Best Polynesian Poems
The Polynesian pearl of the Northern Pacific,
A glittering paradise gleaming in brilliance,
Set float amongst the oceans clear waters.
A beautiful jewel reflecting in the different
Shades of aquatic blues.
The winds of peace blew in this tropical
Nirvana, until the ruler of the far east,
Thrust down his mighty fist of power,
Against the foreign invaders.
From the land of the rising sun, did
The red dragon awakens, blazing with a
Fires smoke, scaring a nations flag,
For generations to come.
It's scared wings as silent as a
Tiger, stalking in a thickets tall grass,
Of disbelief, it pounced without warning.
The American flag did spread out in
Protection, over top a sleeping harbor,
Lulled into a dreaming state of world peace.
As the eagle did lie at rest, the sons
Of the red dragon struck, at it's farthest
Point edge of it's nest.
Setting it's kindling to burn and sink,
Beneath the waters, of histories swift
Currents.
The bird of freedoms liberation, now
Alert defends it's territory's, by talons
Claws, and sharpened beaks bite.
Driving the dragons brewed backwards,
And reclaiming it's rightful perch, on
The stage of destiny.
But the pearl lies tarnished and broken,
Cracked forever this once Eden, never to
To be a child of innocence again.
Only a white momentum stands to mark
It's loss, she weeps the Polynesian princess,
For what has been done can never be undone.
A pearl necklaces of peace, torn apart by two
Titan's nations hatred, now it is nothing but
A broken strand and she is a prisoner,
Caught In the choke hold, of power between
The two of them.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
Categories:
polynesian, adventure, beautiful, history, imagination,
Form:
Free verse
Behold Beatrice, Pitcairn
the paradise sunsets lie in Tahiti
sunrise, the folly of Easter
islands, sanitoriums, deluded, denuded
limbos and purgatories, the never evermore
Polynesian metaphors transmigrate my mind
O to graze with the deer, dear
the tree never falls silently
lizards scatter, birds scurry to flight
i could never buy into falling silence
let alone fate of Galileo's descending weights
church theologians preferring an atheist Aristhrottle
forgive me for being sententious dear
no pity for Cyrano
the hidden Darcy
in another failed Benedick in port
without Dante's delusions
love with no embrace
Service, woman, a slightly tainted saint
Tennyson's wound that never heals
Petrarch, Augustine, it grows insane
ah the vicissitudes, where was i
yes, leaving metaphors and literate men
your laughter starts in those ignescent eyes
ignition, brush fires of rippling ballerinas
facial muscles lost in abandonment
to some elfish music i see, never hear
lips widening, bursting rubaiyat pandemonium
i adore your infectious risibility
it is your amatory smile i love most
demure, candles gamboling in the moonlight
i am a moth lost in the flames
of your demanding timidity
it is then i see in your eyes
the dove gracing your hands
the beast who serves your lust
this is why the Norsemen
fear nothing but women
swords once ready, berserkers, Odin
now lie silent volcanoes in my heart, Freya
the seas are without headstones
and i am wondering again terricolous
all of this are the clouds overhead
it is the heavens i see in your eyes
not the red dawn i fear
we see the jungle, its' song, inevitable war
the struggle to stand in the light
possibly besotted, erratum
the seas have long not cared
with you, i learn, heal
we are undeniably humanity
we are paradise lost
the hells of yesterday
need not rule the heavens of today
your arms gravid with red sunsets
fill my deepest hopes of all morrows
its' ultimate price is gladly paid
Miramar 94 The Patient Stones
Revised 5/22 OKC
see on Youtube
Shakespeare's Sonnet 116 Is Not What It Seems
there are certain words in here common in 19th Century literature that always remind me....besotted with Jane Austen
Categories:
polynesian, fate, history, lust, metaphor,
Form:
Romanticism
Like cold marble statues
stiff as vague mixtures
of alcohol that stings of spirits,
cheap as famished souls.
Once were unique and proud,
now the vanishing isles!
A struggle to keep adrift
to face the blue sky vast
and unyielding, matching
that deep Pacific Ocean.
