Best Thatched Poems
A solitary man
I make my way up the mountain
One step at a time
The life I know further and further behind
I wish to be alone
away from the busyness
the incessant noise
my many responsibilities
life’s never ending activities
work that is never done
all of life’s many conflicts
I reach the top
sit down and cross my legs
As I look out at the landscape
my village is a small mass of thatched roofs
the people barely seeable
I see smoke rising from a central fire
wondering if I will be missed
From this distance the lake appears so small
I imagine it fitting into a wooden spoon
The horizon surrounds me
stretching my eyes
distracting me from the pebbles beneath me
blades of grass are now myopically large
I watch as the ants toil
Are our lives not the same?
Seasons change
Summer to fall
Winter to spring
I witness it all
My beard lengthens as my mind enlarges
Secrets have been revealed
Disconnected yet I am a part of all
I grow downward into the ground
Others come to the mountain top
seeking wisdom
They sit with me for a while
never staying long
Each takes from me so that they may give
I am a man transformed
Arms outstretched reaching to all the horizons
covered with foliage
The seasons continue to change
I send my leaves down to the village
beconing them to come to the mountain
no longer do I want to be alone
"Come sit beneath my branches
caress my bark smell my scent
know my soul."
You come to the mountain top
But I am no longer able to audibly speak
All that I know resides in the rings of my seasons
Still you partake of my wisdom
Putting your ear to my trunk
You can hear my lonely heart beat
aware of my breath whistling through leather like leaves
I attach my seeds to your woolen coat
You are a solitary man
making your way down from the mountain
One step at a time
Closer and closer to our village
To the ones you love
As you walk through the village you shake your coat
Seeds fall on the fertile ground
Finally I have come home...
There is an english garden that I visit in a dream,
where trees are full of blossoms and the atmosphere serene.
A canopy of branches lightly shades a winding lane
and sunlight filters through the trees and warms a gentle rain.
Wild lavender and daisies grow around the willow trees,
and red and yellow daffodils sway gently in the breeze.
Resplendent water lilies on the pond lend gentle grace,
and butterflies in courtship play, then lovingly embrace.
Beyond the lily pond a white thatched cottage stands alone,
with picket fence and climbing vines, I know that it's my home.
The peonies in white and pink are lush and in full bloom,
and as I pass the garden gate I smell their sweet perfume.
My dear cat Elle is waiting for me on the welcome mat,
then follows me inside the house for cuddles on my lap.
The light is slowly fading as the sun begins to sink,
and leaves behind a brilliant glow of crimson, red and pink.
This dream is in a timeless place where visions become form,
and this is where you'll find me, when I'm once again reborn.
May stretched its legs into grave.
The thunder heralds the rains.
A hut on the bank of Kanoli canal
Is not re-thatched this year.
Her infant’s illness made the doctor gay
With all the wages she had kept.
Summer takes the last breath,
But the coconut leaf thatched roof
Is not re-thatched this year.
As the widow stands on the threshold,
The rain clouds gather over her sky,
And the wind scatters terror in her corridor.
Will the tattered roof be flown away?
Will the rain drops make pores
On the roof of her life?
Where will her child crawl and smile?
Question waves are thus getting high;
Her canoe is ready to be tossed.
(The summer season ends in the month of May and rainy season begins in the month of June in Kerala)
Listen to the jazz instrumentals of Masekela,
as you take red wine outside a thatched
shelter in a beach in the Western Cape.
Enjoy a hearty meal of bobotie (meatloaf),
chakalaka (a spicy vegetable relish),
tomato bredie (a lamb and tomato stew),
potbrood (pot bread),
melktert ( dessert)......
and other forms of cuisine;
have a siesta in the canvas tents,
then you visit the misty mountains
of the Magoebaskloof.
To feel at one with nature,
visit Limpopo, and get lost in the awesomeness
of sighting elephants, lions, rhinos.....
You'll see baobab trees stretching their branches
to the red, setting sun;
get dazzled by the Limpopo river's majestic
flow to the Indian Ocean.
Introduce yourself to all kinds of dialects and people;
Africans, Dutch, Indians, and Malaysians.
Watch their traditional dances,
and listen to their folklore - it will remind you
we are from the same Womb; Earth.
See Nelson Mandela in people's smiles and way
of doing things in the cities, streets, and towns.
Listen to South Africa's unifying anthem,
as you take a ship back home......
Heavenly Meat Pies
Nostalgic memories -
An awesome aroma
And an unforgettable flavor of
Freshly-baked, hot-out-of-the-oven,
Magnificent, “melt-in-your-mouth,”
Homemade mini meat pies.
Flaky, golden brown pastry crusts,
Filled with lots of love and stuffed with
Savory bite-size bits of tender beef,
Cubed potatoes, green peas, bell peppers,
Pungent garlic, garden carrots, celery, cilantro,
Madras Curry and other fragrant aromatic spices.
