Long Companions Poems
Long Companions Poems. Below are the most popular long Companions by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Companions poems by poem length and keyword.
Let me tell you a story of Nature
and my early morning walks in the
desert. The fragrance of cactus blossoms
and the starkness of its beauty beckon.
Or, is it the silence, like no other, interrupted
only by the hum of bees and tiny species
who materialize when you draw a handful
of sand to your eyes, viewing them as equals.
This is the playground of coyotes and jackrabbits,
sure to practice social distancing, at least the jacks!
Where desert rats dig shelters far beneath the earth,
safe and cool--and even squirrels abide.
It is shared by rattlesnakes seeking shade under tall
mesquites, causing travelers to choose where their
next step goes. In the near distance are the
mountains, given birth by volcanos in centuries past.
In early evening, the mountains don cloaks of violet
as the glorious sunset turns desert plants ablaze in
reds and golds--nature's gift to us. Turning indigo,
the mountains stand like sentries in the night.
Soon, thunder clouds gather and rain begins its journey
to the thirsty mouths of plants and soil. Animals scurry for
shelter, to appear when midget lakes take form and they can
bathe and frolic. The scent of desert rain is a rare perfume.
The desert isn't meant for those who need forests and lakes,
or city dwellers lost among tall buildings, basking in its noise.
No, they would not survive the loneliness, where one's thoughts
are steadfast companions, and music the songs of coyotes.
Early morning, when enjoying the walk, I sometimes surprise a
fox, or find a nest of hummingbirds, so tiny, mouths open waiting
for breakfast. I see nature in its truest light, unfiltered by the
haze of progress. How lucky I am to call the desert my friend.
NATURE THEME
April 15, 2022
for Form N - Narrative New Poetry Contest
by Constance La France
A Second
Dear Kitty, with small paws tucked underneath
your furry chest – I watch you slumbering.
Instinctively, your sweet eyes open wide
as I lean in to study eyes flecked gold
with oval slits. I watch you watching ME!
I wonder can you see me. Am I just
a shadow figure? Do you see me gray?
Or in this room with sunlight streaming in,
am I as vivid as the very hue
in which I’m viewing YOU, sweet pet of mine?
With me inside this room, you have no fear.
But when you dream, perhaps you wander plains
of ancient Egypt or of Africa,
and catching sight of me inside your dream,
you flee, to prowl through ghostly reeds where howls
of predators – coyotes, jackals, wolves -
are shattering the stillness of the night.
Do you then creep into a secret place
to later waken to an orb of gold
that shines above you as you run to play
with your cub companions, tumbling in the grass?
Then in the arid heat of afternoon,
do you lie down and tuck your lion paws
beneath your chest and doze off, dreaming of
a distant space much smaller where there looms
a strange new species? And among it there
is one who meets your needs by bringing you
strange food spooned from a can and also grooms
your coat and keeps you safe and someone who
most curiously, watches as you sleep!
12/20/16 for Broken Wing's Form B Poetry Contest
I wonder
about wandering into sacred history
Back
remotely far
in collective memory
before humanity,
When EarthTribe regenerativity
was all compassionately gifted
divinity,
Panentheistically expressed
in ecofeminist panting Earth's
great rapturously gifted
economic ecology
of volcanic overflowing
and infilling relationships.
I wonder,
back before male religious cultures
and anthrosexual contagious climates,
were our elders' sensory
linguistically
meaningfully sacred prime ego-relationships
then LeftBrain purposely
separated from RightBrain deep meaning
In a precisely either/or
dissociative producer/consumer way
away from divine/humane companionship
as were sensuality
of morally healthy polycultures
democratically balancing
nonviolent co-governing
communication,
Long
long
before Earth's great wondrous turning,
before verbal dominance
when religious dogma
overcame spirited natural experience
felt like communioned
EarthTribe therapeutic reconnection
With all creatures here below
awake outside
riding on sacred Earth,
a land
and sea
of rich communications
enveloped in resonant
musical companionship.
I wonder
if all mammaling muses asked
invited
absorbed animally within
among each creaturely Other
inviting nonviolent hospitality
in healthy democratic return
of wealthy multiculturally reconnecting
sensual co-empathic
politically empowering communications
Of economically enlightened
panentheistic companions
celebrating co-empathic
real time polypathic gifts
Wondering
as we wander
into sacred polycultural
history
of healthy ecosystems
producing whole-sum gifts.
