Long Afternoons Poems
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A “mention” in the Master’s ante-room.
Another February had arrived,
with dirty snow and heavy, slate-grey skies.
(One couldn’t help observing, on the sly,
the Master’s knees were blanket-draped
beneath his desk.) No wigs or gowns on show.
A minor hearing in a puny case.
They call it “inter partes” when both sides
turn up. Some point-at-issue had loomed large,
and we were here to tussle over it.
This room, so Ruskinesque, with frescoes
high on every wall, so hard to heat,
was one great chilly barn. The speaker’s breath
plumed out before him. “And my learned friend … “
Our leader’s voice, so sensible in its drone,
so sweetly reasonable, continued on,
so redolent of wintry afternoons,
like hissing logs a-burning in the grate.
Those practised highs and lows, mellifluous,
his easy-listening tone, so bland, so blithe,
relying on the case of this-or-that,
distinguishing the precedent of such,
“I think it was Lord Blinkwell who opined …”
Two hundred years ago – a little less –
the young Charles Dickens wasted days in here
(the chances are, here in this very room,
observing dreary sleet run down the windows),
mired in this solemn nonsense. Might it be,
he swore an oath – if ever he escaped,
he’d never take life seriously again?
If so, this ponderous symphony in grey,
as glum as Shostokovich etched in stone,
has cranked out clowns. There may be more to come.
You who dwell in the gardens
with friends in attendance,
let me hear your voice!
Song of Songs 8:13 NIV
Young love, young love.
Her love longs to hear her -
her chirping in the garden,
the peak of harp-pluck
and see the flight
of purest shamrock eyes.
Her love’s jealous for
a whispering of cherubic lips.
*A find, this dove, this only daughter,
the favorite of the one who bore her.*
Her young prince, in ivory tower, thinks of her
from sunrise to sunset and forever
in his dreams.
She keeps a company of friends,
who delight in her white teeth,
her minty breath, her measured words.
They’re acquainted with
her grace, the smooth taste
of time and space…for him, oblivion.
Her love misses out, on chipper words,
so lovely-shaped, in rainbow-afternoons.
He longs for her all the time
but though she is his,
not all her time
is his.
5/13/2022
*Song of Songs scripture
Somewhere have I lost those eyes that used to have dreams
Those years are lost; those throbbing moments of playfulness
The long walk towards school, hand in hand with my childhood charm
Her face shone, mine too, actually the faces of all children did so
Did the Sun match our glow in mirth and enthusiasm? I doubt
Our afternoons were full of the smiling blue canopy
That always blessed us though we did not understand it then
All of it was so natural, so easy flowing
Today my childhood tries to sneak in my present
It gets unnerved by those frowning figures
Of my real-life obligations and matured responsibilities
My childhood finds a dark and lonely passage somewhere
In the labyrinth of the grown up me; for a moment
Flowers bloom, birds sing and the morning smiles again…
That lasts only for a moment; my grown-up me then
Grabs the collar of that child and like a pensive sentry
Gravely leads it back to where it had been
His face grim, though his eyes
Wet and glistening
In search of those dreams perhaps…
First blow of chill wind,
whips me hard with blinding sand;
my vision dimmers losing the hazed horizon's sight...
hours earlier a cloudless sky was very blue and bright.
The long walks in the sad dunes
have ended, so will the flights of strayed balloons;
Will I miss the warm afternoons and breezy nights with the lunar sheen...
when the foaming waves reached my sandy toes and washed them clean?
My pensive look follows a falling star
without hearing its loud shattering on a rock,
which darkness has hidden from the silver moonbeams...
but all the mystery and silence abruptly end as my solitude begins.
Afternoon Hiatus
Counting footsteps at dapper dawn’s increased insistence
As flurries of minutes in perpetual movement binds hands
To a spinning roulette of prioritized importance
Motivating motives of revelations demand admittance
And attention’s effervescent energy
Like the ordered notes in a music box rebellion
That winds down when solitary sol begins to slide
Past the apex of day’s light that tumbles
Toward the waiting, wandering, sea’s vertical vortex
In long beams touching yawning midafternoon
Begging the tattered taskmaster time
Sit down!
Be still!
In china cups from time before
Savor the pearls of tawny topaz perfume
Carried from exotic mountain slopes
Amber ambrosia steeped in afternoons long passed
To pause
Pushing back on the tempo of time’s insistent intervals -
To disconnect in soaring sighs
Of an afternoon holiday in hiatus.
