Best Sojourners Poems
Pull out the easel
set the canvas
positioned long and slender clean slate.
Sketch the figures huddled and dark-bound hostage
to charcoal-cooled coals
etching in shadow images;
Faceless entities
slipping in and out the background
earth-toned sojourners accepting, alone, quiet, dying;
Still the images in silence
hard and disfigured
grotesque horrors in place;
Somber soul-drained eyes
skeletal socket holes
buried in the heart and mind;
Let tears fall down their cheeks
in wonder, awe, and
fear of what happens next.
Acrylic primers dilute the wash in the storyline
flaking and cracking
tearing each soul and truth away;
Polyptych blended burnish bleeds
quiet, soft exuding
whimpered cries, asking why;
Chiaroscuro collages of death from life
fading to diluent breaths
the heartbeat of an unholy silence;
Graded gouache monochrome scraper boards
releasing sfumatos of singularities
communal lives sacrificed
Varnish the final rendition
camouflage the realities,
the actuality of what it represents,
Time immemorial in genocidal atrocities
of Native Americans, Cambodians, Hawaiians,
Jews, Rwandans, Bosnia, Darfur,.
When does it stop?
The never-ending list
life is more precious than this
until change comes
Paint the Picture Black and Gray
pray
then act.
In the mirrors of Moirai
kismet and karma kiss adoringly,
unaware of this betrayal they label as life.
In the hallucination we call birth,
words whisper like bitter winds,
composing a metaphorical manuscript,
weaving a quilt of invisible inflictions.
Silent screams serenade in childhood bloodshed,
where no messiah arrived to rectify sins of saints -
so some languish among abandoned souls.
Modern monsters no longer hide beneath the bed,
they feast amongst our freshly prepared banquets.
In a fathomless pit, I'm slaying prosaic demons,
before indigo hues turn ebony -
who are they to destroy my dreams?
I never heard the birds sing
in a playground of lucid lullabies.
I still recall the ghosts of featherless angels,
swaying upon swings adorned in garlands of grief.
Their eternal spirits flickering in silver embers,
evolving into perpetual vessels of reflection.
Confused in a realm of revolving doors,
tarnished paths only withhold wrath,
leaving behind trails of trauma,
where twisted trials lead to disfigured destinies.
Glass hearts only break in battles with burdens,
so our spirits become victim to Medusa eyes.
When each sigh flows like a slow poison,
we search for virgin daffodil dawns,
as distractions to numb the pain.
Fatigued from the battles from
those who rebel against our hearts -
we seek solace from sojourners of invigoration.
Blessed are those who connect with universal harp strings.
Who merge with the sacred aura of music.
Who notice the stars before twilight,
comprehending the glory of sunrise,
as an analogy against adversity.
I was not designed to be a flower,
contained in a snow globe,
covered in ivory flakes when shaken.
I have forgiven the blameworthy,
who are guilty for chaining an inner child,
but I'm still waiting to break free.
Before I waste away and my thorns decay,
ordain upon me the fortune to cradle love -
let me flourish in the field where Rumi's roses bloom.
You wrap my name
In syllables of love
Passion tinged sound units
Caressed by the beauty of your voice
you leave me no choice
but to yield....
breathed into my ear
you release
letter sojourners to travel
down the curve of my neck
to a cadence that captivates
and my heart capitulates
When you say my name....
When you say my name
saturated in n~e~e~d
wanting to be freed....
you make the appeal
wanting healing...immediate...real
your testosterone tempered tonality
temptingly deep...
it sets in motion
Resonance reverberations
that rock ecstasy's epicenter...
my name comes again
riding your waves of want...
it comes
in the full knowledge
that my release of liquid love
will welcome you in
to the inner sanctum sanctuary
where your body is idolized
and your name chanted...immortalized
in the rhythm and rhyme
of passion sublime
When you say my name...
When you say my name
you evoke the spirit of eternity
to dance the dance of life
weaving through and around
two simple syllables
of romantic antics
dancing and swaying
your voice calming playing
the trace of romance
leaving nothing to chance
when you say my name....
when YOU say...MY...N*A*M*E*
Eileen
let me be a wanderlust vixen in the vortex ~
a voltage liquified to the upbeat vibrato,
versing vehemently in venom-glazed grief,
and rehearsing your criminalism
like a serial liar ~
because I am too voiceless
to command the Monarch of mercury
to vindict the sojourners
that lure me to their blind holes,
and vandalise the chromatic criticisms
that clench me in their cyanide claws,
through the cracks
branching in the demonised billboard …
Oh scorching serpent,
slithering with velvet-tongued torment,
never leave me tethered
between the lips of loneliness ~
like a leaflet tucked on
the seaglass screen,
screaming for those stygian seashells
to lock my secrets behind
the bars of misplaced passwords,
because, this pulse of paranoia
is too pure to palpitate
in the pixels of poisoned prayers ~
and there is no anecdote
that annihilates the anxious
acronyms of abandonment,
streaming through the realms
of disposed dimensions.
