Long Ceremonial Poems
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Eyes are the windows of a soul and they say ‘Love is blind’
But how do you describe colour to a sightless person?
Such depths to your violet eyes
The windows of your Soul
A flickering source of emotions
Speaking volumes ~ though sightless
Not limited by vision
Not obscured by darkness
Your dazzling beauty of true colour
Conceals your inner world
Of complex greys
Your smiles create rainbows
That stay
All through my day
In a world of colour
For some eyes
Sadness and mistrust linger
Your eyes mirror only
Beauty and Hope ~ Love and Joy
You ask for a detailed description of
the colour of your eyes
How can I?
Futile will be my try
No Master’s artistic brush can decipher
That deeper shade of violet
Changing like the sun’s ceremonial display
Retaining an aura of mystery
Seeking only truth
In your abstract blur of colour
Though ~ let me try
Here place your hand on my heart
How can one see colour
If it can’t be felt
Look through my eyes
Feel that majestic sky
With its beautiful variations of blue
Serenading the aqua sea below
Through sparkles of iridescent silver bursts
A tinge of pearly pink lazily drifts past
I hastily dip my brush just a touch
Do you see? Swirling pink with the blue
Another dip into the aqua of the sea
Hints from the bushes of lilacs below
A smidge of the red poppy
Blended till it’s the right shade of a violet hue
Can you feel my colour?
Behind your veil of black velvet?
My humble artistic attempt
Going beyond my range of limitations
Your
eyes glow
in approval
In that spinning vortex of
violet complexity ~ We dance in your world of darkness
As you whisper to me ~ that your eyes have always seen the stars.
We both look~~~~~incredulously ~~~~~at the same spot
A starburst ******************of light
A ~~~~~~~~~~~~~shooting~~~~~~~~~~~star
My wish ~~~~~~~~~~for you~~~~~~~~~~my love
To be ~~~~~~~~~~~~forever and~~~~~~~~always as
Brilliant as~~~~~~~~~~*********~~~~~~~~~~~you are
** **
*** ***
***** ****
****** ******
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True Colors movie clip – with vocals Anna Kendrick and Justin Timberlake
We Are One
Dear Ancient Sister
I hear your distant calls finding me on a gentle breeze
You have lived in my dreams for many seasons
My voice
Your voice
My soul
Your soul
And our Coming of Age
I have always known you...
I have heard your
Quiet whispers echoing in
The night coming close to me
I call to you ...
Let me be a part of your breath
I have always known your wounds and sorrow
I see the light and magic in your eyes...
The pain you carry so eloquently
I see your reflection in the clouds above
Carrying your soul wound on your sleeve
I see the deep crevasses and lines
In your grandmother’s hands
I hear the secrets beneath the earth of
Your grandfather’s footsteps
I see your reflection in the twilight
Of the evening... against pink watermelon hills
Your voice beckoning me onward closer to you
I see you in the moon and stars
Your buckskin dress adorned with
Ceremonial beads
Abalone shell against your forehead
The dirt beneath your moccasins
Grateful for the kiss of your dancing feet
I hear the echo in the distance of songs
The Elders sang...
During their passage here
You are born into a woman
Before my eyes and heart
Before your tribe
Before nature
A wise new feline
A mystical power with endless allure
A force that lifts and unites us all
As one
Your rays blessing us and leaving
A welcome imprint on our hearts
My Ancient sister
I drink in your wisdom and grace
I fly on your wings
You have shown me your world
Watching you dance
Becoming you for moments in time
Your silhouette etched by
The wild flames behind you
A glow radiating into
The night sky
The stories of your Ancestors
Filling the air with
Words and lessons and song
Notes sung into clenched fists
With bloodstained hands
The children and animals
Sensing all that was
And all that will ever be...
The call of a distant bird
The thumping of your cane on
The hungry earth
Keeping time with
The movements of your body
You will look back on this
Day as you walk with the
Same cane down the path of
Old Age...
Your wisdom
Cupping your heart gently
Ancient Sister of mine
I am in gratitude for
Your strength and courage
The kiss of your words and
The teardrops of your loss
Susan Lawrence
Copyright 2020
Original Artwork
Susan Lawrence
I tranquility
I’m calm
I restfulness
I’m peace and quiet
Peacefulness I am
I quiet in quietude
I’m silence
I’m soundlessness a hush
I’m calm
In the calmness of the Lord
PEACE
Stillness still am I
Privateness seclusion in mine solitude
Isolation retirement
Freedom from interference
Mental calm in mind serenity.
