Best Stragglers Poems
Five light years is the average distance
that separates any two stars -
five light years of hydrogen, helium and dust.
It is a l o n g space
of seeming emptiness.
You and I are two stars too.
Now separated,
is there only nothingness between us?
I will show you there is not.
I will shine my light toward you, scattering it through
the dust of your indifference.
One day you will know my absolute resolution.
Slowly I will approach, driven by mad devotion
and drawing you ever nearer to me.
At last, we will collide, becoming one.
Everything dividing us will vanish,
and with a love so massive, rare, and hot,
we will be as unique as blue stragglers,
sparkling night's sky with our passion.
I look at her and I can see
a woman approaching slowly
the land of old age, her
night-black hair invaded by
lonely grey strands, stragglers
of an approaching army, a
relentless force built over
sixty years, stealing bits of
her beauty, loosening her
skin, lightening her bones.
I now can easily see the old woman
she will become, and while I miss her
light-stepping, insouciant youth
which pulled both heart and body,
at last I can hear love's secret sound
as she draws my soul ever closer.
(May, 2015)
On a walk companioned by my Muse along the sylvan meadows
We wandered away to delightful realms in unclouded ambience
Don’t know how long I rambled warming my fancies in sunset fires
Must be for long, all lights were out, the quiet hamlet lay bathed in sleep
Above me, stood the starry firmament and the half hidden moon
Could see the vast plains stretching before me in moonlight, bare
My heart was flooded with joy, my fancies took to wings
Got drowned in Nature’s serene calm, my spirit lost in drunken ecstasy
In the gentle blowing breeze, the leaves twittered and murmured
All else was quiet and nothing disturbed the serenity of the night
But soon I knew the East wind strengthening around into a gale
And across the moon I could see stragglers of clouds moving past
I sat on a rock, lost, so lost staring into the clear night sky
Wondering how the celestial joy, made manifest by the twinkling stars
My thoughts began floating like a ship over the briny waters
And my temporal settings faded away like a cloud in the horizon
From the nearby woods, I heard the song of a lone night bird
In rising cadence, alone and aloud it fell on my rapturous ears
Was it a nightingale that poured forth that dewy delight?
Was it the same song, Keats heard long ago cascading from the woods?
With my Muse in this unearthly hour let me sit awhile in this solitary bower
To my paper, let my fancies in unbroken crystal streams flow
Wonder if I can rightly recreate the image that my thoughts enfold
How I wish, I could like Coleridge, build a pleasure dome in mid air!
First posted on Nov.28. 2021
2022 Poetry Marathon Mile.6.Poetry Contest
Sponsor:Mark Toney
Oh my God the geese!
Standing in my yard
while wave after wave of them
fly over the roof of the house
from the NW to the SE.
Each wave ebbs and flows,
the geese almost exactly the same distance apart
the V is straight and they fly strong.
And the ruckus!
Talking and calling to one another.
As they meet in the big migration
they sound like
a gaggle of guys at the club,
or women catching up on the news across the fence.
You can hear the sergeant honk his orders,
his voice is deep.
A trailer squawking wait for me,
her voice screams.
They just keep coming
like the tireless waves against the shores
breaking up occasionally,
their order broken,
gliding amiss.
Sensing; ever slowly; the geese find the scent,
catching the current that holds primal instincts unlearned
spiriting them back into shape.
Now stragglers of two;
A quiet –
Then a new wave, large enough to surf.
How powerful the swoop of free spirits
beats into my awareness of self.
Spring, motivation, renewal, time to flourish, this beautiful wild earth.
The last waves,
are they the last waves,
seem tired;
pressing to reach the unseen place of ancient memories.
