Far Reaching Poems

Hold my Hand

It's a far reaching stretch,
Large people has flooded in,
I am not alone,
My father has held my brothers hand pretty strong;
As he makes the path in between 
I too am catching up ,
A carnival is yet to come
Huge creatures approached 
 as we stood in front .

Loud drums and hustling crowd 
papa speaks to his friends around ,
But I did see his one hand still held 
By that little guy on the ground,
Through a distance ,
there was this white eyed, black teeth shabby clothed crow like guy
Running right at the crowd , 
Wherever he went , people gasped.
And As he was approaching , 
I already took a few steps back  
He came right at my brothers face,
And He curled up to my father's legs 
leaving everyone awestruck
Then restoring to our places , 
People laughed .
 
It's a far reaching stretch,
Life is filled with strange people
I am not alone ,
But I too would love 
To hold my father's hand .

Milton was misguided’

A man who wrote with strokes so bold’ of the
Struggle of humanity.. Long may his excerpts
Be told’ he helped write the American constitution, all his writes are original; and Often Concerned with restitution.. Yet too much
To satan I see he gave, with that line on ruling
A error (most grave!) though he was only human as
Anne Lise put on shaky…Yet effects are far reaching, through many a century..’ As I will
Here put this man’s work on the whole was good’ yet I’d not give a whit to the devil..’ if
I do? Then condemn me, that things may be
That be well understood.’ Consider Joseph in
The Egypt of old, who gathered the grain and
Kept it as gold, slowly he took all the people did
Hold, then put them in usury.. Was God really
Glad? It says much of the world that he”s a
Hero at all. Do we have inbuilt moral decrepitude? What say ye all.?

- Haiku X 357 - moonlight mirror -

                                     the far-reaching dreams
                                   dimly lit full moon - shining -
                                         what a pretty sight

The Gift Of Muse And The Grace To Inspire

If I have to poetry see and define 
My words would shrink and stop to ink
My thoughts would be unable to align 
And in confusion I would rather sink..

Visions in words would learn how to speak 
Words marvellously moulded by a wordsmith 
Far reaching charm a poet would constantly seek
Unique gems adeptly crafted by a goldsmith..

It’s the power to paint and portray
Compose a tune.. an ambient so rare
An art gallery, a rich tapestry to display 
Masters of words of sublime flair..

Much more.. the magic of poetry
The soul of verse can one acquire?
Abc’s and rules.. suffice to pen poesy!
Who grants the gift of Muse and the grace to inspire?

On the mystery of poetry I still ponder
Poets and their feeding Muse hearts impress
Their path of no sand or end would wander
What is predictable willing to transgress..

Fill your glossaries beyond lands and seas
Empty the wealth of your mine into sieves 
Precious pearls of rare beauty you receive 
Stir souls while telling stories before you leave..

Leviathan

 On bowride below gentle titans peep
   ghost ships of the Pacific hunt and chase -
 great barnacled seafarers of the deep
   beneath the waves its clear blue waters grace.
 Where yon an old boneyard whaling station
   fluking bulls and cows breach the feeding pod,
 and dive in fabled echolocation 
   bones of Ahab and wreck of the Pequod.
 Yet still ghost ships the old hunting grounds scout
   its mystic echo whalesong far reaching,
 and still cavernous mouths unmade to shout
   trap by moon and tide on remote beaching.
 Let no harpoon or flense sound its death throes 
 and may long live the shout of “thar she blows!”.


                 Written: July 1992

An Idea

Something in her voice that had me tick
Curvilinear edges on her face
A smile that smiled
Lips that  spoke  charm
A face kindred to the moon

Her body screamed seduction
A  goddess  of  attraction
Within  proximity  i  couldn't  function

She was perfectly perfect


His charm was the tipping point
Deep voice, fire in his eyes and a vocabulary  marinated  in "love"
words far reaching like a cupid's arrow to the core of my delicate heart
A definition that defined the marvel of creation


His intelligence was second to none


But our thoughts and imaginations
Fantasies and dreams
Could not manifest in the face of reality
We were but the opposite sides of the same coin


We fell in love with "an idea"

Emilia J

I knew Billie and Bobbi and boy, were they fun,
At the end of the day when my work was all done,
And Miss Sally Sue Treet was a challenge to beat,
For the bakery that closed at the end of the street.

There was Pamela Jo with her joyful embrace,
And Miss Candy La Beau with her lip-sticky face,
There was Millie and Minnie and little Miss Mutt,
And the burgers we ate at the Chicken-Kiss Hut.

Now all of these moments, both loud and obscure,
Are the days of my life at the speed of a blur,
But in spite of them all and the fun they portray,
I would rather write poems with Emilia J.

For what is the world but a window to life,
And a garden of fruit to a husband and wife,
If you capture these truths in a far-reaching way,
Then you may win a bust of Emilia J.

Now Emilia J. is the master of poems,
And her works should be read in the finest of homes,
If you want to be read in a scholarly way,
You should write for the praise of Emilia J.

Now her works can be read in a comfortable bed,
With a husband named Bill or a woman named Fred,
If you want to be touched in a wonderful way,
Then you must read the poems of Emilia J.

