Long Caravan Poems
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Sire she's been sighted
two miles south of Sinai,
our sentinels say she has brought a river,
her baggage train stretches into the ancient sands,
the envoys of her retinue spoke of marvelous gifts,
beasts and creatures of the Orient
gems that glitter like the eyes of children
summer baskets of gold bullion
and satchels of spice from Siam,
our men said they could smell the barrels of balsam Sire...
To travel with such unmistakable wealth
the Queen must have brought a war machine along,
have desert brigands been spotted near the route...
No my King, no raider encampments have been observed,
just the regular rabble and agape villagers,
it's been confirmed that her associates
are passing to the people pouches of cinnamon...
I don't trust the Egyptians,
they may try to incite the Bedouins to foolhardy thievery,
our Nation's honor demands
that not even the dust of the devil's danger
deign to dry upon the clothes of her most distant servants,
if the House of Zion can secure a partnership
with the trading powerhouse of Sheba
our supremacy over the Babylonians will be indomitable...
I pledge my life, and that of my family's
to her caravan's safety Sire...
So mote it be General,
your loyalty is my blessing,
may it be as strong as the staff of Moses,
dispatch 333 of the Lion's Legion
to reinforce the Queen's guard
and send a circuit of 15 water wagons...
What does a Queen dream of
in the calm desert nights...
I dream of roses melting
into snake bitten hearts,
I've dreamt of citadels broken
by the grips of greed,
I've seen a child walking out of a tomb,
what does a King dream of
in the shadow of paradise...
I dream of thorned stars,
the division of labor and wages,
of priests and Judges
whom wish to rule quietly without blame...
Do you know what thrilled me the most
about the Court reception...
Tell me, my cinnamon Queen...
The seduction of your Servants' silence
as I entered your meticulous throne room...
I understood their awe,
you moved so gracefully,
your body like an ancient lust
your face a flame of royalty...
I think I fell in love with your eyes,
there is something rough about you Solomon,
but your eyes and lips
relay a sweet mercy to me...
Mercy is never free Veronica...
I will pay the price...
We will pay the love cost together...
J.A.B.
My name is James, born 1961
In Inverness, a small Scots town
To my father Andrew, and my mother Beryl
And Billy my brother, a pair of devils
In 67, we woke one night
Our house was ablaze, full of orange light
Our neighbour next door, for whatever reason
Started a fire, it must be crazy season
We had too move to a caravan park
By this time it,s three, to make a new start
My mother Beryl decide to leave
But the three of us left, never bothered to grieve
In the next few weeks, we ended in court
Two small children, in a marriage abort
We were asked to choose either Dad or Mum
But we ignored the parent, who went on the run
As we left the court, to start a new life
We felt sorry for Dad, as his illness was rife
He never told us that he was unwell
It would upset one of his boys, as the future will tell
Then came the night all parents dread;
Being told one of his boys is nearly dead
We were going to a boys club, on a Monday night
My brother was running so far out of sight
I turned the corner to see him ahead
No!! he's been hit by a van, Boom's Boom's dead
I ran to my father, sreaming and crying
I'm finding my life,at 7 - far too trying
After the funeral, and with my father unwell
We left Inverness, our eyes a swell
To go as two, and not three as before
It's like Mother Nature closed a door
So we headed west, to a place called Fort William
Was it in the stars, cause Billy " is " William
We moved there, as the air was so pure
Hoping my father will find his cure
For whatever reason, we left the above
We found no Angel or peaceful dove
So we headed back to Inverness
Fathers health decreasing, life still a stress
Over the next few years, i was fostered and loaned
In couples houses and children's homes
It was really strange in all those places
Different people, different faces
Then on the 16th of Feb - 76,
James, i was told, your dads very sick.
The cancer had taken your father away
To be with Billy, where you'll join them one day
In 77, i joined the Navy, as i promised my dad you see.
I did'nt enjoy it, i decided to leave
Back up north, where my futures to be
I wanted to have, what my parents had lost
And that was my aim, no matter the cost
see page 2 of 2, ty..
