Best Mangroves Poems
"We can't ever fathom,
when the ceasing flicker of hope
flutters away,
and
escapes to an
endless forest;
the only charm in this
spellbound life is,
to chase that
scarred saffron second
and hue it with our own
enchanting light..."
As the fiddling
crescent basks
in this reborn moonrise,
I slowly blanket
my soul with
shivering sighs
of frozen stars,
as they trickle
down my lungs
and echo a
scentless spring,
where oceans
yearn to feel
the kiss of
floral zephyrs,
tickling their
turquoise sirens.
Perhaps,
I was once a
lifeless snowdrop,
a stygian silhouette
of midnight which
wrapped those
neon skies,
as black ice
melted in cores,
when pain became
my melancholic
soulmate and no
philosopher's stone
could turn this
solemn melody,
into sapphire ruins
of remedy.
Since my spirit
has hibernated
in this crystal castle -
I've been waltzing
in a wondering,
did my eyes
loose their dazzle
and become mere
colourless dots
of an oil pastel
portrait, as
this quill turned
vengeful for
its own spirit?
Did I break
my own heart,
by watering the
macabre of miracles?
Fading in
marigold mangroves
that whisper to
my delicate muse,
I feel the breaths
of mirthful wingbeats,
ricocheting and
making me swoon
over a pedestal of
pure sunrays.
Have I always
been this alive,
where these pulses,
reverberating
in my chestnut skin,
could wake me up
from the crestfallen
slumber?
Now, as these
topaz horizons
unfold their
golden carpet,
embroidered with
velvet peonies
and silk carnations,
I slowly bloom,
with a princess-cloak
of fluffy feathered
petals, resting
upon the crown of
emerald leaves,
bathed in chic
chocolaty lakes, as,
~ an empyrean lotus.
So, reminisce me
evermore, as an
imperfect lyric
of a dusky
peach pixie,
leaving footprints
of faith in a
muddy reverie,
for, on the
bluebell crest
of lush earth,
reigns this
rosy Cleopatra,
rhyming with
jeweled perfumes
of tomorrow.
This is a lil tribute for our beautiful 'Ink Empress' as a token of gift, on this special sunrise, as it's her Birthday today ~
She has been the guiding light for my heart and soul, in my darkest phases as she has always been there for me, emotionally, and supported me through everything.. She's the one who pushed me to join PoetrySoup in August, 2023. Dear Ink, I've found a friend in you (which I truly never had), an inspiration too for I'm a fan of your poetry...since always, a mentor who helps me to improve my skills and most importantly - You're my Guardian Fairy Goddess..Thank you so much for your amazing presence in my life... We soupers adore you!!!
As sun's splattered rings,
bestow blessings and
confetti dawns paint
champagne canvases,
she rises beyond
the scents of
cherry Luna,
drizzling like stardust,
painting mangroves
of metaphors.
She's like the mistress
of ink, with her art,
knitting feelings
in raspberry rhymes;
her haloed heartbeats
shall whisper in
poetic brushstrokes
of resilience,
above roaring tides
of 'satanic seas',
as her heart is an
'Ethereal Empress'
painting empathy
when horizons bleed
in pearlescent shine,
midst rosy sunrise.
She's an acrylic
archangel, in her
empire of
pristine poesy.
All I remember is rampant rain and a loud bang.
As dawn distilled through a canopy of palm trees,
glimpses of light reflected like emeralds on leaves.
I felt blessed in its warm golden glow,
as I awoke under clear sapphire skies.
Radiant sun blazed brightly,
reflecting like a fluorescent mosaic
upon turquoise waves kissing my bare feet.
I could hear cobalt macaws squawking
and soaring from cliffs to branches,
as the ocean lulled with a soft lullaby.
The air was so pure, but muggy,
as curious creatures, I had not seen before,
creeped and crawled around me.
As I wandered along a champagne shoreline,
I could hear an orchestra of morning birds,
composing their exotic melodies,
which added to the tranquillity of calmness.
