Best Homelands Poems
For This Is The Story, An Old Poet Sought Not To Miss
(Part One)
I've ate Eden's last apple, coveted Jason's* golden fleece
chained myself in caverns of darkness, begging no release
refused mighty crowns of power, fed myself painful feasts
crushed my beating heart, as if it were a ravenous beast.
I've tamed the lions of Serengeti, sailed around the Horn*
trekked unarmed, darkest jungles, where fiercest beasts are born
slain dragons with Sequoias, tossed Rock of Gibraltar*
walked in realms of Hades, spat upon its first altar.
I've outran Hermes*, sank my teeth deep into granite walls
sat beside Odin*, gave Thor's* first crown in Valhalla's* halls
wrestled mighty Minotaur*, its armored hide I ripped
stole the Nectar of the Gods*, laughed at them as I sipped.
I've shot Eurytus' bow*, killed Titans* with Heracles sword*
defeated dark Elf* armies, massacred Atilla's* first horde
swung Hammer of Hephaestus*, slept in Forest of Burzee*
trained Arminius army, taught them to show no mercy.
I've quenched Vesuvius fires, held lightning in my hand
flew bright skies over Asgard*, defended its precious homelands
swam with Undines*, feasted with beautiful Amphitrites*
fished with friend Ao Qin*, dragon king of the Southern Sea nights.
I've seen this world of fantasy, inked its splendor in words
sailed in its oceans of love and flown with magical birds
dreamed in its word-paradise and found true love's deepest kiss
for this is the story, an old poet sought not to miss.
Robert J. Lindley
Rhyme
original version written , March 9th, 1977
edited/updated today- August 9th , forty-one years later
I dream that tonight I am a raccoon
And it is here in this body that I store the notion
That my sadness will last forever,
In the treasury of unclaimed awareness,
Where pits of the peaches could never re-sprout...
I dig deep into the indent of a Denver ravine,
Gnaw knee-high into the hollow ridges of hominids and their homelands,
Belly-wade in bottomless mud waters west of wherever they don’t go, though
Lurid in my languor now, I laminate my slick turf onto Continental limestone slabs
And, then, all-at-once, at noon, just like that,
I call it a day.
A tired little raccoon
Can’t bear without a rest
Through the midday...
I arise as the coon falls under.
Reclaiming Human Sorrow, my Wrong-Headed Brother,
Waxing thunderously, now, in the mind’s cluttered cage
In this day of coffee and chit-chat and left-turns,
I’ll dream tonight I am a raccoon.
So that we may both get out and roam.
Our ancestors shed their sweat
and blood fighting for liberty
So through the diversity of nations
We would not see destruction
nor weakness in our differences
But they fought,they gave their lives
so we could live to feel the calm beauty
the strength and harmony of freedom.
May we never lose that freedom
May we never trade it for Violence
Hate and Mediocrity.
Let not our anger,nor our voices
silence the unity of our homelands.
It is better to be us against the seven winds
than us against eachother
Because we are sons and daughters
of the same world.
We belong to the same mother.
We are sisters and brothers.
The Trail Of Tears.
.
The snow fell when the long knifes came
Savages who robbed the sacred homelands
And buffalo slaughtered bloody plains
Men woman and children the old and lame
Frog marched against their will
Never to see they’re homeland again
They’re hearts so full of pain
.
And the big chief in Washington
In his big tall ivory tower
Declared the native American
Should live how he pleased
Even though it took the native Americans
Dignity away and fall to the ground
Like chopped down falling trees
.
Thousands upon thousands
Wounded souls resigned to they’re defeat
Walked the long trail of tears
With their little belongings and sore feet
Many sick and old
Succumbed to hunger illness and the cold
Countless frozen bodies lay like ice blocks
Littering the snow
The big chief in Washington
Won the days and the demon sold his soul
.
From the prosperous green Caroline's
To Oklahoma and apathy
By a mad cruel man’s greed
And decree
.
Forced to become farmers
When just a dust bowl is all they found
And nothing would grow from the ground
A once proud mighty nation
Did an ancestral dance
Hopeful it would return them
To they’re scared homelands
As hunters and the buffalo
Would again return given half a chance
.
