When will my judgment come? He asked
of him, who stood, face shadow-masked
in moonlit dark, beside his right.
Don't let it be this mournful night.
Perhaps so, or not; has, or ne'er,
they rasped, exhaling rancid air
so brackish foul to cause a soul
to wish for Golden Oriole.
Who asked, who heard for judgments call
within, without, or none at all?
And yet, the shadow questions so;
and answers as a cawing crow
of dreams for which they dare not ask
the truth, but hide behind a mask;
as he, or they, for we are many.
They lay upon their eyes a penny;
I still have tales to tell, they plea!
They spoke; what is you ask of me?
What's done cannot yet be not so
you held that power long ago
and sold it, for this coin we give.
You think that they can now forgive?
He smells them near, their sulfurous breath;
is this a dream, the truth, a death?
Death is for those who felt some pain;
who smelled the flowers in the rain,
shed a tear at sunset's dying glow;
it is not yours to now foreknow.
They softly say with whispered threat.
It may well come, but not just yet;
there's time for you and I to play,
for you to waste another day.
Categories:
golden oriole, dark, death, dream, introspection,
Form: Rhyme
Martin came to a cleft in the rocks
The oriole must have gone this way
It was narrow and curving
A sudden turn, and everything seemed to change.
Shrill, reedy music of pipes filled the heavy air,
A smell of musk of goats and their dung.
Invisible cicadas sustained the piper's lament.
Suddenly, he found himself in front of a small but deep lake.
Weeping willows, large copper-coloured beeches
Surrounded by a large pool of azure water.
There was a calm tranquillity about the place
Whilst the air was saturated with a fragrance
Of exotic flowering lavender-like trees.
He heard a splash, and out stepped a young woman.
Her canary yellow elegant swimsuit
Clung wetly to her honey-coloured body.
Damp citrine hair formed a frame around an oval face
That was highlighted by an upturned, pointed nose.
He did not move but stood mesmerized,
Looking into her blue, limpid eyes.
A sweet smile shimmered on her lips.
"Hello," she said in a mellifluous voice.
Her smile was inviting. "My name is Goldie Oriole.
Come, sit near me
And tell me how you found this place."
To be concluded in Part 3
Categories:
golden oriole, bird, fantasy,
Form: Free verse
On his twenty-fifth birthday, elated
He decided to go hunting.
He let the fresh air of the early morning
On the slope of a wooded hill, fill his lungs.
A small vale stretched beneath him,
Whilst behind the trees rose a small sheer cliff.
That was where he saw the golden oriole.
It was a beautiful specimen, all yellow.
Martin admired its graceful flight.
And the bird seemed to enjoy itself, too.
He observed it intently as it glided, soared, turned,
And flew happily over the old gnarled trees below.
Suddenly, a hellish black kestrel appeared in the sky.
It hovered above, eyes glinting, beak poised.
The oriole sensed it immediately.
Irrationally, it defied the bird of prey,
For it continued its fancy flight
Until the kestrel began its dive.
Then the oriole flew directly towards the cliff
And inexplicably disappeared.
It was the worst birthday of Martin’s life.
Categories:
golden oriole, bird, fantasy,
Form: Free verse
With her bright red eyes; yellowish tiny tail-tip,
Pale green wings; greenish yellow-glowing mantle strip;
This golden Oriole has great tales to tell,
Her enchanting feature has great magical spell...
Yellow-orange chest; gray head; silvery slate back,
Bold white pinion poles; pretty eye-strips brownish black;
Large tarsal blotch; scarce and endangered species yet,
If I afford to up-bring, she should be my pet...
Fruits and seeds she eats; sweet nectar and pollen too,
Whether eats flesh or simple herbs - her charm shines through;
Sign of wealth and acceptance; courage and life-skills,
Her advent on courtyards chases away all ills...
Weightless and light, her bewitchment, yet, is grandeur,
The cup-shaped nest she makes is magical wonder;
Her harmoniously mystic songs pull my heart,
Her feature, in itself, is finest of fine art...
11 March 2022
Magical Spell Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Robert James Liguori
Categories:
golden oriole, bird, nature,
Form: Rhyme
DEATH HAS NO GLORY
For those who love life, death has no glory.
What pharaoh would not trade
His pyramid, myriad years in the building,
For forty seconds worth of fresh air
Blowing over the Nile with the scent of
White lotus on the breeze
And the fluty song of the golden oriole?
.............................................................
Other poems of mine, similar to this, are available at
https://www.fictionmagazines.com/magazines/five/
Categories:
golden oriole, death, life,
Form: Imagism
Freight train clattered by
over a tree lined viaduct ~
golden oriole sings .
Categories:
golden oriole, travel,
Form: Haiku
BIRDS AND FLOWERS
If you love birds don’t cage them.
What free creature
Would choose a fetter? Though
The warmth and food are guaranteed,
And risk from storm and hawk,
An Atlantic gale feels better.
If you love flowers don’t pick them.
What flower would choose
To have its roots ripped away
For all the brown sugar and teabags in China?
Flowers and shoots in a cut-glass vase -
In a cut-glass coffin - are dying.
Pretty dried blooms carefully embalmed - are dead
If you love life, death has no glory.
What pharaoh would not trade
His pyramid, myriad years in the building,
For forty seconds worth of fresh air
Blowing over the Nile with the scent of
White lotus on the breeze
And the fluty song of the golden oriole?
Categories:
golden oriole, nature, philosophy,
Form: Free verse