Like rain cloud stragglers that co-exist
Darker shaded sky, vastly does persist
Sunset begins and yellow sets the stage
In front, we’re windmills of a fallen age
Moving gently through a slight calming breeze
Around it goes pumping water with ease
Multiple blades dark from a sunset blaze
Un-hindered by any slight weathered glaze
Just like the windmills of my aging mind
I search a memory but seldom find
The missing link, the power surge elect
It’s my thoughts of which I can’t circumspect
In its time, this aquatic synergy
Was tooled, but now, I’m out of energy
Contest: Grab your Partner
Sponsor: POETESS DARKLY
1/30/2014
The morning has started with a trace of a dew
An ascent through the tussock ignites the new day
Trailing huntaways eager to work on the ewes
Awaited shrill whistles loose the dogs on their prey.
A new shepherd surveys as proceedings unfold
Sinewy figures employing hill sticks with care.
Spectacular vistas with a dawn of pure gold
Formidable mountains looking solemn and bare.
Below a glass lake reflects sharp rugged peaks
A boat carves the water, slicing the image in half.
Sounds of dogs barking as sheep break from a creek
White ribbons slowly form in planned choreograph.
Shepherds whistles are mingled with thousands of bleats
Descending sheep merging to form an earth cloud.
Above dust and steam rise, as if to compete
Wisps of white rolling as matagouri stands proud.
A fantail flits on the first hints of the breeze
While a waxeye settles amid two twists of barb wire.
As sheep reach a plateau, the expanse seems to tease
Though allured, dogs restore order on sheep that inquire.
Searching mouths hastily nibble tests of fresh grass
Stragglers are hastened by gleeful dogs and their bark
Looking back up the hill the commotion has passed
Hawks floating on thermals within a large arc.
Mid morning arrives as the sheep enter the yards
Dogs climbing in troughs and having rest in the sun
The new shepherd knows this is his time to safeguard
His future life on the land has now just begun.
**If I haven't quite portrayed the
picture properly this may help.
http://www.photomack.co.nz/farming
As day falls into dusk I sit alone,
Among the unloved stragglers, waiting still.
The fading sun gives way to autumn chill,
As I sit waiting, silent as a stone.
I feel the crunch of leaves as dry as bone,
The children’s laughter silent from the hill,
And running, tripping, tumbling, down they spill.
I hope that one will claim me for her own.
Then lifted up and closely held at last,
I make the journey home and find my place.
The carving knife gives me the gift of sight,
The spoon wipes out the silence of the past.
My happy grin shines bright within my face,
Illuminated by the candlelight.
Darkness falls
Here & everywhere –
Night falls
Bats & owls rule in the darkness;
When will dawn be born?
When will Soja-man count
Counting the myriad of his booties
On the wounds of my Africa?
When darkness falls over mother earth,
Night dims the face of Niger;
Then, hiding fishes emerge,
Countless, as they are, singing
And dancing on the face of Niger
Drumming to the shores
Befriending night & our Niger,
Celebrating the fisherman’s exit
Like a funeral ceremony;
As darkness falls on the region
A stone thrown into the deep ocean
Each clans-man clamours for an idle bed,
Like stragglers fleeing from battlefront,
Every property is left unguarded
To the custody of night
To those possessive arms of darkness,
Then, night sits over the clan like a chief!
Night falls over Africa,
No moon is visible here
Not even a fading star where we lie down;
But, what happened to her bright moon?
Would the sun notice to shine
Over her soil soiled with her own blood?
Here, Soja-man plants his huge feet,
The boot-feet sink the sand of the soft earth;
And leaning on a staff of the silent gun
He bestrides, possessing all the clan
Like an agent of night –
But, when will he count his booties
With all those wounds of new Africa?
Now, he comes here
Wearing a garment of many colours,
Are you Mr. President?
Aren’t you Miss Contract?
Then, Mrs. Administrator?
O, my mistake? Dr. of Law, the Judge?
If none, you are all of the above!
Soja-man, a ruler to be defended,
A servant to be served by all –
Brother, he’s Prof. Contradiction!
Everywhere night persists;
When will day break?
When will the sun smile at my Niger
Soja-man reigns in the darkness;
He eats up each nation
Boring into nature’s treasures
Like ants boring into dry woods;
Yet, ants don’t eat the raw flesh of brother-ants!