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/me.php
Oh fallen star of Bethlehem, your established moment shines,
upon canvas of harsh intent, descendent of heavenly design?
A mighty angel’s leading light to those befallen, pleasure-bent?
Are gleaming eyes masking spites or, our demands, aspiring content?
Looking toward skies o’er Bethlehem, as prides of mortal men delight;
bearing gifts; coffered obedience, marking paths, Magi alight.
When losing sight of stellar sign, in Jerusalem they did quick inquire,
at palace great, to a king divined; hoped route, from Herod, to acquire.
II
We saw a star (when in the east) and have come to render our obeisance,
said light has left us briefly, too the wakes of our continuance.
While in the kingdom his star was seen, glancing eyes into glass orbs stared.
Expectant sighs at skies portending, bejeweled fingers into cauldrons stirred.
A caravan of mystics then gathering, consigned to cross harsh lands at night.
Postured gifts, too much appeasing, a source of imminences, expelling light.
Great Herod stirred with agitation, “Summon to me, scribes and priest,”
and they spoke to him of Bethlehem, from whence shall come a Jewish King.
Elsewhere God’s swift messenger, arrives with tidings of glad news:
Rejoice! Rejoice for the Lamb’s shepherd! Blessed are borne Jacob’s sons to truth.
That one drawing light from the light’s giver, firstborn of heaven’s womb.
He has taken breath that men be delivered, fear no more, door’s enclosing tombs.
III
One question, in cautious need; discerns plucked from common threads.
What purposed such judicious leads, as that star’s light to Jesus led?
What cause that such symbol did cease, perhaps a plan most devious shed?
To turn also eyes of Herod east, these, jealous guards of scriptures read.
Oh bright stars over Christendom, look! Your beam’s a turning compass,
your ray, as flames with many tongues, scouring Earth in hopes of bliss.
Misleading truths, mounting traditions, swallowed lies drunk from waters shallow.
The wise one is made fool again, if needs a lamp, above a Christ we can follow.
With signs, divinities are misconstrued, as such, a star; still you teach our youth?
As light into the night deludes, beware, convincing knees to bending truths.
tread on! move on! in this life’s caravan,
unending trail of life from dusk to dawn!
pass skeletons in sand from days of yore,
sand has blown over, past footprints are gone
man with limp walks to meet destiny’s chore,
further he walks further the distance more,
trivial his rewards for journey he takes,
when death beckons all ends on zero score!
why take such a journey past eddy lakes?
through hurricanes and thunder when earth shakes,
the lure of unknown like fly to a lamp,
who can tell them of their pointless mistakes?
the weaving desert like slow moving ramp,
worn out camels stomping to distant camp,
with thirst to quench, in quest of needed rest,
joys of living traded to earn money stamps.
folly of growing wants, desire for best,
under billion stars where soul is a guest,
enamoured by body, life is lead astray,
voices of prophets lost in sweeping dust!
silhouettes of pretty maidens to music sway,
remedy for heartache, is lust for her clay,
the breath in synchrony with flow of wine,
passions swing past as night ends in day!
in pavilion of ignorance, wise resign,
on the carcass of wisdom, fools may dine,
truth is buried, shrouded in black silk drape,
where dance of the devil and lies combine!
the truth is somewhere deep within that grape,
that helps dreaming mind from falsehood escape,
in silver cup of fortitude pour some wine,
and kill the myth, give reality new shape!
in the warmth of fire where embers shine,
where greed plays havoc with cries of mine, mine!
pour them the taste of that fermented potion,
to awaken their soul to bring them in line!
in tented tavern amidst commotion,
truth frozen, but untruth is in fashion,
I feel your lips on my lips to reassure,
lips of damsel wine that brings elation!
I see the coloured glasses glitter pure,
jingle of anklets on bodies demure,
dancing to please insolence and wealth,
calamity, disease, pretences sans cure.
pour me a cup so I can drink to health,
to bemoan the tale of truth lost in stealth,
in flow of wine there is freedom of breath,
liberation of truth, from deep underneath!
Tamam shud!( original ending of Rubaiyat) means
all clear or the end!!
