Long Caves Poems
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She surrenders her all oranges and apples
To his crimson basket of throbbing warmth
To let her caves dance in a downpour
And cloak her snowflakes in wools of love
They are like two entwined trees
Against an embroidered slice of love-wall
Let me fission in scarlet grains
She said amidst the scented rains
The hands that hold you are writing poetry
All my fireflies in a blossoming spree
My cheeks soaking up the vapors of your red cells
My eyes are closed to retain the kisses
The blue green and white flowers
From your breath on my pulsating red hair
Gustav Klimt once made us immortal
In his deathless The Kiss
Such gladioli of love rarely bloomed
Very few rooms enjoyed such collapse
Such gold leaf glitter seldom shone
To shape out the lip-locked lovers
4 December, 2017
For Klimt - Poetry Contest sponsored by
Anthony Slausen
My ship sails far and the calmness of the waves
moves it smoothly, there's no warning of dangers;
am I looking for that tropical island
in which a treasure was buried?
The huge ocean can't hide every island, small or big,
discovered by explorers and robbed by vicious pirates
who sought gold laid in treasure chests and hidden into dark caves...
waiting to be brought to Spain to appease the Queen and the King!
All my travels are too adventurous,
nothing I have found but wonders:
the flaming sunset blinds and submerges
everything in its redness that is darker than blood...
halting the fishermen searching for salmon and cod,
they have no choice but to rest their hands!
Could I have been that intrepid captain
steering a ship not knowing its destination,
relying on instinct and skills rather than a compass;
was I being compared to the great navigator Columbus?
The huge ocean can't hide every island stable as land,
it takes a hurricane to bring destruction, even a flood
can spare them with its trees being bent by ferocious winds;
should I frighten, turn around, and be deluded like others?
Blackbrush -- Coleogyne ramosissima
the dominant understory shrub
in the pinyon-juniper canyons.
Mountain-mahogany -- Cercocarpus montanus and ledifolia.
Single-leaf ash -- Fraxinus anomalus
and possibly a western hophornbeam
by the small birch-like leaves
and the shredding bark
in a moist stretch of joint trail.
The joint-fir, green ephedra
looks like an ocean plant.
Could the wind or white water rivers alone
have shaped these sandstone, red rock forms?
Network of canyons, inverse of mountains.
It had to be ocean
ebbing and flowing, emotionally, like wind,
moving atmosphere, thicker
shaving, scraping, polishing, gouging, digging
fish canyons
then, shallower, dinosaur swamps
now, dry, rock gardens.
Explain the human history with water:
did the Anasazi visit neighbors
along the canyon rims and deep within,
combination caves and red-rock houses
small windows, doorways, just crawlways,
with corn gifts on summer evenings
when the canyon bottoms held permanent, not intermittent,
streams? After them
came the Ute and Navajo, Spanish and English.
Ravens dine on road kill.
A few long red roads connect some canyons.
The unprotected flats are overgrazed, rabbitbrush.
It is interesting
that as I learn the woody and herbaceous plants,
walk the desert foothills, I too could stay.
Liquid graces of nature so splendidly pooled,
Like the poles, few facets hot few chilly ice-cooled;
Countless marvels, like mountains of pearls, heaped within,
Fullness, like streams, falling from underworld-god Gwyn;
Vast, wide, wild, Kaleidoscope of colors glowing,
Deep down, like Amazon, curly rivers flowing...
Fish, frogs, snakes, whales, like unique stars swimming wondrous,
Corals, Kelps, whips, like sun-rays shining splendorous;
Gold, silver, diamonds... like rocks, lying lifeless,
Fleet-wrecked; quakes-hit; hidden lost treasures so countless;
Enriching each little water drop, top to down,
Urging to dive, search, find as much as one could crown...
Waters from mountains and hills flawlessly flowing,
Filling deepest of the depths, like whirlpool-blowing;
What hidden dams within, that reserve them safe!
What monstrous sponges that absorb each water waif!
Ocean cares all as a mother her babe caring,
Midst each one within spiritual care sharing...
Beauty, marvelous, like heaven, ever booming,
Vastness, like the crust of the universe, zooming;
Waves, like hearts restless, severe, ceaselessly breaking,
Caves within, by haunting quakes, stringently shaking;
Sweat, tears, rolls, ripples … all as though divinity,
Isn't each ocean a sign of eternity?
23 September 2021
''O'' Contest, NEW POEMS Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
Discover the joy in your life today
Such as, love and fun from your special pet
Watch God’s creation of wildlife play
Resting beneath colors of a sunset
All of the time, joy dances around you
Such as, love and fun from your special pet
Bright pictures found in moments feeling blue
Open the door to let the joy inside
All of the time, joy dances around you
There is no reason to run or to hide
Opportunities wait for you to see
Open the door to let the joy inside
Never leave laughter behind, let it be
Kaleidoscope of emotions is bright
Opportunities wait for you to see
Caves of darkness have entrances of light
Discover the joy in your life today
Kaleidoscope of emotions is bright
Watch God’s creation of wildlife at play
Heidi Sands
5/16/22
And oftentimes, as in a symphony,
a sound distinct emerges from the waves,
within this cove, this rocky gallery,
strange echoings through a honeycomb of caves.
At times quite muffled, undefined, and then,
with clarity we hear, but only when
the boisterous wind allows a brief respite,
resounding peals of laughter and delight.