There are no strings attached
that hum in hexed hoaxes
through the violin vendetta
strumming an acapella ~
through the lusty noise
of monsters longing for
the loss of my sacred insanity …
perhaps, the voice in my head
is an ode to the orchestrating shadows,
too mindless to manipulate ~
scripted in secluse
replaying the ruins,
paused in the prison
a sketch of sleep in splitting senses …
as bipolar ballads
tame their schizophrenic strokes ~
when the Maestro of moon
mediates a megalomaniac
sonnet of venting slaves,
in the muted matriarchy of mantras
that keep repenting rage,
in the impulsive incandescence
of my icy azure ink ~
refusing the warmth
of vulnerable sagas
that ache to heal me
and release the
insomniac coldness ~
blanketed with the sparks
of murky mermaid stars …
I own this label ~
the name of a lunar lunatic,
and this is a war,
between the sphinx of sabotage
and the never-ending nocturns ,
as, I remain weapon-less
like a cardinal iris,
rewriting the rules
of unshakable madness
in your maniac meanderings,
ineffable ~ invisible ~ incurable
an impostrous
i n v a d e r …
The Holy Spirit is like the wind which, comes and goes
Cascading diamonds of Light....
Swept into the breeze; met by Clouds of comfort
Cherubs, whom disperse its Bright ~
Guardians and Messengers, sent, from the Glorious Throne upon high
Close your eyes and take a ride, to where and from; this Telling through Time....
Now standing at Sanctities threshold; those delicate Deliverers; Sublime
Idylically Endowed as the Psalmist; composed ~
By Passions loving Palms; this, the Pen of a ready Writer
To gaze upon the Stars; to bow before the Stone; a Cloak of many Colours....
A Fragrant perfume; as Oil dripping from a Honeycomb; gently
Such Sweetened myrrh of, Opulence ~
Beggers and Sojourners, sitting by the wayside
Wayfarers, now dead unto this World yet, so very Alive....
Myoptic vision, washed from priceless Souls and, Branded upon their Hearts
Piercings slicing through the night; Blessed Blades ~
Pantheons panes; Transcending, this Mortal glass
Revelations upon the Wings of Deliverence from, these Tales once told....
Rubies and Sapphires and Amethyst to hold; azimuthic Amulets
This Holy Spirit as the Wind which comes and, then goes ~
Cascading diamonds of such, Heavenly Light....
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"The Anointing"
Note: Smile ~ "'Joyous & Happy Holidays,' to All; 'Love & Warmth,' Always," John!:) ~
“The wound is the place where the Light enters you.” Rumi
Upon my quest for quintessence.
I was an amorist,
positive in poetic philosophies.
Elysian and empyrean effigies,
enlightened in an ephemeral existence.
Life a fragile garland
festooned with a frangipani fragrance,
meandered in meadows of melodies,
a mouthpiece to a frivolous flute
but gone are lucent lusory lullabies.
I turned to the ballad of birds.
Dulcet desires dreamed of diamond drops,
dulcifluous, dulciloquent and diaphanous.
Delusions led to an interpretation of illicit illusions.
I became a metaphor for afflicted adjectives.
Mimesis mind became brittle and barren,
aphonic and amort - a crestfallen conscious.
A wild wallflower in an orchard of opal orchids,
slowly decomposing - in silent semblance
clocks won't stop for sojourners of the soul..
I searched for footprints left behind,
upon porcelain seraphic shores,
but knavish kismet lay lamenting,
disconsolate upon a distant island,
manifesting murmurations of a
maleficent maelstrom monsoon.
My life was once a
razzmatazz of reflections
gold, ivory and bronze,
but now silver sighs slither,
releasing a soft susurrus,
as once sapphire sylphlike skies are
now vermillion and violet visions.
Haematic horizons close the gates to heaven,
yet in my ruins, I know there is fortune,
as I polish my mirror of misfortune,
hoping it glows in canorous colours.
