Best Siberia Poems
One need not read her horoscope to know
this woman's fate, and though wisteria
cascades sweet blooms of lavender like snow
outside her door, it's still Siberia
pervading the dimensions of her mind,
for not one fickle thought or patch of moss
can thrive where bleakest shadows are enshrined.
No bittersweet, no dew drops. . . only loss
surrounds her heart. She tries to reminisce,
but like a barren continent grown cold,
she can't perceive one particle of bliss.
She's clasping grief and cannot be consoled!
Wisteria's perfume is in the breeze,
but in her soul remains a winter's freeze.
Professor Hapgood’s studies on ancient maps were fixed
Einstein said his theories should be added to history’s mix
Perhaps it proved too big a leap for other minds to take
But his ancient culture findings, Hapgood would not forsake
6000 BC, before Egypt’s pyramids were built
Millennia before Pompeii’s lava had been spilled
Or small fishing boats hugged the Mediterranean Coast
And Columbus’s “daring” voyage was not even close
Ancient seafarers drew with astounding accuracy
Maps of the world they once knew, the fishermen’s legacy
Antarctica sans ice and closer to the equator
The Mid-Atlantic Ridge once an above-sea sky scraper
Siberia touching Alaska with no Bering Strait
(Palin could have seen Russia without snow from her back gate)
Cuba, England, Sweden, too, on these maps appear clearly
But Sweden’s fully glacial; England’s blanket an ice sheet
If we believe Hapgood, a civilization once thrived
Thousands of years before language; maps keep memories alive
Technology to chart the seas was lost in ancient times
With latitude and longitude measurements quite refined
Sea kings’ cities may have succumbed during the last Ice Age
Surviving nations lost their skill when history turned a page
Geography to be found again when the Earth had healed
“Discoverers” reinvented the forgotten ship’s wheel
Magellan, perhaps not the first to sail around the globe
Admiral Byrd not the first man to visit the South Pole
Spirits from a colony of seafarers can be found
From deep beneath Antarctic ice, they try to spread the word
But laugh they must as scientists forecast global warming
And man attempts to alter life and heed their dire warning
Shifting poles? Natural cycles! Men would be well advised
To study the maps Hapgood found and open their closed minds
To learn more about Professor Charles Hapgood’s map studies and the comments made by
Albert Einstein, you can visit http://www.crystalinks.com/crustal.html.
Sacred Dwellers
I am of Native American born
To be caretaker of Mother Earth sworn
I heal with powers, a medicine man
Tribal’s wise supernatural shaman
I am a sacred carved out Totem Pole
To recount familiar legends, a toll
Insightful spirit animals pride in
Taking a part as a loved guardian
I’m the buffalo hunted to survive
Tipis, meat, fur, vital to stay alive
I’m the turtle known as the peacemaker
That’s firm, serene never a forsaker
I am lizard, killing me brings bad luck
The creation story I play, soul struck
I butterfly bringer of dreams, arrange
Transformation and life cycle of change
I the wolf early ancestor of thee
Totem animal, wise, social, and free
Icon salmon renews energy rays
The legend conveys, respect natures ways
* Shaman translation- The word originates from the language of the Tungus people of Siberia. It can directly be translated literally to “one who works with fire”.
* Tipis (teepees)
Wrong is right and right is wrong.
Long is short and short is long.
Black is white and white is black.
Toilet paper we may lack.
All is zero. Zero’s all.
There’s no writing on the wall.
Down is up and up is down.
The scientist is now a clown.
Toes need hands and hands need feet.
Siberia does not need heat.
Cold is hot and hot is cold.
The old are young; the young are old.
Kitties bark and dogs meow.
There is no need of money now.
In shadows, shine. In sunlight, lurk.
He who works hard is a jerk.
Harsh noises blind, and snow storms burn.
No child is left behind. All learn!
Illogic see and reason lose.
Never have to pay your dues!
Dead’s alive; alive is dead.
To sleep well, do not go to bed!
Straight is crooked; Crooked’s straight.
Does heaven even have a gate?
Hell is heaven; heaven’s hell.
All humanity is well.
Light is dark and dark is light.
Peaceful earthlings like to fight.
The rich are poor; the poor have riches.
Politics leave us in stiches.
Night is day and day is night.
Right is wrong and wrong is right.
Sept. 11, 2021
For the Nonsense Rhyme Poetry Contest of charles messina
Now for 'A BRIAN STRAND 1093' Poetry Contest
I was taken from this life
in the black night, blindfolded
to be clubbed to death
so that I
might be born again
in spirit song, dance and name
given by my great ancestor
who, ten thousand years ago or more,
crossed the Bering land bridge from
Siberia to Cowichan and the Salish Sea
warm land of the raven,
the black bear and the salmon.