I am at peace and forever be
in a larger sense, peace (or peacefulness) can alas I’m always in a state of harmony,
Quiet or calm
I’m in serenity
Peacefulness, tranquility
I’m calm
In the calmness of the Lord
My composure placidity placidness and at rest
I’m repose so at ease in comfort contentment In God’s security
Bliss
Joy
Nirvana, Hallelujah
Mixed in law and order
Peacefulness harmony
In harmoniousness accord Jesus concord
Amity I am amicableness in goodwill many friendship
Cordiality nonaggression and nonviolence
Respite
Lull
A ceremonial handshake or kiss exchanged during a service in some Churches symbolize I my Christian love and unity.
PEACE
That is not disturbed by anything at all,
I’m like a still pond with no ripples.
PEACE
I release myself of my emotions
I am not humanity judge nor jury
I am free
Freedom from dispute or dissension between individuals or groups
I agree and receive and believe in God’s grace and His glorious
PEACE
PEACE released
I’m a witness
PEACE is still
PEACE is here for I speak it
ALWAYS
Simple peace.
Peace is a time without any fights or wars.
law and order I speak and live order peacefulness
Peaceableness harmony harmoniousness accord with my brothers and sisters
Concord amity amicableness goodwill friendship even if you proclaim to be my enemy
Cordiality nonaggression nonviolence respite lull
I’m so peace now it’s borderline unbelievable
PEACE
PEACE released
I’m a witness
PEACE is still
PEACE is here for I speak it
ALWAYS
Simple peace.
Peace is in my life
In my minds world
I pour my heart out peace is mind and it can be yours?
This I receive it, speak it and I believe it…
PEACE released
I’m a witness
PEACE is still
PEACE is here for I speak it
ALWAYS
Simple peace.
1/9/20
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2020©
Written for class assignment (WIPS) North Omaha Writers Group (NOW)
January 7, 2020 Assignment
In the eye of the hurricane, Translation of Carlos Bousono’s poem : En el ojo del hurracan
(Ninth in the collection : Metafora del Desafuero, published – according to the editor, Alejandro
Duque Amusco – not in 1988, but in 1989, was awarded the « Premio Nacional de Poésia »
for 1989, on May 28, 1990. Bousono, as in these later free verse compositions, shows how
well he manages the long-breathed line, a clear contrast to the compact and elliptical earlier
verse, say, of the collection : Subida al amor. T. Wignesan)
The creatures of plenitude situated themselves holding their silence, the thrones of
inexplicability, exactly, therefore, in the very centre of the eye of the hurricane :
that doors be blown asunder, that windows be blown away,
that agonizing bodies in makeshift beds be smothered into oblivion,
half-dead widows, postmen who half-way in the act of delivering
the love letter which would definitely render us joyful,
the seat where the poor old grandmother was in the act of sitting
while sewing
the newly-born baby’s pony-tailed bonnet which turned around half-
way in the gusts,
the hurricane which uplifted love and all that was left of love :
letters, papers, leaves
of music,
lovers in coitus at the orgiastic acmé and the light,
when it began to dawn,
when the saxophone cleared its throat and commenced the beat of the
dance,
when everything on the stage in its place awaited the raising of the
curtain,
when the wedding was at the point of being consecrated, and the
priest was ready to offer his benediction : « el ite misa est »,
when within the following few moments the inexorable
ceremonial of the written formalities was about to be concluded
then, as I said,
and only then,
the hurricane unleashed its violence with rage, the incomprehensible
hurricane, and there stood still only the immoveable lucid eye,
separate, eminent, complete in its entire being, that by force of its
profundity had ascended to the exact point where it could
redeem its guilt,
the eye of reconciliation,
the eye of wisdom and suave serenity,
where the intact and silenced world sang
adorable and yet so beautiful without us,
necessary pretexts, notwithstanding, of its musical nature.
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2013
Alone on the trail, pushing daylight,
we two pull into a small arroyo to bed down.
Nigh unto exhaustion, hot food
transcends tired old bones and the smell of sweat,
but not enough for either one of us to volunteer.
The fire, more for company than for heat
soon plays its lonely desert song into night air.
We take out our stash and roll an old fashioned
lumpy cigarette, twisting the end just so,
to hold it together till lit.
Soon we’re hanging on cliff’s edge between
the real and unreal world of guided imagination.
The dreams of holy men in ancient tribes calling
shape shifters into mental matrimony,
waiting for the merge of brain and vision.
Beating ceremonial drums and asking for grace.
They soon dig into my old rusty past that hangs
some where on the fringe of past and present.
I’m riding fiery waves in the belly of the beast.
Back draft--- watch for back draft I thought.
Back draft !! That point where temperature raises
combustion to the point of a cyclonic draft of fire.
The beast feeds on oxygen, oxygen eaten so fast
it sucks the surrounding area clean of all air.
A lucky person caught thus would be incinerated.
One unlucky would slowly roast while suffocating.
Awaking abruptly, I forgot the dream. Just a dream.
The wind had settled, in fact there was deathly quiet.
Too quiet, but nothing was giving information.