Shanquella's Sanpaku Tale

Eyes! Doleful and lonely as they quietly penetrate my soul

In their silence, I can hear clamorous rumblings of a tale that pleads to be told

Far-reaching and clamorous are these eyes

So much so that not even their beautiful abode can cover or disguise

Beautifully haunting, they are

So deep and so regally divine

I see them. I feel them. 

Deeply, 

Deeply, 

Deeply, they touch

As they meticulously befuddle every morsel of my being

I awkwardly attempt to look away

But like a magnet, they pull me close,  closer

Then they speak of many tales, from a whisper to the pinnacle of rising octaves

Sorrowful narratives of manipulation, deception, jealousy, ghosting, envy, greed, betrayal, hurt, sadness, and even the macabre

They speak of wondrous hopes and dreams in the dawn of life that were quickly and heinously turned to night

A Nocturne In Verse

In twilight's silhouette I rock my mind to sleep
An effort to release me to a slumber so deep 

The mystique of dreams unfolds in the night
A canvas peacefully painted in the faint moonlight

Far-reaching sensations in a hypnotic trance
Settle into serenity after light’s last glance

Counting grains of white sand as time in retreat
Next to sweeping fields full of golden wheat 

Light-hearted reality sways in the breeze
My relaxed mind drifts through nocturnal seas

Paying homage to the effort it took to get here
Relinquishing power to an idyllic rest I hold dear

My mind striking a melodic chord in rhythmic tune
Dancing with the moon until sun’s morning boon

THANKFUL FOR THE MOON

Today I’m thankful for the moon:
For it is more than just a reflection of the sun’s far-reaching beams…
It also has the power to make us fall in love
and it’s where we go…to dream

Kestral Sky

A kestrel flies the sky with slow wing strokes,
then glides in and out of invisible windows.

Of a sudden - stillness - no sign of a hover,
as if a child's kite had caught an updraught
and ceased upon the wind.

Did a field rat stand on two legs
to sniff a waft of air?
Did its long pink nose
twitch, its whiskers tremble?

Down plunges a glimmer-flash
of feathered wings.
Down comes a thunderbolt of silence.

A strike!

The rodent is snatched-up
by far-reaching talons.
For an instant the rat wriggles -

it is dead as the bird rises.

Far Reaching Sky

Sitting here drinking a glass of morning moo
Thinking about what I want to do
A lonely place I want to find
Leave the crazy behind
A little hill
That will fit the bill
Dig a hole
Like a mole
Build a hidden place
One of which no one can see a trace
One hard to see
Life there will be free
No more do I care to roam
I want a home
Sit there watch the world go by
Invisible to the everyday eye
Under the blue sky
A place to rest
Cause I have done my best
Invisible like me
No one can see
Hiding in plain sight
Just turn on the light
That's right
Far away
I stay
Build my house
Quiet as a mouse
Live off the land
Something which I understand 
Just getting set
So many things I need yet
This is what I decided to do
The thought is not new
Live in a cave
The new wave
To the grave
Watching time pass me by
There under the far reaching sky

Todays Nonsense

The pickering of pickle pie
Of pickle as pickled could be
My liver to be exact
Pickled to disbelief 
Of proportionately exorbitantly larger than it could be
But what is it
To be exactly like me 
In all fathoms of to be
Inwardly moving through scale topple less trees 
Green In envy I see
Far reaching I see
Resting on top of my tree
But what about pickles that echoes and bellows below
All in time please
I’m in need of my yellow phone
To sanction the life out of those 
Those are to be known 
Unfortunately for those who can’t seem to follow the pickle by the sea
I have nothing to give you but a tireless rant of nonsense
So follow your foe or foe’s 
As I will stay here on top of my tree eating my pickle pie

Time Renews All

At the end of white winter daffodils
Walk along toward the rebirth of life
But the hazy clouds oar the dingy reels
The spring falls into the abyss of strife

Youthful River of the rainy day now
In the pale belly of the rippling land,
Velvet petals of the loving surf show
The derelict spring in the pebbles sand

The golden maple leaves make an air crown
Crimson waist cuckoos hug the twilight sky
All towards far reaching sunny warmth town
Spokesman of the spring on the wings of fly

The rebirth walking crosses the spring souls
Time renews the grace of all seasons goals

February 23, 2023


Spring Is Not All Poetry Contest 
Sponsored by: Michelle Faulkner

Seasons of Love

Wind is blowing,
Leaves are rustling,
Weather is pleasing,
It is not the fall, it is you singing,

Snow is falling,
Nights are freezing,
Blankets are lacking,
It is not winter, it's your hands I'm holding,

Flowers are blooming,
Colours of Nature spreading,
Pleasant skies are far-reaching,
It is not spring, it is you blushing,

Sun is shining,
Clouds are slowly fading,
Waves of the sea come crashing,
It is not summer, it is you smiling,

Raindrops start falling,
Aroma of the flora is relaxing,
Feels like the year is ending,
It is not the monsoon, it is you sleeping.

When we are not so far away,
It feels like I've lived all the seasons today,
But I'll love you tomorrow and the day follows,
I love you all my life, the highs and the lows.

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