Best Recounted Poems
The Black Hills wept for Thee
East of the Black Hills of South Dakota,
On the Pine Ridge Reservation,
Live a proud tribe of Oglala Lakota,
Part of the Great Sioux Nation.
On saddled chargers rode half the Regiment,
of the Seventh Cavalry.
A tune they played on behalf of the GarryOwen,
was such a sight to see.
While climbing through Prickly pines, they spied,
near the summit of Porcupine Butte.
Spotted Elk with Hunkpapa Lakota tribe,
the chief of the Minneconjou.
Five miles West through the cold day they walked,
the Lakota and soldiers of the Seventh,
Where Wounded Knee creek's icy waters balked,
between hell and heaven.
The Colonel ordered all of the tribe's rifles confiscated,
while the braves danced the ghost dance.
For rumor had spread of a new religion, long awaited,
that would turn the tide of chance.
Then suddenly came the report of rifles fired,
as the women and children fled to a ravine.
From the heights the thunder of cannon, now inspired,
close quarter fighting and lead, now convened.
Who knows where Providence went,
on that cold December morning.
Both guilty and innocent, now spent,
lay dead with little warning.
Bodies of the fallen now sprawled across the snowy plains,
with faces frozen in a moment of violence.
One mass grave with all, is all that remains,
of tears and laughter forever silenced.
In the days that followed medals were pinned to chests,
who proclaimed victoriously.
Though God only knows why, ignoble and divest,
life taken in vain, ingloriously.
In the shadow of the land of Sitting Bull,
was now told the tragic story.
Passed down from Mother to Daughter were recounted,
days of lost glory.
“Let us put our minds together to see what life we can make for our children.”
-Sitting Bull
-- January 30, Martyr's Day --
noble and martyred
wrapped in the colours they served
nation in their legacy
***
August 14, 1947
Jawaharlal Nehru stood before The Parliament - Words were spoken, recounted this century as clear as then.
“Long years ago, we made a tryst with destiny; and now the time comes when we shall redeem our pledge, not wholly or in full measure, but very substantially.
At the stroke of the midnight hour, when the world sleeps, India will awake to life and freedom.
A moment comes, which comes but rarely in history, when we step out from the old to the new -- when an age ends, and when the soul of a nation, long suppressed, finds utterance. It is fitting that at this solemn moment we take the pledge of dedication to the service of India, her people, and to the still larger cause of humanity.
The turning-point is past, and history begins anew for us, the history which we shall live and act and others will write about.”
August 15, 2017
Policemen are positioned at the borders of states.
Stars are thanked at the break of dawn - the night passed without their lives.
Embassies light up with stories of the past - They play out on facades for the holidayer in traffic.
Tiny hands wave paper flags at the rural side of the city. In the August heat, parades are viewed from terraces barefoot.
Students wear pins in a march. The sole aim ~ Giving back more than we get.
A day cannot sleep without celebration of culture:
saffron, white and green
twenty nine states on stage -
nation in their eyes
.. continuation posted
He was a big man
a gigantic tall man
a large imposing brute of a man
a do whatever he wants to do man
He was a
I can do anything man
a you better get out of my way man
a stand up walk shake the ground man
a ready for battle boisterous man
a several severed heads on sticks man
Then one day he faced
a somewhat small man
a not very tall man
a gentle weak looking shepherd man
But this was a special man
an I’m with God I can do anything man
Still Goliath was a mocking man
laughing at the small stone twirling boy man
Unimpressed with that steady on shaking ground man
That not backing down weakling loinclothed man
One big one small
oddly paired historic men
Destined born to come together men
Who changed the course of history men
Story recounted retold from back then
Scribed by Scholars with paper and pen
Rock against sword one bigger by ten
David stood with God his nation to defend
on simple armor he didn’t depend
With odds against him one hundred times ten
In the end it was Goliath that would never stand again!
