Crags Poems

Of Pelicans and Seagulls

Here within the haunting howls
of a wild west wind
I savor the island’s isolation 
its barren, rocky crags
its undulating seas below. 

The deep blue ocean expands outward
where whitecaps whip frantically 
while the beady eyes of seabirds 
peer out from their stony perches. 

Stoic sentries of the sea
pelicans and seagulls flock 
along the rugged shoreline 
purposefully perched in rows
or drafting wind currents in flight. 

Still other seabirds skim silently
above the silky waves
great hunters of fish, ever searching 
their feathery wings are spread wide
as if to capture the ocean itself. 

A timeless rhythm prevails here
as effortless as breathing pure salt air
a place where land and sea convene
a place where seabirds reign
as vigilant watchers 
within the endless cycle of life.

The Journey Within

 
 “The Path towards REMEMBERING is not for the weak. It is priceless. Move inwards, without faltering & know that you are held.” Poet
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

journey within is strewn with jagged edges
    and jewels
both can lead to detours 
walking a straight and narrow path one 
      traverses own jungle untamed
lame sometimes becomes our resolve
       not to forge ahead beyond crags or rags
is not an option once undertaking begins
screams may merge with songs or dreams
cream alongside starvation or salvation   
a luminous beckoning lighthouse at end of tedium slogs hold us steady
        often makes us heady
in solitude with faith we need make no haste               
knowingness with Heart’s compass surely                
        keeps us safe
neither hazard or hurdle makes us curdle
Soul the master of destined fate never late
to turn cherished key into jewelled Home 
       within is majestic prize to win

A Wilderness of Mirrors

Apparitions behind every mottled rock.
Shaded countenance surreptitious like shadows.
Fractured slivers and fragments boast -
On wall, ceiling and floor.
Splattered drop cloth - reflective dread.

Fun house of Zeus,
The zigs and zags -
Thundering fakes, illuminated lies.
She claws her face.

Crags of wilderness.
Deep etched drama.
Whirlwind’s not glue.

One face.
One mirror.

Truth

Echoes of Chains A Poem on Colonization in Malaysia

Once, the rivers ran free and bold,
Through emerald lands, rich with gold.
Mountains whispered to the sky,
Under the watchful, sovereign eye.

Then came ships with foreign flags,
Tongues of steel, and hearts of crags.
They carved their names upon our soil,
Turned our labor into toil.

Spices bled from calloused hands,
Traded dreams for foreign lands.
Rubber trees stood, tall yet tied,
Bound by laws the West applied.

Sultan’s voice turned faint, unheard,
Drowned beneath the master's word.
Hands that built were hands enslaved,
History’s pages torn and paved.

Yet, through the storm, a spark remained,
A whisper strong, unchained, unnamed.
In the forests, hearts rebelled,
Stories of warriors fiercely held.

Merdeka rose with morning’s light,
Breaking through the longest night.
Chains had rusted, cracked, and fell,
Freedom rang like gamelan bells.

But echoes linger—soft yet deep,
In names we keep, in wounds we weep.
Still, we rise, through time’s embrace,
Holding strong to roots and grace.

I'll follow you

The train fled through forlorn forests
Emerging on the stormy steppes
It crossed the raging ravine waters
Up the rugged crags it crept.

I was on that midnight journey  
Seeking you to join your cause  
I felt your honor and your yearning  
Your defiance of unjust laws

(chorus)
Your example was the spark  
And as long as you stay true  
The torch will light up in the dark  
And I'll follow you

Through the shadows of the city  
I searched each alley, every street  
Whispers told of your bravery  
How you stood, did not retreat

Near dawn, I finally found you  
Eyes aflame with steadfast fire  
You said, "The old ways can yet renew"  
"To real freedom we shall aspire."

(chorus)
Your example was the spark  
And as long as you stay true  
The flames will rise within the dark  
And I'll follow you

(bridge)
We'll gather the despairing souls  
Ignite the hope that once was lost  
We'll strive to reach our righteous goals  
No matter what the cost

We'll cut the tentacles of the beast
We'll tear the web that entangles all
See the silver sunlight in the east
They will rise, hear freedom's call.

My Restless Spirit

My sorrowful spirit rose high above the rainbow,
higher yet, until it reached the snowy peaks
of the ragged mountain.  It was cold there,
though above the severe sun blazed hard.

Here and there rivulets tumbled roughly
down the mountainsides, and occasionally 
meet to form a river that cascaded downwards
towards the high cliff beneath the hills.

The icy waters fell towards the crags,
forming a waterfall of fresh water, producing
a constant melody as the waters hit the plain,
forming a delightful and narrow lake.

Birds above twittered delightfully,
a serene sight and sound that pleased my sad spirit.  
Tall verdant pines exuded delightful fragrance.
How I wish I could stay there forever.   
But my tired body beckoned
and my spirit returned to my lonesome solitary bed.

