Long Centaurs Poems
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I cycled to Hawthorne before the dawn,
Saw a deer on Taxter Road leading a fawn.
I reached a field of the kids little League.
Waited for the train, too pumped for fatigue.
The train passed by lakes of Croton Falls,
At Ten Mile River I heard a bird’s calls
At Wassaic, calmed down on Deep Hollow Road,
By purple flowers, a little stream flowed.
I cycled due west, for an outdoor transfusion.
Wethersfield like Brigadoon, but not an illusion.
Up its hill I pedaled, a knight on a quest,
But the statues of centaurs looked unimpressed.
Fountains flowed and flowers bloomed bright,
Well-dressed couples in the courtyards admired the sight.
More statues, eagles and children and men
Could have spent more time, but if not now, when?
I took Schaefer Road, counted side roads till the fourth.
Then zoomed on the asphalt, on Smithfield Road north.
But what goes down must go up, to switch valleys you climb,
Though conversely what ascend must descend, in time.
[chorus]
When the roads are quiet, and above hawks play.
Down I swoop, a nearsighted bird of prey.
Fields spread wide, like a golden sea,
New places to explore, calling to me.
Skipped Salisbury, entered Sharon, took highway 41.
To Amenia and Hitchcock Corners, a load of fun
Down one last hill, was it me who gave a shout?
Stood on my pedals, like a kid let out.
[end]
Back in Wassaic, out drained the ninja esthetic.
Now back to my life, but that’s not so pathetic.
Six days I work, putting food on the table.
Then I’m a weekend warrior, to ride into this fable.
Eventually, you get used to it:
Every time you walk into a room
And all eyes turn to glare at your noticeable difference.
They can’t help but gasp and raise their
Hands to cover their mouth
As if I wouldn’t notice their jaws
Dropping to the floor.
I used to shy away from their stares
And quickly scurry to hide in the dark
Shadows around the edges of the room.
Now, I look them directly in the eyes
And give a nod of recognition
And treat their stares as gazes of admiration
Even knowing they are appalled by my deformity.
But, really, who is deformed?
A man with two-eyes is deformed in a Cyclops convention.
Standing on two feet would be a deformity in a world full of Centaurs.
In a universe of bald people, that one who requires shampoo would be the odd ball.
I defy their stares, their gawks, and their looks of pity.
My difference, I dare say, sets me apart from your deformed normalcy.
I hold my head up high and sit in the most prominent position in the room.
Proud of my difference – for it gives me a perspective on things that
You can never achieve.
I am unique;
I do not envy those who are clones of what society considers the perfect shape and form.
Stare if you will
Your jealousy, as I choose to see it, is unbecoming and yet flattering.
Thank you for noticing that I am different.
I am sure no one watched your every step when you entered the room.
And now, you may feel sorry for yourselves instead.
Safe, at long last,
behind closed, locked doors and windows,
behind heavy, hanging, purple drapery:
plush, pellucid, subterranean refuge.
Far from the proverbial maddening crowd,
out of sight: a dimly lit room, bathed in
soft, golden reflections. In the centre of
the room: a single, solitary candle burning,
its flame rising, dancing, serpentine;
all around, panoramic, rustic mosaics
quiver and leap across the walls:
towering stags, drunken centaurs, gladiators, spiteful, leering gods;
the ghost of sound echoes,
bouncing through ceramic, glass, and stone hills:
Motion in Rest,
the eye of the hurricane,
the calm before the storm.
At the end of the day,
people still holy,
w/ rites still sacred,
secret, hidden eyes.
Ones "deep-dark", to be sure,
but decidedly not "dreamless".
All around: reassuring, but oddly unending smiles,
ones perpetual, fixed, but only seemingly uninhabited,
ones laid among polished scales and in tough, gleaming skin.
In a room filled with playful, reeling, ecstatic confusion and revelation
reigning supreme, the supplicants' legs fail on what seems to be a
swaying, rocking floor. Mesmerizingly bright sedan chairs invitingly blaze by the walls. Draped in luxurious purple, the divans are infinite, are more desirable, more coveted than any treasure trove, any silver gold.
A bottomless, almost overwhelming calm descends.
Outside itself, and if only for "a brief shining moment",
the Mind, in all Its glory, seems infinitely deeper, farther
reaching, more focused, but free.
The axe can no longer fall.
The Perfect Date
Fly away with me to untraveled lands
I'll be leading you there, holding your hand
Seeing world wonders, no man’s ever seen
Ethereal scenes, only shown in dreams.
Striking sunsets to mesmerise our eyes
Spellbinding beauty of rapturous skies
Stars highlighting ground with silvery strands
To overtures from nature's concert grand.
Moon bright as a jewel newly polished
Backlight to stately trees of the forest
Alien encounters for us to meet
Joyful to show off their peaceful retreat.
Creatures humans never witnessed before
With the chance to ride on backs of centaurs
Fruits to savour beyond expectation
The marvels of beguiling creation.
This could be romantic, the perfect date
Let's realise it afore it’s too late.