1-29-21
Contest: Hiatus
Sponsor Chantelle Anne Cooke
Renewable Radiance
Streams of clearest light,
Born of a star,
Splash across flaxen maize,
Beckoning tall sunflowers to follow
With their skyward gaze
Dashing through newborn dewdrops
Creating playful shadows
In the bouncing,
dappling,
flashing,
flowing
Golden glow of brilliance in bronze
Making freckles on upturned noses
Or fiery heat on skin neglected
Now captivated by smooth glass faces
In cycles of sunrise and sunset
To find a place in close community
Coming home to rest on rooftops
Turning midnight into morning
Bits of sunspots
Energizing evening
Seeking opportunities
To turn on street lights
Heat a winter night,
Light up empty highway signs
Kitchen lamps in gathering spaces,
Where scents of stews
Float up from simmering pots
Sitting atop daystar fire,
To cool the breath of afternoons
Turning summer heat around in circles
Then ever giving birth to moonlight
Illuminating a garden path
Or candles
Twinkling
In the trees at midnight
Reaching out,
Waiting - standing at attention -
Begging to be used,
But not used up,
Gladly emptied out
Never tiring,
Never holding back
In jealousy,
No matter what the calendar proclaims
Or season promises,
Collected radiance renewable
Renewed
Generating energy
In spinning allegros
Freely given,
Freely breathing,
Inexhaustible,
Joyful
Gift and giver.
B eautiful balmy afternoons beneath a breezy sky
E namored enchantment of exquisite extravagance
A cross abstract patterns of audacious affinity
U nique and unfathomable ultramarine highlights
T antalizing the temperamental ticklish temptress
I ntimidating intrepid and intoxicating
F inespun fiery potpourri of flamboyant foliage
U nveiling ulterior unfamiliarities
L anguishing a luxuriously lavish love affair
F emme Fatale forever fickle frivolous facetious
A utumn's audaciously awestruck amorous arousal
L amenting the loss of loveliest luminous layers
L iberating legendary lethargic lullabies
AP: 1st place 2022, 2nd place 2022, Honorable Mention 2020
Submitted on September 8, 2018 for contest BEAUTIFUL FALL sponsored by JOHN HAMILTON - RANKED 5TH
This winter will leave silently, like a dream that fades at dawn,
wrapped in memories carefully hidden in the corners of the soul,
to be unwrapped again when the cold weather turns back time,
when the snowflakes will once more carve their path to the waiting earth.
The cold tap water, which once chilled our hands with shivers,
will remain suspended under the summer's heat, silently wondering:
Are there still fingers that seek its chill, longing for winter,
to feel its touch like a memory that comes alive in the heart of summer?
The breeze through the window, which once made the curtains dance,
will now lay the sun's rays on lazy and warm afternoons,
where you will drift into a half-sleep like a sweet and gentle spell,
in a tender dream that caresses the eyelids with a smile of light.
The fire from cold evenings, where a part of the night was consumed,
will now scatter its ashes into the wind like a farewell song,
leaving behind only echoes of warmth and light that fade away,
secrets kept in the heart, like a story whispered softly.
This winter will slowly slip away from the present, but it will leave a part of itself,
hidden in a secret pocket of a sweater forgotten on a shelf,
waiting to be found by a hand that remembers the touch,
when the cold will once again dress the world in its cloak of hidden chill.
This time of year is most dear to me
Nature puts on a show for all to see
Sring rids the grey skies and sad looking browns
Blooming buttercup trumpets blaring beautiful sounds
Chilly mornings and warm afternoons
The lovely spring season never comes too soon
Dogwoods are blooming from berries to flowers
Soft, warm breezes and gentle rain showers
Bumblebees buzzing like pollen mailmen
Colors become vibrant all over again
Everywhere you look, new life burst from the ground
Birds begin to sing a magnificent sound
Cardinals and bluebirds come into view
They harmonize a natures chorus just for you
Beautiful flowers everywhere are candy for your eyes
Blue skies and cotton clouds fill the sky
Its the season of freshness energy, and the earth feels clean
The feeling of lying in a hammock with a lite hearted dream
Or walk through an open field and take it all in
Hello favorite season good to see you again
Days become longer, and time passes slow
All nature new colors radiantly glow
Bright mornings and long afternoons
Daylight savings time never comes too soon
Spring is here, and mother nature shows us all
That Spring season is my first choice; my second is fall.
Lpickard
Run and Catch the Wind
Run and catch the wind, little one,
Fly on wings above the trees;
Make a clubhouse in the clouds
Let every dream soar like a breeze
Capture sunbeams in a jar
Like fireflies on a summer night
So no matter where you wander
You will always carry God’s light
Shake the stardust from the North Star
Gather up each sparkling light
Build magic castles on starry shores
Each day find new delights
Ride on waves of laughing foam,
A dolphin playing in the sea,
Happiness your forever friend
With gifts of blessings always free
Wake up each morning with the sun
Cuddle the moon in moonlight slumbers
Slide down rainbow afternoons
Treasure these and all life’s wonders
4-27-22
Contest: Nursery Rhymes 3
Sponsor: Eve Roper