Best Lopes Poems
At daybreak,
I approach the beach across a soft hill of clover,
past sleeping Pandanus palms,
and down a small sand dune.
I am enveloped by sea wind.
I look up to a flight of swallows - symbol of returning.
They occupy the airspace of seagulls.
A kookaburra laughs, somewhere to land-ward,
bringing fond memories of far off bushland.
A Malamute passes beside me,
pulling a woman on a long leash.
If she had a small sled she could mush
along this perfect white beach.
Tall lady pines grace the shoreline
their skirts just out of reach of sea water.
Seagulls sit in small conventions pecking free donuts.
They queue up for cups of coffee; I imagine
their grey wings tucked through Aloha shirts.
A German shepherd lopes, wolf-like, scatters them,
they swoop out to sea, laughing.
They'll be telling the folks back home
of their close call.
Now the sun's rays have reached the high rises,
awakening diamond fires from glass windows.
On the horizon, sunbeams reach down in straight lines
like sun-pictures from a child's storybook.
My imagination runs wild but my walk has ended,
as I climb the wooden ramp - back to the street,
alive for what my day holds.
On a grassy knoll silhouetted against the rising sun,
Astride his pinto pony sits a Native American son.
A majestic bronzed brave, feathers wafting in the breeze,
Arms uplifted in obeisance, the Great Spirit to appease.
He offers thanks to Him for the grandeur of creation,
For the sun and moon from which he gathers inspiration;
For flowing rivers and the life-nurturing rain,
And for the beasts that roam the vast, verdant plain.
He asks the Great Spirit to bless his arrow and bow,
That with true aim he can fell life-sustaining buffalo,
To contribute to the welfare of his tribal clan,
A feast of roasted meat and many hides to tan.
He prays that among his brothers peace will prevail,
And that he be protected as he lopes along the trail.
He pleads for honor in battle be the outcome victory or defeat,
And that he be brave and not falter against foes he shall meet.
A tear rolls down his cheek thinking of his ravaged, sacred land;
Broken treaties and those who deal with deceitful hand.
With sad heart he lowers his arms and slowly turns away,
Determined that from the paths of his fathers he will never stray.
Entry for Line Gauthier's "Tribute To Native Culture" Contest
An awful aardvark ate anchovies against all advice.
Besides belching beyond belief, he bit bitter banana boats.
Charlie Chimp cackled curiously, convinced
Delicious delectable desserts did damage.
Enormous energy engaged enthusiastic excitement
Frenzied friendly felines, forever forgiving
Greasy giraffes giving grievous gripes
Horsey happiness hiding hurt amongst hilarity.
Ignoring idiocy involved ignorantly,
Jumping jack-a-lopes jiggled
Kangaroo kindness keeping
Leisurely lions laughing
Merriment mesmerized monkey marines
Never notorious, nevertheless, nefarious
Octopus ostracized owls, ostentatiously,
Preventing Porcupines putting prickles precariously in patrons.
Quietly and quickly
Resuscitating rescued rabbits
Savagely sustaining simple seriousness
Totally terrorized
Underneath unique
Verbose velocity
Which worried
‘xtra ‘xtraneous
Zipping, zaggy, zebras.
The Dik-Dik is an antelope
Who longs to be a misanthrope
But since he “pronks”, instead of lopes,
He doesn’t really have a hope …
* “Pronk” is the name of the dik-dik’s jaunty little bounce when he runs.
It is an Afrikaans description.
Above a cloudy jar of brine
That floated greenish hard boiled eggs,
Beside a Schlitz beer waterfall
That told bar time (ten minutes fast),
A taxidermied Jack-A-Lope
With rabbit ears and tiny rack
Stared marble eyed into the dark.
“We don’t have many Jack-A-Lopes
Back home in any city bars,”
I told a man who served us drinks.
“At prices there, that’s no surprise.”
