Long Burrow Poems
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Tired of the mind stuff.
It's hard to be free
of all those words
that drag behind like a long chain,
clinking in the silence.
Each weighted step leaves evidence,
deep prints beyond the reach
of waves and tide. They stay,
fossilized in stone, stretched back
across time, hanging on
to the heel and added to
by every taken step.
Think of wading out to the line
of breakers, feeling water
burrow into the eardrum,
offering oceans and fathomless
depths where only the light
from exotic creatures punctuate
the dark with their luminescence
pulsing along tentacles or dangled
in front of ferocious mouths.
These are the guardians
of forgetfulness, custodians
of dreamless sleep in which
even words dissolve
and wait in a nowhere
to become something
or nothing at all.
Hand in hand, through ups and downs we did walk
Fierce winds of life made our love grow stronger
Hearts entwined, our eyes meet to softly talk
Each moment complete: let life be longer!
We learnt from each other that love is all
As human we did err but love prevailed
Embrace of love enabled us to stand tall
Through turbid currents we have safely sailed!
Fates conjoined, we still continue to grow
Through thick and thin, each moment we treasure
Our love in each pore does deeply burrow
Arm in arm we walk, now and forever!
Soul mate or twin flame, assign no label
Aglow together is Gods miracle!
08-November-2020
A defenseless seed planted in spring's tempestuous furrow
Nourished with fertile juices; warmed in caressing burrow
Escaping subterranean cavern into formative strand, roots still
shallow
Sprouting into a strappling seedling that doth hope, promise bellow
In sweltering, summer haze; tender stem bows and bends
Strong, directionless winds blow; the fragile stalk spins
Froward pests snip at the intestinal fiber, productive growth
ammends
Heavy torrents of doubt seep inward drowning the hidden tentacles
on which outward growth depends
After arduous spring travails end, summer's balmy season begins
Long, dry days with timid growth to begin
Steadying anchor balasts the green adolescent, promise to portend
Stronger constitution allows the fecund shoots against blight,
predators defend
Stiff resistance, ample growth produces fruitful dividend
Late summer, vibrant plant reaches it's zenith, ripening fruit
suspends
Toils of younger days along with the growing pain ends
Mellower-toned follicles displaying strong genetic traits from each
stem extends
Acclimated to unforgiving environment, with spare fuel, for its
place ardently fends
If love could be measured
..then science would have done it.
There would be a formula, an equation, Einstein would have published a paper.. but there is no measure.
Love is too fine, too vast, too varied, too intangible yet too real.
It's not a particle or a wavelength, it has no flavour or colour. It's lighter than air, yet heavy as stone.
It has the strength to move mountains but has fragile beauty like a butterfly.
It can chain you or set you free, be in one place or be everywhere.
It has nowhere it calls home yet it is home.
It can be challenged, discredited, abused but.. it is rooted in truth, doused in joy and bathed in purity.
Love can leave a seemingly unfillable space, an open wound, a longing, an ache, a sense of being lost.
But when love finds us; we realise we have been pursued, gathered, reclaimed, salvaged, restored and returned to being fulfilled beings.
Love is the answer and also the biggest question.
Love has been part of us all and we hope it will be written into our future, but when it appears in it's full glory, it is always more present in the now, in the current moment, more than at any other time.
Love may occasionally be fleeting, elusive and transient but it may nestle and burrow deep into our hearts to make a permanent residence.
Our hope is in enduring, faithful Love.
Sometimes Love burns brightly. Intensely.
Too bright to sustain, beautiful non-the-less.
Sometimes though, like a flame it flickers and dances, teasing it's shadowy light into the darkened room of our hearts.
Other times often frequently unrecognised, sometimes opaque, undercover.
Just a whisper in the ear.
A seemingly innocent gesture.
A smile. A glint in the eye of another.
A few insightful poetic words.
The warmth of a hand to hold..
Are all it takes to transform a human heart.
In those moments we are captured, unfractured, enraptured by Love forever.
Jinjagoliath
25th August 2023
The bowel of the earth deepens with
Saturated blessings of the soil, and
Down, down, the forces burrow in its
Caverns —creviced
Between day and night, I cannot decipher,
Yet it is the mind of the night, the strength of the
Arcane values, where the eyes, though
Blind, see through the darkest chasm
Syncopations thrive —the mind and the
Soul of the hides, the metallic occupation,
The throbs from animal faculty in desuetude,
And hallowed cadences of chants.
Darkness and light, I do not know
But behold, in the strength of the day’s looming eyes,
Cormorants, in elixir, hover at the mouth of vigilant cliffs
Beneath the earth’s balcony, chattering loosely.
Chants, chants of midnight-hour Africa,
Feeble metaphor for the softness of leopard skin,
Innocent voices parched like no globule of water
Has streamed past their distressed throats in ages
From the riots of drums underneath the exhausted earth,
Skeletal frames of distinct horn-like sounds
Surround the warm rage of ceremonies in volcanic appeal,
Enough for us to grab and interpret
The rubbles of the crust, smelt in the heat of
Confused processions, charm my eyes
The earth rumbles, mirages occur so pronto, focusing their
Lens on the revelling clouds above.
Chants on time and chants on the spine of the hour . . . .
Seen through the heat-haze of the swelling day,
Beheld in the webs of the night as in the stately
Prowls of lurking, visiting silhouettes;
Chants of gestures, of initiations, of primitive
Religions, of the invocations of rain after a stifling drought,
Chants of accelerated tempos from drums and flutes in salutations
To the returning reincarnated souls.
