Best Scatterings Poems
A view of the ragged woodland from
The window:-
Slender branched trees that shed
From high above to low below;
The faint, mauven peaks
Smattered with barely visible
Scatterings of drifted snow;
Across the matted undergrowth
A bronzed carpet of copper coloured
Leaves
Whose rusting hue,
Momentarily ignited by stray
Sunbeams weakly smouldering,
Briefly refurbished -
Deceives with all the colours of a
Rainbow...
From vibrant red through to shy
Hints of indigo;
Those vague outlines indicating
Receding hills;
Here, arising, long ago, every waking
Dawning,
The creaking structures
Of groaning and imposing mills;
Soon a slow thawing that quickly
Spills
Into the trickling replenishments
Of many gushing and silvery little
Rills.
Enchantment gripped me!
And I found myself wistfully
Thinking...
Maybe, perhaps, maybe, somewhere,
Just behind where the great
Flattening Orb
Is now rapidly shrinking,
That I might, by perchance, find,
If I did so hope to bravely dare,
To happen upon a hidden and
Sedentary way of life up there?
That, forgotten, has turned its
Back on the social conflicts
Plagued by the curses of ingrained
Vice;
Encumbering a soul with its petty
Squabblings,
Imposing upon with demands and
Avarice...
When placing unnecessary burdens
On a honest bodies daily call
Of grinding toil and wearisome
Strife!
And still stood,
With hands outstretched upon the
Painted sill,
At the waist half-bent,
Now troubled by quiet mutterings
In an inexplicable sorts
Of self-imposed discontent,
My staid consciousness almost
Unawares,
As, momentarily distracted,
I hesitated, and, unseeing,
Inattentively stared...
Until...
A ragged chapter of cawing Daws,
Loudly jabbering overhead,
Suddenly wheeled -
And upwardly soared!
Whereupon, in murderous haste,
Awkwardly fled
When laboriously stealing away
Back inside the stubbled fields...
Thus causing me to slowly straighten;
Whilst, with a singular heartfelt pang,
Liken a moorland mist slowly rolling
Over
That indivisibly conceals...
Drew shut the sullen curtains, which,
Heavily embroidered with indeterminate
finality,
Dejectedly hang...
Each draped aside of the cold
Reveals.
I must have encountered her on a hill,
Where scatterings of ferns deepened
Through insolent winds that shivered
While watching her carry a basket of daisies…
She is Loveliness, forlorn in a drowsy pathway,
More forlorn than languid endings
Or all that death can ever reach.
By trying to alienate myself from this image
A weariness brushed on a Dresden face so pale
That the luster in her eyes became stardust ,
While I designed a self-tumbling act as a ploy
To gaze at her closer , oh one divine mystery.
Just there, etches of beauty flatter her hair,
Like a dream capricious as twilight leaving
And in her almond eyes, the moon-flakes glimmer
How by chance, this silhouette found me breathless,
That I did gravitate through her bloom, weakening--
She, an air between death and forever… Loveliness on a hill.
'2019 Poetry Marathon Mile 5' Contest for Mark Toney
Re-submitted 12/18/2018
Gathering a plethora,
of abandoned blossoms high and low,
a covered basket and pockets full.
Light footsteps through shady trees
releasing dainty blooms for me,
nature’s soulful aliment like a
rainbow placed strategically
for a little girl's innocent eyes.
Blooms falling into my hands
on a wooded path for one,
then scattering to the wind,
a fanciful dance, free of
pending frailty; prancing
petals take flight
before their glory fades...
How can I preserve
God’s majestic beauty,
petals adorning a late
spring breeze? The newly
green earth and trees -
watch me, watch them.
I am but one girl
gathering blooms
to press between
pages of time or
seep into an intoxicating
potpourri. I could take
a snapshot of these
sacred scatterings but
never could a photo
fill my senses -
the sweet scents,
sounds and touch
of blooms on
a wooded path
and breezes all
around my face,
the sight of God’s
majestic beauty
in a magical place.
If I had one wish it would be, to share
these magical moments with you.