Poor warrior! rude ant!
Pretending in a modern benevolence –
Na power dey hungry am!
Wetin you mean, Soja-man?
Na you birthright to rule?
Yes! to rule by boot & bullet?
Darkness falls
Bats & owls rule in the darkness;
When will dawn be born?
Would fishermen ever come to the shore
Of new Africa springing?
The weather man on the local radio station had forecast a blizzard.
It was Saturday. Many folks were out shopping on this beautiful sunny day,
one that sometimes comes in March on the North Dakota prairies.
We were having an early supper when Mama said, “Well I guess
the forecast was wrong,” when it struck, coming out of a clear blue sky.
Spring was abolished instantly, as the arctic wind picked up snow
hurling it at anything in its pathway, and though we were safely home,
we were worried about those who were shopping and had lingered
to visit with other shoppers or perhaps to have coffee in the local café.
We knew that my brother and his wife and two small children
were among those stragglers. There was no way we could check
on their safety. The phones were out with that first strong blast.
It would be two days before we would hear that they were safe.
Others were not so fortunate. Some died in their cars.
Those who left their cars, perished anyway.
My last big storm, I married and moved way that next summer.
An Angel, Fairy Or Nymph Now In Human Form
Her exhilarating breath so quickened my heart,
her poise, I stood transfixed in overwhelming awe.
Gasping for air, as one does when lovers depart
begging that, "dear lover please return to me call".
Her Hellenic face, Shelly would have stood agape
her voice, Eliot would have simply called divine.
From her warmth and sincere charms, exists no escape
an angel, no less than a Byron would opine!
Was she a fairy, of Faust and the Niblong's Ring
born of dew, Nature's anticipating harvest?
Creature in human form devoid its silver wings?
Angel coming to give, we lost stragglers a rest?
Had she escaped from sunset's magnificent views
a savior tasked to this dark, gloomy earth now heal
Angel or saint earthbound walking in human shoes
would time and fate, her great mysteries soon reveal?
Rejoice this moment; heaven's gate standing agape,
with all the angels in tow, and manna served hot;
Ripe as the wild earth wonders, swift as the eagle sage...
these monolith moments come to touch earthly lot;
And split upon the shores and rocks with honeyed dews....
the flowered Lovers tip-toeing a full moon night
And Artemis --- how she doth shine in fairy-wood hues
where in thy machinations it is for thee light;
For love and kindness does kiss my soul swift and soft
with her slender nymph stride to come and give me peace
And hope to kindle a secret fire held aloft
in her eyes, the stars doth twinkle love's endless sea
A great sacrifice, she has given heaven's wile;
and descend this dark world to give a greater warm
And in her lush pledges to me the heaven's smile;
(An angel, fairy or nymph in human form)
--------
First 16 lines written by Robert Lindley
Last 16 lines written by Keith O.J. Hunt
The day is dying
The half-moon is faltering
In its nocturnal crawl
Across the gloomy sky
As the sleepy village goes to bed
Under the inky dark African sky
Stragglers are home-bound with trepidation
From another day of disillusionment
Lonely drunks lost in alcoholic world
Stagger home on the sandy paths
Boastful about feats known only to them
As the alcohol ebbed with their fading dreams
In the barricaded walls of wealthy mansions
Glittering outwardly and lit by obscene chandeliers
Lay looters and scoundrels of our commonwealth
Wide-awake scared stiff of night marauders they have created
As the gulf between the leaders and the led continues to widen
The day of reckoning has come for African predator overlords
Like Macbeth they have murdered sleep
They shall sleep no more
(or, "Your Old Stomping Ground")
There’s a secretary that I know
whose husband recently died
But life somehow continues as before
She has to keep replicating the myth
that everything’s all right –
A savant of the copy machines
A mannequin in a megastore
There’s a child that I know
who goes to school with bruises
Just a shell of a thing bearing signs
of a nightly artillery attack
When did we start sending
our kids to the frontlines,
And when in the name of Christ
are we calling them back?
