Long Break of day Poems
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A LETTER TO MY BELOVED
While I am writing this letter to You, my one and only,
the mute wind,
utterly silent and stealthy,
has opened the doors of the old church,
and carried away the prayers
along the white heavenly fields.
The mute wind never opens my door,
because he knows that my prayers ran dry
long since, just like my tears.
While the eternally faithful solitude
carries my passions
across the face of the bloody horizon,
my memories are slowly dying
on the bonfire of the demonic fire of oblivion.
My one and only, I am not afraid of my own death,
I am afraid of the death of our memories.
You remember, my one and only,
the cheerful song of the golden bird
on the red rose’s petal,
when You used to bestow me with kisses,
moist and reverberant,
warm and dreamy.
My pen is trembling in my hand,
just like that red rose,
where Your gentle gaze is no longer present.
You know, my one and only,
one of the rose’s petals shivers in the wind
more than all the others.
It is the same petal
you used to fondle
at the break of day.
Its face is perfectly human
yearning and lonely
like mine.
Up there, the golden bird is singing,
while down here solitude is following my steps.
Why won’t it be killed?
Because its grave
lies down there along with many souls,
because human laws do not apply to it.
And when the mute wind
started wistfully humming
in the tired night’s embrace,
I continued wandering the world
with the inexplicable hope
that I might, perchance,
walk into You.
Days, months and years
were carried away by the capricious wind of destiny,
and You still remained but a memory.
There is no pain in my defunct heart,
everything is so distant and meaningless without You,
and You are so far,
and me,
I never took part in anything again.
And when that golden bird,
amidst its cheerful song,
would casually look into my eyes,
I would be stricken with indescribable memories.
And while the April sky
rose above its
quivering golden head,
I knew that its song
travels towards a borderline,
invisible world,
just like all our memories do.
Do not worry, my one and only,
the day will come,
our day,
when the golden bird shall sing
for us only,
and when that rose petal shall once again
tremble in Your hand,
just like my hand shall tremble
in Your hand.
©Walter William Safar
Deliberately inching its way toward break of day,
The morning sun begins to emblazon the barley field.
Relaxing and watching the orb find its way,
The lady of the house waits for night to yield.
Like every morning, she is seated there,
Enjoying the dew scented breeze on her veranda.
Feeling its coolness on her scalp while combing her hair,
And the warmth of the rising sun becoming grander.
Her mind wanders back to the city of her birth,
Just over the rise, beyond the barley field’s treasure,
Lies the city with the most famous name on earth,
Where, in her youth, she was a lady of pleasure.
To Rachab went all of Jericho’s possession,
By decree of God, for which Achan was stoned.
For this soldier could not control his obsession,
Though aware the city’s riches were God’s own.
With God’s grace, Rachab’s wisdom grew,
And she made the city’s outskirts her spread.
Her land into a field of grain did accrue,
A breadbasket from which hordes were fed.
Her hires were the finest laborers in the land
And were busy harvesting barley all spring.
She paid the very best wage to every man,
Cause her crop was the best early rains could bring.
The fields and glades, that gave her pasture form,
Seemed sensuous in every contour and rise.
At daybreak, contrasting tones were the norm,
Painted artfully by the brightening skies.
Mounds appeared convexly round breasts,
Lovingly sculpted over a span of human girth,
Whose beauty was able to put the heart to a test,
As the machinery of memory rotates the earth.
Babbling brooks flowed from shady nooks,
Giving refreshment to denizens of land and sky,
Producing a scene of green worthy of picture books,
That not one skilled artist would dare deny.
Gingerly she rose the doorway torch to quench,
Watching the shrinking darkness become shadows.
Rachab calmly returns to her veranda bench,
To observe butterflies dance above the meadows.
In her dreams, she envisions a more golden age,
When royalty would be attributed to her seed.
A zephyr flows over her mind turning the page,
But she still aspires the prospect of the throne to accede.
What a lovely story to behold just beginning to dawn,
Rising out yonder, just beyond the horizon of time.
How we yearn to see that age return, now long forgone,
So our hearts may once again be joyous and sublime.
