Long Daphne Poems
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What’s happening is clearly understood.
Apollo has one hand around her waist,
one predator, one quarry, interlaced.
He’s coming up behind her (which is good),
but she’s a tree (two lovers, getting wood!)
She’d rather change her state than be disgraced,
preferring to be chaste than to be chased.
She’s choosing abstinence, above life's blood.
Is love a trauma, to be undergone?
Arousal something ugly, to be faced?
Should Nature’s process be looked down upon?
The carnal act, a tactless lapse of taste?
Or might the thing be ardently embraced?
We, formless fragments, merging in The One?
Daphne
Daphne was definitely not a flirt
Dynamic and fierce, boy she could hurt
Clumsy in movement, robust, but with poise
Loud at times, she could make lots of noise
She hailed from good old Lincoln town
A rural beauty admired all around
Good at her job, espied by the boss
Her skills took her over to lands abroad
She continued to work and get her own way
When handled well, she was a mainstay
But her mood was volatile, her temper afire
When out on the field, she got stuck in a mire
Abandoned by her military lover
She found herself in the hands of another
Damaged and hurt, they mocked her demise
Paraded then dumped by the foreign bad boys
When the warring powers discontinued their fight
Her admirers removed her away from her plight
They took her back home to old Lincoln town
She was polished and cleaned and no longer down
Now old, she sits with others alike
Those far-off memories are kept alight
Her fans are many in this place of recall
And Daphne the tank is having a ball
My first Dollie was white
It sat on the lap of Papa's mahogany chair
I looked closer and saw blue eyes
A miniature mannequin, she was thin
Was it a sin I stood not smiling? But turned within
Filled with joy, the color of my skin was Cadbury brown
My Christmas gift to me all along
Dark girls I meet were pretty and sweet
If they were poor, I loved them more
My brother's first love was an Ebony dove
She was the color of my love
Nobody told me I was beautiful
On our way to sea, I felt it
A nappy haired doll; hand in hand
With my teacher, Miss Daphne, on the pier
I felt a touch, warm as Carib' breeze
It was the arms of God saying I was His
Of Her, my Jamaican Mama wedded to my Papa in Belize
Where mahogany speaks
Mys second dally was brown
She made me smile, and lingered long
peering into iris of her eyes
It was deeper than colorism
It was first pool my spirit plunged in
It soothe my soul
My friend, Denise Taylor was white
Eyes the color of chocolate
Her curls bounced gaily as we skipped to school
Her mood I always savored, was jelly sweet treat
She painted me a picture of light in all its glory.
*
As the sky weeps
in periwinkle petals of
multicolored roses,
rinsed in lemons, and lavender,
the poet within me
releases a bougainvillea
bouquet of unfiltered gratitude,
swaying to the celestial duet
orchestrated by
the angel of raindrops,
adorned in braided
wildflower crowns and
windswept wishes,
echoing dulcet melodies
rendered in whimsical accents.
I ponder, if tears had a tune,
would it be the
sound of drizzling dewdrops?
Would you then feel
the pain I carry,
veiled in smoky silence?
Or would I forever be
the silhouette cloaked
in fogs of charcoal confusion,
too dark to be deciphered
by the fragmented eyes
that eulogize
all that sparkles and glows?
But when stained sunflowers
swirl beneath starless spheres,
scattering seeds of sorrow
to cultivate a garland of grief,
puddled with poignant poems,
I remain throned,
as the goddess of black rain,
riddled with cosmic rituals,
sprinkling kaleidoscopic dust
upon forsaken fields,
while listening to the
drifting leaflets in crisp air,
pleading for the demise
of my unfaltering faith,
oblivious to the truth
that I fear not
mists of melancholy.
I surf through surging seas,
unafraid of twirling torrents
and blazing tides,
piercingly striking
shimmering sapphires
floating in deafening despair.
There in the abyss of obscurities,
I’m nestled within restlessness,
in rooted resilience,
like a perplexed paradox
weaving crippled odes to
the sun that longs to rise and sail,
splashing hues of cinnamon clemency.
Tonight, I’m counting crooning comets,
amidst quivering hailstones,
dancing in cataclysmic rhythm above,
to find my home within
an island of daphne dreams
and singing seashells.
For I hear the flaming flowers
in their solitary stillness
serenade rain rhapsodies,
to awaken the petrichor
soul of heavy horizons,
wrapped in stringed
milky-quartz beads,
bursting forth blooming tomorrows,
illuminated by chamomile water,
concocted from charismatic spring falls…
Yet I think of us, engrossed
in umbrella moments,
Cupid too envied this
symphony of romance
where love conquered all,
and grief but a blurred memory,
in sunlit souvenirs of yesterday.
Dear God, Lord Almighty, on You I humbly depend
Assured of Your granted eternal life* I joyously accepted...
