O'ercome by what's offered me
Humbly for a view
When of this are swept up in
Soul; its hero's clue.
If as rough blown, and as lone
On whose edge, cosmic;
Headlands' of an infinite
Life-panaramic.
highway drive:
high hills and headlands,
headlights on,
hard shoulders,
is this the highway to hell?
or heaven's highroad?
I see the sea.
The odds at sea,
Sound’s Greek to me.
As the channel frees
a shepherd abandons
his flock shone a barren
headland aloof promised land
were wild vegetation
grows thick as wool.
Color blindness tame
the wolves, convince
the sheep transcend
and stay for a while.
There will be peace
up on the headlands
now and up till ...
"Big Ben renamed: Eiffel Two
Decadence at Windsor Palace
Wolves in sheep wool
Decadent Palace of Versailles
Sheep in wolf's fur."
~~~IDYLLIC: Rumours Of Wars~~~
The wide sea swells with muscular power:
surges under thundering clouds.
Waves
in chaos
rush and tower,
careless of steepness,
smash
in whirls of foam,
slam
on slabs of rock.
Until
tiring,
sighing.
Rays of sunlight
slice a shredded grey sky,
sparkling silver sequins twinkle
on her scaly skin,
as the ocean lies still.
Vast and deep is the mighty sea that roars.
Yet, at curving edges, surfers ride waves,
landing softly on sandy shores.
Sleeping under an afternoon haze,
the sea stretches out between headlands:
a salty green ocean beneath the sky’s hot breath.
A toddler with his mother is paddling in the shallows,
where little ripples run up the beach now the storms are gone.
Rise Oh Sun! Your muted passage holds me possessed
In passing beams of brilliant poetic imagery obsessed
In the stream of dreams moving light to darkness to call
On this point of wakeful art where headlands rise and fall
Stanza extracted from Body Of Light, April 1, 2020
October 3, 2020
Rithimus Divisa 8 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Gregory Barden
So take my breath and devour my mind
This golden orb sails on drifting horizons designed
In its velvet cloth of endless sky it bleeds atmosphere
In whispered blues and grays on orange ceilings so austere
Rise Oh Sun! Your muted passage holds me possessed
In passing beams of brilliant poetic imagery obsessed
In the stream of dreams moving light to darkness in awe
Of this point of wakeful art where headlands rise and fall
As heaven's archer bends the sky in rivers of seasonal birth
The sun erupts imploring the panoramic poet's earth
So in that distance traveled it may lay secretly sleeping
To hide its head below the latitudes its absence beseeching
Emerging for the song of bards once more in its enchanting home
In bringing forth its light and loveliness to the writing of the poem
In communion with the resplendent rays that create our wordy delight
This body of light from beginning of day into the shadow of night
Transpiring words that dwell inside me, making my epitaph
As beauty relinquishes my heart and releases my soul's path
To reach high to touch the sun, the sky, the Moon and earth
You have given me the language for my rebirth
April 1, 2020
Funny the things you find out
With a curious mind
And walking shoes
How beautiful
And priceless
The view
From atop the headlands
At Red Rock
Of course, the rocks are red
Jasper
I believe
But could be wrong
As I was to connect
The name to the colour
Of the rocks
As its Called red rock
Not because of the colour
But The blood
The spilt blood
Another massacre site
They headered them
Onto the headland
And drove them off
The cliffs
To the sharp rocks below
Another tribe
Killed for no crime
Killed not even for the land
As its not suited for
Agri-culture
Just first nation culture
Now
White holiday culture
Another dead tourist town
With a dirty little secret
I tender the small plaque
Replace fallen shells
Adorn it
With wild flowers
Wipe away the dirt
And tears
Make a promise
To write about
The blood stained
Red Rock
you locked
up shadows
in old chests
with rusty hinges
and ramshackle fittings
those fields of tulips
seemed steeped
in blood & the weight
a thousand years
suspended from
ropey tendrils swathed
in straw , live twine
the poplars wresting
sudden gales from
the coast
their tall outlines
accusing the ochre wastes
beyond and the striated
skies while swathes
of linnets sweep by
screechings , wings aflutter
hastening the dusk
premonitions of thunder head
down the headlands streaming
Shores of sand, stones and rocky outcrops
weather willingly the welts of tide, wind and waves.
Eroding away, absorbing, expunging the rage and torrent
A rope-a-dope clinch in the tight, belittling the fight,
Slipping the sand compliant back out again in the breaks
like mundane changes in bed linen.
No fuss, no bother, it's just how it's done.