Hear us now gagging on
driftwood and rising waters.
Peaceful seas of dreams
where dancing bonitos circle
canoes,surfing freely cruising
with yellow fins in oceans of fun.
Now hear chokes of sinking feelings
and sirens lamenting restless souls.
As sea sprays watered eyes in contrition
someone changed the climate in Iceland
and desert storms rampaged our islands.
Rumblings of constipated volcanoes
longing for release but now stifled by
solar shields torn by man's greed.
As I float amongst the beaches of ghostly
Polynesian islands, the reefs cry out in
protest as navigation comes full circle,
back to 'hawaiki' our 'once was seen'
home of origin, a failed quest reiterating
the original theme of a people that "once
upon a time" existed now once again
A no man's islands.
Categories:
polynesian, abuse, environment, philosophy, weather,
Form:
Free verse
Many have heard of a lost continent in the Atlantic
But there are some who believe there was one in the Pacific
Grab hold of time’s clock and switch it back 85 thousand years
Peer through history’s mist, legendary Lemuria appears
Their ancestry is thought to be Asian or Polynesian
Did this evolved culture build the stone heads on Easter Island
If they existed and how they vanished, we can't know for sure
For any artifacts are now lying on the ocean floor
Hostile natives of Atlantis have been blamed for their demise
It’s said religious Lemurians were attacked by surprise
A lesson can be learned, however, as history repeats
Many peaceful cultures have succumbed to militants’ defeats
Those who have spiritual inclinations don’t make weapons
And the death toll continues to rise well into the millions
Men who seek power are always seeking to control our Earth
But on Judgment Day our Lord will decide who has the most worth
Categories:
polynesian, mysteryeaster,
Form:
Couplet
Laying here in the cut with eyes closed,
listening to the soft, tinkling sound
of the Oriental wind chimes
My mind is calmed by peaceful meditations
In my heart, I feel universal love ...
rhythmic beat of African drums
Dark continent chants,
majestic silence of Mt. Kilimanjaro
heard off in the distance
And in my soul, I feel a new song being composed
It's for a family reunion occasion,
invitations offered to my brother and sister Caucasian
and Asian
Now, I'm feeling an Islandic, Inuit and Indian spirit
rise up in me ...
Polynesian and Caribbean,
Aztec and Mayan,
Sioux and Seminole,
Navajo and Crow,
Anasazi and Apache,
Iroquois and Cherokee ...
all shouting in unison: Love is unity
Then, I open my eyes to the truth
of a future time,
as my ears hear the serene sound
of the Oriental wind chimes
Categories:
polynesian, humanity, love, peace, visionary,
Form:
Free verse
" Pirate's Kids "
Pirates bein' such the noisy bunch~
'Twouldn't surprise me 'twere true my hunch~
Bein' o'course all Pirates once were kids~
So oft then were findin' better use fer fids~
Linin' ship's decks in such orderly a fashion~
Pots pans & buckets a'taken from the galley~
Kids o'those ships with fids would be thrashin'~
On these collections known then as trap alley~
Now in this day of technology supreme~
Kids o'the kids o'those kids are still seen~
Their decks may be a'ship or even in house~
Yet that fearsome noise still does all crew arouse~
Me now havin' found a great collection of traps~
Does so now imagine if'n a special kid mayhaps~
Who's a kid o'some sailor & so inclined to make noise~
Would he I wonder in such play find his joys~
Black as pearls Polynesian & of Pacific so deep~
'Tis now the color of these traps I then so do speak~
Aye's though a question must be mayhap set aside~
'Til a time when stars apart do no longer collide~
SeaWolf
©
Categories:
polynesian, childhood
Form:
Rhyme
Water World
I reach and turn a chrome spigot;
Then magic on magic transported am I
To a Polynesian waterfall
I am bathing, brushing long black hair,
singing Polynesian songs
At dawn……
Splash!
There is a child’s chortle, a joyous laugh
A yellow rubber duck, a wiggling wet babe
Where memories dwell…...
Splash!
I see warm white suds in a big metal pan,
My grandmother’s mottled hands,
She is singing hymns, “Just as I am…..”