I have suffered
four hundred years
of dislocation of the soul
in this barren culture, nameless
but for “primitive squaw.”
I have lost
Tamanawas, the sacred ritual dance
the Potlatch feast of giving and
my children and my language.
I will endure
four days and nights
confined and cold and hungry
while all around the rhythmic pulse
of elders’ drumming, chanting
guides me back in time and space
to voices still resounding
stories of a dancing flame
light upon the earth
And I will rise in cedar forests
and walk the clamshell middens
feel our language on my skin
and see with startled eyes new life
the Soulfire I’ve been given.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
This was for the Shaman's Way contest but I think I missed it.
Cowichan --used to be pronounced coWEEchan now it's usually said like, Cow i chan.
The Canadian government outlawed many Coast Salish practices until the 1960's--the Spirit Quest, Potlatch feast and
Tamanwas dance among them. Children were placed in residential schools, away from their families, and were forbidden
to speak their mother tongue. More recently, the spirit quest ritual has been revived as (loosely) described in the
poem. However, it is also now used as a form of "intervention" to help address an array of problems frequently
attributed to colonization (e.g., drug and alcohol misuse). So, where in the past, young people would go off into the
forest voluntarily, it is now often the case, (at least in Cowichan) that young people are taken from their beds in the
night. Initiates are first symbolically "clubbed to death" then "reborn" after multiple days of ritual practices.
I love my country Nigeria,
Though marred by malaria.
I've a bouquet of sweet aria,
Blooming in my heart's rear,
Which my country must hear,
Else it flees to Rhea.
I love my country Nigeria.
It tilts like the Tower of Pisa,
But stable as the Pyramid of Giza.
Easily rocked by a soft breeze,
But stands a storm with ease.
The reason for my aria!
I love my country Nigeria,
But wish it were a nation,
Not a cluster--an appellation--
Of dunes and a stretch of savanna,
Of rocky hills and valleys of banana,
Of mashes, inter alia.
I love my country Nigeria
Not the vultures in peacock's feathers,
Or the hawks that strut in blathers,
Who shrill and shrink our coffers,
Swaggering while the nation suffers.
Soon en route to Siberia.
I will sing my aria for Nigeria,
When the dirge sounds with pomp;
And we bounce, hop and romp
At the death of our foe--corruption.
We joy in the birth of our Nation,
Brace to grow Nigeria.
I’ll live my aria for Nigeria.
No more stroll along unsure course.
Quality’s noble, mediocrity, a curse.
Beauty wafts from garlands of praise
For the legion of merits we raise.
A nation truly Nigeria!
My dream glows for Nigeria
Where heads bow to mourn a sparrow;
An infant's death, a loss to tomorrow.
People recoil from trampling an ant;
Leaders serve with honor, not flagrant,
'Cause we love Nigeria.
You see why I love Nigeria?
We cherish what God has given.
Nation's goals are purpose-driven,
So we ponder else we squander,
Aware we soon have to render,
In line with God's criteria.
© 2015
In Nursing School
In nursing school they have us learn all the proper medical words,
Because in Greek and Latin we defecate, but we never make turds,
And what's worse than learning about all these dreadful diseases
Is forgetting my English to replace it with obfuscating medicaleses,
Lest we forget that great chemical known as adenosine triphosphate
Which is the powerhouse of the cells, or did she say an exudate?
And though I've been to India and seen the river Ganges,
I never knew my fingers were really called phalanges,
And we must learn about colitis, encephalitis and diverticulitis,
But I hope these germs don't decide to get up and bite us.
You can't find out a lot about someone by palpating the patella,
Not even if the patient is female, or if he is a fella.
And we must distinguish anemia, diarrhea and gonorrhea
From the almost identical condition known as leukemia.
Sex is one thing, I think, not one of us has time for,
For after school it's off to work until you're blind or
Wishing you had never heard of cellular necrosis,
Not to mention the hundred kinds of psychoses and neuroses.
And then there's that other major hurdle called getting adequate funding,
And if you can't get a loan or a grant they'll have you do the plumbing.
It seems the clinical locations are never really near ya,
In fact most of them are deep inside Siberia,
And if out in the Sun recall that your skin can get tumorous,
For the study of medicine is serous – very, and hardly ever humerus.
Your medical books will have you believe you've every disease known
From autophobia to an ecchymosis to cerumen on the bone.
But at least there are no bullies insisting we are all big wimps,
For studying things like urine, saliva, bile, blood and lymph;
And if there's one more part with the outlandish name of buccinator,
I think I'll lose it all and become a hallucinator.
Wanderlust.