7th February 2021
Glass illusions forestry of butterflies in flight
swiveling and turning wing, aiming for sun
hovering over lulling waters of purple hues
Breathing like flowers, frilling up the air
inside a cornucopia world of rich and bright
Birds are calling from afar symmetrical chirps
of grandeur, across the wide expanse
nocturnal illumination of the heart and soul
Varathane music sonatas, flute escapades
within a dormant brook, nature's usurp
Fairies, trellises, and magic twigs interlinked
inside the Foloi forest, the mighty oak respires
aside centaurs and dryads, of their time
an emerald green, bottled by nature herself
all is transformed here, even the sky is pinked
Altered, Remodeled, Reworked, Transformed,
by my sweet, poetic imagination...
"Follow Me "
Centaurs
~*~
In Greek Mythology monsters come in all shapes
sometimes hideous and strange . . . often representing
the dark forces in life, creatures such as Centaurs-- part
human and part horse, they are man's unruly, instinctive
nature, less awesome that demons . . . they still harassed
and haunted humans. They had the head, arms and chest
of a man but the legs and lower half of a powerful horse.
These man-horse beasts led a lustful, drunken and savage life
and were fond of riotous revelries often writhing in fierce battles
with wild brute force . . . raping, killing humans for meat.
The wise Centaur, Chiron was a unique case-- he was learned
in music, medicine, hunting and war. He was friend to Apollo,
and Zeus, loved, admired and honoured by all the great gods.
He was noted for his gentleness and kindness and wisdom. . .
tutor to Greek heroes. When he died Zeus set him in the night sky
as the starry constellation known now as Centaurus.
____________________
June 5, 2013
Poetry/Narrative/Centaurs
Copyright Protected, ID 06-483-485-05
All Rights Reserved, 2013, Constance La France
Written for the Premier contest, Mythological Creatures or Birds
sponsor, Shadow Hamilton, Judged 06/18/2013
Ninth Place
Within a land of Virgin Forest mystical wonders flourish
Trembles the pulsing heart of heavenly laden body at night
Ghostly figures shadows shoutout, dance, and nourish
Soft weaving mellifluous emerald-mist awaiting daylight
Chasms filled and mounds of decaying fallen trees below
Eloquent lace lichen and mats of moss embrace nature's seasons
Improbable flickering amber windows aglow
Amongst high-tower contorted trees bestow reasons
Verdure of mystical creatures lie low
Beneath enclosing trees bough
And susurration fluttering leaves
As brownies are busy all night tweaking chores
Alicorn, centaurs, fairies, and dwarf stir leaves of trees
High overhead night creaks, cries, and laughter flow
Sailing passage through moist earthy scent breeze
Verdure of mystical creatures lie low euphoric
Within a land of Virgin Forest
9/16/2021
''M'' Contest, New Poems Only - Poetry Contest 6. Mystical
Sponsored by: Constance La France
The great hands of fate have squeezed their grip on this infallible date!
Make way, fermenting 7th, for the intolerable October the 8th!
Far, far away the lone lemur leaps with joy to celebrate-
The great, insoluble, improvable, October the blasted 8th!
D.W, dear, with quirks and beauty that torment and infuriate,
Can you not see my flippidy- floppity- flimsy- fedazzled state?
See how my nerves leave me prostrate on the coming of this most magical date!
October the phone a-flippin, Charles J. Dickens, Squawking chickens,
Sexy centaurs strippin, heart sta-ricken, danger dippin' -
October the infernal 8th!
Within a land of Virgin forest wonders flourish
Trembles the pulsing heart of heavenly laden body at night
Ghostly figures shadows churn and nourish
Harmonious reflection green-mist awaiting daylight
*
~ *
*
Pits and mounds of decaying fallen trees below
Persuasive lace lichen and mats of moss embrace nature’s seasons
Improbable flickering amber windows aglow
Amongst high-tower contorted trees bestow reasons
*
~ *
*
Verdure of mystical creatures lie low
*
~ *
*
As brownies are busy all night tweaking chores
Alicorn, centaurs, fairies, dwarf stir leaves of trees
High overhead night creaks, cries, and laughter flow
Sailing passage through moist earthy scent breeze
*
~ *
*
Verdure of mystical creatures lie low euphoric
Within a land of Virgin forest
9/22/2016
A pair of centaurs from a far away dream
Entered my room without sound
“We’re not mythological, not what we seem”,
Said one of them, looking around
I dared to ask “folks how did you get in
To what do I owe such a pleasure?”
Another one spoke, who was smelling with gin
“You’re a man of good fortune and leisure
We couldn’t miss the option to visit you, sir
You are on a right way”, he said
His friend added “mind you, we wouldn’t disturb
If you weren’t long time been dead”
“Now what do you mean by this?” I said, but no
I couldn’t speak out my question
Meanwhile both my guests stretched their legs on the floor
And hung on my chairs their vesture
Then one of them sniffed, and another one puffed
They probably thought to look groovy
They ate all my food, drank my wine, smoked my stuff
I felt like I’m watching a movie
Then Morpheus got me and down at the shore
Out of the train window I saw
My old native home that I left long ago
Still cannot remember, what for.