Splash!
I see your face! The roar of the sea
Envelops me
A wild wave – then tears, and……
I turn the spigot
To reality.
Categories:
polynesian, fantasy,
Form:
Free verse
Morning brief
Not much to say;
Touching aftermath
~~~~~~~~~
Passing clouds
Candy floss chit-chat;
Without a word
~~~~~~~~~
Lovers in the park
Saturday evening trysts;
Cheery revival
~~~~~~~~~
Free-and-Easy
Way to go;
Redundant tour guide
~~~~~~~~~
Aloha Hawaii
Polynesian fare;
Smiles surfing free
~~~~~~~~~
Fly away now
Missionary quest;
Overseas homework
~~~~~~~~~
Complains surge
No much change;
Wishful thinking
~~~~~~~~~
Here and there
Notice the debris;
Broken spirits loiter
~~~~~~~~~
Lost souls loiter
Shackled by fate;
Seemingly hopeless
~~~~~~~~~
And when he died
So much sorrow;
Now an urban legend
~~~~~~~~~
Sweet sexy swirl
Curves curl cute;
Vital statistics flaunt
~~~~~~~~~
Children at play
Power struggles start;
Parent referees
~~~~~~~~~
Leon Enriquez
18 May 2015
Singapore
Categories:
polynesian, change, , cute,
Form:
Haiku
Frozen flower punch
Hibiscus blossoms for your ears
Luau skirts and fire rings
Streamers hanging in the air
Cocktails soaked in pineapples
Roasting pit to coals
Anklets jangling on your feet
Ambrosia mint in bowls
Smiles to pass with every song
Laughter jewels the moon
Eating the afternoon away
with a Polynesian spoon~
Categories:
polynesian, childhood, happiness, life, nostalgia,
Form:
Rhyme
a lei
warmly undulates in the harbor,
scented blossoms in the surf,
welcoming each voyager
with frangipani, plumeria, shells and
haku mele. the ukulele and current
gently pulls with mellifluous undertow.
a garland aloha and hula hips
enhance each Polynesian hug
in passionate sunrise and sunset hues.
8/7/2018
haku mele — weaving a poetic text, chant, or song
Categories:
polynesian, flower, senses, song, travel,
Form:
Verse
Polynesian Island
In the Pacific south east
Starved of trees
For a transporting feast
Stone idols
Moai, they are called
Some unfinished
Standing tall
This island of the extinct
Three volcanoes in all
Terevaka, Poike and Rano Kau
As years passed
Statues were toppled
Civil war and disease
This island buckled
In this modern world
With Chilean Citizenship
Over 3000 remain
No longer past hardship
This volcanic island
Called Rapa Nui
Is Easter Island
To you and me
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/history.php
Categories:
polynesian, history, inspirational, life, placeseaster,
Form:
Rhyme
Particular palms protecting private Pop’s Polynesian Paradise.
Bashful bountiful beaches brazenly beguiling busy banana boats.
Gregariously greeting gracious green grass generating gloriousness.
Formidable foams frolicking forever free from formulating fickleness.
White wisps wandering wonderfully within wilderness's willful wistfulness.
Categories:
polynesian, 10th grade, 11th grade,
Form:
Alliteration
I spied a ship and descried the flag it flew.
It was nothing like the flags I had seen before.
It was red and blue, with white circles and yellow stars
The highlights of white and yellow stood out
like stars at night, and town lights bright.
The red like the color of the dawn and dusk.
The blue the color of the deep blue ocean.
It was clearly the flag of a sea faring nation.
As the ship got closer, you could clearly see its details.
It was a large primitive Polynesian outrigger voyager vessel,
a ghost ship as no one appeared to be aboard.
Where it had come from, the fate of its crew a mystery?
But the vessel sure knew how to sail
and knew where it was headed
as it sailed fast and free,
passed our sailing boat 'Snail'
on a true heading for a spot on the horizon.
For many years the Polynesian voyagers were decried as flotsam and jetsom.
How could these primitive people navigate through the vast open ocean
between tiny islands, pin-prick dotted in oceans of space?