Let the restlessness of the spirits begin now —but with supreme bliss
I could have borrowed steadfastness from the moon and the sun,
For perpetual energy and unending flow of unseen waves of clarity.
From the dark nights, I humbly request their star-studded witness.
Like a creature hibernating in its burrow
Waiting to come out with the first verdure of spring,
The seed of a poem lay dormant in my heart
Through the long winter awaiting another spring.
After staying torpid inside for long,
At a time I expected it the least
Timidly came out the first word,
As shaky as a calf getting up for the first time.
Then another came and word after word in a row
Like pellets of rain on the window pane.
I boiled them in the crucibles of my imagination
And dipped them in the ocean of my emotions.
But rhyme came to set constraints.
For the right alignment I struggled.
I had to decide on its texture and format.
Pondered if it should be a sonnet or an ode.
I might have kept the door open for long.
Alas! All my words and fancies flew away,
Like birds taking on wings into the sky
From a cage where they were imprisoned for long.
I stood so helpless with my mouth shut,
Staring blankly out into the airy nothing,
Like one lost in the doorway of his own threshold,
Unable to call back those winged words lost in the void
________________________________________
~Placed Fifth~
Submitted for Marathon no.10. Poetry Contest
Sponsor - Mark Toney
~Placed First~
31. March .2022
A Brian Strand Standard
Poetry Contest
once on life’s path trod
passing by here one day
knowing not of lost
fallen by the way
pathway half hidden
overgrown by green
footprints are faded
weathered away
half wrapped in leather
so cracked and dry
fastener that broke
so long ago
slowly does metal
once shiny and bright
canker’s of rust grow
till all passes away
memories of yesterday
and of tomorrow’s plans
now are forgotten
lost along the way
droplets fallen
like bitter tears
words distorted
like memories
cold wind tears
at pages bleached
by hot light of sun
in burning days
animals that burrow
and birds in the spring
have torn at the pages
carrying away
some days bring sunlight
others bring storm
dust in the wind blown
and snow buries all in white
by pathway half hidden
now lost and fading away
plans for tomorrow
and memories of yesterday
Hurtling clumsily through dark layers of sky --
Unwelcome residue of engorged, menacing clouds --
Gathering momentum, bulking up as they descend
To stab the helpless ground with their frigid edges
Few brave this nasty turn of events -- by which
Peaceful cityscapes are transformed into cold infernos
Of fiery ice -- to greet them, to acknowledge their
Triumph over once-soft, once-pliant 'Mother Earth'...
Like bullets from b-b guns or darts from tasers
They burrow into the earth, into snowdrifts, into
Snowbanks, slashing their way -- howling through the
Clogged arteries of a grating metropolis, grinding her gears
~ for Aokigahara - souls wandering ~
jade canopy
waving while it whispers
the lush secret, compelled
delicious word of myriad words
casting shadowed merriment at a
woven briar carpet …
( colored strings, winding ... waiting )
tangled labyrinth,
so deep and dark that dew still
clings at mid-day
leafy tresses tickling azure
sopping sun like thirst -
bright and warm above
straight trunks like
steady soldiers …
fingery tendrils
burrow deep to find purchase
ruddy earth, cool as rime
rich with rooty rot -
nature's marrow
to breathe the branches
( Fuji's frilly garden skirt )
listen, tender ...
soft now, the hush of mys'tries
this forest bides all, yet
stars still glisten its black heart
desire, a mossy coat ...
dour ... waiting
hear the voice, low,
the breath of breaths, murmuring -
it begs, come ...
in a thousand gentle lullabies
with the language of the
ages and the ends …
( voice sweet as death )
it calls to
the misty meandering
one dire dalliance
grandest adventure of all -
the dazzling dream that never …
wakes.
Tim had dreamt of magic mountains but was stuck in a snow globe
Luckily there was some antifreeze in the little dome on his desk
Used as a paperweight for discarded inked upon manuscript pages
A complete stark nativity scene directed wilfully by Father Christmas
Who looked like a hobgoblin lost in translation waiting for the storm
Weary for wear after a day out in the shops on a very Black Friday
Tim felt more like Robinson escaping from his treasured island
Preparing messages in a bottle of palm juice for seasonal greetings
There was no Santa Claus on his mind swirling with the natives
It’s a pagan charade which escaped from the Holy Book in contempt
Of meaning and humility as well as a festival of love and compassion
They might as well have created frosted cornflakes dancing on a dolphin
Tim’s script needed editing but a Gingerbread Man distracted his thoughts
While Mother Mary cuddled her cute firstborn on the way to Galapagos
Unaware of bloody nails and the cross born from post-partum blood
Hark the Herald Angels but his hero was a mermaid growing more fins
Searching for freedom and laughter as the chorus went forth to multiply
The many voices competing to take centre stage in verses and rhythm
I don’t need imposters or false prophets pirouetting under glass ceilings
But equality and empowerment to disperse fake opium for the masses
And yet the flakes drifting in his mind resembled cocaine for the few
Scrooge entered his senses and Pinocchio stumbling over his nose
Who fell through a trap door and was eaten alive by wild reindeer
Starved by the powers that be in the slaughterhouse aside frozen turkeys
Foul smelling odour scraped his nostrils and scarped a cliff face of doubt
Maybe he should write a novel about unicorns on their way to Nirvana
When Tim awoke it was Easter and rabbits had escaped from the burrow
27th November 2019