The hegemony of height
gets too much.
The city robs me of the horizon
and hides it behind towering
cathedrals of concrete and glass.
Even trees conspire to fill
the gaps and extend their
leafy reach to obscure the sky.
I long for uninterrupted distance,
horizontal vistas of the open sea
and the flat, unfenced expanses
of the inland with its views
to infinity. Something in me
seeks wide spaces, craves
room to breathe, imagines
sparse outback plains punctuated
only by the height
of dust devils wandering
the vastness that stretches there,
lifting up the silence
in spiralling columns of prayer.
We seek out places
that seem to fit
the contours of our soul.
For some,
it is those quiet places
with expanded distances
way out past the reach
of thought. For others,
it is cramped city streets
where buildings rise
like glass cliffs on either side,
noisy restaurants and talk
in dimly lit bars.
And there are others
who find fit in seaside towns
where all is timed
by tides and the metronome
of sounding waves.
Or souls who settle best
in cool, dark places canopied
by tall trees, cloud and rain
and others again in the heights
of sunlit mountains
lifting up through
mist soaked terrain.
Then there are those
who have not found a place
except for the vast, solitary
and parched expanses
of a white page waiting
for a few passing showers
to wet its constant thirst.
The door opens,
but I am not the new Mrs. de Winter,
just an awkward shadow slipping into normalcy,
where words are thicker than hardcovers—
silence clinging like dust to the spines
of books with torn out pages.
I wander,
but do not answer.
The air is full of Maxim’s secrets,
dreadful weights of things unsaid—
longings for something that has
slipped through time.
A voice stirs,
a name floating,
half-heard through the
Manderley of my mind
of forgotten conversations—
mine, or someone else’s?
I can’t say.
Then, he moves—
pulling du Maurier from the shelf,
as if it was never meant to be out of reach.
I watch, but cannot touch.
In the end, I fumble on words
saying foolish things like “itty-bitty”
trying not to say too much—but
every time I speak self-idiocy mocks the
darkened expanses of my wild,
Cornwall brain.
“You’re not stupid,” he says,
as if the thought had been his all along,
and I am startled, not by the words,
but by the shipwreck of them—
the knowing.
2.22.25
Say it to fear,
That I've shaken off his grasp
His lies no longer hold me captive
His smiles, a facade that will soon pass
Now, a phoenix I am
Transformed from the ashes of my past
The scent of smoke and ash still lingers
I rise, unshackled from the chains that bound
With the new mended wings, my spirit is found
Through the vast expanses of my soul
I chart the unknown, made whole
The stars align, a new path unfolds
As I conquer the shadows, young and old
Say it to fear,
That I've broken free from his hold
His voice, a whisper, no longer bold
My heart, a flame, that burns with gold
Now, the goddess I am, to myself
My name etched on the throne of my soul
I reign, supreme, with a heart full of cheer
My spirit, a beacon, that shines crystal clear
Watch me as I ponder, and claim my rightful state
With the power crowned on my head, I create
A world of wonder, where love is the guide
And fear, a fading whisper, lost in the tide.
White horses unsure of flight
they unfurl before dawn
they had their chance
alone in colours
The man of gentle voice
was only asking for a choice
They sang of emptiness
epoch making expanses
of self determinism
their forte
Under vast expanses where silence reigns,
Dreams drift, untethered by reality's chains.
A symphony of stillness envelops the soul,
In silence we embrace, we become whole.
Heartbeats echo the earth's silent song,
Unseen connections to which we belong.
Meaning emerges without the need for rhyme,
A testament to existence, sublime.
Horizons blur, where sky meets land,
A meaning to time's endless sand.
Mountains loom, silent giants in wait,
Their presence a reminder of fate.
Rivers carve paths with regular grace,
A journey unseen, leaving only a trace.
Life moves to an unspoken beat,
In its flow, a story complete.
Here, amongst the cosmos' quiet beauty,
Truth finds its voice, unfettered and free.
Poetry exists, beyond the confines of rhyme,
In every shared moment, suspended in time.
In the Mosquito Range of the Colorado Rockies,
Mt. Democrat rises 14,155 feet,
I summited in winter, amidst, fog, wind, and sleet
Waist-deep snow in some places, a solo ascent,
there were no other faces,
Alone the expanses are terrifying,
But the sheer beauty awe-inspiring,
Once In the boulder field, there is false summit after false summit,
On each side a 1000-foot plummet,
Near the top, the clouds moved in, no visibility just strange voices on the wind,
Once at the summit, the clouds abate,
Revealing a view only God could create.
JEV
. for public domain
I become what I see,
a flame on a wick,
expanses of infinity,
whimpers of a baby's cry,
resounding drums of totality.
I am nothing, and I am all,
often lost in the dark between.
So come on mantra,
let's go on the ride!
Splash me on the surface!
Dive me deep inside!
From outward totality
to inward infinity;
REMIND ME OF WHAT I AM!
The time has come, the nest is bare.
The little ones have grown and flown elsewhere.
The house once filled with laughter, turmoil and noise
now echoes silence, with peace heralding different joys.