Popping one delectable meat pie into my mouth,
I tucked away another in my pocket for later.
Every magical mouth-watering morsel,
A taste of heavenly culinary delight…
In my great-grand auntie’s thatched roof kitchen.
10-10-2014
Contest: Plenitude of Pies
Sponsor: Sheri Fresonke Harper
Placement: 10th
He ran the palm of his hand across the canvas,
Felt its soft, smooth surface, excellent fabric.
It was well primed with gesso, and he was sure
The end result would be an immortal masterpiece
The quintessential fragrance of daffodils,
a carpet of yellows in secluded woodlands,
new-born lambs on wobbly legs bleating for milk,
bees irresistibly drawn to luscious nectar.
male cotton less cottonwood trees flourish
as do the blooming peach trees erupting in fruit.
And birds flying here and there, chirping delightfully.
On one side a cottage, beautifully thatched,
with a rivulet wending its way from the water mill,
on the other, a bench beneath an alder leaf birch.
There sat a young maiden fair to behold,
on his knees was a young shepherd hand outstretched,
barely touching, proposing, as she smiles happily.
The painter looked satisfied. It had taken days
But finish it he did. The Museum would be satisfied.
After all weren’t all his vast landscapes immortal?
Yeah,
go ahead, stare at my crow's feet,
I don't mind
I'm proud of them
earned every one...
broken my back
broken this
broken that
ninety proof patch
thatched hut for a heart
and broken clock soul
Yeah, crow's feet, look closely,
there etched in unforgiving-unforgivable
tin miscarriages
cornucopias spilling the seeds of lust
sticky-petty jealousies on a path of forever
the broken flesh of those never born
gouging at the skin around the soul.
You, on the other hand
don't have any crow's feet
your palette and brushes are clean.
haven't earned any
haven't buried what you love...
enough
given (it )all to a heart
only to retrieve (it) from the earth
to be put out of its misery.
you haven't gotten those pixie dusted eyes broken,
but you'll catch up... someday,
it's coming
way-way down the tracks...at the empty station,
where nothing breathes but crow prints
in a fragile evening mud-
Mist feathery drifts
last night’s breath loosening
above basalt slopes of Huatung
Pacific swallows trace morning brushwork
over Fuli’s rice paddies
new green scented with rain.
Xiuguluan River flows jade mountain-born
among ancestral stones
white willows in Ruisui weep
dew-kissed
cycad fronds catching first sunlight
Leaf pearls gather on my thatched sandals
Walami earth holds stories in its coolness.
Bihe Pond rests hidden in Wanrong’s stillness
waters reflecting the tribe’s quiet prayers
Bamboo leaves in green and gold
crested mynas gather in quiet repose
wind moves with the chime of a temple bell.
Ancestral path wanders into the Central Range
oolong tea clouds drift
above Qilai’s blue ridges
A white egret lifts over Guangfu’s terraces
air clear as poured Longjing.
A bulbul calls
blue magpie glides
the slow unlayering of day
Huatung Calligrapher’s span warm to newborn light
time unspools—
bright
unmeasured.
Light widens
dawn follows Yu Shan’s shadowed valleys
the world in quiet promise
soft light
drifting into morning.
Black-blue paint bleeds from within the cracks of crumbling cement walls,
Crushed skeletons infused within limestone erode,
exposing nameless sorrow hidden behind faceless grains of gypsum,
while a forgotten galaxy's celestial ceiling peers through a decaying thatched roof.
Misguided souls reach out into night's void,
screeching repeated sins into feverish gusts of wind,
tethered to each rusting rebar that's barely holding what was once their haven together,
unable to let go, doomed to relive past grievances.
Weathered spiral staircases lead towards nowhere.
Bleakness suffocates while hope is snuffed out,
like the wick of bitter candles drowning in their own wax.
Spinning surrealistic scenes melt into intangible realities,
each soul writhing in agony, trying to break free of abject cycles,
yet punishment clings like the smell of burnt tobacco,
unable to separate the scent from the fibres of existence.
Disembodied voices find no reprieve,
only more excruciation
at the hands of cruel judgement.
Once we lived together in a surreal world
So full of beauty and fluorescent light
I remember those lovely blissful evenings
We rambled along country paths in great delight
I think of the beauty and charm of twilight dusks
When we listened to the enchanting choir
Of crickets and night birds singing for us
Counting glowworms with tiny lanterns of fire.
How those romantic nights swim into view
When we slept in each other’s warm embrace
Your tender touch and love’s soft murmurs
Contrasted with your snoring, my topic to tease
I still recall the vacations we enjoyed
In a thatched cottage by the riverside
Lulled by the quiet music of the river
Neither concerned nor conscious of time’s swift ride
How we sat together weaving magical dreams
Of building a posh house with modern facilities
In a far-off place beyond the village, we lived
And our occasional trip to enjoy the amenities
That was a time when existence was like a dream
When from joy to joy- uninterrupted we flew
Relishing every act of concern n' care we shared
And in mutual love and trust as we grew.