Form:
Moon In Auburn
As the stars were heaped upon a mantles Shangri-La
The miniature toy town beneath its cape
Quiet hung in yellow golden windows lit
So silent in the dales and woods blanket
The dog fox cry echoed from the moon
Crisp and cloudless chill less coldness
With the twin of the moon fluxed silver blue
In the tiny handmaidens mirror of reflection
Natures dark slept beneath the shadows of her hand
And she crept in dreams
Within the tip toe of cats
Rendered the night through amber eyes
Glistening on the turns of lovers kisses
For all the endless that she misses
Arched above an eternal sky
She is drawn to the moss of rocks
And clings in branches hung with lichen
To the feathered damp of leaves
Which catch her spark
Just a whisper footfalls breezes shifter
In the country lanes of ancient mazes
By stone wall and rabbits foot
Close upon the dandelions head
With all the disguised colours leaping on unseen acoustics
Were hidden amongst rivulet beds
Catching the silver blue
The dog fox cry echoed from the moon
And swung out the flax upon the stars
Fingers traced their destiny within those pinpoint suns
A pattern constellation traits of has; she was born
The atonement of steady reckoning he had
Cut in trough on the ploughed earth
Where all the seeds of tomorrow had been scattered
With all their promises of a seasons ripening
Old songs sung of proud man “John Barleycorn”
And the distillation of his bone and marrow
And while the stars piled high on their Shangri-La
Recounted the lost tales of lovers in forgotten times
All the memories fell in auburn locks
And swept upon the Luna light shores
The twin she fluxed in silver blue
And the dog fox cry echoed from the moon
The Christmas when Santa got Fat
Kris Kringle rubbed his belly; he was feeling really hungry indeed
Mrs Claus had put him on a diet of what he felt was chicken feed
Brussel Sprouts and Lima Beans and lots of Spinach Green
Life’s unfair when you’re Santa Claus and still your wife is mean.
So what if he‘d piled on the pounds and his belly was very round
He could surely fit down any chimney without the slightest sound
Oh well he thought its Christmas eve , children would put out some snacks
Milk, Cookies and Candy Cane would put his tummy back on track.
He got into his silver sleigh and heaved a mighty sigh
Rudolph, , Prancer and Vixen waved to Mrs. Claus goodbye
He was really very hungry the clouds had begun to look like food
Then again if he asked his reindeers, they would be so very rude
They all agreed with Mrs. Claus, Santa was rounder in his seat
They hadn’t even let him carry his goodie bag of sweets
The last place on his list was the house of Jill and Joe
Aha he fit down the chimney and he heaved a mighty ho
He placed the doll and toy train right underneath the tree
He saw the milk and cookies and rubbed his hands in glee
He ate and ate the yummy snacks till his pants felt very tight
Cheerful now he began to feel Christmas Eve was a jolly good night
They he tried to climb up the chimney but heavens he couldn’t get back
He wriggled and squirmed but had to agree his middle was very fat
Rudolph, Prancer , Vixen he very softly called
You’ll have to pull get me out of here I can’t seem to move at all
The reindeers whinnied suspiciously what Santa felt was a nasty laugh
He now agreed sheepishly why his food had been cut down to half
They heaved and with a mighty yell, Santa came flying out
It was a good thing it was still midnight for no one had heard him shout
When they reached back home the reindeers gleefully recounted the tale
When he saw Mrs. Claus’ angry face, he began to get very pale
But when she gave her sweet belly laugh, Santa heaved a sigh of relief
It’s a good thing they got you out my dear before they thought you were a thief!
It’s a stricter diet for you this year before you revisit Jane and Joe
Or else instead of the chimney, you will have to ask to use the door!.
*** Awaiting Inspiration ***
(written for my brother and sister poets)
Reaching for dreams in the black of my closed eyes, but sleepless,
I go on in music, out past radiant lights —
Bright and brighter — spreading beams that hold back off every
Fright plotted by the cornered, infernal shadows threatening
To overwhelm as they amass over meadows bordering
The forested wilds’ protection of those — hidden therein.
Those, who, in their God-graced innocence, their divinely destined lives,
From infant cries to elder wise; and who will survive
Keeping in the depth of their beings a spirit of truth with
A visible valiance — seen upon a look deep into their eyes;
While —- in this place — in this secrecy thick with trees — I alone
Am ready with pen in hand...to be their mirror…
For I am a documentarian of the hopes held
In humanity’s array of feeling hearts:
Whose stories I note
In the bounce of continuous city din; in tales recounted by farm folk
Walking between their grain-growing rows; and told in chanted
Prayers rising for the ill, the poor, the despairing…needed and answered.