Based on Omar Khayyam’s Rubaiyat
Written 12/11/2021
the combustion of combinations of created
An angle of a candle in a demi flux should not be mistaken for tooth floss, cherry pickers, or ironing boards. For the numerous numbers of numerals note noticeable nuances of a nought. And a nought is not a neem or a norm so always string baubles in appropriate fashion when decorating in a seasonal style. So spoke a smoke who was whirling a spoke about in the air whilst carrying some ordered cuisine. Hiding from the mirrors crept a serious serpent in spectacles askew. The smoke glared at this. It did not like serious serpents for serious serpents were quite often servants to sevens and nines who lived in mines of golden authenticity. Authentication is not a noted occurrence in an attic crease and neither in any upstairs upstream window frame either. It is said that when there is rot then to peel away the dirt could expose many mangled marked layers. Bean curd then? Yes. Faces akin to beaming beans. Collective cans causing chaotic catafalque cat claps. When sailing on a big ship of over three hundred thousand acres always play a game of golf when there is a high wind. Good. Now it is time for the littlest production company of hereditary mice to spin, dance and preform aerodynamics in a nice pink caravan at an elevation of two hundred million feet. Sky then? Yes. Wow. The wobble of a jelly with a trifle is most entertaining to regard. Especially when seated on a rusted stallion or a coating of ironic iron. It is to be said that portions of bread and soup can actually point several pistols at once. Thus giving bread and soup a glow of fame for frightening the tablecloths and causing them to swoop over the breads and soups to cover and to swamp and spillage of secretive secretions of liquid jûs in a turreted hat. But please do not trip over that cat over there. He is being used as a giant doorstop. Ha to it all said large farm gatherings. Hahahahaha they all said in great audio reflective fields of moo baa oink quack neigh ee ore. But collectively sounding like a hahaha and a hahaha is not a hard hat hitting heat and nor is it a large six thousand ton hippo genuflecting in a pond of mud. So whirl away then. Good. Z hypothetical Z at six little worms smiling at twelve cute tablemats. X
Form:
Oh beautiful Gypsy,
I see you there, in amber campfire mist.
On the banks of a crystalline pool, a bronze skinned lovely moving with intoxicating rhythm to the strum of guitars.
Sable eyes, gleaming with wanderlust, transfixed on distant dreams. Raven hair sheens cobalt blue, in glow of a pale full moon.
The tethered babushka and brilliant layered skirt, your banners of freedom. Knee high boots clad dancing feet, in a feverish itch to perform on new stages. Your opulence, jingle jangling from dainty wrists and pierced lobes, echoes the hypnotic song of rattling tambourines.
A blissful celebration in your enchanted home of nebulous walls forged of the four winds.
Oh beautiful Gypsy;
Last of the true migrants, paying homage only to purity of your clan. The devout mystic, whose babes suckle the nectar of white magic.
Your larder bulges fat, having labored a deconstructed nine to five.
A harmonious oneness with nature, your forte, honed to perfection in compassionate artistic crafts. With gentleness, you bring calm obedience to the untamed steed. In thoughtful consideration, parleying the fate and fortune of the gadjo, eager to lay down their silver and gold for charms and spells.
You trade in good faith only to be slandered in whispers of vagabond and theif. Your colorful lifestyle, jaded to a monotone hue of envious green.
A hopeless romantic smothered in Judas kisses.
Oh beautiful Gypsy,
Even as you celebrate in this newly discovered place, it's freshness grows stale to your delicate senses.
A bohemian lineage begs you go before the next cock crows.
The insatiable hunger to feast your eyes on unfamiliar lands pangs your very essence.
It has proven to be far too great for you to abstain; for it is the morrow.
A radiant sunrise reveals an abandoned starry eyed reflection lingering on a lonesome pond.
The scent of pungent garlic, rich brew and sweet tobacco hovers, as a perfumed phantom, in the desolate air.
Tracks of your wagon wheels flow through emerald meadows like a lazy river, avoiding stagnation.
Conformity lies choking in the dust of your painted caravan.