The barman said without a smile
And told us of the Jack-A-Lope:
Time was you looked, you’d find his kind,
But rarely in these mountain slopes.
They only bred in wintertime
And only in electric storms.
It’s rumored round that milk that came
From mother Jack-A-Lopes could cure
Whatever walks on twos or fours
So rare it was most called it myth
As much as Sasquatch ever was.
Until one day a dowser came
Divining where to dig a well.
And gripping his good witching stick
Could swear he saw the front branch twitch.
He scrunched his eyes and looked again.
“No, something’s in that undergrowth.”
Up popped the branchy antlers of
This fearsome critter, Jack-A-Lope.
Now as it was this dowser had
A more than common whiskey thirst.
And had to live his life downwind
From ordinary decent folk.
Like pictures of Napoleon,
He stuck his hand inside his coat,
Produced a flask of sour mash,
And threw it at this portmanteau.
Some say it hopped away afraid,
But those that know have winked and said,
“That animal attacked the flask;
Without their bourbon Jack-A-Lopes
Will fade away until they’re gone.”
Outsiders paid some license fees
For hunting season, dates of which
Cannot be found on calendars.
The most were poached as trophies for
Hotels, saloons and brothels where
The mounted heads amazed their guests.
No hunter had had an interest in
An animal that can’t be killed
Because it never ever was.
But now so heavy was the hunt
The Jack-A-Lope was soon extinct,
So every one of them was killed
To prove one time they did exist.
The bar grew quiet just as if
Some meaning might be understood.
I pointed at my empty glass
And asked the barman pouring drinks,
“What’s on that plaque below the head?”
“Some Latin words, a kind of crest.
A family motto more or less.”
One lopes through
his dense tree occupied domain,
thinly dappled,dispersed stripes
gleaming,
dully on a soft fur coat,
tongue lolling lazily in and out of
a pearl toothed mouth
Another careens widely across
her vivid fields green fields
wind flapping back
watchful ears,
screeching to a stop to
sniff and
hone in on the scent
of a shivering quarry,
jet black fur shining in
blazing light
the last scampers neatly on
swift toes through
his unknown vine-tangled trails ,
ever exploring the lands
beyond his own vast territory,
unveiling whatever remains
covert to his curios mind
My dogs seem out of place
in my backyard
Isaac Albéniz's Asturias, Three Versions, Three Instruments
I
By Andres SEGOVIA, guitar, 2006
Man lopes up mast-pole
Man lopes up mast-pole
Man lopes up mast-pole
And finds no maiden fair
Who mimes his Asturian air
II
By Andronicus, piano version
Man bikes up mountain
Man bikes up mountain
Man bikes up mountain
And espies masts far from there
Biscay Basques back with wares rare
III
By Florin Croitoru, violin-solo
Man runs up belfry
Man runs up belfry
Man runs up belfry
To count sinners in every square
Come to keep their bosoms bare
© T. Wignesan - Paris, 2018
The rising sun greets the undulating plains of Elbert County,
Painting the sky in splendid hues, revealing God's rich bounty!
The eternal star exposes the grandeur of Pikes Peak to the west.
A brilliant moon sinks behind the mount, ending its nocturnal quest!
A herd of antelope gambol and graze on a nearby knoll.
A graceful palomino mare trots 'long side her frisky foal.
Herds of sleek Angus cattle are scattered about the plain.
A majestic golden eagle soars above, surveying its vast domain!
A coyote lopes across the road on its morning hunt.
A fleet falcon swoops toward its prey in an aerobatic stunt!
A magnificent herd of elk peer at me from a nearby glade,
And yonder a beautiful vixen and her kits take their promenade!
Canadian geese alight in a shimmering pond just across the way.
Wild turkeys strut in a secluded copse, showy feathers on display!
Ravens preen, greeting the morn perched in a grove of aspen trees.
The gossamer mists on the lea will ere be swept away by the breeze.
That pleasant drive each morn affords time for profound introspection.
