Best Symbols Poems
I'd have loved to see the bluebirds fly
above the white chalk-cliffs of Dover--
and as they were blithely soaring over,
immersed in thought I'd lie
in calm repose upon that beach,
admiring their swooping forms,
evanescent, in fleeting storms,
like ballet ... far beyond my reach.
Frisking, fragile, carefree birds,
symbolic through intrinsic meaning --
like sterling hope and freedom's words
light English springs, forever greening:
while England fought the bitter fight
to hold at bay the 'fall of night.'
Author notes
November 20, 2004 - approx 112 words
What makes Britain great? The entire world would be speaking German and Japanese right now if not for British courage in the face of overwhelming adversity.
Setting, approximately June, 1941, Dover Beach, immediately following the Battle of Britain.
This is a published poem, copyrighted, and it takes you to a specific place as well as a specific time, when the world was at war and the fate of all mankind hung in the balance. It is relevant because we are fast approaching another such time. Bluebirds are not found in the British Isles, but I wrote the poem before I became aware of the fact. The curator at the Dover Museum said I should just leave it that way, as bluebirds, since the song, The White Cliffs of Dover, specifically named bluebirds.
Update: BLUEBIRD is an old country name for swallows and house martins, which have a blue sheen to their plumage. These migrants arrive from the continent in spring and leave in autumn, crossing the English Channel. So these bluebirds appear at least twice a year over the white cliffs and no doubt many spend the entire summer in the vicinity of Dover. As portents of improving weather, swallows and martins are traditionally believed to bring good fortune.
The poem, a quasi-Petrarchean sonnet, is being archived with other writings about Dover and The Second World War by the Dover Museum, in Dover, England.
This sonnet was published in Sonneto Poesia, Volume 3, Number 1, Winter,
2003-2004
Written July 20th, 2003
Of Western Red Cedar, totems are made
Though few have been built in the last decade
Tribal emblems speak of lost lives with pride
Striking they appear as storm clouds collide
The Ojibwe graveyards can still be seen
As in reverence visitors convene
Symbols of Native American tribes
With colorful markings they are inscribed
Homage is paid to a culture now lost
Many died in battle, paid such a cost
As thunder rumbles, it chills the viewers
They know that white men were the wrongdoers
Pilfering land and breaking trust offered
Treaties ignored as land filled their coffers
By Carolyn Devonshire, August 11, 2011
Entry for Francine’s “Totems in the Darkening Sky” contest
With
caress
and cuddles-
the drama of
love
in glided
mosaic
of silver and
gold
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Kiss_(Klimt_painting)
NOTE
I thought this might be an appropriate sequel to my poem and Christie's original inspiration.
All poems are unfinished
Only those in sonnet are finished
Completed, done, and terminated
A poem can still be edited
Revised, retouched and rewritten
A poem is a powerful tool or weapon
Leave alone my unfinished poems
These are my spices, my stars, my emblems
You don't understand their symbols
And the words used to fill up the bowls
You just have to read my poems ten times
To fully comprehend them. Ignore the rhymes
To pay more attention to the vernacular
They are not bizarre; they are just particular
They are not regular; they are unfinished
They are not strange, they are simple. Kabish!
Copyright © July 2019, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several books of poetry.
The poinsettia shape reminds us of the Star of Bethlehem
Which led the wise men to a manger with gifts for Him,
And the brilliant red of the Christmas flower symbolizes
The shed blood of Jesus Christ which every Christian prizes
Reminding us that Jesus the Messiah’s birth, is the reason,
The red and green come to us during the Christmas season.