Footsteps of fate led to a verdant forest with
an abundance of mahogany and rosewood trees.
A fluctuation of kaleidoscopic butterflies floated
among a plethora of petals in lush layers of
amber allamandas, maroon mandevillas,
orange orchids and purple passionflowers -
their sweet scents blending with saltiness of the sea breeze.
As my soul connected deeply with my surroundings,
a leafy path of twigs led to a myriad of mangroves,
their roots resting in an aquamarine toned lagoon.
I could see fancy fish in vibrant red, yellow and silver,
swimming in trails of troops around water lilies.
As my enchanted eyes gazed beyond a
flock of fuchsia feathered flamingos,
towards a gentle waterfall cascading,
serenely over steps of rock -
I caught a glimpse of a figure in divine light.
Dressed in ivory and gold,
reflecting in the image of Aphrodite.
Her bronze skin shimmered in the sunlight,
as her flaxen fair hair flickered in a gentle zephyr.
Such was the epitome of her grace, I was mesmerised.
I could have admired her brown pearl eyes, forever.
Unaware the endless blue horizons were
now dipped in velvet and honey hues,
I forgot about the diamonds in the sky.
The moon glowed like a ruby at midnight,
shining scarlet moonlight upon her lips -
my whole being craved for just one kiss.
Before I could approach her,
I opened my eyes in an unfamiliar room,
as a nurse in a white uniform asked me;
"welcome back, are you all right?"
An exuberant falcon she is, isn’t she?
Being the aviator of my flight of thoughts.
Cares less she to heed, whenever in adoration, I
Do call her for a chat - she is a mischievous trickster.
Every time she dawdles, I give her a gentle prod;
For then, she arrives in ripples of reasoning,
Gleaming in reflections of my own contemplations.
Hues of insights kindle my mind’s spectrum as
I follow her to the unexplored layers of landscape - a
Journey for the moment - as we drift across the
Kaleidoscope of nature, when through seamless
Loops of thoughts, I crochet and disperse my ink
Meandering over dreamy mangroves of my mind.
Now she’s disappeared, but where’s she gone?
Oh, she can vanish in a flash like a lightning! - a
Playful penguin - it’s hard to grab her attention; the
Quick-witted queen of my boundless imagi-Nation, who
Refills my thought pot and sows fresh seeds of fancy.
Sometimes with her capricious flaps, she glides away
To coax her to stay back more is beyond my ability.
Upon the labyrinth of life, we travel together.
Voices of many a mind, whispering and rumbling,
We hear as we ponder on the vast sea of life. My
Xanadu of inspiration, when she appears out of nowhere.
Yes, she feeds my brief reveries with pearls of perception - a
Zealous advocate, she is, of my passionate ink.
When did you enter into my life?
Was it when the crying baby in the cradle received a warm hug from her mother?
or was it when the children cheerfully ran home after the school's long bell?
When did you start sharing your creamy thoughts with me?
Was it when the baby nightingale gifted its first tune to the world?
or was it when the cutie caterpillar emerged out of its white house?
When did you take my hand into yours?
Was it when the sun secretly promised to enhance the glory of the earth with its light and warmth?
or was it when the green leaf slipped off its blanket early to get the food ready for its family?
When is that you spoke the words of love to me?
Was it when the love birds passionately kissed under the romantic twilight?
Or was it when the air smoothly carried the anther's pollen to the bed of stigma?
When did you even dare to steal my sorrow bag?
Was it when the mighty mangroves tried to stop the high rising oceanic tides?
Or was it when the fiery tigress generously caressed the lost bear cub?
When did you first kiss my forehead?
Was it when the proud mother rafted through the waters of her daughter's success?
Or was it when the nation proudly turned the pages of its history book?
When did you decide upon being my life mate?
Was it when the word "responsibility" stepped into the world of letters?
or was it when Adam took the onus of Eve in the garden of Eden?
I really don't want to be immersed in ferreting for answers to all these questions.
