Long Bushes Poems
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Most of his mature life
had been a process of recoiling
and mending.
Until late
he had not suspected
that this prolonged retreat
had been his lot.
He thought he was building bricks,
constructing a living edifice
while in realty he was engaged
in an epic dismantling.
He thought he had made inroads,
woven together great journeys,
drawing to himself many pathways
toward a destination or purpose.
Yet of late, he felt
that his life had been a slow withdrawing,
a giving way
disguised as steps forward.
Despite this new understanding
he sensed a strange vindication,
as if it were more noble to give way
and draw back.
The battle at last lost,
the surrender acknowledged;
today he whistles a tune
that the thorn bushes sing
when a homeless wind
rattles through them.
buds, shoots, tulip bulbs,
alive grasses green
rose bushes, bird songs
everything charming ~
rejuvenates world
hummingbird soars,
lark sings merry
robin makes nests,
sparrows croon sweet
heron glides,
cheerful birds
rendezvous~
joyful~
season
Spring
March 4, 2021
Spring Diminished Hexaverse Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Caren Krutsinger
Syllables checked by how many syllables.com
Those church doors, once open wide,
are closed. Hinges rusted and ancient
thorn bushes, once trimmed,
now block entry.
Inside, the pews are barren.
The pulpit, a dust-covered monument
to an age gone by.
The stained-glass windows, shattered.
No hymns echo through the rafters,
no prayers or pleas for forgiveness
are whispered in the dark corners.
There is no one left to ask for salvation.
The people have all but vanished,
like ghosts on the wind.
Their faith in God lost,
their souls released from bondage.
But somewhere in this hollow church,
amidst the echoes and the dust,
the spirit of God lingers still,
waiting to be reborn within us all.
I fell in love with a little valley
while watching the sun rise.
This adventure, like all the others,
is right up my alley,
and so it comes as no surprise
that I fell in love with the shady trees
fallen, dead branches; scrambled rocks; desert shrubs;
noisy, birds, every suspicious rustle coming from the
bushes. I fell in love with a lake nestled high in the mountains,
surrounded by rocky gods, their sharp features
scattering the light, so that the only colour I see
is happiness. No one for miles,
not another soul, only a few wandering campers
like us. Watching the sun rise above the little valley,
I discovered love at first light.?
We had heard about Emeraldite of course; who had not?
She lived in the lane with the Oak tree that had a lovely knot.
She is the most beautiful witch you will ever see, no rot!
This was told to me by every person whose opinion I never sought.
I finally crawled into the bushes and took my magnifiers out.
She was a beauty with her green eyes, there was no doubt.
But I had seen other beautiful witches, so I kept quiet.
Her hair was unnaturally ebony, did she dye it?
Come out! She coaxed me. Come over and be my friend.
My hiding had not been good, it was about to end.
I crept over to say “hello” and we shared some terrific spells.
Emeraldite is a wonderful comrade, who makes marvelous jells.
She has one for skin, and two or three for a sore knee too.
She sold me cosmetics, and hair care products that turned mine blue.
You have to go see her! I told my cousin Liberty Lou.
I wanted her to be taken advantage of too.
There will come soft rain again tonight,
a hush upon the wounded ground,
and from the dark a Seed will open—
small shoot trembling toward the sound.
And fruit will swell from tender branches,
round with promise, full and bright,
to burst with juice upon the tongue—
a star of sweetness in the night.
The rivers, rising, heavy-bellied,
like women carrying dreams inside;
they move with ancient, patient knowing,
as the holy scriptures testified.
And Trees with roots like braided stories
cling fast to banks where memories stay,
while bushes hide in green devotion
beneath the moon’s pale-blue array.
Oh, when soft rain returns to bless us,
each living thing will breathe again—
for even sorrow breaks to blossom
beneath the gentle hand of rain.
Empty House
Weather beaten, sun-baked
Rickety, rackety siding,
Falling apart, worn of age
Tucked away midst bushes and brambles,
Rattling windows and dusty ledges
Battled the cold wintry breeze.
The sun porch protected the old frame
From harsh prairie winds and snow.
The wood box inside the porch was always full,
Now empty, overcome by cob-webs and moths,
Painted walls, seasoned with smoke
From the wood-burning stove and pipes
Rays of sunlight now light the room.
I seem to hear the sound of a kettle sputtering
On a well-stoked fire,
Mingled with the fresh aroma of coffee.
Creaky, scuffed up old carpet marks
Ah, Sunday gatherings, Christmas,
Dad read the Bible round the family circle.
Sunflower seeds fell lavishly, roasted and all!
Games –“fruit basket upset!”