They’re dreams were fruitless
And lost forever in the river of dreams
The depths of they’re sorrow so deep
That haunted they’re waking hours
And the one’s they’d sleep
.
They sent the young ones to schools in New York
To be educated in the white man’s ways
While those left behind
In the reserve concentration camps
Wandered like ghosts in limbo
And rotted in their graves
.
The wheel of history rotates
But the same things always come around
The person with the biggest stick
Lays the law down
.
The black man kidnapped from his home
And shipped to be sold as slaves
When will all this end
And when will man love everyone
No matter who they be
But the truth is many don’t care
And all they are concerned about
Is themselves power and greed
.
Thousands upon millions of stories
Never to be told
Lost forever
Since days of old
Man cannot even
Direct his own footstep
So the good book says
There is no real justice and we are living in
The last days.
.
Peter Dome©2021.
across the black soil clay pan i wander and wonder
my old peoples homelands for millennia
shared now among our not just our families of old, but with newer arrivals
its not so much angst but a simmering disappointment
that our existence continues to be questioned
for where in history shall our learned friends sit when even they cannot acknowledge the truth
fear not i tell folk, for we a not foe, welcome we shall should you need to be
take all and give not they tell us for good, on knees we have worked
equality told but no equity served
humor and hope our resilience is strong as always we have and shall carry on
open arms still extended
offering naysayers in, we carry on the wishes of our old peoples hearts
learn and transfer
teach and acquire, knowledge and compassion our essence to inspire
Gaba Gii (good heart, Gamilaroi)
It Takes A Whole Village to Raise a Child: The Farmer
It has been said that it takes a whole village
To raise a child; How does a farmer help
Families raise the children?
Farmers live near the village; and together,
Everyone helps raise the children.
How do they help?
The farmers near the village grow food to sell.
They plant, tend, and harvest vegetable crops.
Veggies: lettuce, beets, cucumber, and tomatoes
Collard greens, cabbage, onions, and potatoes
Green beans, artichoke, peanuts, the list and work
Goes on and on and on—
Farmers hire many workers to harvest their many crops.
Products are then, sold and sent to many vendors.
Although there are still some independent farmers,
Some farmers, like those in olden days, grow on rural farms.
Families, men, women, and children working together,
Using hoes, beasts of burden and hand plows to work the soil.
Children helping along side watching adult examples—
However, these days, big agriculture businesses own farms.
They use huge machinery to operate their many acres.
Food producing farms: planting and harvesting to feed masses.
Their products, like smaller independent farmers’ products,
Are sent to markets in their homelands and abroad.
In the process of providing food and cotton for people,
Agriculture businesses and farmers alike set examples.
Good or bad, the children watch wide eyed
And ears perked!
The Angel
Heart of Peace
In the hills and glens of the Bosnian homelands
Roamed the Serbian chetniks, with swords of the devil
In the name of nationalism
Raping and killing, burning and pillaging
Their aggressions they called it defending
Carkic the rapist of all of humanity
Drank himself to a stupor
To hide his soul from his very own gods
As he burned the villages, children and all
How can such evil stand so tall?
From the ruble of hate, and Serbian addictions
There rises an angel from the concentration camps
Malice none, for her heart is filled with compassion
She listens to the victims, her kindness is her fashion
Esmuda Mujagic, content to build bridges to rainbows true
She is an angel of inspirations
Asking only for warmth for the victims of torture
No reprise is sought, only admissions of truth
So through forgiveness, life can mend and flourish
Instead arrested and harassed
The soldiers of Serbia, still carrying on
One must cry for environmental refugees
Forced to leave their homelands, lives, and culture
Still remembering the smell of food
Sizzling over open fires
The sounds of roosters who never slept
Coconut trees swaying gently
In the evening breeze
The crimson colours of the sunset
That gave sailors warning
Or was it delight
The myriad shades of the blue ocean
Shimmering in noonday sun
Unwelcome in a foreign land
Where they longed to remember
The warmth of family
One’s native language rolling naturally
From the tongue
Sweetness to the ears
The blues and greens of home
Afraid, hurting and homesick
Their futures colorless and grim
If I were an elephant I’d fly to safety in a jumbo jet
I’d visit my mum in a zoo, as she lives in darkest Tibet
I’d have to pack up my belongings in an enormous trunk
If there are beds on the plane I’d sleep in the top bunk
On second thought, that’s not such a sensible idea
My huge tummy gets queasy, I could shoot from my rear!
