Long Babes Poems
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MY ADDED VERSUS:
Bows on solemn flower blooms
and scented layers of flared perfume
flow down rows of headstones and tombs.
I've looked at death that way.
But now I tend to ask God why
people visit and freshly cry.
We all know when loved ones die
they rise on His stairway.
I've looked at death from both sides now
from heart to soul and creased my brow.
It's cemeteries I recall.
I really don't know death at all.
Babes and Moms know love far beyond
the reasons seasoning their bond.
Loving a child is blessing dawned.
I've looked at fair that way.
But I live with maternal pain.
My childhood baby dreams met stain.
Now I'm thunder in my son's rain.
Won't give my sadness sway.
I've looked at fair from both sides now
from deep held faith and still somehow
it's his special needs I recall.
I really don't know fair at all.
Frosty sky
Lush local wood, chopped
Evergreen
Fragrant pine
Fills our home with holidays
Guiding star on top
Spiced cider
Peppermint cocoa
Gingerbread
Garlands, wreaths
Holly berries sprinkle red
Festive door greetings
Mom's carols
Of babes in mangers
Three wise men
Journey far
Angels, shepherds, miracles
Tradition belongs
We are not
Grim cheerless police
Glad tidings
We offer
Yes, we say Merry Christmas
In more than one way
We believe
Goodwill moves the world
Candles lit
Wish for peace
You and I are more alike
Labels camouflage
Christmas Eve
Stockings, cookies, snow
Jesus and
Santa teach
Goodness, giving, to children
My faith lies in these.
11/27/18
Running, dripping, or still;
Life's a faucet, we’re a thirst,
To never drink our fill.
We drink and think
We are immune to pain from one another,
But brother, when it comes,
The waterfall or shower towers each
To block the sun.
Into a depth of puddles we stare
With all the wishes hearts forsake.
While voices whisper
From each rain for us to wake.
All drops stop, then disappear,
Take no side but reach our ear
In long or shorter stride to touch
The origin inside.
The place from which no one can hide;
The Hand that turns our faucet on or off.
From caves to huts and soup to nuts,
Each of us an entertainment,
The scope of which directed by
The compass of our choice.
We have and hear a different voice,
But it is our own we stretch
Across this voided earth,
Spiked with certain curtains and callings
Our ceilings manufactured.
These times are not newer
Because there are fewer miles
Of synapse between us.
It is a small but constant distance
From cheek to cuspidor
And what is not expected
Is expectorant on the floor
As we walk into our slippers
Through each shower of hours.
Chapters of happiness layered
With a faith that is guided by
What we have been without.
It is far more elegant to dress
Our moments in what is missing
Than dismissing the obvious
For the want of more,
Yet to stop is to become
That which we were chasing.
Our ears grow with age.
While cold guides our fingers flattened rage.
We can say what we will, turn the page,
Or eat a pie, starting every bite with I.
Who would be the wiser?
What gains a penny whose face is proud
And speaks aloud to the backside of a life?
Follow or fallow It’s what we are made of;
Harvesting hairs, split with indifferences
Spilling from the mouths of babes,
But Maybe baby, we just want to be held
One more time before we go,
While knowledge and understanding
Come from the language of others.
Each place or face is a foreign orb
That we err or blur into a refinement.
It is not a magic pencil but a crazy crayon
From which the cartoons of our life are born.
Oh Gabriel, come blow that horn!
Within life's cesspool, captives held for trade,
along infested ways where young-child rape
is glorified by twisted souls who gape
and for the purity of babes are paid.
In dim, demonic dwellings are they laid
and sold to loathsome loves who drape
stolen innocence in sin's evil curse--
beyond protection or rescuing raid;
the shadowy officials turn the head
to wink or sometimes join the savage curse.
Somewhere sad, broken parents, sobbing, lie,
tortured days and nights saturate with dread
while ever fuller grows the sex trade's purse:
the victims cry alone and ask God why.
Copyright, May 3, 2014
Faye Gibson
The Conference at Mantua
Ah, what a scene of tranquil learnedness!
The scholars nurse their tomes like babes in arms:
white locks: heads cocked to savor the address
of Pius, in his charming Latin: balm
floats in through high-arched, airy colonnades.
The lake is laced with skittish little skiffs:
those rolling lawns of Mantua could be made
to sport a kick-ass golf course. Oh, those cliffs!
But life just ain't that peachy. Belching blame,
the Cardinals did squat, but bleat and *****.
No representatives invited, came.
And Mantua was a cramped, unhealthy pitch.
Scarampo wasn't much inclined to linger.
With imprecations colouring the air,
he gave the Pope the metaphoric finger,
and rode away, at haste -- to God knows where.
The Lake was nothing but a sluggish stream.
It bred mosquitoes in malevolent clouds.
The croaking frogs made sleep a pious dream.
The locals were more oafish than in Stroud.
Bessarion stayed true, and Torquemada.
A basis, then, for troops to rally on:
but Europe's bookends? "Altar y espada"
is not much use among Italians!
At last, some envoys came -- but far from helping,
they asked for help! From Burgundy came Cleves,
but not disposed for listening, more for yelping
about the local petulance and peeves.
And when they paint the frescoes of your life,
they'll airbrush out the unappealing grunge.
They'll strip away the struggle and the strife.