When I was young, and just a girl
I wanted to travel around the world -
Casablanca, Marrakesh,
Rio de Janeiro and Budapest.
The more exotic the sound of the name,
the more I was drawn, like a moth to a flame.
I studied the atlas,
and stuck in pins
to highlight the places
where I would be going.
I planned plane journeys from East to West,
from Korea to Siberia,
and back again.
My aunt had a globe in her living room
and I spun it round and round, in a world of my own.
When it was getting dark, the globe seemed to shine
with continents so vast, and oceans sublime,
each night I imagined the people I would meet,
and how I’d introduce myself,
and what they’d say to greet
this small town girl with big,wide eyes,
that gazed into the distance, as if she was surprised.
Copyright Suzy Davies 07/29/2016. All Rights Reserved.
Holodomor Genocide
Native of Ukraine and Soviet Union,
Known once for my independence,
Was pitied tobrutal artificial famine,
Exporting our grain,and leaving us to die,
Declared Kurkul under Stalin's policy,
Shipped to remote uninhabited Siberia,
Left to die of famine,
I was one of the millions,
Once the landlords now riches to rags,
Ghost of hunger that engulfed us all,
Even our innocent kids,
Many nights of darknessand severe ache,
More in heart than in the stomach,
Sun brought no shine,
Zero hope as deathdanced around,
As if wolves driven from the woods,
We ate our own bodies,
Every moment souls died a new death,
Horrible Helplessness, hue and cry around,
Walking amongst corpses,
the good were first to die,
Cannibalism survived,
Could morals stay high ?
Survival a mystic miracle,
Made to deny any famine in public,
Robert conquest termed it 'Harvest of Sorrow'
Decree by Parliament proves it worst of genocide!
Written October 20th, 2014
On Holodomor In Ukraine in 1928
For contest' Genocide' by Cyndi Macmillan
Awarded 1st place
I am the biggest and the strongest of all the wild cats.
No I do not live in Africa. Sheesh! Why would you ask that?
You can find me in Southeast Asia, India too.
My cousins in Siberia would really scare you!
I scratch tree trunks to scare other tigers away.
I roam at night, rarely during the day.
I will travel twelve miles to find my prey.
If I told you my pattern, it would give me away.
I am a meat eater, my colors are pretty.
I swim and climb trees, my blind cubs are bitty.
I will kill another male’s cubs if I mate with their mother.
I hunt buffalo, deer and wild pig with my brother.
I am a Tiger
The snow mountains bowed heavily
As Morgan-Kara touched its base
The spirits silently circled
Waiting for him to call
People watched in reverence
As ancestors came forth
But dark clouds soon gathered
For the God of the Dead was livid
No touching the dead Morgan-Kara
Bellowed the mighty voice
But silently Morgan-Kara brought forth
The dead one by one
God of the Dead flew on raven wings
To let the High God know
To Morgan-Kara it was just another day
The High God trapped his soul
Sealed it in a glass bottle
People cowered in fear
Morgan-Kara retreated in a cave
He silently played his magic drum
And climbed with it to the heaven above
The great Shaman now turned into a wasp
Bit the High God on his head
Startled the God left the bottle
Which he carried back to earth
As Morgan-Kara emerged
People bowed in faith and cheer
For here was Morgan-Kara
Reborn again and again
Based on the legends of Lake Baikal, Siberia
IF YOU THINK YOU’RE THE ONLY ONE…
“A quiet and modest life,” says he in German, the most successful of them/us all, “brings more joy than a pursuit of success bound with constant unrest.”
Albert Einstein’s hand-written tip to a courier at the Imperial Hotel
Tokyo, November 1922
If you think you’re the only one to record the way the world’s run
Know that every top’s naked spun when the wrapped string’s outrun
Everyone’s in such a hurry to step out of this collapsing quandary
Even if the one and only query is left without comforting certainty
Everybody wants a piece of posterity to be part of everlasting history
Even at the cost of mimicry if only to keep shoring up sheer vanity
Fire burns out in an empty shell the way the poem slim content quell
Who reads for meaning to feel well means to read more feeling swell
Roads lead to where one wants to go, lines come to an end in vertigo
To each ego own voice sounds best, who renounces the will but hobo
Tell this to a Cervantes five years in quarries after the Battle of Lepanto
Confront Dostoeyeski with firing squad again after four years in Siberia
Tear Theo from Van Gogh’s bosom after Gauguin’s bullish loud hysteria
Tease Mozart in his deathbed with the sleepless scores of his concerto
There’s no quiet in a modest life for billions will step eager on your face
Our world honours the sham strong the phoney the fake the half-baked
The weak work all day not to crave success but to fend off all disgrace
No true mother harassed by rape abandons the baby for rapists’ sake
Success is always drenched in sweat except for those fils de Putes
Who inherited the earth long before the oldest profession followed suit
(c) T. Wignesan - Paris, 2017
MAP OF EUROPE - OBJECTUM SEXUAL *
O coastline with cool expanse of blue Atlantic
Your curves and indentations drive me frantic.