They dashed for mom’s round chair,
I remember the pile of spokes!
Glued and fixed it sat once again,
Restored, by the old bouker stove -
The warmth, I feel it yet!
Glancing over the threshold where the kerosene lamp
Once sat, casting a dim ray of light.
An old bed post, a torn mattress –
Only cast a haunting shadow of yesterday.
The living room carpet, now well worn,
The old wooden rocker in the corner –
Mom’s oasis from tiring years,
Upstairs, the rooms, the noise – laughter,
Squeaky stairs – how well I remember!
All these – a barrage of memories dear,
In the empty house.
Susan Fox
The dry thick clouds with its mystified sound lies in the middle of the sky with a message that the heaven is pregnant with the clouds
And the city is spinning around in over beaten town with wonders all around. The sun is buried beneath the skies, and you must hurry before it dies, the heat is spilling shock waves into the street and the story is almost complete, it is still hard for some to believe that
destiny is complete and when the spirit is revealed your heart will bleeds. I feel tears springing up in my eyes and rain clouds are standing by.I am not crying but my emotion is reeling, the sky with all its decree is saturating in its own misery in a town that is filled with hypocrisy. Here I am gazing at it and saying to myself what the hell is lying beneath that unseen presipit a dollar or a dime that is also fine. And when the day is done everything will turn out to be fun.
What is really transpiring in this town you must top and look
carefully around. The bible speaks of the last days when th heaven will part away and the very elect will go astray. It is already happening
and many of them are hiding in the bushes, you crave for the moment
when the courses will show the side that is moving along with the tide. Many of them preach about it but they still do not understand it. The narrow roads are crowded with traffic and the earth is shaking with its own profit, the cars are streaming along and my heart is singing a merry song. I can feel the temperature raising and my passion is breaking and the whole world is shaking. How could they not understand the message that is dancing in the sky, and scroll is floating around with a pitch that looks like a night gown. The distance in the cave and the mountain buried beneath the grave, the whistle and the blower the night and the shower are waiting patiently for the night to fall and they will hear the final call and at midnight everyone will stand tall and you will experience it all.
Nothing makes one forget the stillness of a warm noon
more than that memorable stroll
with our sweetheart as butterflies
gently flutter over us to be admired, making us
remember the tender beauty that spring was.
Everything around us emanates joy,
harmony is seen everywhere in this forest,
but peace isn't the only thing the traveler seeks,
and surely bluejays can arise much curiosity
with their songs that sound good to the ear.
Walk with us on flowery paths, say hello
to the timid squirrels with long, patchy tails;
rosemary bushes are fragrantly sweet...
to remind all the tender beauty that spring was.
The puppet masters plot and weave, when first they practice to deceive
From Bush to Bush the fire spreads, a wildfire born from the Great Beasts bed
Intent, creates a new Zeitgeist to spawn a child, an anti-Christ
The seed’s been sown in Satans name the purpose clear, to God defame
No deeds revealed in tabloid papers Kept hidden their iniquitous capers
They mock our angst with rabid glee and crown it, a conspiracy
A sick exposure of the fact, success repeats the Patriot Act
Cruel fate awaits a Christian race the journey’s set at the Devils pace
From Hitlers hands their fortunes fed, a Rotten Apple, spiders threads
A Presidency on the cards their chorus rings from Satans bards
Twin Towers fall to Evils gain, Nostradame marks an old quatrain
Noahide Laws infused in society, Bush’s claim to the Devils piety
The terror laid at Americas shore, Homeland Security at its core
Involve our sons in fore-planned wars fuel Bankers interests near and far
To reign with iniquitous intent, the rule of money, purity bent
A system born to grease the palms, of those who seek the Devils alms
Indigenous inequality, why share what they can take
The Devils hands laid idle, write the rules for them to make
They form their words in whispers, they speak with a forked tongue
The parchment fresh, the quill’s been bled, the trap it has been sprung
Your liberty’s been stolen, a subtly sanctioned sin
There is no war on terror, the terror lies within
No longer called a prisoner, Genevas cause is lost to law
Detainees they’ll term us to be a welcomed lawyers flaw
Witnessed by a vanquished people, an American constitution
Set forth in pious reverence, genocide its resolution
Rockefeller spilt the beans a farcical invention
RFID for you and me their ultimate intention
Not for the good of those concerned,
Though pay you will, you’re chaff to burn
A single cause a twisted communion
Creates a North American Union
Though history repeats itself, its Trump card clearly dealt
The final thrust, centurions spear exposed, our innards felt
A thunderous cloud, the storms approach, the hurricane it howls
Gods hand outstretched, His children freed, as Satan sadly scowls!