Thus, holding visions and voices, I persistently proceed with my work,
First, with a necessary pulling at these pliant walls
Of the creative cocoon — its soft, loose weave deceptively
Can seem easily penetrable. Possibly God will respond to these
Cries for his collaboration. Meanwhile, alone, awaiting inspiration, I stay
With crayons in hand, watching the approach of a very rare snowfall in May.
*****. ******. ******. *******. ******. *****
Inspired by Milton & Dante, may be Part i of a longer work.
Thanks be to God…
Also for Charlie and Jim with thanks.
11/21-28 (c)S. Young Eslinger
In my dreams
like many have dreams,
I went to number 10 Drowning Street.
in this pandemic, isolation to cheat,
there is no other better place
to meet, greet, drink and eat!
In the back garden, I sat with Boris,
chatting and laughing a guff!
Donald sat drinking a can of beer,
American, of course! all in good cheer,
tears rolling down his eyes in mirth,
as he recounted his Capitol trick!
there were a number of barking dogs,
running around and wagging their tails!
that waited to be fed of the remains
on the table!
their long ears pricked
but their faces were human.
I thought they must be Boris’ pets
all drawn from his cabinet.
The party lasted long into the night,
hopefully from media-hush, hush- out of sight!
such fun, such fun, such god damn fun,
with such a pack of looneys to govern,
this old queen’s country to run!
someone said the poor old bloke is dead!
that guy to whom the queen was wed!
couldn’t recall his name, these drinks,
makes you go fuzzy in the head!
Shall catch up in the morning,
send a wreath, or something,
right now let’s get on with the drinking!
there were some souls that stood
all in silence in the outer ring.
a crowd of souls, a very large crowd
in ‘thousands of thousands’ that watched.
I thought these must be the ones
that passed during the pandemic
dying in loneliness away from their families….
…and that shattered my dream..
I was back in my home nursing my own,
in fear, and all alone…..
Written 03/02/2022
Yesterday, I went to an exhibit which showcased the native products of the place where I grew up. It was held at the entire fifth floor of one of the premier malls of the city where I now live. The place hummed with the welcoming sound of the region's familiar lilt, as I edged my way toward the kiosk to meet old friends.
leather and rhinestones
on abaca wallets and bags -
women at their prime
As I recognized each smiling face of former classmates from the all-girls school, the impersonal place turned into a warm, familiar one. Everybody knew everyone, at least in our group of twelve excited, chattering women eager to catch up on each other’s news. A late lunch after the show stretched into an even longer coffee at a nearby restaurant. We laughed as we recounted comedic classroom situations, times of mischief, and romantic trysts with old flames from the all-boys school across the street. The food was not particularly memorable. The moment was.
your face lights up
upon recognizing mine -
friendship survives time
We eventually broke into groups of threes or fours. My group, which included the batch Valedictorian, decided to continue our chat at another coffeeshop along the way. Each one shared personal angst, the latest in her career, and the familiar topic of loved ones. We parted around midnight, promising to keep in touch, a fitting end to a day which I will treasure for a long time. It was one of those breaks in my routine which I did not have to take, but I was happy I did.
in my journey
I saw a sign to stop -
time to smell the flowers
* abaca - hemp, material for bags, shoes, ropes, etc.
05 August 2015
For Scott37's HAIBUN
This haibun is adapted from my journal of a not so recent real event in my life.
The eraser belonged to me; it was saved by my mother and returned along with many other
childhood items when I became middle aged. I was curious as to why she would save a
stubby old eraser from the primary grades, so she reminded me of its’ one and only use. My
faded memory of that time suddenly became crystal clear, as my mother recounted for me a
watershed episode from my formative years.
I had, as they say these days “acted out in school once again,” this time by writing
unspeakable words in a textbook. Without any hesitation or forethought, I chose as my
repository the teachers’ edition of our English composition book. Quite frankly, at the time, I
thought they were literary gems worthy of publication. That’s why I knowingly inscribed them
there for all to see. Upon further review by more knowledgeable minds, it was determined
corrective guidance and a phone call home was in order.
