Echoes of a Summer haze
Long and everlasting days
Sunkissed hair and warming skin
Gently ripples beneath the swim
Delicate rays of dappled sun
Illuminating children run
Grassy scents and floral ember
Etching memories to remember
Daisy chains, as threading varies
Chasing dandelion fairies
Sweeping swathes of green oasis
Hold in place a sweeter stasis
Tranquil pools of sparkling darkness
Emphasised in brutal starkness
Heady days of warmth and laughter
Reminisced forever after
Eternal reeling films enraptured
Of loving memories recaptured
Too much negativity can lead astray --
what you see is more of what you
will get; what you hear are the echoes
that your heart will send back – what you pray are
the angels you will attract...the God
type who will lead them. Entertain in your mind
deceit, greed, war and violence, greater fire and smoke
will suck the air from your experienced everyday environment.
Speak vehemence, vengeance, and the Lord of retribution
will contrive your footsteps and flying – the deity
of heavens and hells will imprint new
such drama landscapes, battles of your dawns and nights.
One manifests, forms and reforms fears and desires his
deluded heart and soul mistakenly empower. Clean
one’s self, and both heaven and hell
will be at last an immaculate harmony of peace and shared
love. Heaven on earth. No Second Coming till then.
Our truth
a painful fusion
Without it
but illusion
Tatanka
flees the mighty grass
Our future
— in the past
(Pine Ridge South Dakota: September, 2026)
Late spring light drifts across the room,
a cornflower wash that settles on everything
the way dust settles on keepsakes
no one means to forget.
You lift the mirror,
its edge still cool from the windowsill,
and the glass catches a glimmer
that doesn’t stay still~
it f l i c k e r s, almost shy,
as if deciding whether to show you
what it remembers.
Your reflection w a v e r s,
not dramatically, just enough
to remind you that memory
rarely arrives in straight lines.
It comes in small echoes,
soft ones, the kind that lean
toward you when the afternoon quiets
and you finally have time
to notice what stays.
They see a shape upon a screen,
A boundary measured, sharp and small,
A box of miles, a cube defined,
With finite length and structured wall.
But like the blue box in the storm,
Or nesting dolls of painted wood,
The outside is a gentle cloak
For depth that can’t be understood.
For look closely at the coastline’s edge,
Where rivers turn to starlight swirls,
You dive into a single drop
To find a thousand hidden worlds.
And in the deepest, quiet space,
Buried within the patterned trace,
A perfect baby universe
Reflects the Father’s starting place.
This is the map of how we live,
The spark of bird, the breath of man,
Each soul a wave of energy
Returning where it first began.
Into the great and golden cube,
Where rest and vibrant rivers meet,
An endless territory wakes
Beneath our unencumbered feet.
And just when every world seems full,
The Master takes the cosmic pen,
To fold the fabric back once more
And bid the new earth start again.
A tapestry of worlds in worlds,
Where life expands and never ends,
And every soul that passed to peace
Deep in the fractal grace ascends.
Little Echoes spreading 2
From Kentish stones at Lympne's historic keep,
Where cameras roll and modern tensions creep,
The broadcaster delivered, sharp and loud,
A scathing judgment to the listening crowd.
The news of the return, he fiercely claimed,
Had left the royal household deeply blamed;
It landed heavy on the palace floors
Like rotting sacks of spuds behind the doors.
From sources wrapped in strict, protected shade,
He sketched the rift the swift arrival made
A rival camp upon the British soil,
Apart from those who do the daily toil.
He spoke of grifters seeking wealth and fame,
With shifting burdens and a fractured name,
While in the wings, a softer echo sighs
On lucky families under heavier skies.
Little Echoes spreading 1
Behind the gilded gates where history sleeps,
Huge ancient institution secrets keeps.
Yet modern spotlights pierce the palace shade,
To question how its wealth and power were made
Bound to the empires of an older age,
And written on the slave trade's darkest page.
The whispers spoke of skin and unborn heirs,
A shadow cast upon the golden stairs,
ink in Dutch translations sparked the flame,
And public voices rose to shield a name.
Then questions asked of origins and birth,
Denied a British citizen her worth.
The tabloids spun their headlines day by day,
As ancient structures blocked the modern way.
From old exemptions hidden in the past,
To broad exclusions never meant to last,
The crown still wrestles with the words it spoke,
And changes stirring in the winds that woke.
Tell me darling, what’s the time, what’s the time
My Fitbit is out of charge, out of charge
What you say I can’t define, can’t define
Maybe distance is too large, is too large
“Love, I can’t speak from here, speak from here
I can’t tell where I am, where I am
It’s just signs that you hear, that you hear
Hope to send more of them, more of them
Just remind me you love me, you love me
Anytime that will suit you, will suit you
Don’t forget to be with me, be with me
See I am with you too, with you too..”
UNMISTAKABLE ECHOES
sublime
inspiration
makes
possible
&
invigorates
perspective
to
achieve
dynamic
exegesis
clear
simple
imagery
descriptive
figurative
specific
&
sensory
S
Standing on the edge, ke kgojana ntle fase,
A small prince watching the world spin past me.Ka thoko ka thoko, I walk the thin line,
Searching for a spark, a breakthrough, a sign.
But the road is unforgiving, mokgotha o a nkgoromeletša,
Pushing me into the dark where the shadows gather.
Down into khwiti ya go lahlega, the lost abyss,
A place where the path and the purpose dismiss.
Gongwe go fela go sele, I pray for the dawn,
Waiting for the heavy, stormy night to be gone.
But the quiet is heavy, the silence is loud,
Walking through the noise of an indifferent crowd.Khupamarama e tletse ka mpa, the secrets I hold,
Unspoken stories, truths left untold.
It’s a weight in the belly, a ache in the chest,
A restless soul that is searching for rest.
Now moepologelong ke ribame, I bow to the floor,
At the place of digging, I can’t take any more.
The labor is deep, the soil is cold,
But this isn't the end of the story foretold.
Look closely, bona, I break through the shroud,Eupša seriti se tlosetsa ka godimo—above the cloud!
My spirit is leaping, my aura will rise,
No longer defeated
What can I say?
Did I know you wouldn't stay?
Why did you play?
Was our bond just moldable clay?
Why did I get a formal "father",
When I just wanted a "dad" who'd bother?
When I was small, I wished to be big,
Tired of playing this childhood jig.
But once I grew up, I wanted back small,
To escape the shadows that made me feel tall.
My teenage years were drowning in tension,
While they relaxed and lived on a pension.
You demanded so much more,
I asked, "Is there nothing else in store?"
You screamed that you still wanted more!
Was my existence just a tedious chore?
They want the girl to build a home,
Though she was left to weep alone.
Mother sees the rising evil,
But she prefers to love her own
Sweet devil.
If you are
not a leftist
please know
we don't align
For once in
your life
you must
pick a side
Because the
rest of us
can see all
the bold signs
Of a nation
fragmented
by the broken
hands of time.
Your dress dazzling bright, my mind flying high, like a kite.
Beyond the clouds, into the starry night,
To meet the goddess’ might. Though, she just intends to fright.
Even with her pearly white light, her life is naught, but to plight.
However, I myself cannot seem to become her light, in the darkness of night.
Thick cold shadows stretch
as rotting walls attenuate the
terrifying echoes of a scream.
We wake from the past, though not from sleep,
Where scattered images are a curse to keep.
Copyright © 2026 by Crystal David John
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