Hinterlands Poems | Examples

Crisscrossing

Every doorway is well lit yet barred and locked.
This is my dream body, it is chasing its twilit shadow
down blind alleyways
pausing only to heave breathlessly
as it comes to a stop
in yet another walled-off cul-de-sac.

Daylight couples slyly with moonlight,
it forms a vaporous union that creeps under skin,
We are two hands and a mouth,
weak hands scratching upon a lid of fear.

We call such mind-hauntings: nightmares,
yet they seem so very real
as we fretfully slumber -
then they chase us remorselessly
through our daily lives.

Why record such fantasies,
these myriad variations of horror?
Why relive the frights, the needling frets
of these subconscious ghost trains - images
that fly through all our darkly hidden spaces.

Perhaps only to share an elusive puzzle-picture,
to reach into other sequestered minds
that may experience the same
other-worldly hinterlands, the same fear-threads,

and there know we are crisscrossing
the same unidentifiable landscapes
all of us have created for ourselves.

TABULA RASA

   monotonous
pulsating
   perceptions
of
formal
    coherence
in
open-ended
    fantastical
            fragments
in
the hinterlands
of
ambivalence

gaps
   hiatus
     lacunae
errors
&contradictons
      discarded
then
    restored

an eclectic
    mystery
      of
        ongoing
scepticism
faded
in
a surfeit
of
    analogy

Old Bones Unbroken

OLD BONES UNBROKEN

In my later years I’ve come to believe
Living long does not determine the depth of a life lived
As lives and love stem from a special nodule in a person’s heart
A connection established a long, long time ago 

A time when we were tiny, small varmints, mammals

I find my old age creeping around me relentlessly
Wrapping me in loneliness in my hours of consternation 
Seeking the youth I royally misspent with gusto 
I had fun

Like any kid I wallowed in the gaiety of the day as long as I could
I played like a Banshee high on donkey dung
I played taking care I didn’t hurt myself much
Aged fossil bones are thankful when the body is respected in youth

Old bones seek happy as the old body seeks rest

Joyful old bones seek painless old muscles 
Our old exhausted minds welcome less strain on our bodies 
Like a nun who prays to the four winds
For safe passage through the hinterlands of painful oblivion

Old age welcomes the body when it escapes broken bones.

Politics part 3

Electoral pact Liberal Democrats
what is the need is for them
other than cleaner water
Sectarian Politics in Labour hinterlands
losing 4 seats
bodes ill for them
and the Reform Party promise to rupture them in 2029

Greens, Libs and Reform
point to PR
the pressure is on

And the Tory Party will take years to recover
after going through a civil  war
They have lost the people's trust
as the tax cutting party

Politics in turmoil
that's where the future lies
no more uncertainties

The Rebel Artist

THE REBEL ARTIST                                                                                             Why do you paint pictures of silent days?, Lonely roads, lonely streets; of beggars groping their way, holding hands to each other,  making beggarly music to awake crushed passions.  Is this your country?  Once flowing with milk and honey! Now a beggar, begging from those he once fed!  Independence Day?  In those days, we trekked far from hinterlands to freedom square,  expectations high against odds to receive golden salutes from heroes past...Those days of innocence, when civilization slapped us in the face...when  euphoria of this treacherous sovereignty beclouded us not to see this end that comes... Why,  Rebellious Artist, why do you paint pictures of baby-strapped women saddled with loads, why images of riotous youths, corpse-Iittered streets. Paint pictures of these green-white flowers, adorning our great country. Paint him,  our man, the president.  Oh! It was beauty last night glistening all over the Aerodrome as he beaded farewell to his countrymen, boarding the air to Saudi Arabia!

Human Troll

The human troll

He was the tallest man I have ever seen, bigger than the rest
he had one big eye, a lantern, seeing wide and a smaller eye 
seeing inwards; he retired as an airline pilot at 75.
He preferred to fly at night alone under the stars listening
to the symphony of the galaxy.
His motto was discretion, not for him to write a book hanging
out anyone, like when he flew explorers, sledges and dogs
to the Nord pole and said nothing when the fearless men
took the glory and got their names in the newspaper.
When he finally retired, there was not a word of his exploit
no king’s medal, no flags were waved.
He had his memory like when he landed on the Savannah
when the elephants played the trumpets to his honour and
The lions wagged their tales.
No one knew where he came from; he never told me
I guessed from a mountain somewhere in the hinterlands
the day he disappeared, the earth shock, I knew he
had been a troll trying his luck in the human world

The Semien Kingdom

the Semienite kings erected stelae
to the kingdom of the wrestling with God;
Ethiopian hinterlands ruled with the iron fist of Judea, 
the flag of Magen David swaying in Abyssinian winds.

Judit?battle-hungry commander of war,
panzer-woman of Scriptural Armageddon!

the queen casts her leather noose
and steers the forces of Beta Israel
into a battle of redemption and of honor
conducted in a strong and Hebraic iron tradition
not even a Holocaust could ever quell!