Aircraft seats are tiny and couldn’t fit my enormous tush
To be honest I prefer to stay in my habitat in the African bush
But sadly it’s no longer safe for me to remain in my home
Man is after my ivory tusks, across the plains they roam
Many of my relations have died at their murdering hands
It’s such a tragedy we can’t be secure in our homelands
So if I were an elephant I’d want to be left in peace
For my habitat to be safe and for all killing to cease
If I were an Elephant Contest
Sponsored By Mystic Rose
12~11~16
Remember That We Are BEAUTIFUL
As humans, we actively help others…ALTRUISTICALLY.
Benevolently relieving burdens pleasing…BIG-HEARTEDLY.
Celestial hoping rewards souls with inner strength's…CALM!
Divine inspirations amaze; its wonder delivers mountains of DELIGHTS.
Extraordinary and ordinary folks co-exist intrinsically…EQUAL.
Faithful followers of the inner voice, solve conflicts with…FAIRNESS.
Generous gifts of which the Creator deems us worthy generates…GOODNESS
Happily, we comfort our friends and show compassion, healing…HEARTS
Individual industriousness provides direction…INDELIBLY.
Justice, when hearing the errant, seeks not revenge… JOYOUSLY.
Karma, led by spiritual energy, directs paths through life…KISMET.
Long-suffering and persistence charm leads sinners to heaven's …LOVES!
Mysteries uncovered feed curiosity, making man smarter…MARVELS
Notwithstanding sacrifice, we do favors for friends…NECESSARILY.
Offering our allegiances, we defend our homelands…OBEDIENTLY.
People inspired, promulgate principals to live by…PEACEFULLY.
Questioning selves and reality in order to improve…(getting better) QUARELLESSING.
Remembering and respecting other's feelings and beliefs…REVERENCING
Steadfastly selecting supreme humility as a goodly option…SELFLESSLY!
Trusting many to choose right, we exemplify faith in mankind…TIRELESSLY.
Utopia as a goal, defended to the death, bravely seeks the right…UNENDINGLY.
Voices reaching out with good examples, void of hatred, overcome…VICTORIOUSLY.
We, the beautiful, care about the well being of others…WILLFULLY.
X-tra hopes, copious kindness, generous goodness, finds loves…XOXOX
Yearning for self-improvement through soul searching surrenders…YESTERDAYS.
Zealous living shines from within and befits us, beautiful mankind's ZENITH.
© Dane Smith-Johnsen
May 24, 2010
Poetic Form: Double ABC ...a touch of End Rhyme! (FUN!)
The Knight
There once was a man, bravery beyond all compare
Bound to a king and kingdom, to the people in despair
Past battles to honour his king and his homelands
Willingly to lay down his life for all the many clans
His armour chinked, remnants of battles long ago
His sword in its sheave, ready to defeat any foe
His trusty steed, a long friendship, has been earned
His honour never falters, ones greatness , be yearned
On a solemn night, the king seeks, his one true knight
“You my friend, my protector, my one true guiding light
“My kingdom cries out to me, do you hear her distain
You are her servant, and of all your knights that remain “
“There is this evil that threatens, means to kill and destroy
“These marauding clans, many lands, many hoards to deploy “
“We must stand now, raise our swords, show we stand tall”
He cries "Today we shall live or we die", for the good of all”
"We must ride out to meet these ungodly, unworthy hoard
Let our bravery, feel their defeat with our blood stain swords
Each of us knights, swore an allegiance to God and our king
Now is the time, fight for the honour and glory that shall bring"
Such a battle, never seen in many of years past
Fighting for the honour, for the kingdom to last
Each knight wields their sword, victory seems
The one true knight, hearing the death screams
He stands tall in the saddle, seeing all the bloodshed
His knights stand true, lost in a field of crimson red
When an errant spear, somehow finds it's one mark
He falls from his steed, blood flows it's reddish dark
Knights kneel at his side, seeing death approach their brother
All of his warriors, humbly pay homage to a general like no other
They raise and carry his body and his sword
To honour his bravery, for his king and his lord
A king strangely kneels before his fallen knight
As if he lost his only son, sorrow lost in twilight
He stands, looks upon his people and he cries
“This my truest knight, his life, what does it symbolize “
All the kingdom pay homage to their fallen son
Raise banners, tell tales, sing songs of the one
The one true saviour, to our hearts remain anew
To our brave heart, his soul shall remain true
Behind the times
My heart was looking for a place
Behind homelands
My soul was looking for safety
Behind sorrows
My tears were looking for a smile
And behind your heart
I was looking for my self...