(witch role an unavoidable mandatory phase)
that nowadays breaks the piggybank
like a dropped fragile vase
you most likely nod assent if offspring grown,
or ponder new found challenge
expectant motherhood costs of progeny
take the following precendent all ways.
deux daughters desiduous teeth comprise
sum total of forty milky pearl white
whereat each healthy tooth
a miraculous bite size bit
of jaw dropping wizardry to in vite
a tasty morsel to get chewed,
until at some arbitrary time
(incumbent on each individual biological clock),
the second set thwart aside
(or sometime literally override)
these baby choppers right
fully as sought after treatures for the tooth fairy
(oft time disguised as part
of canine corp) offer sterling sight,
but fascinating as each replicated, punctuated,
lacteal dentition adorned with a pulp,
dentin, enamel, and cementum quite
a complex miniature edifice,
or a more apropos metaphor fielding sprite
would be a picket fence with important slats,
and thus a challenging plight
arises when a child shows their mother or father
gapped smile, and understands
to place tooth under pillow at night
when quiet as a mouse (who to be honest
create scratching sounds) the might
tee tooth fairy doth descend (nowadays
resort to global positioning
satelline application)
to find their way without turning on the light
soundless and still as a dust mote
feign being a knight
less to rescue a damsel, maybe
one baby step ahead of her/his insight
expecting to disover a modest wad of cash,
if stood on end, rather sizable in height
and essentially necessitating po' papa
to take out a loan, or hope flight
of fancy wish to win the lottery,
which would exite
self or spouse, but reality in league
with the fickle finger of fate doth disappoint and delight
son or daughter boasting to classmates,
how the rich tooth fairy (iz actually a faux pas
sham shaman, dirt poor father, bled dry,
whose coutenance (visible after break of day)
reflects that of one who barely survived a catfight
with finances in tatters as if
one money hungry toothless fairy took a bite.
Form:
The last trailing tendril filaments
of moon beams nocturnally trace
fashion an illusory gilded chariot Ark,
whence upon celestial runners,
the approach of dawn's early light
illuminated terrestrial space
which nebulous solar city flanges
revisited since time millennial
hubbub of human race
nsync with Zodiacal constellations,
which appear to shift
as planet Earth axis place
alternated in accordance with
inexplicable universal teenage
mutant Ninja turtles joint pact
with power rangers assumption
sans quotidian playstation remotely
controlled by aliens upon
oblate spheroid figurative stage
set whence commencement nudged
village people foment quiet riot rage
and rant against
uncontrollable catastrophic frenzy,
when cosmic creator
rehearses another page
from playbook, which
color coded cobbled Bible
emanates with radiant hues
of yellow and osage
nonetheless, no mortal adept to predict
(only within plus and/or minus
some marginal variance of error).
oft times punishing atmospheric phenomena
incarcerated, pistol whipped
(if anther incorrect),
whiplash unleashed, oppressed, imposed
challenging condition testing ground
flora and fauna could thrive,
whereat most hardy
plants and animals didst abound
linkedin upon terra firmae
murmur of orchestrated
organisms devising fitting
evolutionary survival traits
plentiful glory vis a vis L'Chaim;
gnome hatter outlook required
sprinting thru uber vanguard,
where zero sum game pitted
disadvantaged Feng shui
living things poorly sparred mismatched
against itching attired egghead,
kickstarting netzero beastie boys
indeed emulating hotmail prodigies
holding greensward ground.
scrimmage fostered, elicited,
dictated, commandeered nature
going full throttle with pings
across biological labyrinth
positioning glommed, peeved,
mis tweeted seeds of life, and white lily,
within soil lent green grubby business
whereby herb and woody stemmed
recalcitrant proto flings
wrote toe rooter bakers
gave Gaia a run for her money
to buy Buffalo wings
chasing miscreants nimbly
outwitting, out-rigging
outsmarting nettlesome stings,
and sage protuberant fungi,
released messengers where rise home
spore ports left nada mushroom,
though symbiosis wood
bark a roll a cord.
On the dreary streets of a quaint but callus steadfast hamlet
A pearl in the bluster carries a handwoven sweet grass basket
The umbrella' d tinge of the tiny town was opaque and gray
As the girl in the blue dress out shined the break of day
A beauty comparable to the first hint of light after winters darkest night
Emerging from the black ashes of peril like a beacon in your sight
Walking a well beaten footpath to town that was forged by frequency
She seemed to float on the earth's surface with affluent translucency
With a quick cut through an alley she'd enter a market in the center of town
Where farmers, hucksters, and traders peddled their wares till the sun melted down
There was a hastening hum to the hurry and hustle of the bustling crowds
But she stood out with a deafening silence as does the sun amongst clouds
My ears quelled the chaos as my eyes froze the scene like a loyal horse waiting
She was the sole proprietor of movement in my eye's still life painting
From the first instant I saw her, many pairs of years ago
She implanted herself inside me as a seed with a need to grow
Her smiles were the rain that perked me up when I was wilting
Life is but a patchwork of blocks the gods must be quilting
And if the large design of life were sewn together pieces of fabric effigies
I'm the stitch in the ditch of the piece work that she will never see
When our eyes made contact It was the sunlight I needed to thrive
For I'm but the sapling in the forest fighting for some sun to survive
To survive the cruelties of nature is a feat far from a cinch
Formidable giants must fall for me to gain but an inch
Generations of time pass till the present season is all that I got
And one by one all the old growth must rot
And the timbering of my brethren in the past has been fine
But now I creek when the wind blows and I'm next in the line
Time cannot age youthful thoughts that are as sweet as honeydew
As my mind travels back to that pretty girl in the hand sewn dress of blue
The handful of times our hands touched strengthened me like the winds from the west
I'll never forget the girl in the pretty blue dress
You continue to play the game and looking for someone to blame
You continue to play the game when everything around you is so lame
The days are sprinting by with a profound message from the anxious sky and frustration is circling around the fence, and the lion is running around in its den with blood twirling in its vicious eyes and aiming at the strangers as they walk by. You have moved the game from the street to penetrate my heartbeat; you have invaded my backyard privacy with grown men shouting from the bushes as I struggle to stay alive.
December has come and gone but you have left me standing alone on the dried up lawn, with empty guts and nothing substantial to fill my growling stomach. You said that January I should get ready but January has expired already and I am still here counting down the days when I will break through the iron gate. I cannot move left or right because of this endless sacrifice. I still cannot understand what you are trying to accomplish and how I should handle it. No one is talking to me and this sometime makes the days and nights completely unhappy. I don’t have a proper place to lay my head and if it wasn’t for my will power I’d be dead.
The peeping Toms are scattered throughout the town and they are watching me everywhere I turn. I thought that May would be the day, but nobody comes my way, you continue to revive the show when you know that destiny is getting ready to go. How much longer must I wait? The trees are still and the clouds are riding with the wind, yet there is no sign of when this pappy show will end.
I enjoy quiet moments in the early mornings but just before the break of day an intruder climb to the top of the slender coconut tree loaded with water coconut just to see what I was doing. And the Chinese business at the top of the hill with its humongous Satellites dish, big water tank and a little a tiny apparatus structure on top to see what is going on. They have taken up residence on top of the hill but the trees stand still listening. My eyes are getting weak and my body is running out of heat. Destiny is coming to a close and you must recuse yourself from the crown and end your age old romance with the coconut tree,
A Shining Afterglow
we have rambled together
along the Ganges river
just you and me
gazing at each other
we have trodden together
the streets of Bombay
through narrow
tortuous lanes
goading each other
we have sauntered together
along the Delhi boulevard
eyeing each other
and some of the wonders
of the world
we have ambled together
along the snow-capped hills
of Kashmir hand in hand
skating down the snowy slopes
we have ascended together
the steep Tripura hills
laid with thorns
pulling up each other
we have braved together
the desert of Arabia
strolling side by side
under the torrid sky
till our throat had run dry
we have explored together
the Kenyan reserve forest
with its wild fauna
breezing together
with our lips fondling each other
we have roamed together
in British public parks
meandering amidst marvellous
alleys of red roses
vying with envy
at cherry blossoms
and inhaled their intoxicating scent
we have swum together
in the cerulean waters
of the Mauritian shores
with the setting sun
reflecting its pink afterglow
on the leisurely undulating waves
where we lay in close embrace
atop ivory sands.
we have for so long
shared the same roof
during the summer
of love and care
when the salutary
shine of the salubrious sun
illumined our lives
during the winter
of dark despair
when woeful wild winds
threatened to blow down
the façade of our home
we have for so long
been duty-bound
caring for each other
since the break of day
during the sweet glow of the day
at the dim twilight hours
during the darkness of night
we have for so long
seamlessly shared
our joys and sorrows
our fears and hopes
our pains and pleasures
our daydreams and nightmares
now that the autumn of our life
life Is at close
let the afterglow
of our love linger on and on
shining until will last our breath.
A family of nine sisters, none named the way the names could have fit.
They started out with three flowers, and thought it wise to continue it.
Our last name so plain, Daddy argued. Daisy, Fern and Violet sounds smart.
Rose, Hazel, Jasmine, Poppy, Iris and Willow arrived nine months apart.
Let me guess, people would say, Willow is tall and lean and flexible, a sway.
Could not have been more wrong; she was as inflexible as the break of day.
Jasmine must be exotic, erotic, a delight to the eyes, delicate and sweet.
In reality she had ham hocks large enough she could cows and bulls defeat.
Violet is probably dainty, sweet, a nature lover, who loves the woods, right?
In truth she was an advocate for woman, tall and portly, screaming with might.
Fern is a lover of verdant grasses with her feet solid as the earth I am sure.
You would be totally off base, sir. She explodes with color, totally impure.
Please let me guess that Daisy is a delight, light and lithe, like a fairy true.
I hate to tell you, but she is dour, dank, damp and she would truly dislike you.
Let me guess then that Rose is not thorny in any kind of way, pure and sweet.