Scythian Dawn

(Written through the eyes of a 6th century B. C. era Scythian warrior poet)

wind o wind o wind!

wind o wind whichs cleaves
the steppe in dire stagnation

eternal is the ride,
endless, the expanse

forever is the arrow
and the still air it slices 
has no end to it either

below the ever-great sun-disc
we tremble
like hearts in lover-chests

half human, half stallion
hoof and hand, neigh and bow

into everlasting cold
echoing
aryan ancestry
from back centuries or even millenia

into ever-hinterlands
where slint-eyeds
and blue-eyeds 
and brown-eyeds live
the steppe-nation spreads 
like eagles soar 
or how wolves migrate

Bus Ride

he is a guest in another beings dream
a stranger sleeps behind his eyes

when he thinks about this
he shivers and turns to the window
letting himself be distracted by the dusty fields 
the wind cranking farms

the bus is half-full
empty seats are occupied by the soon to be born
the soon to be dead and those in transition

hinterlands overlap and leak

a young man yet to be conceived
stares about him thinking he is in a movie
people speak a language known only to hollow trees
and wooden owls
there are no subtitles for his state of mind

passengers cling to the long straps of their thoughts
as the coach sways

some occupants are uncertain
if whether they have a real ticket for a real life
others think they may have purchased a ticket
with no destination
they fidget in their seats
wonder why the trip is taking so long

under spinning rubber
the ground sinks away 
while an inverse sky 

                            rises

Fair Share

Dear Joe,
If you find a moment to spare
Please explain to me 
What you may mean by “My fair share”

Is the depth and breadth of my share
Equal to those
Wandering endlessly content
Through the hinterlands of Welfare

If I have and they do not
Certainly, my share today is greater,
I think you may agree,
By more than a lot

A share is share
Not larger or smaller
Because of failure or success
A simple truth of the mathematical process

Tell me, Joe
Must I beware
Are you planning on taking
More than my “Fair share”

The words of this silly poem
Reveal where I stand
On giving what is mine
To those with a greedy hand

Dear Joe, with a patriotic heart
I set at liberty “My Fair Share”
Don’t ask me for more
And pretend you care
Sincerely,
Donald

Sumatran Rhinos

Sumatran Rhinos are listed as, critically endangered
and are now classified as, “functionally extinct”
as they are only seen in zoos, for their genes to be preserved
but the death of two subspecies, makes them so distinct

Sumatran Rhinos used to live, on Borneo and Sumatra islands
and are the smallest, of the living Asian Rhinos
These Rhinos have two horns, very unique to these hinterlands
and their long hair relates them to, the ancient Woolly Rhino

Poaching of Rhino horns, are sold on the black market
for medicine and ornaments, that makes them a big target 
and the biggest markets, are in China and Vietnam
as the greed of money, is a worldwide human scam

The Hinterlands

unaccompanied
I set out to traverse the hinterlands
perceiving myself as a blemish on society
all eyes averted from my unsightly visage
the pernicious shadow of doubt's cloud 
casting an ominous apparition that darkened the mood
  but failed to dampen the xeric ground with needed rain

feigning confidence in my destination
striding past sage and succulent - yucca and agave
longing for the carefree smell of the ocean
and the company of friends
feeling like Abram departing Ur of the Chaldees
seeking astral consolation from the night sky
kneeling to pray to the heavenly sentry
I'd close my eyes to rest from the weary enterprise
  of surviving my high school wilderness


Written 10 Nov 2020

Senryu Series 2020403april

I
global shutdown
local foraging pleasures
picking herbs - bounty

II
promise of city -
work loses meaning -
plants, family

III
global shutdown
strange equality
hinterlands rise

Beyond Horizons

Zephyr carried fragrance from yonder lands
              Sussuration during frondscence of my dreams
           Rainbow ballads upon dewy petals

          Soft sunrays splash down on shy petals
              Songbirds share folklores of hinterlands
                     I collect stardust from my escaping dreams

                     To sketch rhymes in my dreams within dreams
              In river of milky way I floated my emotions petals
          To reach beyond horizons to my lover's land

19/02/2019

The Dance

They have continued
The naked dance
In the centre 
Of the market square…

Elders and children
Shamefacedly dishevelled 
Have kept the dance 
Of shame
To their chest
Like a golden inheritance…

Sadly we watched
Crying for an end 
To the naked dance…

But nay! Many 
Of the watchers
And criers of yesteryears 
Have today 
Swum gingerly towards 
The market place
To join the naked dance of shame…

A friend of mine
Who yesterday swore
To end the dance 
Is today at the head 
Of the drumming crew
Alternating the beat with dance-steps
Frenzied but crooked 
Albeit beautiful in all their eyes…

‘Hey! Friend!
You pledged to quell 
The shameful dance last night
But so early today 
Are u wining and grinding 
To these damnable beats…’

He laughed
Scoffed…

‘Come on board
And eat with the gods
Dance to sacred beats
In the hinterlands 
Of the chosen few,
The view in here
Is prettier than yonder.
Dear friend,
Blame me not 
For I am intoxicated 
To be a god among men…’

Then I knew 
The naked dance has no end…

There may be 
A change of beat
But the dance 
Till eternity
Shall continue…

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