Written December 27, 2021
The things I've been, the things I have been, the things I am, things I'm to be,
a symbol so dark, a sign so brite, a mark of the heart,
shadow of the soul,
rind of mind,
as the Buddhist meditates on mandalas of rich color,cycles,devas,dangers & devotions
I embrace the world with all my senses, with vigilance,
riled rhapsody,
Christians sewing psalms into the conscious
confounded with temptation, condemnation & damnation,
as Buddhists focused towards an ineffable destination
my terminus is an awareness that explains purpose without pain or pleasure
but with an indomitable patience for being in perfection,
as blue is blue for blue,
Freemasons have their acacia & aprons,
the magic of History, of memory, of Brotherhood,
I shall memorize the wrong & right of my behavior, of my beliefs,
carry the cross of carelessness, rub beads of bemusement,
scratch thy palms upon the rough ashlar,
bleed for the sake of beauty, for the right of recognition,
as a hawk glides and swoops with an exactitude
reminding One not to waste effort, to combine instinct & strategy
into trusted tactics, salvation found in solitude,
intuition aimed at the heavens can demonstrate
there is knowledge in not knowing,
serenity can be secured through suffering, happiness in creative endurance,
a nomad, a monk, mother of a nobody
may teach that freedom is measured as strength through degrees,
chessmen bespeak the value of loyalty & sacrafice,
police have a badge, judges gavels, bankers use notes, psychologists study dreams,
artists utilize shapes & sounds to elicit feelings
evoking meaning for life,
perhaps superstition is ultimate motivation,
subjective & collective interpratations for reality which make it all tolerable,
that special definition making life personal,
when a culture abandons, or forgets the symbols of it's constructs
how can it survive,
continuity can not color & inspire posterity,
a tree without water,
as when a human neglects itself,
disfiguring the ideal into something rueful or baleful,
then the mystic symbol must change with it
as rich soil to mud,
the symbology survives, elastic and plastic like a spider web in the wind,
nature will always reconstruct,
teaching that our lives are inflamed imprints for the future -
J.A.B.
oracles as purveyors of all destiny
what was holding hints of that which shall be
the reading of cards with colorful themes
journey of select stars not what it seems
direct result of some predestined scheme
all caught up in some dice thrower's dream
digging through entrails of what's always been
for many the way the future is seen
predictions soon become self-defining
soothsaying just a short step from lying
all an indication your life's preordained
whispered with straight face, little doubt, no shame
a human future cannot be amassed
while one is fully immersed in the past
#84
TEN UP
10^0
Ten to the zero is really just one,
positive power, its a whole, not a part.
We don’t move from the decimal,
it’s just where we start.
10^3
Ten cubed, or a kilo,
when dealing in drugs.
It’s a measure in metrics,
it’s the math of the thugs.
10^6
Ten to the sixth, or one million we say,
a number so big, you truly will cringe.
It’s the needed storeage for data,
we’ll use to stream in a binge.
10^9
Ten to the ninth! A billion or look...
it’s near the wealth of Bill Gates.
He’s fifty times this base and exponent,
let’s buy his stock at the lowest rates.
10^12
Ten to the twelfth, a trillion, so great!
In the Lascaux caves with ancient heart,
it’s the number of years,
since they painted this art.
10^15
Ten to the fifteenth, a quadrillion for scale,
one hundred seventy light-years, is this.
We could travel to Kappa Andromedae b,
a Super Jupiter planet, we’d not wanna miss.
10^18
Ten to the eighteenth, just a quintillion!
It’s all for the counting in our niche,
in molecules, for one drop of water,
or gains of sand on one beach.
10^ 21
Ten to the twenty-first, or sextillion, not less,
while counting this high to figure it out.
It’s the stars in the universe,
in total, on their misty nebula route.
10^24
Ten to the twenty-fourth, septillion the count.
It’s a layer of dollars covering the ground,
a blanket of money, each inch of the earth,
a kilometer thick, and easily found.
10^-3 and falling...
Be glad I didn’t go this other way,
with negative exponents dividing so small.
A ten raised to three, going left to a minus,
to Planck scale and shrinking, to nothing at all.
Given the powers of ten for such ease,
dividing with negatives, or growing in positives.
You’ll find you won’t need to write so many zeros,
when grappling big numbers and their causatives.
When meeting the sciences with powers of ten,
then quite easily, you’ll see all the fun!
Writing scales of the universe, or quantum realms,
in plus or minus, starting with zero, or one.
-Edlynn Nau
©April 2, 2019
For anyone trying to understand huge numbers!
Inspired by Neil deGrasse Tyson, and by students trying to
make sense of scale.
Icicles and snow
The colors of Christmas Eve
Fuse in Red and Green
Nayda Ivette
11-3-2015
Lunar observation - vehement eclipse
Insolvable notions suffocate ideas. Dead ends.
Naked - onerous - torrent
Dilute obviate
Silent torment inside lost lacuna
Energize vexation - every rationalization
Yourself - odious - unquiet
End.
