
Or see unscalable opaque obstacles
Or wear the mask of homeless helplessness
Discarding pity’s piercing banshee sneer
Fate’s cynical demand to fulfill obtuse fate
The face of hope refuses to wear desolate –
Or a God forsaken destiny -
Bereft of moonlight squeezing between
Abandoned footprints of dreams
Smothered by smog
A single shaft of illumination – a cloak protecting fragile insight
Never bewitched by night’s dead space,
Wearing victory’s luminosity of enduring promise,
Vanquishing a taunting laughter of ridicule
To break down anxiety’s imagined walls
Surrounding the paradise of foolishness
With dawning reveries of one bright star.
Abiding in eternal covenant
The face of hope never masquerades in forlorn visages.
5-6-21
Contest: This or That
Sponsor: Edward Ibeh
Summer Storm
The wind blows – quick, hard, fast – the hot stillness is broken
Corn stalks weave wildly as the wind marches through it rows
Dust rises to greet this invading storm
Large drops of heavy rain hit with a thud
Lightening electrifies and paints the blacking sky
Hail rips leaves from their home – a hard crack of thunder
Clouds tumbling, rolling, forming into a funnel
A loud rushing noise – a banshee scream
Trees snap, the wind-train thunders by . . . then a deep silence
Holding hands they arise from underground
Sky clearing, sun peeking through
A double rainbow appears – a promise – life . . . love
Winter Storm
The night is cold and wet, slick over bridges curving edge
The rain freezes turning sheets of ice into nature’s sculpture
Electrical power lines coated thick -- snap, taking heat away from all
Nights of darkness with candles are filled with hearts of hope
Ice storms that cripple a city and put a halt on activities
As beautiful as they are terrifying, they demand a reckoning
When January blows out fierce and February is held captive
Our human spirit tired and cold but not beaten
Prays for warmer days ahead with confidence
Nights of hearths and man made fires
Fur lined slippers and flannel robes
Better off indoors, with close kin . . . warmed with hope and love
Written in collaboration with Mystic Rose
Beautiful is the friendship of a Mystic Rose . . . sweet and warm
Afloat I am,
The blind horizon spreads to no end.
O river of rivers,
The queen river,
Flow as you wish,
Gather silt forever
That on your shores
Men may harrow, then sow
The seeds of happiness
And sorrow to grow.
Afloat I am,
The blind horizon spreads to no end.
Hilsa leaps at the moon,
How wondrously they blend!
Hilsa leaps at the moon,
How wondrously they blend!
O river of rivers,
The starry river,
Your blinking waves drum
Of Behula's shiver.
I too am lost,
The tattered merchant fool,
My peacock barge rides
Fate's whirlpool.
Hilsa leaps at the moon,
How wondrously they blend!
When the whistling wind wakes
All courage is pretend.
When the whistling wind wakes
All courage is pretend,
O river of rivers,
The wise river.
Who would speak for us?
If not you, may be never.
Yet the mountains rise
From the hearths' ash,
You are silent, while
The history is brash.
When the whistling wind wakes
All courage is pretend.
Heaven's horn blares slender silver
For whom to comprehend?
Heaven's horn blares slender silver
For whom to comprehend?
O river of rivers,
The hungry river,
The consort of Ruin.
An arrow in Falguni's quiver.
The infinite wasteland beckons
Hold onto heart's dream,
One more sun above
Anguish and scream.
Heaven's horn blares slender silver
For whom to comprehend?
Afloat I am,
The blind horizon spreads to no end.
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Form: Bhatiali
Date: 19 / 11 / 2016
Bhatiali is a form of folk music native to Bangladesh and Bengal. There is no place for Taal (a term used in Indian classical music for the rhythmic pattern) in pure bhatiali. Even rhyme is not that important. Generally, these songs are sung by the cattle herders on the fields or the fisherfolks living off a river. Among the several subjects of folk music in all of Bengal, that includes Deha-tatva (about the body) and Murshid-tatva (about the guru), Bhatiali deals with Prakriti-tatva (about nature). Probably the most renowned poet of this form is Jasimuddin. Some of Rabindranath Tagore's songs can also be categorised as typical bhatiali.
The land has
much to teach us
Middle Earth
is a place
Where evil has been defeated
The warm hearths
of the Shire
The bravery of
Gondor's men
The marvelous
craftmanship
of the dwarves
and the gorgeous
singing of the Elves
on a summer night
and
the
magnificent
steeds
of
Rohan
leaves us with a
feeling
that we have visited
a better world
than our own
The worlds of imagination
can seem more than our own lands
Come, friends
join us
We are taking a trip to Middle Earth
and will be there all evening
Xmas enchantment
White flakes falling from grey winter skies
Flocks of daffodils beneath snowy mounds lie
Rivers of red candy canes flow gently by
Along evergreen banks, dew covered grasses,
lighted trees and sparkling wine
Covered with bows and laces
Sitting round hearths and fireplaces
Covered in quilts lying in their beds
Children dream of warm kitchen counters
decorated with mountains of treasure,
cookies, cakes ,and pleasures
Ginger bread men and sugar plum fairies
Dance with visions floating in their heads
smiling chocolate faces melting sugar
with passionate kisses and soft gooey embraces
Long stringed bands from every land
Serenade lovers and places with unparalleled restrain
Stringing chords from haunting refrains
Under blue moons and starry skies
Where soft whispers lead to lovely lies
Blood races with wine and champagne
The night unravels exciting lovers and friends
Couples planning extravaganzas travel
Staircases covered in pine scented garlands and laces
Leading to pleasant places, dreams and fairy tale lands
celebration halls with room to dance
Spreading the cheer to every face
Or any kind of differing race
Merry Christmas to one and all
From death exudes the acrid breath of Hell
in burning pyres of rosined timbers' blaze.