Written: January 1st, 2023
Rumi's verse, "The desert beckons us as if it were the oasis,"
____________________________________________
An endless, lifeless moor—arid and fright.
A withering sun whips souls—toils to ignite.
Sans shelter or relief, ghost winds stand.
Dry air as shriveled wits seek relief sight.
Spurs appeared as ripples on the sand.
Hidden amid the tall grass of the land.
Quench your thirst at the watery oasis.
Our ravenous thirst for water will expand.
Amid a kaleidoscope of queries rapacious.
Life shrinks to grain of sand on daily basis.
Amid a dust of labor, a haven of serenity.
I was scared upon grasping the base hits.
We're like sand amid an arid sea of dexterity.
Southern blaze stores a feverish posterity.
As a tunic for our ethereal souls improve
Soar twice through the oasis of temerity.
Sky is drawn by daffodil and drifting groove.
Crisp air, soft breeze, and azure feet prove.
Bees buzz over heather, as marigolds rise.
Eagles trim their fierce feathers—rabbits move
Staring into gloom may uncover a prize.
For a dwarf area, glimpse an oasis of apprise.
This domain, this desert, endures best as gold.
It is highly precious than quartz grains size.
Scatterings of color that are scarce and bold.
Covered in a mixture of brown and green folds.
Such a proximity, yet so distant, yet so distinct.
We were transported back to the prior era, told.
A spring that flows with pure water hint
A lush green zone in the arid land succinct
An atmosphere devoid of noise and disarray
Away from adjacent noise or motion instinct.
My morning begins here
Early morning wanderings
down a dew drenched pathway,
between windswept irises
and pine cone scatterings
Listening to dawn's whispers,
sweet words of love
wafting through sleeping honeysuckle,
speaking softly to my heart
I pause in the wondrous serenity
of a watercolor sunrise at the gate
at the end of your walk, smiling for I know
my perfect morning begins here...with you
Good morning Soupers
COMPANION POEM TO :
ODE TO MYRRH TREE
So Myrrh stood in centre of desert
wild winds through branches delivering untruths plaited with sorrow
dust particles choking cacti
scatterings of sparse rain made
no patter ~
silence w a i t i n g
white became her trunk scrubbed with
daunting sunrays through sluggish day
undulating endless sand dunes …
panted
time miracle-less, no veils shielded
raw core, passive ~
lizards l o u n g e d
odourless her branches lost seduction
no oily lubricants for pear-shaped flesh
brittle bark snapped in lost loneliness
beauty a faded glory buried
d e e p
beetles spent by breeding atop
harsh grit of ancient desert f o s s i l i s e d
mystical myrrh magic was no more
her stump dissipating into fragments
sore
breathless desert discerned, exhausted
camels, lashes threadbare, kneeled surrender
tongues brittle papyrus into electrons
lips parched ~
lines of m e l a n c h o l y
Tree of kings, empresses and prophets !
where have colourful canvassed tents in
sandstorms gone with patterned serpents curling to tunes of alluring pipes,
smoke honey eyes, when limbs twined warm ~
sensual t o g e t h e r
the All-Embracing laments
languid
across desert’s fierce micro flames
sweat dripping ~ His amber inlays
melting into black beads
disappearing
soundless screams ache
starving l o n g i n g
ages of loveless waiting
what is beauty but terror flipped ?