Desert Tears
Vast reservoirs of desert particles
Desert tears are sand grains lifted on the wind
They cry out to fill dunes to capacity
Pyramids of tears paying homage to the dead
The ghost white bones of old stand alone on the land
Sand fills every crevasse of their souls
Bleached white in sun light
No one is there to cry for the lost and gone
No one is there
The desert void saw to that with emptiness
Helped by an indifferent sun, its only friend
They dry the land together, gather up their dead
Count every bone down to the soul
Stretch them out along the miles
Sand pours out tears like rain
Stings the eyes that cry
Cuts like sharp particles on the skin
Lost in storms along the way
Heads down, dejected
And with the wind, sojourners disappear like magic
Lifted to infinity and out of sight, never seen again
Desert tears mimic nature flowing out
Pretend to be rivers of real water to get it right
In disguise as a mirage, under the soulless quiet sun
Wind can be a bit pushy
at times
Though I would be first
to admit
of needing nudges in different
directions
inclined to linger too long
under shady canopy
or at the seashore
gazing off into dreamy
horizon
my mind inclined toward
repainting sunsets
rearranging stars into
unique constellations
or writing poetry
strictly for sojourners
each poem a gateway
to ports further unknown
" I wandered lonely as a cloud "
~William Wordsworth ~
Shook away by solemn persuasive wind,
I felt as though fallen from my splendor;
Leaves of red, yellow, green and every kind,
Seemed, yet, showing me fraternal ardor;
Ash, maple, aspen, alder and cherry,
All as though in ninth clouds; aerie Fairy...!
Lonely butterfly that hovers around,
Snail that strolls like a toddler on green grass;
The sun marching like Zeus fiery gold crowned,
Streams gleaming luminous like crystal glass;
These are sojourners on this earth transient,
Like me tents set in scenes so ambient...!
Like wavelets in gentle breeze I ripple,
Blown by trade winds newer lands I explore;
Weather transitions my movements cripple,
Zeal and zest, yet, like child, in me does soar;
Lilies, Croton and asters bid goodbye,
Figs, plums, pears and peaches in surprise, sigh...!
In dark, constellations fashion-parade,
Aries, Virgos and Pisces like sprites fly;
Moon, like cut-silver-cake in shade gets fade,
Stars, like brides in diamond rings, wry in shy;
Love, to forlorn fall-leaves, the nature shows,
Loneliness has its joys; a poet knows…!
20 September 2022
I Wandered Lonely As --- Challenge Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Natasha L Scragg
Syllables checked in How-many-syllables
I can dream, can't I?
Everything old is new again,
all that was is now on rewind and repeat.
Look at history -
we are immigrants,
sojourners from our homeland,
it's a struggle and a strain
fighting for freedom's voice once again.
A land where everyone is equally the same
looking for a place to be free.
wasn't that America?.
But You Are .... (1 Peter 2: 9-12)
In Christ you have been changed
made alive unto Him a holy son
being chosen in royalty of his own
from darkness to light spiritually spun
God came with heavenly splendour
for you didn't belong till now no longer
being God's child receive His mercy
filled by His spirit now more stronger
Now a sojourner an earthly exile
fight against passions so to abstain
fleshly passions that Satan would increase
be victorious in war leave no stain
Remember, be a good witness for Jesus
never mind what others say about you
God shall visit this earth one day
be sure to glorify Him in full view
But you are a people chosen
possessed by God for His glory
part of His holy priesthood divine
this tells all of His gospel story
("But you are a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people for his own possession, that you may proclaim the excellencies of him who called you out of darkness into his marvelous light. Once you were not a people, but now you are God's people; once you had not received mercy, but now you have received mercy.
Beloved, I urge you as sojourners and exiles to abstain from the passions of the flesh, which wage war against your soul. Keep your conduct among the Gentiles honorable, so that when they speak against you as evildoers, they may see your good deeds and glorify God on the day of visitation.")