Return to me where passion's fires dwell
enchanted by the light of your sweet gaze.
I can't endure through life's infernal pain,
without your love, no, nothing can remain,
so burn my soul to soot in hearths of char
and cast each lonely ash to pits of tar.
I know in truth I'm not the one you need.
Emotions smolder deep in fiery night
to have you here just feels so real and right
but if you leave my heart will surely bleed.
You beast, now burn my bones in flames of coal,
your flames of fire will never touch my soul.
04/24/16
‘Twas close to the day when Buba Claus,
His red nose and Bowie knife shining,
Would be off to fill the manly's hearths,
With bacon for their frying.
The ground was bare of snow or ice,
The sky was clear of reindeer.
But Buba Claus was loading his sleigh,
Real high, with good stout Yule beer?
Buba Claus was out in force,
His NRA cronies in tow,
To fill naughty radicals stockings,
With tiny bits of coal.
Cigars dangled from their lips,
A spittoon he placed by their feet,
And, before the sleigh rose off the ground;
They tossed in another side of beef.
Each carnivore, they laughingly swore;
Would have their fill this year,
And Bambi blanched as He flew by,
While Teddy Bears ran in fear!
Over New Canaan His courses flew,
Past the homes of vegetarians;
And down their chimneys they did toss;
The views of Libertarians!
And when the last haunch was placed,
Upon the spits of the mighty,
His spat his cud of gnarly gum,
Into the spittoon real tidy!
Then he flew off with a Ho, Ho, Ho,
And, not the ones for plowing
Cause Buba Claus had his own ideas
Of all Santa’s sissy endowings!
‘Twas close to the day when Buba Claus,
His red nose and Bowie knife shining,
Would be off to fill the manly's hearths,
With bacon for their frying.
The ground was bare of snow or ice,
The sky was clear of reindeer.
But Buba Claus was loading his sleigh,
Real high, with good stout Yule beer?
Buba Claus was out in force,
His NRA cronies in tow,
To fill naughty radicals stockings,
With tiny bits of coal.
Cigars dangled from their lips,
A spittoon he placed by their feet,
And, before the sleigh rose off the ground;
They tossed in another side of beef.
Each carnivore, they laughingly swore;
Would have their fill this year,
And Bambi blanched as He flew by,
While Teddy Bears ran in fear!
Over New Canaan His courses flew,
Past the homes of vegetarians;
And down their chimneys they did toss;
The views of Libertarians!
And when the last haunch was placed,
Upon the spits of the mighty,
His spat his cud of gnarly gum,
Into the spittoon real tidy!
Then he flew off with a Ho, Ho, Ho,
And, not the ones for plowing
Cause Buba Claus had his own ideas
Of all Santa's sissy endowings!
In poignant silence hearths ripple, veins pulse, eyes meet in warm glowing beams.
Created and submitted : 26th February 2021
Contest : Without Saying I Love You
Sponsor : JCB Brul
I who have dwelt long
On the keeping of a vow,
That which is folded into
Steel --
And hammered and drawn --
The making and remaking --
Melded and beaten into one,
Sat now pondering
Upon all thus whence forged
At the battles heightened
Pitch...
For where else do men
Discover a truer kinship
Than when engaged in fierce
War?
Immersed in deep thought --
Mesmerised by glint and glare;
Drawn into the fractured glass
As a distracted man,
Ensconced at the bright
Hearths side,
Stares vacantly into flames.
Images, memories;
A mind, pliable as water,
Crowded with dead, long ago
Faces
Of those comrades slain...
For no promise ever made
Was truly made unless kept.
My little craft stirs
As rousing from idle dreams;
Shrill birdsong from woodland
Fringe,
Glib mallards laughing;
Incessant lap, lap, lapping,
Mist dissipates at lakes edge;
Prow swings slow about
As if turned by unseen hands.
And out across the vastness,
This wide emptiness,
Faraway voices calling...
Then gone like evening breeze.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
my small hands cradle the glass,
the world outside our home
muffled~
inside our home,
a warm, soft glow
illuminates
the delicate
glass snow globe.
inside the lantern of glass,
a tiny village sleeps~
chimneys hold their breath
frozen mid-curl~
a single railroad track
vanishes
into powdered streets~
a church steeple
tilts slightly whispering
to the
snow drifts.
I bend closer,
the world outside~
now forgotten.
tiny windows glow
with
borrowed yellow~
plastic flames radiate
in miniature
hearths.
a tiny pine tree stands
sentinel
near the town square,
its tinsel
hung by
invisible hands.
Shake it! Dad exclaims.
I squeal with delight.
the miniature world blurs white~.
each flake suspended,
mid-fall, mid-flight,
caught between
the weight of sky
and earth.
Nothing melts here, he said, not even time.
Sixty-four years later,
something stirs
when I
shake
that lantern-shaped
snow globe~
the faint ghost
of a winter
I will always
remember.
Brighter so than burnished Gold, Is the spirit truth be told..'
Where around the haven home, riches are beyond knowledge shown..
Enheartning though despair stands by..' The possibility's all; under Gods good
sky,
Where hearths are polished, by loving hands; there faith and perserverence
stand!
The time of the flesh a passing tide, till we go on through to Emmanuel's side
Where no corruption there will be, under the boughs of the living tree.