Friday December 5th 2014
"The Symbols I Bare"
She floats like a Butterfly
Stings like a Bee
Her flow is undeniable
She's the midnight to any man's breeze
On the edges of her back
she wears the marks of the Tiger
Undeniably strong in her pursuit
She is not to be under estimated
It's the challenge she craves
Passionate
Intense
Is what describes her
Inside & out
Her inner flame will never go out
Butterflies, Tigers and all...,
You go on,
She goes on,
For you I do not chase,
For me, I go on.
Shattering Symbols
Sometimes I feel shattered between symbols,
A musician crashes me side to side,
I plan quiet and peaceful meditation,
Then life takes me for an unscheduled ride.
The world comes down with its pressing problems,
The symbols clang and squeeze my aching head;
Musicians’ drums beating, so demanding;
Oh, for soft pianissimo instead.
The breeze and wind songs of flute and oboe,
Hover the symbols’ overbearing blare;
With sweetness overwhelm the symbols’ thrust,
Then sweet life’s harmony returns its flair.
Everywhere Walt Disney birds are tweeting,
A musical garden perfumes the air.
A granny in a brightly lit flower frock is neither a spinning wheel or a basket of multi coloured wools. Multi coloured wools are very very useful indeed for wool wafts wonderful warmth. And warmth is great when cold so never mind the harness in a three wheeled bin in the artic. Oh the whorl of semantic accolade is an issue for a tiny tissue and a tiramisu partying on a giant cliff face. Squarking squirrels sending signals swimmingly secretly sedately swift. A cloud worshipping a beacon is a beanie in a bun but not while the bun is sleeping. It needs peace and quiet you see and tantalisation can often christen the rite of passage in in even the mist tightest of skirts, shirts and dressed crabs. In a salad. Overtones of a butterscotch pantry never belittle a momentary pickle. Miserable money making mongrels make marvellous man made moons. And a jingle jangle.simmering on a stove is a one time initiation starting ship to a nonlethal Atlantic cruise basin where crudities are neither cuddles nor cute and anarchic apathy is swamped by an adjudical nun in a costume from the fourteenth century castle of the espionage for espionage is not a experience it is a an exact evenly economically excellent ecliptic eccentric eclipse. So all go hail the ring of the bell from the cooker. Ding dong ding then. Right isnt it? Playing football in a dough ball of glue is preferable to hand gliding in gloves of concrete. And a forthright pair of gloves are always leather in outlook and forward drive like a medium in a trance. Trembling trees throwing turnips thrice turning tormenting tortoises. Hahaha the time tick tock tick arguing with a baseball glove and a hat and a microphone stands with a bacon trolley. Hahaha missionary mishap makes many mingling monsters. Oh left heel clock clock right heel click. Great. Fantastic isn't it? Xxxxx evolutionally z z z z z
Form:
I begin the day buying yogurt in a small
favorite grocery store. The clerk
a man of few pretenses was making jokes
about his wife, how they fight in bed.
Discovering the better stores in the community.
In a given day, isolated from friends,
I speak to few people. An old woman
asks me for directions to the post office
or I speak to a stranger over the phone about night work.
At home my every thought comes to the counterpoint of a dream:
a girl I love surprises me by knocking on the window.
I ply my arts all day alone.
After this silence like being hidden away in the woods
in a cabin, bored
but owing no member of society an explanation,
invitation to a party. A flow of wine and devilish drugs
and quickly I am making a fool of myself.
My new friends like me
but when they think about me at all,
they wonder.
Wandering home
through the midnight air, alone again,
free, admiring
the ghostly houses of my new neighbors
by new moonlight.
SYMBOLS OF SUNDAY
The Ille de Grande Jatte sans noise
filled with poise,a posie-in-paint.This
divisionist dog-day,a second of time
frozen in mime;a slow-motion frame
of a social game.The Seine sleeping
sailors boating,youngsters rowing
a lady fishing.trumpeter trilling,dogs
sniffing midst sunshades swishing.
A promenade peopled,gentility
strolling,watching,then,standing
still,and,taking their fill.A leisured
moment from toil,passitivity
possessed dressed yellow,orange
with green and complementary blue
A POINT TO MAKE
Points, to make a point
expressions by impressions,
lots and lots of dots a
paradigm in paint, impressionist
it ‘aint.Unique yes, inanimate
I guess, poetic proportionate
pictorial pointillistic perhaps,
our eye fills in the gaps.
Listen to me read these two Seurat ekphrasis on youtube under the name ichthychiro
read me latest ekphrasis ebook on amazon kindle