I was to spend several hours after school that day sweating in contemplative silence as I
erased the teachers’ edition and many other similarly defaced books. It was during this time
of reflection that I ground that eraser down to the stub as it remains today. The last visible
vestiges of my bad expositions disappeared forever that hot afternoon, along with more than
half of the eraser.
Mother then reminded me of what she overheard the Superintendent tell me, as she sat
mortally ashamed and waiting for hours in the hallway outside that sweltering classroom. I
can still visualize her ample adult size, trying in vain to get comfortable, in a sticky one
armed desk made for a 5th grader.
“ John, I want you to try and remember this:
WHAT YOU SAY to others might last with them until THEY DIE.
But regretful WORDS YOU WRITE, the residue of which, will last long after YOU DIE.
So you keep what’s left of this eraser and I hope you never need to use it again.”
*For the "Rub it out" contest, i still have the eraser.
On a street long ago
with a sidewalk and curb,
Back when houses seemed huge,
In a child's wide-eyed way.
On a screen porch, played quietly,
As not to disturb.
For my mother was having
A headache that day.
All the front yards were deep,
Nestled back from the street.
With a walkway of concrete
And large, shady trees.
Every morning, I waited
to yell, then retreat,
When the giant man walked by,
never noticing me.
All I knew was the little
They let children know,
That he lived with his mother,
On the far side of town.
He was big and slumped over
And walked very slow.
Not a person remembered
Him utter a word.
As he passed by our walkway,
I readied my shout,
Then remembered, "Play quietly",
Mom's head hurt today.
I recall as he stopped,
Slowly turning about,
Then he started his blunderous
Footsteps my way.
I was puzzled and frozen,
A chill up my spine.
When he reached our front steps,
I could hear mother say,
"Hello Billy", then ask
if his mom was okay,
As she latched the screen door,
Nudging me back away.
Mother always recounted
What happened that day.
And she spoke of the good heart
That lay deep within.
It was only that once
I missed shouting his way.
Billy worried, not hearing
His four year old friend.
Gene Bourne
08-17-14
.One Summer Long ago
The wind played idly with white puffy clouds
The sun shining brightly against the loud blue sky
The horizon shimmered and danced . Islands of white ,dotted the Aegean Stretching away into shrouds of summer haze and misty beings
Waves crashed onto golden sands of deserted beaches Baked by the sun ,unmarked for eons
Whispering above the wind, siren songs lured weary bones to rest , as billowy white sails float along to the west The great long oars sweeping the painted faces of warships majestically making their way among long forgotten places
Dusty footprints in the earth lead to visions of beasts, gods and beauty This is the land of which I will regale A young man of thirty , on a quest for adventure and tall tales
,a necklace adorned thy crown o mighty queen A pure reflection of peace and beauty ,a rare sight to be seen Now at war they seek your treasure , the lust for crown and glory And to the victor ,go the spoils
Our mighty warrior killed the queen as his pleasure
In drunken glory. He went back to war , and died for his sins
his lover grieving went back home to her kin, He to his lonely grave , and she accepting her fate Tossed the necklace into the sea as her heart learned to hate
recounted many times , written in poems buried by sands ,lost amidst the memories of long ago ,the map and all the treasure of their war the story of their lovers parting day Why she tossed it so unceremoniously into the bay Calling upon her Gods to protect and curse her secret of jewels from her death to her rebirth Cursed and forgotten The secret taken to her final bed
Generations apart, a legacy passed down in poem and song I, the younger son, took it upon myself to undo the wrong to recover and to keep ,the jewels hidden in the deep , And close the door for all time , this legend of diamonds ,sapphires and gold I would not rest till I conquered my goal, my mighty quest
Copyright © jim joyce | Year Posted 2
How do I love thee, let me count the ways
Now give an ear to hear what my Heart says
Give audience to Mind to speak at will
My Soul will testify and won't be still
I love thee!
Heart:
I love thee with emotion's thundering dance
With passion's stormy show and calm romance
I love thee with each beat that life bestows
The strength of love I feel with each day grows
I Love Thee!
Mind:
I love thee with discernment's guiding light
Revealed to me are weaknesses that blight
I love thee for I know though thorns may sting
Your beauty is song I choose to sing
I love Thee!