The rock pools chiselled out for childhood pleasure,
still resonate, as, in the house above,
a mother views her bathing brood at leisure,
contented in a place so much beloved.
Such gleeful sounds are music to her ears,
These shrieks and whoops will echo down the years.
This sandy cove through time will surely sing
and Howick Pools fond memories will bring.
Is it more insane
to long to grow away from prisons
than to feel we still belong imprisoned?
Are we already prisoners,
lacking images for liberties
and co-arising responsibilities,
of a re-embodied god?
Are we divine authorities
to remake humanity
in our own god and goddess incarnations
free of body limiting imaginations?
Could we imagine
a YHWH who embodies Earth,
cosmologically evolving through spacetime,
revolving
spiraling dense and complex octaves
of color as resonant scales of sound,
fragrance within redundant seasons
of FatherSpace suns and black star-caves
passing through MotherTime valleys and waves?
Imagine we are stardust
coming to see ourselves
as we might bust
hard thrust
know lust
grow trust
blow truth
speak sooth,
unfortunately rust,
imaging ourselves
through redefining us
across healthing regenerations.
Are we less insane
longing our way from prison
belonging free
without cancerously capital-investing cells?
Punishment spells?
BigDaddy will swell
if we tell
I am
where we are;
We are
where we belong.
I can't cower
if you think that's wrong
I can only sing
how god wrote my song.
And I can only dance
where Allah could best prance strong.
And we can only breathe
what TaoTime finds notnot
too double-binding long.
I think I would be wrong
to imprison what longs
to virally throng.
Aren't we more insane
stuck in retribution's prison
when god cries out for peace
restoring Earth's freedom
from FalsePatriotic lies,
paternalism fried,
too many species
and future generations
of sacred Time's regeneration
already died.
If only we had tried
a little less LeftBrain secular crazy
and a lot less RightBrain sacred lazy
Is it less insane
to long to stay in prison
than to know we don't belong
imprisoned
or enslaved
to insanity ourselves?
Oh! That anguishing moment! When I craved to cry,
And pour my tears, like monsoon rains, on some grass dry;
A bit away, hence, from the madding crowd, I went,
To soothe my grieving heart; give benevolent vent...
A hard hand hit my shoulder and commanding, said:
You're a man! Should not cry! Calm! Courage! Go ahead!
We, in our culture taunt, tease, torture girls, torment,
No shame? Showing off before strangers? You pretend!
Go! Wipe tears Apply talcum on your plastic face!
Lest those around judge you an empty broken vase!
Our girls, hence, tie pains like ghosts in their sari-knot,
Paint their faces with multi-color smiles, a lot.
Children! Gems! Never cry! If cry... Bad boys! Bad girls!
Satan is making home in you! His freedom whirls!
Why do angels crave things, like beggars full of greed?
Why, like dramatic artists - fussy tantrums breed?
God's watching like a hawk! Behave! Be virtuous!
Your movement should be angelic! Care! Courteous!
Yet, deaths, dangers, droughts, floods earthquakes for many years,
Have made us shed, like rain torrents, abundant tears;
All who gently hushed up feelings like shut memos,
Have melt into tears as though from lavas or snows;
Seeing harsh callous actions if we do not cry,
God's creating such rich tears has no purpose high.
Dogs cry. Horses cry. Birds, flies, and reptiles cry too,
Feelings, like dew-drops, fill and fall when we're in woe;
Sentiments secrete like wild streams within our hearts,
Full-fledged; flow like fluent falls; finely flits and flirts;
Stopping these, is, like building dams over rivers,
Wherein - water waves; caves; crashes; ripple-triggers...
Holding tears may be raw romantic! Dramatic!
Yet, its nature is to flow and fall full frantic.
Brain stressed; heartbeat skipped! Breath blocked! Body traumatized!
Muscles, nerves, and blood vessels stiff antagonized;
Nature has ways of venting pain and suffering,
Thwarting this is, just like her freedom plundering.
18 August 2021
This or That, Vol 5 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Edward Ibeh
I don’t want to die,
the spring doves cried.
Down the streets and coffee shops
each step in the pavement whittles it down
bit by bit. I don’t want
to die, the flyers say,
through ten layers of
broken staples, of
missing pets. I don’t
want to die, says the cat
on the large wire fence, where someone
has woven it through with leaves.
It meows at me, and I
don’t want to die, the world
spins around with no thoughts
in mind, the people spin around
with their thousands of wishes,
planets of desires,
orbiting each other, and everyone keeps
crashing, the world caves in quietly,
silently so no one else can see
the sinkhole splitting open
I don’t want to die, I don’t want
to die, I don’t want to die, I don’t want to die
Ancient aliens rise
from sandy caves and rifts
lay open hidden truths and gifts
in revealing their demise.
The possibilities of Jupiter and Mars arrival
hint that we are the civilizations continued survival.
Those secrets that lay beneath the surf
were purposely well hidden in the dirt of earth.
Revealed through recovered and deciphered texts and script
the purveyors of modern day interpreted manuscripts,
speak a language of the past unfastened
while today slips easily away not lasting, ever passing.
Perhaps it is only what is left of us
and we have lived before upon this enduring crust.
Who will remain in the futures soon to be past
to relay the truth of who we are and what we cast?
Ancient aliens rise once more
and tell
the story well
of who we were.