1 Peter 2: 9-12
cunning whist’red the wind
through bulwarks of my youth
cloaked in kindness its sly craft
masked in plotting feign’d truth
the scent of damp stone and moss
clung to my marrow
voices in each gust
defiant i stood on the brink
slumber’ring in ire’s enlace
with sly deceit danced outcome
and beguiled dreams took stage apace
the bitter tang of shadowed air
the quell of trembling leaves
twilled with the evil of withheld grace
vain are stars that once foretold
boast not what thou’st dealt
the conqueror an umbral mist walks
in wilderness where none hath knelt
soil crumbles underfoot
cold dew bites the ankles of night
sweet—and awful—sang the muteness
after the third new moon pass’d
grim hunger prevails
hangs where sojourners draw breath
their last
the coppery taste of fear
lingers in the throat
as stillness gnaws the spectral lungs
not for bread i starve
but for meaning
in vale and entombed mountain roam
judgment echoes field and forest
sunward songs mount toward doom
rustle of leaf
bark-scratch under nails
carry the weight of unseen eyes
thorn’d breaths of abyssal wind
my failing prostrate i ascribe
to flagrant flame
incurably untam’d
a whirling squall of dissipation
drunkenness of nameless claim
the acrid smoke of wasted fire
licks the tongue of legacy
shadow’d cinders curl in the mind
indignation binds me captive
a dungeon endless dark and grim
vile guilty stricken wholly
no mortal left to shield or limb
chains clash rattle in marrow’s obscurity
iron scents the air with accusation
yet manifest soulless one
fervent fierce and torn
momentary affliction sways
in transient shape of mourn
cool sweat bitter ashen traces
mingle with tremor of fleeting heart
tired i am
weak i am
worn i am
yet still
i rise
though wretched rent
to meet the sweet and awful dawn
with every scar fetch’d and spent
light trembles on dew-beaten leaves
first air pungent and raw
fills lungs with promise
of endurance
cunning whist’red the wind
From the far end of the cosmos
I looked down searching for my home,
the earth, once a magical land,
against my expectations,
was telescoped into view
as an arid land, sterile and desiccated,
with no flowing blue waters.
Trees were felled down like torn pages
Some stood with yellowing leaves
Not dew, but tears dripped down from their tips,
as if struggling through the last lap of autumn.
Some stayed naked devoid of foliage
as if just made it through the winter.
Songbirds no more sang.
Dusty soot filled the air.
Sun- stood a flaming inferno
Day scorched in its violent fury
Despair greeted me as a prologue to the day
and ended with an epilogue of the night
All I saw was the comatose of life
All I heard was the faint whisper of a dying earth!
The signs are written everywhere;
in the melting icecaps, in polluted water bodies
in the exhausted breath of woodlands
and in the toxic air one is fated to breathe.
If we are careful, we can still preserve our earth.
Guard it, not as masters, but as guests,
who stay here as sojourners
with a thought that we have to vacate it soon
for posterity to give enough room.
It should never become a bane for them
but a boon, tended with love and care.
Do not tell me anymore of mythical mermaids lurking
In the fine gradient of the sea, eyes heavy with a snaring desire,
A monalisa smile framed on their faces or of
Sexy mermen and smiling salacious simpletons
To stereotype the smile mystery of the swahili of diani;
Their courtesy charms me like their taarab in the moonlight;
Their light-skinned women with lessos wrapped around
Their hips, flowery with petals like butterflies, carrying messages
Emblazoned in rich swahili proverbs and poetry, or in pitch-black buibui,
Silvery silk hijabs on their heads, the all encircled face radiant like sunlight,
Their disarming ubiquitous smile, proud seeming and confident
With their polite dialect even felt in the soft tread of their feet...
Swahili women do not just smile to strangers, they greet them too:
''Here we neither buy nor sell salamu, we give it for free!'' one elderly
Woman in msambweni tells me one day when I pass by, stone-faced,
A typical bara man demeanor with courtesy only reserved
For the familiar face. I feel the surge of culture shock creeping
Into my conscience, a creepy confusion like in a stormy sea;
A reflection of a sojourners new baptism. I bowed my crest-fallen face and said,
''Shikamoo mama'' she answers ''marahaba mwanangu.'' I was amused and
Warmed up by the sustained, sweet matrix of her mouth.
Their henna art is spell-binding too. Breath-taking. A love of femininity,
Seem they have all the time in the world to spruce up, to be women:
Smart, sexy, sassy, their feline grace unlocking the manacles of man;
They know their place in this man world, an aura of a social panache,
A tapestry touch of a culture that soothes the soul, a kind of social philosophy-
A humble humanity born of the light of love with life
Like fish in their natural element.Their laughter lacerate the sea,
Make marks on the beach sands, build dreams in the fine gradient
Of the waves, hearts entrenched in the soul of the sea.
The clouds pass silently above
On their way to infinity;
Sojourners drifting in the sky;
Compliantly acquiescent
to whims of dominating winds.
Our paths to perpetuity
are like those hovering above:
Short time stays in this dimension
crammed with egregious egotism;
Marvel at insignificance
as though it were significant.
Our egos pass, notwithstanding,
into amnesic nothingness.