wrinkles speak of struggle and beasts
time tightening grip across
opEN
s p a c e
scent slipping ashen dregs
as desert creatures cackled an end
stars dripping crystalline sorrow
myrrh momentarily disappeared …
___________________________
Published: Edge of Humanity Magazine:
June 26
Placed : 5th Premier Contest
Sponsor : Brian Strand
April 26
Water lapping at edge of the boat beneath the silence of the sky
Swaying branches of mopane trees and fish eagles cry
Wind of changing seasons and melting palates of hue
in the blood red sunset glow and murky silvery water blue
Elephants in numbers dot the shores
hippo’s and crocodiles are at the core
of many memories and visions of old
Lake Kariba, in land sea
full of tiger fish and bream
The endless blue that roles into the distance
where the sun rises and falls in panoramic vista
The skeletons of petrified monuments scattered in the sea
forests of pre historic trees swaying in the breeze
It wasn’t always peaceful, tranquil, and still
nature has no chance to relax and withdraw
Scheming and dreaming in the depths of men’s mind
Up Up Up goes the building and climbs
Man made dam, Damn big problem
How could this feet of engineering the power of ages old be so easy
to tame such a wild beast as the zambezi
POURING OUT THE CONCERT
RAMMING THE RODS OF STEEL
DRIVING THE WATER BACK INTO THE HILLS
HOWEVER, THE RIVER REFUSED TO YEILD
THE WALL BEGAN TO TIP, BUCKLE, AND KEEL
NOT ONCE, TWICE, WATER MARCHED THROUGH
LIKE A FACELESS WARRIORS, DESTROYING THE BARRIER
THE FORCE OF THE RIVER WOULD NOT BE SUBDUED
LIKE ALL NATURAL EVENTS, THE WAVES BEGAN TO SUBSIDE
THE SOLDIERS OF BLUE WITHDREW
UP WENT THE WALL, COMPLETED, IT WAS ONLY A MATTER OF TIME
Animals and people lost in the rising tide
from river, to dam, to lake to inland sea
Great and panoramic became the horizon wide
Like a whisper on the edge of wind
was a grand concert of ages gone by
Played out by wildlife, land, water, and sky
A harmonic existence of sublime serenity
Life here brings closure to one’s perspective
the sent of dust and adventure is quiet infective
The place of the skeleton trees, mountain passes, and copper sun still
where the stars in the universe, scatterings like lost thoughts, visions, and chants chill
across the forging path, that strides through this african wilderness blue
Lake Kariba, the artery of the north, run straight, run true.
On the way to Parkview hospital,
while driving along the Pacific rim,
under a thick blanket of fog,
our car pushed hard against a northeast wind
A winding road through muddy hills
The highway strewn with mud and soggy leaves
from patches of leaning eucalyptus
Wild scatterings of tall and ancient trees
Around each curve a reddish glare of headlights,
forked, and slashed their garish designs
upon your father's anxious face,
I took deep breaths and counted time
Lights accentuated the grimace of his angst
He kept silent, in such firm distraction,
and curiously seeing his face light up in the dark,
eased the grimace of my own contractions
Silhouettes of signs and trees
flashing by in lightning's fury
Windshield wipers keeping rhythm
indicating "hurry!....hurry!"
Our new found light showed us where to turn
and soon we curved around the bay,
the winding road led where we learned
young confidence... can show the way
You found your way into our arms
to a place that owned our hearts
You wrapped us with a cord of charms
and changed to light, a night so dark
When morning came to take you home
The sun broke through across the land
And new adventures waited then
A brand new winding road began
_____________________________________________________
For Kelly Deschler's Contest: "Just Down The Road"
Yo,
Dis poem is in honor of manic mistresses who war against the fleeting flesh,
Yo, dis poem is honor of schizophrenic Don Quixotes, swingin' at windmills of panic
stricken consciousness,
Yo Dis poem,
Yo Dis poem is honor of maestro's chasin' the muse of the logos made flesh,
In words, the only comfort they possibly know,
Flowing in a reverie of ecstatic epiphany,
Caressing solace, defeating the alienation of solitude,
The man sat staring at the fractured scatterings of a generation that had forsaken kindness,
And the woman saw him, and outstretched her hand, but the agent of chaos grabbed her,
Purpose, he said, purpose,
And the angels wept,
Yo, genius shining through the tears of fear made real,
Reeling, peeling, away layers of miraculous fish feeding thousands,
Miraculous words, healing a generation,
Begging Christ for a moment's rest,
From the war that wages within,
Men sing songs of triumph,
But courage is when your very mind won't have you,
And your heart, mocks you with its mercurial caprice,
Genius shining through hilarious and cacophonous laughter,
Outraged and astounded,
Dumbfounded and incredulous,
At how no one can feel this,
Pain that seems so salient,
Raging seas of foaming mouths in ascetic white rooms of institutionalized slavery,
Thieves profiting on the sound of crying children,
Praying, wishing that their parents would piece together the puzzle of sanity,
And rest in the greenhouse of sanctuary,
But God won't have it.