It was assumed they migrated and populated the far flung oceans randomly and haphazardly
via their fishing trips and day trips being blown off course.
But research has descried their skill and fabulous knowledge of navigation.
Each island has a gild of navigators.
They use songs and stories to memorize navigation methods:
including the movement of the stars, wave patterns around island,
local currents, clouds, weather and bird behavior.
Polynesian navigators used the rise and setting of particular set stars on the horizon to set a heading.
They had wooden instruments, string and fiber maps of wave patterns and star movements to guide their way.
They skillfully know when they were near tiny islands
from the change in the wave patterns, currents
and their vast knowledge of birds and wildlife.
So don't be quick to decry Polynesian navigation.
Instead, descry its beauty, simplicity, nouse, proficiency and elegance.
Categories:
polynesian, ocean, sea, stars, travel,
Form:
Epic
The plague knew my infinite hulk
in 1769, crept through the Polynesian crystal
onto my outstretched archipelago
black sands and white sands and volcanoes
speaking the purple language,
the queen’s English to the farmer’s French,
and drank from the palm tree
to drain the lagoon its persistent innocence.
I called that man under white skin elbows
unhinged to finger length arms
planked ‘cross the wishful shore to the sun,
drunk with ambition for Elizabeth’s glory,
tracing the black dot of Venus
across the infinite grapefruit horizon
from juvenile tree-house forts
to play science on God’s paradise, James Cook.
By definition Cook is defined by mine.
A century more defined another
defined by my natural beauty
and native Polynesian simplicity alive in artistic
assembly, though darker skinned
than acceptable at that period before the end
of a dry English sentence,
a man with a watering eye called Paul Gauguin.
Had Gauguin’s father surpassed his flesh,
he might have said his son taught van Gogh
the artful act of goat-fed attrition
through blurred lines of lacked definition
which persist to define impressionism.
And had his father been a poet, not a journalist,
he might have taught his son that an island,
at its core, is a man, defined by his own accord.
Date: 12/21/2018
Categories:
polynesian, identity, poetry, self, slavery,
Form:
Free verse
He walks the moonlit moor,
With eyes all aglow,
Hunting down his next victim,
Bringing death unto us all.
His ears are perked up,
Listening to the sounds,
That fill the night sky,
From the bats to faint footsteps,
And horses neighing in the distance.
He makes his way through the woods,
Seeing the faint lights of the streetlamps,
Showering light upon a figure,
Huddled beneath it's glow.
He licks his lips,
Tasting the fresh blood that will soon,
Fill his slathering jaws,
The tender flesh tearing in his teeth,
The high shrill screams echoing into the night,
That will end in bitter silence.
Moving through the woods,
Keeping his eyes plastered to the figure,
Knowing if he looks away for a moment,
His victim may flee without a warning,
And thus he may be vulnerable to the hunter.
For aeons he's wandered the world,
From Japan to the Polynesian Islands,
And now the US is where he resides,
Feasting on the aristocratic flesh,
Of prominent families.
He stops at the edge,
Turning his head,
Looking for any that may stop him.
Nothing but the figure seems to haunt the night,
Beneath the fading streetlight.
Thrusting himself out, he runs,
Forcefully through the thickened night,
Towards the careless human,
Claws stretched out before him,
With blood-lust burning within his eyes.
Suddenly he stops and lunges,
Landing on top of the person,
And begins ripping at their throat,
Realizing there is no blood,
Is when he feels a sharp pain in his side,
And drops to the ground.
His yellow eyes look about,
And see a figure in the dark,
Smoke fills the air around it,
It's the hunter he fears,
He tries to scramble to his feet,
But is brought down by another piercing pain.
The figure moves closer,
A barrel of a gun comes sliding into the light,
Followed by the figure wearing dark clothes,
Walking slowly through the night,
Gun pointing down at the beast,
That lay wounded before him.
He musters up enough strength,
To lift his heavy body,
And tries to lunge,
Bang!!!
Is the last thing his ears register.
Categories:
polynesian, death, fantasy, imagination, may,
Form: