Flank Poems

Matildas Concert in Hinde

Movement Shod
Heeling halt
Abbreviated democracy
Flank in route

Gaurd maneuver out

Folded company

Beret for address

Redress complete

Back in Britain

Marina Ann Hantzis

Princess Matilda

Vulnerable Matilda Prodigy

Florence of the ash reddened twine Nightengale

Graphic design
I come from a brass adorned general
We don't resemble excess points
I am exit of branch in brass adjacent brad
Minute brigadier
Halt
Ag is creation
In duration of appointment
Grass is yawn
Foreign testimony
Irresolute burden

Friendly visions 1

The refusal of hindrance
Nulled void in presence of buddha

Blvd.

Bill of ardent
Assembly of literature budget
Education boundary activities
25th hour calls on sight

Birds by the River

I think it’s a cormorant
Spreading its wings,
Just waiting to see what
This afternoon brings.

It sits on a log on
The riverbed’s bank,
Its beak poking into
Its chest, neck and flank.

I’m on a bench watching
The bird do its thing
And wond’ring how long
It will wait to take wing.

It has no awareness
That I’m even here
And doesn’t display
Any interest or fear.

A pigeon, however,
Just strutted right by
And stopped for a snack,
But I couldn’t comply.

No Gentle Hands

The master cracks his whip
across the horse’s trembling flank,
pushing the beast to its limits
until the wildness snaps and the horse reacts,
a flurry of chaos beneath the sting.

When silence falls, the master
believes the animal has learned,
believes the wounds are healed.
He reaches out with clean hands,
petting the horse's weary muzzle,
his fingers gentle, but not soft enough.

The horse, though still, does not forget.
It smells the leather polish on the master's skin, the lingering scent of cruelty woven into the fabric of his flesh.

The horse knows the weight of that smell,
knows it cannot be washed away.
And no matter how tender the touch, the horse remains wary,
the scars deeper than the skin, unforgiven.

The master must face the truth of his actions.
the horse may no longer fight,
but forgiveness does not bloom on the soil of mistreated land.

The horse is not healed,
and the master is not forgiven.

Toppie the Elephant

There was once
a pink plaid elephant
whose trunk I kissed to sleep.
I won her fair and square—
a coloring contest,
Top Value Stamps.

She slept beside me
every night.
Her trunk, softened by chewing.
One ear, forever folding
from a bent wire frame.
And a stab wound—
just below her left flank—
a potato peeler,
courtesy of my sister.

Then one day,
she vanished.
We moved.
Boxes swallowed childhood things.
Grown-ups said nothing.

I missed her for fifty years
until one day
I typed her name into eBay—
a whisper
into a well
not expecting an answer.
And there she was—
chewed trunk,
crumpled ear,
scar stitched
in the same exact place.
Time is a circle.
And miracles wear plaid.
I held her in both hands,
afraid to blink.
She’d come back.
She had always
been coming back.

the horses

the horses

Three horses graze on my land, and one 
 is still a foal.
In the twilight and with gentle rain falling
they remind me of the horses of bygone
days when I steered the plow that made
furrows in dark, clean soil.
When I stroke their flank, the good aroma
of warm horses arises; dreams are endless.
In daylight, they pretend to be boulders, but
even then, they make the land serene.

Joshua Moore Minnesota

Damp linens flung aside
sodden cushions
Flank by flank
She was damp
Nickel sack and bark rings
Verdant gaze meet hazel orbs
Ripe late April Northern Flatlands moisture
Slaughterhouse savory mist perfume
Slender dull rose covering on the pane
Cooling unit recirculating
Coral beams groom her visage
Midday vernal noon
the drizzle ceased the light slivered in

Naked gourd blossoms adhesive juice
Lurching brined
The toddler flesh on her abdomen

She didn’t cleanse
Just exited my one-room lodging

Infatuation perspiration,
Empty uterus,
Pixie sperm dribbling,
Contraceptive device
Marriage band fabricator.

A cold monolithic grace

shadows stretched
from unblinking stone
a sun dares trespass
it's obsidian skin cold

wind whispers unknowns
of forgotten wars
iron tears flown

upon obsidian flank, rust
earth exhales silence, ancient 
shrouds frozen breath, dust

within its hollow soul
pushing the rank crust
pulse, violet dark

strange geometries bloom

in the frost upon a base, lost 
flock of silent wraiths, gather 
circles unknown speak, daggers
 
ravens scream, unseen
taste of ash n bone
bitter stone

in the air somewhere lingers
broken metronome, marching
sounds all shone

nowhere home, north 
a ragged crone, standing
cold monolithic, grace

waiting, watching all alone

The Mouse And The Cat Fable

A wise mouse lived alone in a narrow hole he had dug 
in the soft soil in the backyard flank of a large house,  
whose owner had a pet cat that seemed the master 
of the house, for she moved around majestically
in the sprawling premises with an agile feline grace.

Once as the mouse was sniffing the ground for food
the sprightly cat chased him, but failed to catch,
for the alert mouse ran like lightning into the hole.
From that day the cat sat all the while by the hole,
waiting for the mouse to come out in search of food.

The hungry mouse faced a problem of life and death,
choice of death from hunger or being a prey to the cat 
became a huge predicament, but he chose the latter,
for there was a chance that the cat wouldn’t be in sight,
and outside the hole he could find fast food to survive.

After his stomach was full his brain started to work,
flashing a novel idea across his confounded mind.
He crawled cautiously, dug a few more holes wide apart,
the confused cat didn’t know where the mouse was,
who was happy for inventing a bright piece of thought.    

Moral : A little thought can solve almost all problems.

Clouds and Moon IV

Dappled cloudy scales
Drifting along a sleek flank
Fish eyed moon looks down

The Scent of Wormwood

When the whip of the wind strikes the earth’s flank,
Dark clouds rush forward, dragging low and dank.
Like a female camel  moaning for her calf,
The heavy clouds, their big nipple isn't half.

The autumn sky weeps, then suddenly smiles,
The dark clouds drip in a rhythmic style.
Washing the dust from the steppe’s face,
Shaking the heads of wormwood in its embrace.

The poor wormwood stood there, unable to sway,
Shoulders heavy with dust, locked in dismay.
When the cool breeze brushed its face in delight,
Its fragrance burst forth, wild and bright.

Oh, how marvelous, this land so beloved,
Its cherished scent holds all life discovered.
If not for wormwood, so enduring and true,
Every other plant would have burned through.

Ode To Bats

Soaring through the sky of early fall
   Abolishing mosquitos, eating for all

   Your siren song echoes in the night.
Hungry little teeth white and bright

Webbed wings flank the higher you soar.
  Dark vessels visible through the black uproar

  You’ve joined all your friends in your endless hunt
Soft chitters of excitement flow through your bunch

For bats eat the stealers, back to the blood
    Warm and well, swarming like floods

Milking Time

Milking time


breaking dawn, the sun slowly rising in the east
as early morning mist evaporates, all is quiet and still
in the distance, a cow bellows.
a cottage door opens and a maid emerges.
in her hands the milking stool and pail
later she returns to the dairy

      cows gather at gate
black dogs yapping at their heels
      the milkmaid awaits

     welcome the warm byre 
maid rests her head on cow’s flank
     creamy milk pours forth

equine

Equines 

Two horses and a foal graze on my land
twilight, gentle rain

I  think of the days when ploughing 
the field, a sturdy horse

a long furrow on rich black soil
what more is there to know

stroking a flank, the warm aroma of
a horse arises in still air

dreams are endless, in daylight 
three boulders in a field 

Flowers In The Field

Flowers on lovely morning
Fresh from every sight
Field full of lavenders adoring
Flank side of daisies makes eyes excite
Flying kites eyebrows raised playful children
Funny feeling engrain every face therein
Fair standing dandelions beauty glisten
Faint of smile shining from within.

A mighty ship, Titanic

They built a ship,
to sail the blue.
A  sight of wonder,
a dream come true.
They thought they built,
a mighty view.
There is no sea,
it can’t sail through.

But they were wrong.
For what they built, 
was not so strong.
It brought them death,
that is for sure.
In the dark of night,
too far from shore.
An iceberg hit,
and flank it tore.

Husbands and wives, 
did not survive.
Even the children, 
did lose their lives.
With great Valour,
all rich and poor,
did give their lives,
to force majeure.

The ones who lived,
and had survived,
could not forget,
the souls deprived.
As for the owners,
who were Britannic,
could not forget,
the great Titanic.

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