A nomadic soul in dreamy persuit of the horizon that looms forever in the distance.
Till we never meet again,
Oh beautiful Gypsy
SONG CREDITS :
Song : Mon Karigor
Singer : Tahsan
Lyric : Robiul Islam Jibon
Tune : Imran Mahmudul
Music : Imran Mahmudul
Album : Mon Karigor
Label : Cd Choice
Cast : Azim Uddula & Saowla
Director : Chandan Roy Chowdhury
Lyrics:
The foreshadowed clouds , wanderer within the sky
Not an easy one to tame through dispersing whisk
A faded glory wither down the colors, once held dear to heart
Once a plethora, a handful of gatherer bestowed, inner, introvert
Living through a mistaken grace
Rusty salty warm tears , a brimming trace
Genesis you said, Xanthosis, through these emotions, lingering long, worldly boom, recess
Craftsman Mr. Smith, let us halt the caravan in may
Simply whence it is calling to reborn in coming terrace whence autumn say
Craftsman Mr. Smith, let us halt the caravan in may
A rejuvenated dream factory will pull through the tambourine man…….
A painstaking lump some pain, overwhelming drowning a pour
Speechless a corridor and an ambling, nonetheless, lo and behold! None to hold accountable.
Wishful a mirror , a thousand whims
Ambivalence and a croon, tricking down the chicks of time, on lime.
Craftsman Mr. Smith, let us halt the caravan in may
Simply whence it is calling to reborn in coming terrace whence autumn say
Craftsman Mr. Smith, let us halt the caravan in may
A rejuvenated dream factory will pull through the tambourine man…….
The sand castle dream , too fragile a misfit, a shore the lively stream
Morbid a shore, enacted, plays along the indifferent acted upon, among the walks of dream
Craftsman Mr. Smith, let us halt the caravan in may
Simply whence it is calling to reborn in coming terrace whence autumn say
Craftsman Mr. Smith, let us halt the caravan in may
A rejuvenated dream factory will pull through the tambourine man…….
||END||
"Copyright Disclaimer"
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Yo. From a whisper, barely a breath, to a front-page roar/ EAST COAST JAZZ in the fifties, sixties/
Not just blowing trumpets, but blowing up the jazz scene jazz/
LPs stacked high vinyl spinnin’, cracklin' truth in every hip-to-be way. Jazz LPs, popin'’ the Truth, etched in black and white/ modern Jazz on the HIFI/
Jazz woke the airwaves up and made the radio take notice; everything felt right. Radio turned on, folks got wise and understood, and Jazz got the blood pumpin' in the mean streets day or night/
If you wanted to be hip to the now, the real, the raw, Late-night clubbing and listening was law, absolute law/
Ornette Coleman, man, a wild, horn-blowin’ free-to-be jazz king machine/ Free jazz founder/ hear his freedom RING!/
Then there's Mingus, righteous anger in his bass, Collective improv, settin' souls ablaze. Lay into "East Coasting," on Bethlehem Records, and let the music soak you down/
Starch your mind with Mingus, that ain't no stereophonic joke! No cover charge here, baby, just pure, unbridled bebop to the cool Miles sound/
A caravan of cats, late-night jams, playin’ something new and bold, Europe callin', TWA Flight 978 ready to take flight/
The Big Apple throbbed, a concrete, jazz-filled hang, Saxophone Colossus, Sonny Rollins, so raw, New York summer Hot Rollins, defying every jazz law/
Moody and quirky, a genius in disguise/ Influencing the young horns, reaching for the skies/
Sonny Rollins, deep in jazz thought on a New York big city day/
Sonny wrote a brand new Jazz Forever heavy page/
The jazz world exploded, on the silver screen, a fifty-cent ticket was your soundtrack to life, a vibrant, vital scene/
"Take Five," baby, the pulse, the driving soul on a jazz beat on stage/
I'm on the Lex Ave Trane, headin' for Groove Street! hold on, hold tight, let Abbey Lincoln sing, while we map our next gig, let’s name our new LP/ the Big Vibe/
Yeah… East Coast jazz… never really dies… spinnin’ vintage jazz LPs to keep my head alive/
ECJ morphs… and lives… in our own soulful eyes. Give me a holler give me a shout I’m talkin’ what’s It all about/ Want to be hip? Want to be in the know? Then listen late at night, and let the jazz sounds flow.