All I want is to live and be lost in every moment of this togetherness.
Surigao del Norte,
the province of attraction and tourism,
a light and wealth of the nation before me,
seed of freewill and liberty.
The perfume of the gregarious sea breeze,
the sweet scent of the cheerful environment,
the calmness and never-ending beauty of tourism,
with daring music of my dreams,
will surely amuse the lovely guests.
Crystal water and the white sand of beaches,
exotic and strange portrayal of caves,
boundless and verdant mangroves trees,
rich soil of nickel and gold,
beauty brings endless amusement,
a place to live.
Heretofore, with gentle wind,
with tenor music of birds,
with mild waves on the lips of the shore,
a breathtaking crack of dawn,
with the embrace of morning dew,
and the entirety, racing to say,
welcome and good day!
Excerpt from the book: Whisper of Life
Read more writings of Cesar @ http://www.cesargealogo.com
Touching to sea essence with their noses
Old men by the seashore
Sails up flags waving goodbye
Gulls laughing
Don Coto's Face brown and wrinkled
Smiles from ear to ear
Prepares for the voyage to gather bounty
From the land the sea to see
The coconut trees
Leaves rubbing against each other
Waiting for their daily drinks to arrive
The sun plays peekaboo
With the rolling clouds of white and blue
Man loading their Cargo
Their wives saddened
Tears flowing
Nearby laughter
Josélito Negrita and Tony
Chasing down fiddlers
by the mangroves
Oblivious they are
Life is just fun and games
Atop the hill
The river flows endlessly
Mi madre Maria tomasa
Is at the river bed
Washing clothes
Andre the fiery
Flamboyan..
She's beautiful, radiant black hair green eyes
Strong yet loving she was
I miss her my family mi familia
My people mi gente
My culture mi cultura
Mi India Borincana
With your music of love
Life and lore
I will never forget you
Dreams never die
Although years may pass
I'll shall return
Just like my
Father..
All rights reserved
A Camacho jr.
1996 -2015
Blue ocean vistas
Rainforest encroaches down
Tree roots over stone
Vines reach, wind, twine and climb
Clutching trees that cradle them
Burleigh Heads beach path
Pandanus groves, mangroves
Strange variety
Spiky bushes, towering trees
Tiny flowers underfoot
Raggy paperbarks,
Log bridge, white sand, shallow creek
Invisible birds give song
Each day travel the same path
Only to find it diff’rent.
"Once upon a time," my grandfather used to say,
Our homeland was awesome to behold.
Lush green mountains beautiful to behold,
Surrounded by forests unravished and virgin,
Wild creatures prancing and happy birds chirping,
Men and animals had respect for one another.
The air smelt of peace and the land was pure,
Crystal clear rivers, home to healthy fauna and flora,
Borded from the land by rich mangroves,
The beauty of nature unveiled, unperturbed.
"Those were the good old days" he would say.
"Things are no longer the same" my father would say.
The world has been turned upside down,
There is hardly a tree left in our forests.
The mountains now look like heaps of sand,
Wild creatures lament the threat of extinction,
The songs of the birds are undulating dirges,
A cold war ensues between man and the creatures.
Poisoned air reverberates the atmosphere,
The purity of the land is lost to civilization.
Fauna and flora mourn the living-dead state of rivers,
Exposed further by the emasculated mangroves.
Everything judged before the judgement day.
"Things have fallen apart" he would say.
Where have the lush green mountains gone to?
What became of the unravished virgin forests?
How did the wild creatures all disappear?
Why do the birds sing only songs of sorrow?
Which substance transformed the fresh and peaceful air?
Who polluted the rivers and endangered fauna and flora?
These are questions I dread when I tell my children stories.
Peter Obiora Edoziem.
“Sundar means beautiful,” the natives write—
The mangroves of south dance beneath daylight
With the flair of a gypsy drunk and bold
Swirling her skirt of salt. And callous gold
Prowls the swamp after trotting prey in flight.