And you'll bequeathe what's pretty (dung expunged).
Our hands and our feet were warmed from the cold,
while the campfire burned into embers and coal
The song that he whispered combined with the sparks,
and drifted away, to be lost in the dark
Splinters of light outlined his shape,
and hollowed the lines in his face.
With fingertips calloused, he strummed his guitar
into the solace of night.
We gathered to listen, and gathered our tears,
with smoke in our eyes and our hearts compromised.
The song told the fable of babes lost in the woods
who had wandered away on a bright amber day.
Where the robins of red, so gingerly spread
green strawberry leaves to cradle their graves
Crickets, like orphans awakened from rest,
lamented with sorrow from pine-needle nests
This legend was saved, but others were lost,
tossed to the wind, like ghost-feathers of ash.
My father is gone, but the song lingers on
remembered tonight, from a night in the past
The wind still unfolds the song to the night
whispering words that make robins cry
Drifting through the trees and taking me home
Still stoking the embers of a mid-summer's moon
________________________________________________________
On a moonlit late night
I sat in a bar
Drinking drams of demented, fermented dream dew
Just an unhinged lunatic
Dreaming of howling at the full moon
Watching the world walk by
Looking at all the fine looking babes
Walking by the street
Thinking wild, erotic thoughts
Of endless wild libertine passions
When into the bar
Walked the most beautiful women
In the Universe
So wild, so free
So wonderfully alive
I did not know what to do
As this vision of delight
Sauntered through the bar
In a skin-tight leather pants
Looked so fine
That my eyeballs hurt
And finally, I had to say something
So, I gathered up my manly courage
And walked up to her
And she looked at me
And instantly bewitched my soul
With a devilish grin
I lost all reason
And became a raving lunatic
Unhinged lunatic
Howling at the moon
Foaming at the mouth
A wild, free werewolf
Howling at the lunatic light
Of the full Moon
Note: in honor of the blood moon posted on my blog the world according to cosmos
Filling the blank space of the heart hey my oxygen of love You braced the sand near the shore with an enriched almond in my life,
Oh my damsel !! Stupendously You are my love!!
Dipping in the soul of your's, relishing with the bunch of Jasmine,efflorescence is flushing on my way,
Oh my Queen !! Universally You vanquished my heart!!
Aster of my life,blooming Rose, alluringly captured the entire morsel occupying with an astounding charm of your's,
Oh my babes !! My lucid crystal,You shines forever!!
Heuristically resolved my problems filling with the stiff breeze unwrapping the emotions of love,
Oh my angel !! Happily You wrote the fairy-tale of my life!!
Near the samui bay, as like a relation between kit and boodle you spinned the petals of my life,
Oh my princess!! Drooping in your eyes I felt daunted!!
Implanting your waving leaves on my heart, melancholically removing the sad ness of my life,
Oh my lady !! zingels rangged in my refracting prism of soul!!
My starlit darkness is been flared up as if You are the brazen periwinkles balancing my world,
Oh my Pearl !! Lying in your shell of clam, Oysterically I Would love to clump throughout for all season!!
Adorably my dame-chick had gleefully connected me with every piece of my soul lusciously vibrating me,
Oh my doll !! Mirthfully You hit my heart a million times & blithely the spirit of yours made me solve the entire puzzle of life!!
It was not long ago
By the reck'ning of things
You were yet a wee one
Yet under our wing-
Now you have grown up
Like snow follows Spring -
Now you're a Mother,
All Mothers must sing.
All Mothers must sing,
Though not always with voice;
'Tis a matter of Truth,
Not a question of Choice.
They sing with their hearts
They sing with their souls
They sing while they're young,
The sing when they're old.
All Mothers, all Mothers, all Mothers
Must sing,
Some sing but a whisper,
Some make the walls ring.
They know that they hold
The most Precious of things;
So all Mothers, all Mothers, all Mothers
Must sing.
They sing with their smiles
With their hearts and their sighs,
They sing us to bed
They sing as we rise;
They sing in response
To our smallest of cries
All with the brilliance of love in their eyes.
So from now to the time
You are grey just like me
Darling, sing to your babes
As I sang to thee;
They shall grow to be kind,
To be honest and true;
They shall grow to be Wonderful,
Just like you.
All Mothers must sing
All Mothers must sing
All Mothers, all Mothers, all Mothers
Must sing;
Some sing but a whisper,
Some make the walls ring;
They know that they hold
The most Precious of things;
So all Mothers, all Mothers, all Mothers
Must sing,,,,
Grazing gracefully in the meadows
Among the Autumn dark shadows
Silhouetted against the fading sunshine
I see your melancholy and decline
Day by day and Year after year
I saw yourself trembling in fear
Human orders; You had no say
when they took your dignity away
I know the hurt and pain you felt
When your friends were taken away
I heard your wailing laments
When your babes were dragged away
You have nurtured thousands of nations
Societies, small and great civilizations
A glass of milk, with bread and butter
Cheese on pizza, for lunch or supper
Scones with cream for evening tea
For a bundle of hay, your gifts are free
I shan't talk of veal and steak
That will make me numb and weak
This is my praise and thoughts of you
To release my pain and heartbound woe
The words aren’t enough for apologies to air
I know that tomorrow, you wouldn’t be there