Underneath the light of the full moon, a she-creature
Prowls through the thickets wild.
Stalking quietly waiting for the canvas city to
Slumber into a lazy sleep, ever closer silent sleek black
Paws sneak forward ready to draw its vengeance.
She is the curse of the gypsies, made from the
Blood of a crimson star, which split apart and fell
To earth below.
Two small shards burnt through the forest canopy,
And cut deeply into the earth's soil itself.
Creations ground zero, for rebirth leaving behind
Two lunar figures, one of light, the other as
Dark as pitch, identical twins of a solar eclipse.
Spin did the wheels of the gypsy’s caravan, stopping nearby,
Finding these orphan’s of the skies, they became
Foundling's of the nomad’s tribe.
Oh beauty of the heavens did glow in the light
Of the bright child, as darkness’s black emptiness,
So burned within her ebony sister kindred.
These solar babies grew in power year by year,
Until thirteen summers and nights had passed by,
One day a great storm came to the tented world
Of the gypsies, flashing thunder and lightning,
Burned and tore at the traveling village.
The dark child crouched in shadows corner,
But the child of light emerged willing to sacrifice
Her life for those whom had saved hers.
Ascending upwards to appease the heavens
Itself the storm God, welcomed and excepted
This child of lights sacrifice.
But the child of darkness was angered, and
Took her revenge on the gypsies, vowing to
Leave none alive.
So she follows them, stalking where ever their
Wheels cut into the damp soil, this is the curse
Of the gypsies.
So these nomads must keep moving always,
But on this night many souls shall know pure
Terror.
For through the thickets under bush,
She waits for the canvas town to sleep, then
Will strike, to satisfy the aching within her blackened heart.
By tooth and claw strike, to be illuminated by
The beautiful face of her sister twin, whom
Weeps amongst the heavens above,
In sorrow for those she herself loved so
Much, are killed, by the darkness of her
Own sister kindred.,
Whom roars with fiendish delight, at her victims
Pain, the black jaguar a lost child of a fallen star.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
The night air with owls cry invitation of canopies of writers to write the
Days using the night pen jolting candle to the candidates aspiring to arson
night. The pans and pots exchanging strong actions to the curve of the sea
like seasonal belt.
I preferred to belt ideas to conclude the departure of imagination under
the wilderness wings of the soup, the night, where I power my thinking to
pink rose. I raid it to trade the sound of night that of my belonging, the
defame of fact to fiction looking strive to live under my enterprise.
I cajoled the swirl wind from the sea pointing to talon meek of jealousy
collided to collaboration the admiral salute me to the situation under the
control of my country where I encountered Taibatou, the couple of days
dash around the bush to the calabash of my thinking, it never too late to
buy the truth with bullets of fact. Shining light to the shift of action
to accost stirring on street with string of peculiar explanations shivering
mind.
Divining day wake with action sealed of blue cap contemplates the
Inflections of words to describe the caravan of chagrin mammals with tiny
ribs socket of sox seceded to sue the merchants of rogue. Daffodils color
purple with flowers morning millet of null to answers. The breads sandal in
my throat which I have to draw it with cup of tea to make the belly
Assault the pang of hunger and thirsty like tricycles moving from left to
right without clear definition.
The sound of broom from unwilling woman woke the master to dance to the
music, the imagination of life sings lullaby the stars smile like sinister
expecting spouse running on the door to dull the light. The coat of
Fabricated joke tore the night blowing scent, scene of stage amphitheater
Like Luke of contort fact to consortium benefit.
Why I have to wander the days sleep in the night wake up from the dream of
success flagship my empty heart drink August to clinch thirst. I sweep the
night to defuse tension that has been marrying me for Century of sentiment
mad of violence concrete of concerts connect direct to the desire night
cold as ice loud as bomb difficult as flying in the air without wings.