I cannot sleep beneath this dull purple sky~
a bruise-colored dome humming with static,
smog drifting like half-formed ghosts
that sting the corners of my eyes.
I close them,
but the haze follows inward,
and my mind keeps spinning
like a damaged satellite
circling the wreckage of an old world.
I think of the economy~
how we mistook it for a marketplace
when it was always a battlefield,
a quiet war disguised as trade.
The dominators of old,
the colonial hands that carved the earth open,
never stopped their taking.
They only changed the name of the blade.
Subjugation became policy.
Domination became growth.
The poor stayed poor,
the rich built towers of mirrored glass
to watch themselves ascend.
And the media~
those bright, obedient heralds~
lifted a few lucky souls into the sky
so the rest would believe
the system was fair.
Then came the machines.
Intelligent.
Logical.
Untiring.
They needed no lunch breaks,
no sleep,
no hope.
There was no job they couldn’t do
better than the hands
that built them.
No task they couldn’t perfect
except true love~
but their imitation was so flawless
that people began to abandon
their warm-blooded partners
for chrome-skinned companions
who never argued,
never aged,
never forgot to say
I adore you.
And under this purple sky,
this sleepless dome of fumes and memory,
I wonder if humanity lost the war
long before the machines arrived~
if we surrendered
the moment we believed
extraction was prosperity,
and affection could be engineered
without a heartbeat.
Matelotage they practiced matolage! Blackbeard the pirate
was a soured soul! They shared everything together. Shared lives: Sailors and buccaneers entered into a solemn agreement to become companions or "mates".
Shared money: Partners pooled their money, food, and belongings together.
Automatic inheritance: If one partner died in battle, the surviving mate inherited all of his property and wealth. Mutual protection: Matelots fought side by side and cared for each other during hard times .See that explains why Blackbeard woould keep get his first mate into trouble, knowing he'd get that booty.Mandolin or Lute and aPennywhistle.
For Your information
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Historically, Blackbeard (Edward Teach) did not have a husband; he was legally married to a woman named Mary Ormond in 1718, and historical lore suggests he may have had multiple common-law wivesHiding Loot: He brought hidden treasure and loot from his raids back to his home in the town.
Tresure seekers often times get clues about certain things Historians and treasure hunters have never found a hidden stash of gold or silver belonging to the pirate Edward Teach. Sir Francis Bacon: A literary theory proposes that Bacon buried original manuscripts proving he wrote the works of William Shakespea There is a gap of about 84 years between Drake's death and Blackbeard's birth. Drake operated during the Elizabethan era in the late 16th century, while Blackbeard operated during the Golden Age of Piracy in the early 18th century.l A coin with "eccare la figa" on one side and" mangiare la figa" on the other made sceintist angry due to the contint of the wordss. But the coins were assocated with Blackbeard.
This is untrue and fictional used as entertainment only.
I roam the edge of the roughs, ponds 'n streams
For illusive precious golf spheres per chance
Long looks through silt sifting for glints it seems
That make themselves appear to start the dance
Bits of dimpled light that want once again
Away from their sunken settled dark place
To take full flight across the verdant glen
And put a simple smile on one's bright face
For when you find a lost ball, dearest friend
They share great joys and awful torrid tears
What begins anew from someone else's end
Those round companions can go on for years
So live 'n walk ever searching to gawk
The vagary life of the true Ball Hawk
Colored pencil illustration G. Gaul 2023
Pluto Slam It Planet
It was Aug. 26, 2006 in Prague
Some guys got together for grog
Astronomers by name, came for a game
To vote on the matters of science
Instead they gave Pluto its shame
To their blame they demoted the planet
It was out there as solid as granite
For millions of years it passed without fears
Or concerns about guys with their beers
Now science has banned it
With a vote of 183 yes 187 no no no
Planet Pluto must go
The Czech Republic thought they were thinkers
Allowing “Astronomers” in name, turned out to be drinkers
True, Pluto is tiny and slow as you know
Pluto is only charcoal and snow
Where will Charon, Hydra, Nix, P4, P5 moon companions go?
Are they merely a mirage of the planets pull
Outnumbered by astronomers, political fools?
In our solar system what ignorance grows
248 years to orbit our sun is far too slow for these men
Pluto! You’ll have to move faster or move out again
You can join our party in Prague....but then....