Sometimes thrust out peninsularly;
Sometimes studied docilely and scholarly;
Land stretching from White sea and Iberia
To Black Sea and Siberia.
O Europe, my virgin obsession geographical
Is verging on possession sexual.
Other continents are jealous - Africa is so island-poor, so peninsula-penniless,
And of rivers, capes and bays it has many less:
It would give a pretty penny to have just one Iberia, Jutland, or Scandinavia
To excite its smooth coast and other geographic behavior.
Australians would love islands with romantic names Capri Lesbos Rum Eig Frisian
Or an archipelago-infested sea like the Aegean.
South Americans cry themselves to sleep at night because they lack
Such Nordic coastal features as Trondheim or Skaggerak
Beijing would give all the tea in China because she must
Satisfy her desire for an Italian-shaped peninsula, a bootless lust.
Of course Asia feels no envy, for it has kukri-shaped Kamchatka
And the only large island in the world, Sumatra,
Which rhymes with the best singer in the world, Sinatra.
This Map of Europe is something I just have to possess.
My life is incomplete without its caress.
If I didn’t have it, my world would be a mess.
…………………………………………………………………………………………………….
NOTES
1 * “Objectum Sexual” is defined on GOOGLE as erotic
love towards an object of any sort.
2 N. B. This poem is purely fiction
Orang Bangla, Orang Bangla
Whither goest thou?
Poor Orang!
Need a job, right now?
Come hither, come hither
No worry, at all
Money is calling you, dear Bangal.
Sweep my premises, cut the backyard trees,
I’ll sacrifice full ten ringits.
Need you lodging?
Why am I here, Orang?
Go thither, go thither
Live with the cows, there’s dung
Only, innocent animal litter.
Coming straight from Kualalampur?
What?
From Muradpur to Kualalampur?
I see, you speak some English,
You educated? Want to establish
By working in Ringitpur?
Ok, Orang, start journey
To feed your family distant
You need to eat on this instant?
Long journey? Long time?
Orang, so what?
Need you rest?
NO, Orang, do your best.
I’m a kind Malay-Tamil,
Ok Orang, take two biscuits for meal.
What? Tea? No tea, no tea,
Life’s not so easy.
Now Orang, lets talk business,
Give me your passport
Life, after all, is not all easiness.
Ten ringit full
And live by the cow and bull.
What? More?
Payment on weekend?
You’ll get it at your life’s end
In Malaysia.
Hey Orang, what? Eight weeks’ ringit?
Look Orang, you have no account
Even cows steal here
To me your money is safe and sound.
What? Need to telephone to home?
Why bother them? Here you are at home.
Tell again-
You have a sweetheart? Need to phone her?
NO. Go and work-
She has no wings to fly elsewhere,
Bangla’s Tunku Zafar.
Will not work?
Your father will work.
Want to leave Malaysia?
Without passport you are in Siberia.
Why persist, Orang?
You came here through water and forests dense
On Tarzan visa.
Should I call your father, police?
‘Hello, Inspector Tansri Wahab’-
What? Will work?
You naughty, orang otang
On a mobile phone a distraught mother listens
How her teenage daughter was being torn and eaten
Alive by a bear and its three children. In her own voice
She cried and said, “Mum, by a bear I am being eaten”
A nineteen year old Olga gave almost an hour-long
Running commentary about her agony all along
In three separate calls very, very disheartening
She cried and said, ”Mum, by a bear I am being eaten”.
In second call she said, “The bear left and came back”
With her cubs and are eating me with renewed attack”
Hearing this any mother would have died there and then
She cried and said, “Mum, by a bear I am being eaten”
In third call she said, “Mum, it is not hurting anymore
Now I don’t feel any pain, mum, everything is over
Forgive me, love you so much” the call cut and deadened
She cried and said, “Mum, by a bear I am being eat"
+++++++
April 24, 2014
Formj: Kyrielle
Seventh Place win
Contest: Helpless by Cindy Macmillan
The rhyme-scheme: aabB, ccbB, ddbB,eebB
In a recent event Olga Moskalyova, 19, gave a horrific hour-long running commentary
on her own death in three separate calls to her mother as the wild animals mauled
her in the village of Termalniy, near Petropavlovsk Kamchatskiy, in the extreme east
of Siberia, Russia. Her Stepfather was also killed in the brutal attack.