Long Antennas Poems
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Her effervescent skin glows upon her baby
No gold crown, nor pedestal, nor zealot,
only exalted hopes between heartbeats let be
Oval black eyes, resonant green her Mantis palette
Vibrations osculating, antennas array,
she orients the airflow with sensing ability
signaling the presence of menacing prey
She is seeker of soils varied for fertility
By wind and water shaped a human form,
giving rewarding rise to a sculptured womb
from dense clusters humbling herself to perform
Of flora, of fauna, vegetal body she’ll rhumb
Influencer of feelings, an empath's birth right,
stems the empyrean heaven of her baby Messiah
rooting warmth, mapping space with sensory light
The constellations foretell, the birth of Sequoia
Of the wind’s rhythm, roots destiny beholds,
named for the patience of the tallest trees
Sired by the cosmos Cotati of star lords
From deep indigo skies that bring us to our knees
Energy beings adrift in soul space
She is now a dark and impenetrable forest
He branchlets, akin of Hala’s race,
Behold spirits weaving on a kismet quest
Once a student of the priests of Pama
wisdom and martial arts, CHOP-POW-KICKS,
metamorphosed Celestial Madonna,
into greener pastures of biometrics
And when asked for a sign by the night star
She’ll lift the Messiah toward the dark vastness
and when ether sweeps smoke rising afar
a glimpse of beauty for a moment no less
Not crown, nor altar, nor throne, only this,
rings in arms, cradled by guardianships
Mother and Child, a universe openness,
'neath what’s written in the stars where all ellipse
At midnight, beneath the silent crown of Mount Kailash,
I wandered alone, my eyes fixed on the vast tapestry of stars.
Then, without warning, a river of light fell from the heavens—
a radiant stream, golden and blue, draping the mountain in fire.
Figures appeared, human in shape but woven from pure white light,
walking, yet floating, descending without sound.
No words escaped their lips, yet my mind heard their voices.
Telepathy—sharp, clear, undeniable.
“We are the Anunnaki,” they said,
“keepers of the Milky Way belt.
Earth is our living laboratory.
From time to time, we come
to give tasks to those prepared.”
In a blink, I was lifted to the mountain’s peak.
Laid face down, I felt their touch upon my spine—
a spark, a flood of static fire racing through me.
I was powerless, yet strangely awake,
as if my soul was rewired.
“You are one of our chosen antennas,” they whispered,
“a bridge between frequencies,
a vessel through which hidden knowledge will flow.
At times you will appear, at times you will vanish,
but always, you remain our instrument.”
Then, as suddenly as they came,
they returned me to the path where they found me.
The light faded, the night grew still.
Yet the question burns:
How did Zechariah Sitchin know?
How did he see what few dare believe?
And why, when people say I am visible and invisible,
do I now understand—
I am simply a human antenna.
Juice had a call that carried to the outer limits of the next galaxy.
We all thought he was a tad bit touched in his pure ecstasy.
I think he seems more orange today, said a feline on the block.
Look at his muscles said another, his boots I’d like to knock.
You hussies are whorish I thought, feeling I was better than them.
The next thing I knew they were clashing down an old Tom named Jim.
Two of the wildest felines in New York, they have had dozens of litters.
Not a bit discriminating, they are an embarrassment to cat critters.
Juice was throwing his call out there, with insane bits of might.
I knew he was calling the mothership. I saw her antennas bright.
Get me off of this planet he told the beam that came down from the sky.
At this moment, he became a pretty damned desirable guy.
I preened and I primped, and I sashayed up to that alley in a bit.
He had stopped sing wailing, but he did not see me one whit.
The aliens had brought him something ten times better than cat nip.
I lingered for days. The smell sent me on a fantastic psychedelic trip.
What is wrong with those two? Juice asked, indicating the sluts.
I was honest and mean, throwing out words in disapproving struts.
We became close friends that day. High as kite, Juice and happy me.
The next time he made the alien cry, I was next to him singing off key.
COLLEGIATE MANTIS
solo stick figure genuflects at the knees
leafy green, prophet-like.
petitions God with a tenacious grip -
of the windshield wipers,
assiduous antennas flapping in the breeze.
holds on to the lord’s favor,
even as i send his pew flying
this way and that.
with intense stereo-vision he sees far into the future…
like jiminy cricket, his friendship is vital.
peripheral vision perfect, judiciously looks both ways.
o miraculous mantis -
sentinel of paradise,
keep watch over my child.
4th place winner
8/17/2016
contest: Praying Mantis
sponsored by: Anthony Slausen
Hundred million K' away neighbour, Mars
Hovers bolognese smeared brother, ice brick
Fondness for possibles although bizarre
Intoxicate screw loose hair brained psychic
Frog skin glint silk soak, last page of atlas
Frigid rift in regolith terracotta
Ancient alien sustaining chalice
Embalms escargot creatures exotic
Savant submerged in claiming lake, limbs grey
Gnawed on by hordes of sword fish ravenous
Haunting waters, explorer credere
Stores files in his spongy tissue camera
Angora cotton ball goats, horns antennas
Munch dust, dull marbles watch earth untether
Still the twentieth of October
Extra terrestrial Thursday
Glinting-proud yachts, sun-boasting, deeply invested
in their mirrored moorings.