She is the only one who lives up to her name. She would prick you in defeat.
The assumer is askance now. He has only two guesses left in his drawer.
Hazel is shy and unassuming? Never cackles, non witchlike to the core?
Sorry, I assure him. You have guessed her wrong. Ready for Poppy now?
Poppy is dull, not vibrant in any kind of way, no redness to or fro?
She is actually orange and pink, fairy like, she dazzles like a rainbow.
You have one more chance, I tell the man who likes to label all.
What is her name? He asks, for he has lost track in his giant fall.
Iris is short, squat, nothing like her name? He guesses. Am I right?
I told him the truth and he disappeared, completely out of sight.
The last I saw him he was being chased around the garden phlox.
By a giant wolf, hyena, lion, bear and very hungry fox.
Moral of this story: You cannot judge people on their name
Or put them into a box, for no two Primroses are the same,
and you will be eaten by a fox.
The foreman and his missus
Had invited me to share
Their supper on this Christmas Eve
And to join their evening prayer.
Their little ones with shining eyes
Gazed at the Christmas tree,
Excited about their Christmas socks
And the presents they would see.
I walked back to the bunkhouse
Beneath a cloudless sky,
Searching to find the Christmas star
Still shining there on high.
The bunkhouse was warm, but lonesome
With no other cowpokes there.
They'd all gone home for Christmas.
I pretended not to care.
Christmas carols on the radio
Brought back thoughts of the star
That had shone down on those pastures
In that Eastern land so far.
Taking off my vest and Sunday shirt,
I threw them on the trunk.
I stripped down to my underwear
And crawled into my bunk.
My day had started early.
I had worked hard with the crew
So they could start their Christmas fun
When all the chores were through.
With no wife nor kids to need me
I had told the rest I'd stay
And watch out for the cattle.
They could have their Christmas Day.
The warm room made me sleepy
And I started in to doze.
Right there before my bugging eyes
The Christmas Star arose.
I was a lonely shepherd
In that land so far away,
Who had been left to guard the sheep
Until the break of day.
I heard the angels singing
And saw the moving star.
I marveled at the wonder
And glory from afar.
The bright star beckoned to me
And angels led the way
To where the future King of All
Lay in the mound of hay.
I wanted so to follow them
But I had pledged my word.
I had to turn a deaf ear to
The messages I heard.
I knew my solemn duty lay
In guarding helpless sheep.
I prayed the Lord's forgiveness but
The vigil I must keep.
The star reflected in the eyes
Of creatures all around,
Waiting for the lonely stray
Or any sheep they found.
I could not shirk my duty,
To seek Him out that night,
But I knew I never would forget
That glorious, wondrous sight.
I had this dream some years ago,
But should that star reappear
Ive hung up my rope and saddle.
I can follow with no fear.
Buy: Joyce Johnson (Posted in Cowboy Poetry. Com Dec. 2007)
There’s so much noise
I can’t focus for the meantime
There’s room to rejoice
All this fuss is fading this time
Faithful that I will be confident
Faithful that I will be diligent
Disdain will soar away from our reach
Rain will subside from our side and we will be sunny like the beach
Believe in me and have no fretfulness
Believe in me and have fearlessness
Relieve the pangs of precious pain
Grieve not, my admirable dear, for we will be no longer one with rain
Fearlessness is in my bones
We are so busy with our cellphones
There’s alone time amongst the crowd
It’s time to shine behind the dark shroud
Stuff and things have been on my mind
There’s words and emptiness I can’t find
Stuff and things have really left me behind
Let’s unwind for the time being, for the sunshine will make us happily blind
Things and stuff makes us overwhelmed a bit
Things and stuff will disappear soon enough
Things and stuff will inspire us to have fearlessness as we see fit
Things and stuff brings us the truth of His Word behind the sheer bluff
I think I’ve had enough
Life can be awfully tough
These thoughts of shame is getting rough
I think I’ve had enough
Where is the love?
These thoughts are killing me slowly and I forgot what I’m thinking of
I think I’ve had enough, so I look towards above, my captive dove
There’s so much noise
I can’t fathom the fact that you’re gone
I need Your delightful drive of gracious glory, even till the day is done
I can’t fathom the fact that we’re having fun And then chaos weighs a ton
Yes, I finally have a voice
I want to numb away the sorrow and so on
I want to be your dusk and dawn and be your shining sun -
The break of day has just begun
I want to look up towards His son
We welcome the sun
We welcome the son
With open arms...
He does us no harm
He keeps us warm
He eliminates the negativity
And fills our days with prosperity
There’s time to simply rejoice
For we all have one Voice
And it’s fearless as ever
Our days and nights will become better
Whatever weather
Let our problems float away like a feather