For this suffering is but a moment's mist,
In the calculus of eternity,
And in the end, a tree of inspiration,
Emerges from the relentless voices,
And the world knows healing!
As the light dims and dances on the horizon
A menace stirs from its slumber, slinks from the shadows.
The game move to and fro, staying sit means certain death.
The eyes of death blink with certain deadly cunning,
paws step lightly and then begins the running.
The cry goes out to all, Life is being written in tooth and claw.
Animals become scatterings in the night, dust and sand dance between their feet.
The sound resonates slowly steadily, like the first rains of the season, until lighting strikes.
The roar is deafening, tooth and claw bearing.
The cry goes out, the shadows of terror are about.
Tawny flashes move back and forth, distress and fear prowl among the animals.
Brown eyes stair into the blackness of the night.
Knowing that courage musters to challenge the assault on their fallen comrade.
STANDING TO ATTENTION IN RANKS OF HOOVES AND HORNS
BORN TO BE WARRIORS OF THE BUSH, BUFFALO STAND TALL.
FORGED BY TRAILS OF NEAR DEATH AND ESCAPE
NEAR MISSES AND SWIPES OF CLAW AND PAW
FORM SCARES AND MARES ON THEIR THICK HIDE
WAVES OF FEIRCE RESISTANCE RISE AGAINST THE TEMPESTUOUS TIDE
Bombardment of bodies against that tawny terror.
Horns heave, shove, push, and move.
The earth beneath them quakes, shifts, and trembles under hooves.
However determination of suffocating and straggling terror.
Grips, bites, and holds.
The ranks brake and scatter, did there effort even matter.
No one knows, which way the battle would go.
The battles have been decisive,
Now the law of tooth and claw,
It has been written, sealed, and decided.
Breeders' Cannon Ball plays for days and decades even onto eras
Feeders on the bottom plus top down voodoo economics, no trickle
De-weeders? Why? Lawns are hype realistic so fake AF and anti-kith
Xeroscape like rape by statute not as consent is all we had and glad
as if LOVE LOVE like that is not welded onto the iron of our blood
our ICHOR revealed by the metal of my worth so all stop [fragment decay]
WE_SHE_BE and been found in the lost items bin or your heart box
Where few claim what they lost except employees that skim on whims
And random kids pretending to collect those sacred scatterings adding
Us all into the folk flying all stars from three to seven points and more
Up up to eleven and 127 plus 1 and another tenner and we are TEE H EX
Kate Bush ends spell of chant sans rhyme or beat and only written tell
By me that if your analyses searches for perfect supra-asymmetry balanced
By three points like MOEBIUS STRIPS or the landscape and felons well met
By the grads and all the Parises of Helen not Troy or Sparta or Hades subjects
Troy how you fell and flowed onto us oh Troy built but no Dear John JUDY Green
WE ALL LOVE YOU THEAFANIA MI MAYOR HERMANA o ONEE CHAN WO AI NI
all ways and four eve her all believe her and such is lillith plus you LADY^4
Trembling in early fall’s chill air,
I feel a giant dread gnawing at my insides
as I draw closer and closer
to the truth I seek.
Halfway across the large expanse of grass,
I’ll soon be past the line of trees
separating our property from the secluded woods.
Fighting terror’s grip, I press on.
I think of the many times he dragged himself in late.
How he lay beside me on our bed
breathing hard
and how he always thought I was asleep.
In the morning came the excuses:
He had to work late; he was at the gym;
he simply needed to be alone and took a long drive.
Those things did not explain his labored breathing
when he came to bed so late
or the way he dropped his gaze away from me
every time I questioned him about his whereabouts
the night before.
I had started noticing dirt beneath his fingernails.
I caught him a few times
scrubbing at it when he’d awoke from an exhausted sleep.