Floating checkers on a liquid board,
slowmotion pirouette on bank-heavy anchor chains,
holding position in wind, wave and water.
Furled masts attend like stiff antennas,
line-brushing the breeze in signal-search of clicked,
clipped messages from unsighted seas.
Barnacles bunch and tap out morse code
on the hard hidden hulls, sending syphered
wishes of 'Bon Voyage!' out into the tentacled currents.
A steam-forgotten train, olde power mist-swept out to sea,
once rattle-puffed and rolled over incoming waves.
The frail-fallen bridge, prostrate as the vertebral bones
of a fossilized dinosaurus, its ribcage of pylons exposed
in rusted spines, grips with a last grasp, down
into the sucking mudbrown silt. Only its bent,
buckled back heaves above in the tide flow.
Fingerling fish, flash and race to beat the washaway waters,
shoals break the miniscus in silver slivered eruptions,
shattering the glass-still surface into a thousand shimmering
shards of luminescent liquid to splinter-splash, then sink
to the swaying, submarine sedge.
Come down to the lagoon with me,
and we'll whisper our names into calling-cone conches.
Hold my hand, let's cross this bridge over the waves.
Our spirit-sails filled to billowing,
sail with me from the lagoon-safe harbour,
out into the blue deep where salty, scimitar
gulls will screech warnings.
Chinese trollers
Cranes and pulleys motor oil saliva
Fishhook cockroach antennas dipped to the oceans
Thousands of sailing creepy crawlers
Bandits with razors
Cross the boundless seas
Devours crumbs of every kind of confiscated fish
Left to crawl or swim on the ocean floor
The hulls share their creaking space
With bunks for 20-year-old sailor slaves
Signed on
Then denied Port for up to three years
“Mama mama rescue me.” Messages from tossed beer bottles
If these young men get sick or hurt
Sometimes over the side they go
Fish guts
Transfer the catch to larger Chinese factory ships
Shadows slinking under the middle-ocean moons
That spoon the salt from emptied seas
Every Treaty and Border violated
Back to China
On ice
The raped slave girls in blue uniforms
Sold from North Korea for two years a piece
Slice and dice with knives
Fish heads and sucker arms
Sliding along the bloody Chinese assembly lines
18 hours a day with an evening beating
Seven days a week
Packaged tagged
Up sold again
North Korea’s skin in the game?
Meat to fund their nuclear missiles
Oh
Don’t bother blaming the CCP Biden Trump
Moon or Corporate America
It is we
The religious consumer
Who have been sufficiently and recently
Re-trained
To have an insatiable appetite
To woof down Calamari
Thought you’d like to know
Though
The long modern journey of re-branded squid.
THIRD WORST CLATTER OF ANTIMATTER
clatter of antimatter
alien dishes splatter
(the shape of spaceships)
his antennas* whir with rising
he considers going wireless
a dish flying at warp speed
like a zillion cyclonic bats
(female Vogon shriek encapsulated by rage)
the creaming of eggs
the earth took a beating
(local yokels evaporating)**
the pounding of this poem
pretty bad prose
destruction of the first and second worst verse
because everyone knows a Vogon
must clink and clank
on its dink and dank typewriter***
the third worst clatter of antimatter
mama Vogon whisks their deadpan bottoms
if you think your kids make noise
you’ve never heard a Vogon cry
D…o….n, well f…i…n…i…t,
Fingers smack on each key, pounding little hammers.
Zip..(return carriage)
How oh how did those earthlings type with these
Zip…(return carriage)
But this is rather priceless after earth’s fiasco
3/7/2017
Shadow Hamilton’s The Noise contest
*American television show depicted a martian with antennas
that would rise from his head “My Favorite Martian”
**Local yokels – an inhabitant of a particular locale
***Everyone knows that a Vogon doesn’t know the “meaning”
of the Universe (or words for that matter)
the world craves more artists
creative souls sensitive antennas
conceptual skills performing arts artisans of beauty
painters crafters poets musicians dancers
the world needs more expression
more love more magic
your life is your gift back to the universe
be the poem that moves the world
Published in my 24-page photo/anthology book ~IN THE GARDEN OF MY FANTASY~ 2023
Read on air by invitation ~ July 14, 2021 'WORDS & MUSIC'
AP: 2nd place 2021, Honorable Mention 2021
Submitted on July 13, 2021 for A BRIAN STRAND JULY 14 POETRY CONTEST sponsored by BRIAN STRAND - RANKED 1ST
Carries a cargo twenty times her weight
with her pupil following, keeping pace
sniffing with antennas scent of the bait
she had left to retrace steps through the mace
Her feet from the ground pick up vibrations
alerting if rivals approach to fight
barefoot climbing the hot rock formations
zigzagging through the brightness of noon light
The queen and babies for her are waiting
without her food may die from starvation
almost home with pupil still following
both climb mound in silent jubilation
Walking all day may help in losing weight
Do you know an ant that is overweight?
First Place Winner: Brian Strand Contest -7/16/21-