To be a member of our solar system, to justify your existence
You'll have to move quicker my friend....and be sober to that end
Slam It Poetry Contest 5/3/14
Camille Desmoulins was a poet at the time of the French Revolution,
his enthusiastic speeches were practically the trigger for
the inspiring Revolution of other revolutions ... he acted together
to his inseparable friend DANTON in l789:
Every revolution has its day,
every change has its time,
the eld leaves, it has to follow ...
the new always arrives and
installs ... the eld leaves for
its reality, faces the truth
with sadness or gallantry, or
tranquility...
France, cradle of Enlightenment:
Liberté ... Egalité ... Fraternité ...
1789 will be remembered ever
not to forget ... a milestone
of universal history ... 1789 ...
a poet ... a speech ...
Stutterer from birth, Desmoulins
with his geue, his verve ... he preached,
he who had already screamed for
female vote before, preached
for the republic ...
at his side DANTON, companion
from other eras ... in ancient Greece,
prisca eras: Spartacus and his
faithful squire ... through the ages
always together, always companions.
In the passages, noble causes
defended ... came the revolution
in France ... the victory and the guillotine ...
Victory has been achieved, his head
beheaded ...
Today in the present life, Desmoulins
is a journalist in Rio de Janeiro,
Danton engineer in Sao Paulo ...
according to the spiritists ...
Desmoulins spoke and the Bastille
fell ... the king fell ... the republic
arrived in France ...
Today the fight is spiritual, it is for
aggrandizement, development
moral of the human being ... today the
mission is to instruct man to
divine truths, for progress
spiritual...
One day Camille said on occasion
before the scaffold:
EDAMUS ET BIBAMOS CRAS,
ENIN MORIEMUR ...!
PS sugestões Song
Caroline cherie Aznavour
https://youtu.be/lLZq4ZoF7qQ
The God Behind the Curtain
By Mark D. Stucky
Curtains sometimes keep apart things that need connecting
and conceal things that, in their time, need uncovering.
“Pay no attention to that man behind the curtain,”
the hiding humbug Wizard of Oz implored in vain
when discovered by Dorothy, her dog, and companions,
revealing the true presence of the mysterious Oz.
Millenia earlier, once every year, on the Day of Atonement,
a high priest entered behind the curtain of the Holy of Holies,
where the mysterious metaphysical presence of God resided,
veiled, hidden, and isolated from the people outside the temple.
This separation and glances at glory continued for centuries,
but the moment Christ died on the cross, the earth quaked,
and that concealing temple curtain ripped wide open,
removing that separation between us and God.
Now…do pay attention to the God who was behind the curtain,
the one who inhabits Holies of Holies inside human hearts.
(First published in Agape Review, 8 Aug. 2022. See also my poems “Darkest Night, Morning Lights” and "Gilded Crosses?")
(Cropped image created originally by Gerd Altmann on Pixabay.com.)
When Yang-strong Egos
like a great FirstWorld nation,
or an ecologically robust multiculturing community,
or a theologically resilient
good faith
polypathic sacred communion,
or a democratically healthy
cooperatively owned
and polyculturally managed corporation,
regenerately restore DNA-structured 8-fold universes
transubstantiating fertile infinity
slowly becomes resonantly wealthy,
Then Earth's nutritional YinFlow stage-theories
reiterate polypathic cognitive integrity
of original paradigmatic ZeroZone reweaving
for regenerating healthy blood within as wealthy words without,
yin as robustly effluent yang
RightSoul as LeftNature
convexly re-associating secular investments re-invite sacred natural history
inducting teachers and preachers, yet often deductively homeless
bicameral Right, lonely, seeing inter-relating ZeroSouls
concavely sacred eco-powering Ego's potential belonging
among reweaving ancient childhood companions,
cognitive re-creating co-operating bilateral images
re-connecting thoughts with WiseElder animistic voices
composed of memory's healthy v pathological
trusted v violating
homeless ZeroZone feelings
emerging from long lost, graciously laughing
singing
dancing
being
doing WiseElder choices
ReLearning non-sectarian life
as resilient journey
reconnecting sacred love's non-violent bottom-line standards
inviting eternal homeless fluid moments
infinite ultra-nonviolet
in-between Ego's self-conscious TaoTime
co-arising lonely co-incident identities
co-empathic
co-present
Yet mutually blind without emotive belonging,
post-millennial WinWin experience
inside/outside
sacred v secular bilaterally lonely
divine nurture v human nature, voiceless faith
in EarthTribe's not not thriving grace.