Last night I waited by the curtained window
and what I saw has brought me
to where I am right now this morning
walking past the tree line, following a trail
into the woods – a trail of foot prints
the same size as my husband’s feet.
It stops suddenly where I see weeds.
My heart is pounding.
Fresh soil has been upturned
and then packed down again
and covered carelessly by brush.
Beyond this spot,
I see other similar large rectangular spaces
covered with scatterings of brush.
I raise the shovel (the same shovel, which from our garage,
had been clean last time I checked it and which now
is covered on its edges with caked dirt.)
He thinks I buy the stories he’s been telling me.
How I dread what I’m about to do,
for soon I will uncover
what lies
beneath the lies.
Written Feb. 20, 2017 for Contest of John Lawless
Cumulus Nimbus
To build upon the plains
On sun ripened grass
Golden yellow
The blinding white
Glorious hammerheads
Towered to the sky
The coming rains
Colours ,can change too
In the heat of afternoons
The billowing white
Became blue
Darkened skies
Upon the plains
The first thunders
The coming rains
The flickering ,
of light
Upon the plains
Golden yellow
In sun ripened winter
In the growing purple
From the blue
From the white
In the cumulus
In cloud dark
The thunder has begun
I could see the rain,
in silver streams,
the hidden sun
The light, flickered
Scattering the light shards,
upon me
In the storms of Africa
The lightning arced,
across so many skies
In the wanderings
Upon the plains
In sun ripened winter grass
Golden yellow
The birds, startled cries
In the falling,
of sweet rains
The glorious spires to the sky
Of storms over Africa
In the scatterings of light
Colours ,can change too,
as did I
In the washed tones of purple and blue
The half-eaten, rotten remains of a culture
Still tastes like success to a ravenous vulture
To his chin, a sparkling teardrop drips
Into the abysmal from their slipping tight grips
Atop the tip of a sunken continent
Stands a risen giant monument
Under the growing weight of sadness
And the crushing pressure of darkness
Subdivided scatterings of a united mind
In the palm of a blistered, quivering hand
Shaking fists of fresh ideas punch the air
Revived from the coma of stifling fear
Unsheathed from an embryonic oil of riches
The face of a stillborn dug from mine trenches
Muddled from eons of a dysfunctional family feud
Blindsided by camouflage to fall to a poacher's foot
Lead by the neon glow of a golden tooth
Into the gaping jaw of a lion's mouth
To walk in our sandals of pride
Into the distant, eyes open wide
A nation built on slogans
The cost was sure at a bargain
And the growing waves of black and white fellowship
The returns of the struggle are in the townships
Turning onto reflection street again
Walking down the quietness of its path
Toward the Cathedral....This place of hope!
In need of direction, and strength to carry on
Finding myself often, drawn to this need
Amid the constant scatterings I find....
Pondering these past few months
The things that I have written
The words that I have spoken
The belief, that I have held....
A rift in time
Of a time, that I once knew!
The winds stirring, tossing all about
Rising before me now
These raybion's, of praelodial light
Light, within this moment
This moment in life ?A prodigy
It seems to have become!
A calling, however surreal to behold
For yet still
The shadows of the haunting's past
The sins of flesh's falls
Linger, within their chains of doubt
Mingled, with this cloud of uncertainty
The residue, of ones own weakness
Trying to navigate, beyond its relentless siege....
Opening the doors, to this ancient temple
This sanctuary, of fortified walls
Slowly, down its crimson aisles
Past the souls, that fill its golden pews!
Dreamistic views, of God's own prophets
Upon the altar
Stain glassed windows, with endless eyes....
Glancing, toward the cherubic figures
Statues....
Trickling waters, that bring them life!
Life, that brought me here
Bowing silently, at the feet of Christ....
Beyond the curtain long removed
By the blood, of "His Sacrifice!"
Mist in my eyes
Humbly upon my knees
Within the Holy, of the holies
I softly speak....Here am I, dear Lord
"Dear Lord!" ~
Turning onto reflection street
Walking down, the quietness of its path....
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
.....................A Prodigy