The sentinels of south guard through the night
And push and pull against the windy might;
Behind their sieving shields, beliefs still hold—
Sundar means beautiful.
The men of south venture without invite
For honey, wood and fish into the plight;
The wives, like fortune, wait at the threshold
Praying and cursing gods foreign or old,
As sleepless children scramble to recite—
Sundar means beautiful.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Form: Rondeau
Date: 13 / 11 / 2016
Sundarbans ( Literal Translation: Beautiful Forest) is a mangrove forest on the delta formed by the super confluence of the Ganges, Padma, Brahmaputra and Meghna rivers across southern Bangladesh and Bengal. It's a swamp land that belongs to tigers, crocodiles and well, millions of people who live there and earn their livelihood from the forest. The environmental importance of Sundarbans is colossal as the mangroves protect the coastal areas from erosion, surge storms and tsunamis. In my opinion, without the forest, the human history of this region would have been a completely different one.
The Sittee River
Tumbling down from the magnificent Maya Mountains,
The rabid Sittee River rushed headlong,
Over-flooding its banks and the giant mangroves
On its long journey to the open Caribbean Sea.
Once forest green, the River’s color was now a dirty brown.
Hundreds of floating logs all rafted and chained together
Like creeping caterpillars lined up on a dead leaf.
These lumbering mahogany logs, once majestic living trees
Would be transformed mostly into polished furniture.
Attention captured by this rambling rapidly roving River,
As a child I sat at my window wondering,
What other dark secrets did this wandering River hold?
Could it reveal the life of the ancient Mayas, other civilizations, or more?
I may never know.
Today the old beautiful River is clear and bitingly cold,
Keenly listening –
Vigilantly watching -
Waiting for new adventures to unfold!
Note:
As a child, I grew up in the Sittee River Village in Central America, and this is
one of my earliest memories of the River.
Imagine if seeds of trees hatched to Tree-lings.
Seedlings with two trunk legs and root feet
Bodies like humans covered in bark
Arm branches with finger shoots and leaves
Head with eyes, nose, ears and mouth
Like those cut into tree trunks eons ago.
Meet the Ents, pre-tree creatures,
Half-man, half-tree, destined to mature into trees.
When they are about two-score rings old and more
Their tired trunks grow roots
And Ents lose their human-like features and become just trees.
Ents can walk to establish new Ent colonies.
Ent armies can mobilize and fight against loggers
Who want to hack down their grand parents the trees.
You can stroll with an Ent on long walks through the forest
To hear their wonderful stories and legends.
Ents can talk and sing their arbor songs.
They also have ears and can hear what you say to them.
So you can talk to the trees, give them a hug
And say how much you love them.
But watch out, as Ents can be very argumentative,
Especially about how the forests are being cleared and
Roads cut through their midst, and even global warming.
Ents are too big and messy with leaf drop to invite into your home.
But they love a picnic in the open.
They hate smoke, which they fear, and so barbecues are out.
They love going to the beach where they can dip their toes and trunks.
The mangroves taught them how to swim and they love to bathe and swim about,
In the cool seawater and play with the seaweed and kelp.
They float well, and love to jump in a river and get carried downstream in the current.
They love a game of ring-around-rosy and even a maypole game.
Ents are are also very good and gentle with kids.
They love to have kids climb and play in their branches.
They are avid experts at swinging and swirling kids around their trunks.
So next time you wander through a forest
Call out "Ent, Ents can You Hear Me?"
Gently tap on trunks as you go
And don't be surprised if you hear the leaves rustle
Or hear a grumble, and see Ent eyes pop open in slits in the bark.
Ents love a chat and hug and a cuddle, and a scratch in their bark
Even when they get lazy and get rooted to the ground.
The Ents are there, you just need to believe in them and find them.