Rocky headlands and outcrops absorb the force
of raging waves by smashing the energy into foam.
Seaweed loves the push, pull, twists and turns
holding fast resilient, yielding to and fro
No fuss, no bother it's just how it's done.
Oh how I wish I could stand sure like the shore resilient
To absorb the bile and back-lash,
to support you, and stand sure when you need it most.
When your tribulations get deflected onto me
When I can only offer support for you, not a solution.
No fuss, no bother it's just how it's done.
Fishes are water-locked, or so it seems
But some fish can soar on fins as wings
They zoom up fast, bursting right through
the surface, flying up into the air,
Soaring in gliding flight above the waves.
Flying in air is fabulous for fish.
They feel the wind in their faces, scales ruffled.
They see the sky and sun beaming clear and bright
or see the eerie moon and stars, flying at night.
Nearshore the landscapes are stunning:
Rocky headlands brown and dry
Hinterlands green and lush
Rock shelves covered in foam and pools
Beaches yellow and bright, fringed with breaking waves.
Then there's the boats; you have to watch out for those
Otherwise you'll flip and flap on deck till you die.
It is sad when speed drops and flight is over with a splash,
and the waves gather the flying
'Fish Flingers' back into their watery medium.
headlands
strong winds and rains as we watch
the waves sleight of hand
capturing then releasing
the breath of the tides
THE LAMB'S DAY
Hills and mountains are bowing
Beautiful clouds are drifting
Overwhelmed animals are shouting
The sun is smiling,
while its heat cooks the sweet-scented roses
Changing the weather's aroma
Wait a moment,smell it,I guess you want to taste
The sea exhibiting skills with her waves
Wow! the bays and headlands exclaim
Water overflows the oasis
Giving the desert a great relief
Did someone say what's happening?
Hear the birds sing
Glory be to the king!
Glory be to the king!
To whom who saw us in doom
Brought us to the room of light
To whom who became a lamb for my sake
The lamb whose precious blood set me free
Glory the to the king!
Glory be to the king!
The king was born today
Let the dogs bay
Let the donkeys bray
All to hail his name
MERRY CHRISTMAS
the unfinished ending verse is currently
So the trjojans came to Albion's Isle
The encampent named Totness - the headlands of All
for when brutus stepped down from his ship he shouted
here I am and take my rest, and This place is all
Veni et requiesce sum totus
there is a lot between still being written
who / what greets brutus at troy
how long he stays why he leaves -who else he picks up and loses in his travails
how mad is neptune about the several times lost sacrifice hesoine the great grey seal/ sea-dog
his adventures south to egypt tying into scots history
, and around north africa , malta, spain and france
before getting to totness
A man’s tale
With mind control there he was,
A man for sale…
Hearing the vocal sound from this wordsmith,
A man in his own tale…
Currently, he was sitting and calling upon the earth.
Prior rumors about his love for the Queen.
Yet to come would be a bard, singing for Her Majesty-
A fool wrapped in a cowardly way.
Flowers and scars sat on his floor.
A torn heart, making its way out the door.
He caresses the image of her in his mind.
This man, this bard, sang a song for the blind.
Releasing a soft note, she turns towards the sun.
Forgetting the ferocious rage of the king.
The man kneels with the light flashing in his face.
He drinks with his eyes, one moment of glee.
His headlands under the moon's winter space.
Never again, will he spend his days thinking.
Never again-
will he feel the shivers when calling upon the earth and her beauty.
Never will he know, he was the tune that eased her thirst.
A man’s tale always ends under a woman’s spell.
by;PD
LOVE FOR THREE WOMEN
In bays and headlands of my dreams I hear her sweet laughter:
She strolls along the beach in morningtimes at low tide bright.
O, like an unworn dress for a feast unknown hereafter,
My daughter and my better, guide and guard her out of sight.
Similar but different. Passionate. Lover and friend.
My wife’s yesterday-tastes are mine - lovebird pigeons homing,
Looking in one direction, the calculable next bend,
Bound together through yellow woods in the evening gloaming.
Grey haired, she lives forever younger in my memory.
With music, learning, poetry she set my mind ablaze:
From high Parnassus, future seeds fed by roots of hist’ry.
Mirrored in my soul, mother’s eyes return my searching gaze.
These three beloved women through my heart and spirit roam:
May love for them give strength and comfort on their journey home.
.........................................................................................................
Written by Sydney Peck, 12 June 2011 for
Francine Roberts' Contest "Sonnets, Sonnets, everywhere!"
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