You just pretend
Things aren’t crazy
The bandleader’s not deaf
And the King is not a clown
So you defend
The last vestiges of confidence
And stick your flag in the last square
Of your old stomping ground
There’s a family that I know
they only speak in whispers
Afraid to raise their voices
for fear of an alcoholic’s rage
I wonder how they’ll fare
twenty years from now:
Will they ever rise up from their manacles
or their transparent cage?
And there’s a young man that I know
Has his whole life ahead of him
Still stuck on the diving board
over a pool of unemployment
Just wait a while, just wade awhile
Cling to your inflated promises
While you’re stuck in this limbo, might as well
Drown in your enjoyments
You just pretend
It’s getting late now
And the party’s letting out
The stragglers and the drunkards head
for another port of call.
Yet suspect the hosts, the powers that be,
in their senility, misplaced our keys
So we derelicts wander directionless
Like half-ghosts bumping into walls
But we just pretend…
I love my solitary matins,
morning excursions and incursions
toward simply divine places,
reading to hear voices from my past
inside prophetic choices
occupy BeLoved Community futures.
In this sacred space
we sing full time health resolutions,
ego therapeutic gospel by day,
and dream Gaia's good-wealthy news
remixed by night
Regenerating each dawn's richly choired
multicultural anthem
climaxing just as SunGod
kisses EarthMother's rich-soiled face
of graceful embrace
for all Her co-invested Tribes.
I then love quiet endings
for this global namaste psalm,
when my monastic ego
re-enters Earth's deeply private sacred school
co-mentoring lessons
Yang proposes what we learned
from last night's dreamy discern,
and Yintegrity inductively disposes why
we saw and heard
contentiously dissonant stragglers
Offering a gentle decompositional reminder,
we must overcome traumatic karma, together,
preferably in four-harmonic
resonant polyphonic
therapy.
I love our not so solitary Earth-morning
CoPresence
breathing in Yang positive,
breathing out Yintegrity's double-negatives,
appositional dipolarities,
reverse co-relational analogies,
positive polycultural love
as not not negative angry fear of monocultural hate,
singing co-passionate dialectical raves
in resonant 4/4 octaves
Primal AnthroMe/GaianWe
deep dawning resilience,
smooth as brown-skinned silk.
COMING HOME
I came home at last across the seas
To my home country in South Dublin,
And stood soaking up the refreshing Irish mist,
Allowing the Manchester smoke to wash out of my lungs.
O’ Connell Street was busy as usual,
And the familiar glottal stops of Arabic drifted
Out from a traditional kebab take away,
In its doorway a tin whistle player and his hat of coins.
I watched the policewomen adjusting their hejabs
And very politely controlling the football crowd -
Stragglers from Croke Park,
Heading for Guinness and kebabs for supper.
First frost has come overnight, and the quaking aspens have blanketed the hills with brilliant splashes of amber. Even the ruts in the driveway, are beautifully trimmed in rime, glistening in the touch of sunlight that has just now fondled the horizon. Finn,..our golden lab, struggles to get up on his feet this morning, to be let out. He limps a bit stiffly, then hesitates, reluctant to step out into a chilly dawn. It's the first time I have noticed how rudely is a gray veil clouding those wise, brown eyes. Finally, he ventures outside, walking gingerly, under a sky, jaggedly streaked with purple. The morning air is persuading the cold breath of winter soon to follow. Mourning doves are slowly disappearing, although two familiar stragglers, like old friends, are sitting high upon the shed roof, watching the leaves tumble like golden gems to the earth....and keeping watch, like soldiers, at their post. And Finn forgets his discomfort, for just one moment, and runs for a closer look. He jumps, barks, and they fly off into the sunrise. There is an odd feeling in today's somber light, which seems to turn the page of another season.
a tail thumps the door
as I reach for the leash...
we wait for the sun
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For Contest Sponsored By Broken Wings 9/20/13