Let your fate take root
On hard rock, tangle and bury
Before the coming storm.
and before the coming of the storm
amidst a garden of your crafting
Beliefs and memories planted
and like seeds watered
Take root amidst your cherished greens
Take hand in hand your
memoir
and brace with rooted tangled feat
-mangled,
The coming storm
Come to wash away
come to whisk away;
This is a magical storm
something fantastical
like myth was born
from your hands, as you shake them left to right
and wrestle from them
seeds
trample on your well-trodden soil
and in waves bead your sweaty water
shelter little sprouting
take shelter in his shadow,
Did you nurture your garden?
like I have nurtured mine
mine, lush with little ideas
lush with my graceful evasion
of duties unwatered
moments hoarded
lush with little trees, that in my shadow
do not grow,
and their little fruits, so sour born
Yours, that garden, a gnarled tree
posies tangled on mangled fields
bounties of fruit, in your mangroves
children of our labor
all alike stand before the storm,
Dark clouds gather, broil forth like no afterthought
an army summoned to war, the tax collector come for dues
and bubbling forth
Comes lightning and thunder like sickle and torch
Come to reap the song and sun:
and it is in this shadow they finally grow
and gnarled hand takes my own
-I will not rot away on my own
I stand before my fated choices
and together
our bonds new, old and gnarled
stand firm these moment’s beliefs and
creations
children and parent, arms locked, heads on shoulders both
eyes cast out and tears exhumed
before the coming storm
Our legs take root in our
garden soil
and we cling to what
we know
we hold to what knows
us
but the storm is just
so grand
and our roots are just
so shallow.
Down in the bayou where the mangroves grow
There's talk of black voodoo, like Marie Leveau
The Swamp Witch, is legend, she has magic so black
That those who have seen her, have never come back
There's tales of the noises that come from the dark
Of werewolves and zombies as rough as the bark
The mangroves are sentinels, to where the magic resides
Where even a longboat has no room to glide
Bodies go missing from the graveyards most nights
And there's always a fog shading the fireflies lights
The Swamp Witch is ruler and Queen of this world
Where souls are all taken and spines can be curled
They say that she came here from Canadian lands
She was a metis they say, from the Western Tar Sands
A mystic by nature, a dark witch by blood
She lives deep in the swamp, protected by gators and mud
The gators respect her, they do as she bids
They keep watch on the waters, they're her reptillian kids
She keeps zombies as gendarmes, collecting bodies to turn
Just how black is her magic, no one can discern
The Swamp Witch is legend, she is as old as all time
The air in the bayou is as thick as the slime
The cajuns say voodoo is the core of her heart
They avoid fishing where the mangrove trees start
The Swamp Witch, a legend ? or is she truly the Queen
She's the Louisiana Witch, no one survives once she's seen.....
Rapturous noise from the sky;
makes dark clouds to shed crocodile tears,
as heavy wind blows,
sand,paper and polythenes fly and float
all through and through...
Many roofing sheets beat the drum
like a loud dirge;
The roads sweep clean as
the breeze whistles along,
And the heaven..opens!,
As rain drops heavily...
thorough bath for the trees in the forest,
the cars packed in open spaces in the cities,
and roofs of buildings.
..And some air pollutants dissolve to form solutions.
The hard soil opens to swallow these
drops hungrily and the dead hidden seeds
spout out and new cotyledons appear,
dry swamps become living marsh lands,
Breathing and stilt roots of red and white
mangroves are now active and alive.
Mud fish and cat fish dance for joy;
praying mantis prayers answered as
the frogs and toads hop and croak
for coitus with their females;
ducks and ducklings waggle their tail feathers
as celestial aqua touches their bodies;
Tilapia and grilse synchronize together,
while dogs and goats run for shade.
The chameleon licks drops of water with its retractable
tongue,as the Mole prepares to build with soft clay;
Farmers burn incense to the almighty
for these drops;hoping for a better harvest;
Continuous raindrops turn into
avalanche of water; flood!
fast-moving water sweeping through the city;
coast and littoral zones overflowing with aqua,
properties destroy,life lost and homes submerge;
Government calls for evacuation.
Contest:"RAINDROPS FALLING" sponsored by Carol Brown