The ever-changing panorama exemplifies the Creator's pure perfection!
Ah! The splendor of God's munificent and glorious creation,
Will to me forever be of daily and uplifting inspiration!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
The boat of history anchored to naked rocks, to Gods talking
Surrendered inside a silence blessing.
In this out of reach and worn world
Helpless we offered our souls with fragile compassions.
And in wars we won or we were beaten.Is it so important after all?
So much promises kept, as the wishes we expend.
Like acrobats on cut lines, empty souls in bodies on loan.
Then we wish to remember the chimera that formed our name
As we watch our shadow passing through the window.
In this silent world we sing, waiting for the dawn,
Asking fairy tales to steal life and heroes to fight above the starry sky.
This world's infinity we chose,yet we forgot that even sky has it's own halt.
So naturally after all, Time dismissed us from the trip, we kept ourselves away from
Expensive tickets and uncomfortable seats, let Heavens and knights wait,
As we were whipping the ruins with lopes uneven.
Do not rebuke this world reflections. It's not their fault that they are so little.
They just ran dry in a fistful of tears, floating from our own eyes.
And this pure dream joining our unsaid words, is not this world's creation.
It is the trembling voice vanishing, as we let distance grow,
As we keep our eyes nailed on the ground.
In my chest there lied undiscovered treasure
Forged in the heat of life's immense pressure
A heart that burns with a warmth of love beyond measure
Passion fuelled by the primordial oils of soothing rapture
I have sailed the seven seas in my humble abode
Explored the four corners of the globe in my android
I have navigated the infinite stars in my universe of neurons
Discovered a new one (me) hidden in the lopes of galaxies
The mind has seen what the eye cannot begin to imagine
The imagination stretched beyond the edges of the unknown
The soul has danced with phantoms to a melody never strung
And found my sound track back from a real life drama unsung
In me I rediscovered the banished son of a lost empire
A forgotten King who ruled with an iron fist of fire
the nosy dog
that the street guards
is the cat's enemy...
Sinuous, cheeky cat...
On the roof is sovereign...
Dog and cat,
- captive animals-
of man are friends,
the man who is another man's enemy... !
PS poetic interaction of the poem modern fable poem written by
Arland Souza Lopes
in honor of the poet Alkas poetry
translation BY alkas poetry
They ride the range with horse and gun
Their backs are bent, their heads held low;
Their faces burnished from the sun,
They travel with wild winds that blow.
They go so fast with rope lasso,
To catch a cow that lopes alone;
They search the sky and kiss the dew,
The great wide earth they call their home.
Around a campfire they all feast,
On beans and bread they share;
With stories to tell more than the least,
They make their camp just anywhere.
Throughout the night they tell their tales,
Of hopes and memories from back home;
They pitch their tent among the vales,
To rest their heads so sleep will come.
Man with horse cannot be tamed.
They do not follow the host of rules;
The lives they live cannot be framed,
For they scorn the life of quiet fools.
Slopes of light dry powder means a snowy week of fun -
Keeping very happy those who love to ski
In the moderately cold weather on a day when the sun
Is shining in the sky. Yes, on the slopes they’ll be -
Not inside their houses! With goggles, masks and helmets, they
Get going to their favorite spot geared up for snow-time play.
Jan. 20, 2023
For Julia Ward's Skiing Poetry Contest
Ablaze firmament
with captivating light blue...
a nacturnal's whim!
The luminous moon watches
the lonely pine on the hill
caressing a star;
while below, the quite town sleeps,
not seeing the painter's hand!
Inspired by von Gogh's painting," Nocturne "
Entered in Abe's Lopes contest, " Vincent van Gogh's paintings "
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci
my friend Fox
build box
another friend, Cap
produces trap
if Fox was a cap
and Cap was Fox,
every box would be a trap,
and every trap would be a box...!
Based on a Brazilian poem by Lopes and Lucas, author unknown...