So we saddled, and headed into Big Timber, the last leg.
Big Timber—a plethora of ash, alpine, and firs of all kinds.
Only the solid wall of granite ahead, separated them and
the helicopter waiting to take them back to base camp.
He felt a harsh feeling of being stalked but didn’t know why.
Besides, he still was apprehensive about the deathly stillness.
As they wound into the narrows he tasted the distinct smell.
Fire, it was very close. Back draft he thought. The warning !!
Thank God for the tiny clearing before the final opening.
He could see the funnel reaching tree tops, deafening all.
Moving behind the outcrop again, they started to retreat.
Suddenly the silence was almost as deafening as the wind.
Moving again from behind the rocks, they were astounded.
The tornado had sucked all the oxygen away from the fire.
It was out!!!!
© 22 Dec 2010 For Tirzah
We met him at the Pride Parade joining all those who came there to unite…
He was wearing a blue denim dress and carrying a flag in colors blue and pink and white.
He proudly waved his transgender flag…a freedom that seemed to give him joy…
We weren’t sure if he was born a boy who knew he was a girl
or born a girl who knew she was a boy.
But that didn’t matter to us…or anyone else who stood there by the road…
we were all impressed with the courage and the bravery this wonderful human showed.
Because today…fear and prejudice and politics have made it difficult by far…
for a transgender human to stand up proudly…and declare to the world who they are…
Which is why we were there at the parade…to lend our love, support and happiness
to celebrate with pride…all the people in the parade…and their unique humanness.
It’s fitting that we are in Cherokee country..because many native nations,
whose traditions we so callously attempted to destroy…
believed in two-spirit people—those being born part girl…part boy.
They gave special significance to two-spirit humans…and welcomed all of them here
believing they had a special connection to the sacred spiritual sphere.
They revered two-spirit humans…who because of their two-spirit feelings
became their spiritual and ceremonial leaders…with special powers for healing
I’d like to get back to the Native Nations way of thinking…
because the only way to make this country great…
If to ensure acceptance, truth and wisdom…supplants our prejudice, fear and hate.
When you think about it who walks in better balance
than a human who can see the world from more than one side…
Which made us proud to watch this young human wave his flag…
proud he knew he was accepted…that he didn’t have to hide.
I believe we all are born with two-spirits…certainly me…and I have no doubt…you…
It’s just some people are more blessed to have a better balance between the two.
And rather than try to shame and humiliate them…I think it’s important that we…
celebrate who they are…and who they were born to be…
Because this human holds onto the hope that one day…our world will have evolved so far…
That a human won’t need to be brave or courageous…to show the world exactly who they are
Seeming to decipher,
The count of the sample,
Whether white, red or dead,
It appears, each is ample,
The blood of our lives,
Not the fluid, arterial,
But the beings, among them,
Usurped the toy in your cereal,
Their daily appearance,
At the start of your day,
Then emerging in time,
As the sun went away,
Their cohabitation,
With you, not by choosing,
But the result of divinity,
And the Creator's own musing,
A parent, a sibling,
Those snags of the branches,
All accounting for something,
When relations are stanches,
Unlike other vows,
Ceremonial, contractual,
Once out of the womb,
They are dogma and factual,
Commandments and law,
Reinforce these intentions,
Though no matter or slight,
Ever fades from contention,
Blood is thicker than water,
And universally sold,
Never questioned or doubted,
Whither silent or told,
Then, some days out of many,
When zeal and self,
Decide this is the day,
I want off of the shelf,
The blood test is given,
A puncture of flesh,
Your judgment, by others,
Disregarded as fresh,
The clan, it has spoken,
Based on magisterial virtue,
Eat every last word,
Though it might only hurt you,
But, you are in the know,
Of your first name and surname,
And the choice may preclude,
The outcome of this game,
It is time you stand still,
Concern, only internal,
Which cancels your date,
With the family tribunal,
It's never forever,
The scab always heals,
But, now, it might cover,
Something new to reveal,
The blemish is formed,
Hiding old wound or issue,
It is never the same,
Reinforced by scar tissue,
Hopefully all cells involved,
Can now work together,
Creating new bonds and sealant,
And tougher than leather,
You emerge understood,
By reason or force,
Avoiding all separation,
Death, disaffect or divorce,
There might be some others,
Trials of unknown decree,
With the plaintiffs intact,
Or scouring leftover debris,
You have done what is needed,
And can sigh in relief,
Your resolve and conviction,
Firmly held your belief,
That blood is essential,
It fuels, ignites verve,
And yet until it is tested,
We know not whom it serves,
So, we test, and retest,
Find the vain to extort,
And if too much is drawn,
We can simply abort.
(12/9/01)
"No, they are assassins from Akrah!"
"They cannot be my Lord, we have orders to take them in!
"They are assassins, I say. You shall not take them in!"