Soul:
I love thee with the lasting hand of time
When life is done, I'll love in heaven's clime
I love thee with immortal constancy
For you're my all in all, my sovereignty
I Love Thee!
Recounted are the ways: heart, mind, and soul
My love, you are the one that makes me whole!
I Love Thee!
For Mystic Rose's How Do I Love Thee Contest
February 20, 2016
Story of Afghanistan
The barren land of my birthplace
Green at times but screening a rocky face
Known for thousands of years for its warrior race
Let me tell you the truth,
No one really wanted this “space”.
Up until two lions began prying around
Initially, just fooling around
Afterwards, casting off their cannon sound
Resembling the 6th night of an infant’s fête
Building their castles, and so began the burial grounds.
The lions pledged to crush the other
With a master plan
Dividing the blood brothers
Such was the instruction of the queen mother
As the clans clashed and killed one another.
The chiefs were swallowed by the promise of gold
The mullahs were swapped for the hollow soul
The seniors by the fire recounted and foretold
The purpose for the lion’s vehemence
This story definitely in time will unfold.
The old grew timeworn
Waiting for their young ones to return home
The teenagers free born
Screamed out of their mosques’ domes
Come and join us in this struggle
Faced with the crusaders of the Church of Rome,
But little did they know,
No one will return but the maimed men to a funeral home.
The sturdier lion won the combat
But what has become of my Afghanistan
The wolf in a sheep’s disguise
Has spoiled my jade paradise
My heart denies it but I may have bombed my youthful chums,
This is now a global land-dwelling for bums and slums!
The lion wishes to be unveiled this time
So he promises to take the last dime
After all it pays to cooperate in war crimes!
He roars in a deafening cry
I bring Democracy to this land
With loads of cash in one hand
A whip in the back hand--forgetting the long years of perfidy
I now declare and demand
This is the new Promised Land.
A woman of this realm is exposed with a promise
She is liberated by democracy
Famous on national publications like the story of Pocahontas
She’s affirmed independent and agreed to arise out of the darkness
As the saga is read to the United States Congress
She exhales
And anticipates the lion’s hunger
Waiting for the day when she will be veiled, unveiled, and then veiled again
Not by ordinary men
But by inscription of law.
Thank you for sealing the decree!
Under the sea foam and skipping on waves
while holding those regal heads up high;
their beauty is pure and their magic draws raves
into the deep under moonlit sky.
Many a ship filled with sailors and such
had witnessed the mystery of their dark eyes.
Some even swore they had felt a cold touch,
had stood stock still and become mesmerized.
Womanly body and tail of a fish
were what they remembered when telling their story.
Some even were granted their every last wish;
some quite overcome by tumultuous glory.
Those tales through the years grew from timid to strong
as men of all sorts recounted their fate;
meeting beautiful creatures who burst into song
and gathered at a most alarming rate.
You may doubt these tales but just watch the deep sea
and wonderment will surely fascinate you.
As waves overtake you you're suddenly free;
some glorious being sails you through the blue.
ON THE ROAD TO DAMASCUS
By Roy Merritt
(A Humorous take on the life of the Apostle Paul)
I was on the road to Damascus to give them Christians hell
I was on the road to Damascus and never had I failed
I was on the road to Damascus when suddenly struck blind
I was on my way to Damascus I had Jesus on my mind
And then there before me was Jesus Christ Himself
Whom they say was with God and in Heaven there He dwelt
And he asked why I persecuted Him didn’t the Romans do enough
Why I made life hard for Christians on them so tough
I told Him I was a Jew Yahweh was my Lord
And following you Jesus Christ I surely can’t afford
I’ll tell you why you should Saul that too I’ll tell
If you don’t follow me in death awaits you hell
Well that was enough for me and on I went to the city
Still blind and full of fear and much was the pity
So I went to see Ananias who sprinkled water o’er my head
And then I was with the Christians and did was Jesus said
I was full of grief and shame for what I’d done to Stephen
And Jesus said to me relax now I say we’re even
So He sent me on to Antioch with Barnabas by my side
And on to Asia Minor and there we did reside
I wrote a letter to the Galatians recounted why I came
And all that I had done and cast away my shame
And I blinded Elymas the Magician whose words sore disputed
What we said to others our teachings he refuted