I stand where the sunset hugely spills
Out upon subdued but still hotly
Glowering plains...
Now, perhaps, I should wistfully
Recall my own homelands; her
Diminished and flattened hills,
Stretched and sleeping, far from yonder
Adjacent wolfen domains.
Vast plains, which, although of
Unmatched grandeur, neither embolden
To embrace upon mine passions...
Or impart the reinforcement of
Heartening succour...which the comfort
Of those broken hills so pleasingly fulfils!
For such is the pressing need to once
More imbibe the contriteness that is
The poor substance of this natives air;
Whilst, under cacophonous arrangement
Of timeless and haranguing bars,
Casting off all gaudy encumberment -
Thee imposition of these finely stitched
Robes,
To wander through uninhibited
Fields: rudely revealed whence left
Fallow and bare!
And, humbling myself, but ne'er as
Bold as Endymion, before vigilant
Selene's disdainful glare,
I would'st endeavour, rightly or not to
Thusly suppose,
To re-invent a lofty purpose beneath
The hurtling rails of screaming stars;
Here, in happy destitution, to wrap
Abouts in tattered remnants of
Ragged moonlight...thrown aside
When callously abandoned there.
Inspired by the "Pure" genius that was William Butler Yeats!
Beautiful distinguished young Lady of Austria,
destined to be the Queen of France and Navarre,
fourteen years old, must follow Royal criteria,
take role of consort, to become France's shining star,
King Louis Auguste's marriage to Marie Antoinette Beautiful distinguished young Lady of Austria,
destined to be the Queen of France and Navarre,
fourteen years old, must follow Royal criteria,
take role of consort, to become France's shining star,
King Louis Auguste's marriage to Marie Antoinette
a marriage not made in heaven was apparent,
leaving her homelands she did immensely regret,
she became disobedient, extravagant,
palace of Versailles her pleasures and her curse,
French died of starvation, in extreme poverty,
their Queen lived in comfort, finery, wealthy of purse,
parties, fine clothes, committing adultery,
full of life, luckily her future couldn't be seen,
peasants of France started to revolt, heads would roll,
Marie Antoinette sure to meet madam guillotine,
peasants ate cake as she said, then they took control,
her good looks and resolute never disputed,
but this wife, mother, Queen destined to be executed.
Rays of golden sun, at orange dawn, I enjoy...!
I wake up, hearing chirps of birds at four O’ clock;
At fifties! Yet, I feel, as though a little boy...!
The earth and the heavens celebrate springtime-joy,
Timely changes in weather never my glee block;
Rays of golden sun, at orange dawn, I enjoy...!
Newborn baby animals race around in cloy,
In ponds around, bullfrogs in chorus gaily croak;
At fifties! Yet, I feel, as though a little boy...!
Breeze, as though touch me not, feels me and fades in coy,
Within feelings, like salsa, to xylophones, rock;
Rays of golden sun, at orange dawn, I enjoy...!
Seed drowsing, spring up and shoot up fresh green savoy,
Migratory birds to their homelands fly in flock;
At fifties! Yet, I feel, as though, a little boy...!
Sunshine! Shower! Wedding of foxes! Dogs convoy!
Ducks and geese and swans and swamps display their catwalk;
Rays of golden sun, at orange dawn, I enjoy...!
At fifties! Yet, I feel, as though a little boy...!
15 April 2022
Springtime Villanelle Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Sotto Poet