Now I stay, a phantom under this rotting roof
With awful memories barging in~
On windswept nights like marauding thieves,
When I sense a cauldron churning within.
All things you once used remind me of your absence
The armchair you lay sprawling, now lies empty and bereft
The books whose pages you often turned lie unopened
Bearing marks, your constantly moving fingers left.
What remains is the love you planted in my soul,
The deep scar caused by your absence, time can’t heal.
A handful of memories, passing years can never erase,
And traces of an eternal bond, no force can ever steal…
Wisdom Tree
A solitary man
Makes his way up the mountain
One step at a time
The life he knows further and further behind
He wishes to be alone
Away from the busyness
The noise
Responsibility
Activity
Work that is never done
Conflict
The need to be in control
He reaches the mountain top
Sits down and crosses his legs
He looks out at the landscape
His village a small mass of thatched roofs
People unseeable
Smoke rises from a central fire
The lake so small
it looks like it can fit into a wooden spoon
The horizon surrounds him
He feels the pebbles beneath him
Blades of grass are myopically large
He watches as the ants toil
Are their lives not the same?
Seasons change
Summer to fall
winter to spring
He witnesses it all
His beard lengthened
As his mind enlarged
Secrets have been revealed
He’s disconnected yet part of all
The base of him grows into the ground
Others journey to the mountain top
Seeking his wisdom
They sit with him for a while
Never staying for long
Each person takes so that they may give
The wise man transformed
Arms outstretched
reaching to all the horizons
Now covered with leaves
The seasons continue to change
He sends his leaves down to the village
Beckoning them to the mountain
Not wanting to be alone
"Come sit beneath my branches
caress my bark smell my scent
know my soul."
He’s no longer is able to speak
All that he knows
resides in the rings of his seasons
Still he offers wisdom
Put your ear to his trunk
You can still hear his heart beat
His breath whistles through the leaves
His seeds cover your woolen coat
You are a solitary man
making your way down the mountain
One step at a time
Closer and closer to your village
To the ones you love
As you walk through the village
you shake the seeds off your coat
They fall on the fertile ground
The wise man
has finally come home.
Giyani, my homeland, my forefathers land
Located deep in South Africa in the Limpopo province
Where all things are bright and beautiful
Far from fraud of fertility
It's an infamous land
The moonlight outshines the streetlight
Giyani is indeed a beauty
It's like the Garden of Eden
Full of fruit trees
It's sweetest mangoes, oranges and Tomatoes seeds from ZZ2
I know the roots of it's trees are valuable
Oh, my grey aged great grandfathers childhood
Mother Nature chose this place
The birds on the thatched roots, are the tourist attraction
The Ritavi River running by
Everyday the sun shine and set
And brightens up the sky
Indeed Mother Nature chose you, Giyani
You're the promising land
Flowers looks beautiful
The land where all of us are the best we can possibly be
They say you're poor
But I can't see it
Do you have to cry out somebody to believe?
Believe me everybody cries sometimes
even me!
Stiff pleated fronds in concert rise
to wax under the April sun
and trill their canticles begun
in verses jade that they comprise.
Chartreuse of thorny branches splay
a tumult to belie the grace
that on display they interlace
like rose stems on a breezeless day.
Atop the thatched denuded bole
gush fountains cast in cardamom,
an opalescent diadem
that glistens on the mossy knoll.
In thus exuberant array
do cloistered peacocks mime ballet.
1/20/18
Fantasy Spy
Would that I, like a Monarch butterfly,
Could fly across the fertile land and spy,
Top tree and lilac bush in the evening hush,
Swooping down above the late traffic crush.
Then on to foamy shores I would wander,
Over firs and pines, dark forests below,
With graceful freedom across the sunset,
Over Key West’s mansion and beach to go.
I would see a pirate ship in the sea,
Rushing rudders futilely try to flee.
Storm clouds over thatched roofs on the Goal Coast,
Colorful dancers, busy merchants’ boasts.
Would that I like a Monarch butterfly,
Could fly across our wonder world and spy
For Sofia Coppola
The epitome of serenity
lies just beneath the foot of me
sashaying through the sweet, clean grass
White linen bathes my skin
my loose hair dancing in the wind
billowy clouds, how silently they pass
Oh Mozart!
take my heart
dance playfully and light about my mind
Mandolin disrupts the wind
glint of sunshine blinds my eye
fat, sumptuous grapes exploding on the vine
Brie, bordeaux, wild strawberries
fill the bounty set in front of me
my avid hunger puts me to the test
To my woolly lamb, how safe I am
amongst the wheat so tall and tan
as I hold him firm and snug against my breast
Take me home
thatched roof and stone
the proud gazebo stands beyond the stream
My duvet of straw and hay
my eyes they close, my body lay
to lose myself inside Sofia's dream.
My impression after viewing Sofia Coppola's Marie Antoinette.