Old West Crush

brilliance bona fide in redolent skies
keen red submerging, clementine twilight
sunflowers show-offs of the waning sun
wedged within burnt orange escarpments
swifts of volcanic horizon in desert crags
old West crush corralled in surround-hugs

Three Sister Winds

Three sister winds,
Ephemeral progeny,
Spawned by the sun's relentless
But passionless heat,
And the earth's inexorable
Grinding rotation:
Sirocco dances across the vast emptiness of the Sahara;
Mistral roams over the rolling plains and briny lagoons
Of the French Camargue;
Santa Ana, mistress of the paradoxical
Lush aridity of Southern California.
Solitary nomads these three siblings,
Never meeting,
Rarely resting,
Always appearing unannounced,
Creating with cold dispassion,
Then leaving in their wake,
Their own ephemeral progeny:
Summits and trenches,
Hills and valleys,
Crags and craters.
Sad reminders of their brief visits
And lonely passing.
Continually shifting,
Eternally sifting,
Maternally treasuring,
Methodically measuring,
As if carefully counting each precious grain
In the sands of time.

The Winter

Smiles and blooms have crawled away in haste;
Cool sweetness and incense of the prime
Have receded into the pothole of time
With the irritant summer and the rainy waste ;
Winter is an epitome of the silent knell --
Pale , pensive, plaintive, heavy and cold ;
Colours are all lost in the grey fold,
With the bright charm of the bygone spell ,
As she sits robed in ashen attire again ,
Streching herself with limbs wide across
The deceased crags and the patchy moss ,
Lining randomly along the sickly plain 
Weary, withering, wany life and all. ..
Are thus sadly shrouded in the last fall..!

Himalaya

In tertiary times, when two continents adrift
Titanically collided to tectonically uplift
The gasping ocean floor
Resurrected up once more
Left the water for the land;
Five miles high it made its stand.

And to these youthful mountains (that is as mountains go)
The monsoon clouds paid homage as they gathered far below
They strongly spouted fury and made the foothills wet
But the scornful Himalayas dried the plateau of Tibet

And then the disbelievers from the atheistic West
Where time is not a circle and there is no Ever-rest
Defiled up the silent crags
At the peak they planted flags
You, Himalaya, tried to hide those flags with snow
But...
We know.

Jagged Crags

Black,
yellow,
red on white,
the craggy edge
bleeds
down
into
jagged shapes
juxtaposed
          colours
to enflame 
   the
mind

A Bride Set Free

How romantic, the fall, so far above the pleading waves.
The heights, the depth, to look the deep in eye and weep.
Air space between the lovers’ arc and shallow graves.
The tangible singsong of wedding bells and tragic leap.

Imagine it, the harp-like spray, the call of gulls, the fangs
that scared it up - the fade of white, of pearls and lace.
The cleft, the crags, the foaming ebb and flow, the overhangs,
the rage and misery one cursèd night, of love’s erase.

Romantic and tragic body of sea, a bride set free.
for she’d not live eternity of blood, thus spills her own.
He has no heart, but tears. Before his fate - a honeybee.
The heaviness of weight, the sea frothing with moans.

The scene has wings that fly and dive and sweetly catch
the widower’s debris. Invisible, the flight of ghostly light.
From precipice, how many tears do claw and scratch…
Hell laughs, but jealous witch wished bride to be first bite.

I See the Green of the Desert

I see the green of the desert
That overcomes the brown –
Clinging to ground and water –

And with gentle affection –
It might reveal some color
Like a yellow persuasion.

I feel the fermenting sun
Calling out the vultures
That fly with a heart of one.

I sense the black jaguar’s stare –
Eyes that have a thirst for blood
And those teeth – a gnashing lair.

I smell blood in the wind
When death captures its prey
And in birth when life tries again.

I hear the cicadas’ buzz
Drowning in humidity
As thunderheads growl above.

I spy the purple mountains
Blending in with their shadows –
Not knowing where either begin.

They tempt my spirit below
To their crags and lonely peaks –
To secret places I know.

Father's Day

FATHER'S DAY
 
Happy Father's Day to a worthy father.
Though everybody may become a parent, 
not everyone is capable of raising a family. 
Everything you've done hasn’t gone unnoticed.
Among all the days of the year,

Let's this day resonates in you that you're:
The pilot that flies the family plane,
The seed of the family tree,
The foundation of the beautiful edifice,
The four pillars of the building,

The lamp in a child's dark world.
Beyond crags & shoals of life's rough sea
Your heroics and sacrifices are sighted.
You're the life saver in the yacht
And the anchor of the sinking ship. 

Fathers are the fathers of sons, 
daughters & the first woman, Eve.
Happy Father's Day to the Alpha,
the beginning of mortality,
He who is preceded by the Alpha & Omega.


VICK MANUEL POETRY
{VMP}
Copyright ©? 18th June 2023.

Rock Love

blotches 
of green velvet 
in grey crags
soft 
tender 
patches 
embeded
in severe stone

rock love

it may roll
but it rolls
with them
it may freeze
but they don't 
leave

indifferent 
as a boulder
can be
they 
still cling

without him
they wouldn't be

inanimate granite
something
to hang onto
that will never leave
what more
could lichen
need

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