Praising and esteeming You, along Your great power
Here am I blessed, with my thankful spirit, worshiping You heartily
Nourished by Your Word, my faith continually nurtured...
Exalting Your name, I serve You faithfully through Your grace so exceeding.
*Romans 6:23...The gift of God is eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord.
December 20, 2019
Dear Daphne,
God be praised and thanked for your life devoted to the Lord, by His grace, through His might, and for His glory.
I am the sun which rises from the East each day for you
But the rays are too blinding so you love the shade.
I am the diadem which wants to crown you my queen
But you do not want to carry the crown.
I am the music that plays every step you take
But you block out your ears not to hear it.
I am the rose which grows in the garden to kiss your feet
But you step, tumble on the rose so it no longer stands.
I fear I may be too hard to love
But my love does not come with any kind of chain.
It is like the depths of time's unanswered end
But you treat it like the blackest curse.
Winter Bows to Spring
In the midst of sullen cold
pink cherry blossoms burst open as winter bows to spring ~
yellow daffodils spring up from frozen icicles ~
white snowdrops vault through soils of howling storms ~
gold jasmina scampers up fences between winter's wildness ~
purple crocus stand tall midst blazing blizzards ~
rosy tulips push up past untamed storms ~
lavender glory-of-the-snows awakens in shivering snow ~
purple daphne spreads perfume to hoary frost ~
Heralds and harbingers of spring in the midst of winter
3-11-22
Contest: I Imagism
Sponsor: Constance La France
I asked you to dance with me
To ‘Both Sides Now’
by Joni Mitchell.
You didn’t have a choice.
That is what I do to you
when I am feeling romantic
and in love with my husband.
The Christmas tree is still up
in mid-January.
It is more luminous to look at
and reflect on after Christmas is over.
Now, there is time and space
for eccentricities,
especially mine.
Ben is embarrassed when we dance
in our slow circles
of middle-aged parents.
He went to play the trumpet
in his room.
He closed his door
which made both of us laugh.
The moment meant more
with the cacophony of music
and feeling
when we were laughing.
And our dog looked at us
with a bored expression
from her couch.
Daphne, our dog,
was enjoying her old-lady leisure.
I told you:
“honey, don’t forget this.”
Summer Place
A song crept into my soul today riding on the summer wind
Then peeked into my summer place closed for many seasons -
Windows shuttered standing on a grassy knoll
Whitewashed in the morning melody at the waters edge -
Waiting - held in time - face unchanging;
I forgot how I loved to sit
Upon the wysteriaed porch in wicker chairs painted white
To smell the elfin roses reaching for the trellis tops
As summer heavy hangs upon the railing
While a frisky breeze
Hop skips
Across the harbor leaving diamonds in it's footsteps
On the waters
And opens up the wide front door,
Decorated with a flowered wreath,
Inviting welcome to my summer place,
Warmed by summer's enduring caress;
The wide front room filled with bits of yellowed lace,
A fragile nautilus,
Daphne pressed between old diary pages,
Haunting songs of summers past, antique keys
And faded photographs;
I take the album in my hands sitting upon the fragrant porch,
Arms around my knees, tabby kitten by my side,
To watch the games and songs
And friends
Unfold their images across the lawn -
Children playing in the sand at the waters edge,
Voices lifted in the sunlight -
Here, I can touch their hands again,
Look into their eyes
And see our laughter fill the afternoon;
We return from play
Young women,
Dressed in cool white linen,
Sun touched hair bound in flowing ribbons
Enfolded in the breezy twilight on the porch
To feast on summer peaches and gaze across the water
With eyes enchanted by the gathering lights
Twinkling in the dusk -
The first bright stars of evening rising on the darkened air
Whispering of the future borning,
Blessed by the crickets chirping serenade -,
Till I would stand
Alone
Upon the empty porch tightly holding in my arms
Roses,
Red and white
Pink and lavender,
Yellow, crimson, orange and ivory and blue,
Their new perfume ever filling
The quiet rooms of my summer place
Until the golden moon slowly closes the white front door
Putting the key into its place,
Leading me upon the sandy path
To morning
Painting blush upon the sky,
When the summer wind
Whispers
Of a summer place.
Lush green verdant hills of peace
beneath lavender skies of
linen and oleander gentle pink
inside my seaside windy garden nook
a gift for Pythia, high priestess of Greece
Flower of Olympian Gods
growing here both wild and free
symbol of hope you were Apollo's choice
as he weaved you in a crown for Daphne
she turned into a laurel tree with roots
Infant stem of glaucous bloom
flower of enlightenment
and hope, come fill my haven with sweet bless
enwrap me with your oleander charms
avail me to your heady toxicant
Oh bud of hallucinate
matter, how fatal you are
evergreen shrub of median highways
stay with me until the mid autumn comes
tough and vigorous as you are dear shoot
you are a potent flower,
deserving respect and truth.