"Whatever, my orders are to take them in."
"And if I stand before you!"
"I shall carry out my orders Lord!"
"My young friend, I shall not fight you."
"I am glad my Lord."
"My blood boils when I see these assassins."
"I was told they were envoys, Lord."
"May I ask you Turgon, who did give these wonderful orders?"
"The orders came from the golden king himself."
Will you do something for me, my young friend?"
"You only have to ask and you know it shall be, my Dark man."
I wish you to delegate a duty to your strongest men."
"What would this duty be, my Dark man?"
"I want these monstrosities watched, wherever they may be."
"Most assuredly my Dark Man."
"Have someone ready to ring the alarm bell at any time Turgon."
"Francis is already in position my Lord."
"I shall see you in the palace Turgon."
"You shall indeed, well met, my Dark Man."
"Well met Turgon."
The Dark man. on Turvehrhr,
he goes over to Turgon and the king's guard,
the ceremonial guard trot off towards Alahsar,
the envoys in tow.
Now, it was a pleasant evening for the festivities,
A cool breeze did blow across Badicha,
Such a beautiful night for a slow ride,
through the great golden gates,
Slowly, the knights started towards the golden gates,
at a trot.
So it was,
the celebrations would have such strange guests,
Well, the song of Alahsar,
it must now come to an end,
Your Bard must now have a little mead,
after this, the song shall begin again,
May the ancient songs of Alahsar,
ever be sung in their glory.
Chapter..........1..........Part..........2..........3.
Now, we may return to Alahsar,
deep within the heart of our thought,
May my song bring Alahsar.
the golden city,
to the fore of your mind,
once more,
the vision of wonder shall become clear,
may the words paint the most striking pictures,
Now, let us charge our horns,
my Lords and Ladies,
the song, I shall now, in humility,
lay before you once more,
the song of ages,
long since past,
I shall now sing,
Come with me to the city of Alahsar.
To Be Continued..........
Head hunting shrinking cutting down the ego’s totems
swift blow to the pride of me myself and I selfish iotum
Dethroning the king of the wooden hut whack
with my cocoa machete not a hard nut to crack
A pleasant island where all could be yours
into a worldly nutshell the sincere milk pours
Spirit’s truth mercy celebrates an island victory
on big stick impelled the selfish iotum fire dried
Denying then mortifying the me myself and I
no more sin eating witchdoctor’s couch I abhor
Appeasing ceremonial volcano’s apatite no more
for my God the Lord of Truth has cut down the idols
No search party for selfish iotum’s pole revival
ego’s totem lies dead beneath the water fall
Heard no more war drum’s da dum da dum
the big stick plumb all enemies had to succumb
One swift blow truth has cut ego’s totem’s lies to root
rising no more the king of the wooden taboo
A new King Jesus with out me myself and I
King enthroned this hut is becoming an island paradise
When soft colors of
the amethyst twilight,
dance amongst shadows~
swirling through forlorn forests,
I count sparkling syllables of
pirouetting peridots,
looking for metered refrains
from the emerald empyrean,
while wondering,
what am I but a
speck of astral dust;
garnet silhouette of
desert orchid dusk,
hanging on thin threads
of lilac-laced lines,
seeking sanguine
streaks between
black and white realms,
composed with rhythmic reasons,
that reveal pristine pathways
to still wander,
like a soulful sojourner,
sleepwalking through pilgrims
perfumed with peace,
to attain eternal nirvana,
there, I’ll no longer
be a wingless bird,
but will soar like a golden eagle,
feathered in fragranced faith,
and porcelain-tailed promises.
And as the pink pearl moon
unveils its hyacinth halo,
I twirl to the tamarind tenors
of twinkling topaz,
that fall upon healing hills
thriving with buttercup bliss,
below funeral fogs,
where melanin phases of faces
lurk in sweltering silence,
stimulating my quill to release
pastel pigments of contentment,
like glowing galaxies of gratitude.
Yet, I am an unfinished poem,
completely incomplete,
comfortably rhyme-less,
misplaced in a melancholic
meadow of magnolia metaphors,
too vague for the eye
that sees not beyond
my sun-kissed skin.
While from ethereal verses,
scattered across
seraphic spheres, I strive,
wishing that phrases I weave
across midnight skies,
would calm the soundless storms
beneath lunar-pillowed oceans,
as this glistening ink on
the ceremonial canvas
of life and beyond,
longs to be the epitaph
that immortalizes my voice
amidst ashes and stones,
skeletons and bones,
there I’ll slumber with
light still flowing
through poetic veins,
amidst the
piercing pandemonium
and turmeric tranquility;
yin and yang of existence,
I am both, earth and water;
aura of intuitive seas~
and cathartic currents
mirroring the crestfallen crescent,
soaked in infinite luminescence
from aesthetic lanterns.