The rooms once cluttered with toys and books
are now empty and tidy, mementos put away for good.
The walls that once echoed with cries and screams
now stand as silent expanses, the noises lost in dreams.
The days once spent in a flurry of activity for dependents
now stretch out before us, open and free, for us as co-defendants.
At last we can do what we really want to do for ourselves,
with memories much cherished put in their place on shelves.
The future ahead may be uncertain, empty and new.
But I am ready to embrace it, to start anew.
To rediscover myself, to explore and grow in the pruned thinned out space
To follow my heart with you, wherever it may go.
For though the nest may be empty and bare
my heart is full to the brim, with memories to share.
And as I look back on the years gone by
I smile, knowing I did my best, with love in my nest.
There has to be a sudden sunlight
breaking the mist and clouds.
A shaft of dazzling brightness
that lifts the murk completely
off the landscape.
Conditions must be just so,
then there it is
you are looking down
from the high moors into a lost valley.
A place unrecorded on any map
yet many claim to have glimpsed it.
A sweet verdant expanses of rolling hills
through which a rivulet sparkles as it flows
over chalk white stones.
Yellow-green is the pasture
and gold the tips of the corn grass
but this is only a transitory vision we see,
a momentary mirage,
then the clouds mash together,
mist covers the view once more.
We are left with just these tall tales
that we swap with other walkers
in the village pub below.
“Helpless Yet Hopeful”
Click, click, click
ROARRR
Humans attempt to save the rainforests…
Well, some at least.
Trees laid to rest. 5
Fragmentation of habitats.
Large expanses destroyed,
Leaving smaller, unconnected patches.
We need to restore the damaged ecosystems
With the help of planting trees. 10
Trees are diamonds.
Delicate and elegant.
We need to protect the rainforest
Before it’s too late.
Fossil fuels must be reduced 15
Or else there will be no animals to reproduce.
All we do is take.
We take and take and take
Until it becomes a problem.
One hundred and thirty-seven species of life 20
Driven into extinction each day.
Extinction impacts species,
Humans as well.
Rainforests are one of the largest biomes,
Providing ecosystem services. 25
Natural resources for production,
Regulation of climate and air quality,
Filtration of pollutants, pollination of crops,
And the generation of money by recreation.
Saving the rainforest is like a marathon. 30
Always staying focused,
Patient,
And motivated to achieve a set goal.
It is green, the color of life, nature, and renewal.
Three-Kolored Ku (Now 10)
1. bluebird’s ear’s to ground –
pink collared worm (casts below)
now won’t grace black hook
2. blue days can have clouds,
yellow sun bursts pierce grey clouds -
rainbow’s arc mocks smile?
3. girls pink with envy,
boys made blue by sexist roles -
‘his story’ just black
4. greyed out politics –
blue and red (views, poop) both suspect
in the fog of war
5. red sunsets portend
dawn’s blue skies to those caring –
black thoughts rarely float
6. pumpkin’s orange loves
tomato’s ripened redness – light’s
short, black cat nights stretch
7. fall topples most green,
revealing vibrant colors -
reds, yellows – drab wins
8. poetry’s greenest
when planted fields change color -
red blood fades to black
9. green planet’s seasons,
the ocean’s blue expanses,
the earth’s spine - beached white
10. time’s future’s more dark
man’s ‘black’ and ‘white’ aren’t colors (1)
Grace – red, blood-cured wood?
Krakatoa Kritic #007
October 29, 2022
Poet's Notes:
(1) Black is the absence of light, hence no color at all.
White is a combination of all colors, so no color also.
These vast expanses and love for luxuries,
The dint and dainties ever luring,
The beams that bend our narrow necks,
The cares compelling all to the gate,
Our wars and wearying ways for filths
The ego fanning fist for fights,
And these for vain we vaunt and vent.
We wane in time, and leave em’ here.
It is not too late to be human,
to realize the simple in the complex,
to see the endless states of reality,
the bounding expanses of worlds within worlds
with a child’s eye
knowing that all is perfectly in place.
Not one atom or cell of creation is inconsequential.
Everything before you and after you
is you – becoming.
You have chosen to be aware.
Congratulations you are
at the pinnacle of your creaturely understanding,
just one more small step yet,
and your mind
will know it is God.
Modern cities have grown out of bounds,
devouring the vast expanses of virgin soil.
Living in a concrete jungle, our avant-garde creation,
an uprooted tree, I feel suffocated within,
and wish I could go back to where I used to be.
I remember the green hamlet of my youth,
the memory hangs like a framed picture on my mind.
I can still smell the fragrance of jasmine in the spring air,
enticing me as I chased the butterflies in verdant vale,
on the aromatic trail of the evaporating morning dew.
In the scorching summer when the first rains fell,
the parched soil exhaled the scent of the earth,
embracing me with the odorous arms of nature.
Preserved within me the scent still wafts, taking me
to my youth with the first shower of summer.
-----------------
March 23, 2021
Contest : Favorite Scent(s)
Sponsor : Chantelle Anne Cooke
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