Long Dome Poems
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The TV showed a tyrant tumbling towards our house.
I was weary and wanted to leave before it hit, but
My mom was too weak and too old to leave her bed.
She couldn’t leave so I sat, sat and prayed.
I boarded up a window standing on a chair—
Waiting. It was hurrying our way in the shape of a hurricane.
My mom said, “Remember Hurricane
Betsy back in ’65, we survived that in this house!”
She was trying to comfort me in my chair.
I was trying to stay calm for my mom, but
I was worried, so worried and again I prayed,
Watching, waiting and wondering over her bed.
As I walked to the window; I looked at my bed
Of roses freshly planted and hoped the hurricane
Would spare their lives, ours too! Then, me and the roses prayed.
Suddenly and without warning the power left our house
And a window cracked and crashed close to my mom’s head, but
She was ok. She was calmly asleep. Then, I sat in my chair
With a flashlight and waited. My old chair
Was calm and sturdy like my mom’s bed.
Throughout the night I sat confident that we would hold, but
Finally the overwhelming weight of the heavy hurricane
Broke the levees and lunged an ocean into our house.
I cried “Mom we have to go!” She woke and then she prayed.
And as she prayed
The water rose and knocked over my chair.
I picked her up and carried her to the roof of our house,
And we waited and waited—she missed her bed.
At last a boat came, on the side read “HURRICANE
RELIEF”. I told my mom it was time to go, but
She didn’t want to go, she was sad. But,
I convinced her that we couldn’t stay. We got in the boat—everyone prayed.
Then we waited and waited in a big silver dome with other hurricane
Survivors, all were thirsty, none were cold. “Mom…Wake up!” She lay dead in a chair.
So, I got some rubbish and filth and made her a bed.
I covered her up—I missed our house.
When I returned I found my chair though it was not the same, but,
I sat anyway and then I prayed. I put my mom’s ashes in a brand new rose bed
And begged another hurricane doesn’t take away—my mom and our house.
In my dreams I was given a seed
The elf told me to plant it deep
In a far off strangely odd valley
A lovely place that the Angels Keep
This valley was way far beyond the trees
There would be challenges along the way
I strived and struggled to make my way through
Travelling forcefully through night and day
I found my way to Moon Valley Clearing
A special place where time does not exist
The extinct animals they all lived there
Too many to count or possibly list
I got to stroll with the great Do Do bird
Listened to his tales from so long ago
I rode a unicorn across a field
Breathed in air so fresh it made my skin glow
I reached the end of a magic rainbow
This was the place for me to plant the seed
Within a few moments a tree appeared
Colour from the ground it began to bleed
I watched the rainbow as it joined the tree
The branches grew out creating a dome
My unicorn said thanks for bringing peace
Tranquillity spread all over their home
The magic of youth was held in it's bark
To have it work, in the valley I must remain
Eat a small piece and be forever young
Among the animals I would have no care
I thanked my new friend I could not remain
With a subtle wink and a toss of her head
she waved me off as I flew back to my bed
I remembered all the things that she said
I smiled at the thought of that special place
A magical place beneath a warm dome
A sanctuary, beyond human kind
The animals are safe, they call it home
FINIS
A Shadowlam production
Thank you Rick I have struggled with this all day lol
oh, I like to roam
into a forest hued with green
where the trees have created a roof dome
and I can breath air that is fresh and clean
oh, there is magic in the paths I have known
and beyond is a blue sky
where a thousand wild birds gracefully fly
then, land in the lush trees to rest and sigh
nearby
and I love wild flowers
and can wander for long hours
where grass and green towers
____________________
August 18, 2021
Poetry/Rhyme/I like to roam
Copyright Protected, ID 08-1381-915-18
All Rights Reserved, 2021, Constance La France
Written for the Standard contest, A Brian Strand Rhyme
sponsor, Brian Strand, Judged 08/19/2021
First Place
Each day, a red sun arises from the emerald river,
In the acrobatic leap in the dark with watermelon smell.
In the evening, the pale moon it is dressed up in silver
By a dervish who changes it in a dome where he`ll dwell,
As prisoner of the unmovable being, just like Parmenides;
The moving sands of the desert covered old Coptic monasteries;
Between sky and sand, in old pajamas, the Sphinx and pyramids
Breathe with the slow motion of the camels in ancient reveries
About tears and saints in white tents with summer’s distillation left:
Koran’ effects unto communities’ lives with beauty were bereft.
Museums and parks-cemeteries and ritual prayers in bitter Cairo I meet:
Under One single eye, invisible stranger I rest, in the hot night’s street.
Within the dark shadows,
of an old church sanctuary;
I confront life and choices I have made,
face-to-face with God I kneel in prayer.
The dark makes me braver,
the shelter of the church wraps me in warmth;
like strong arms caressing my soul and heart,
giving me strength.
In the dim I grow so sleepy,
and fall into a dream;
and I am in a forest dome of trees,
wrapped in a soft gauzy veil lovely.
I am afraid;
until, I hear a voice.
And what a divine voice,
deep, soothing and loving;
and I knew it must be the voice of God.
Have no fear sweet child of mine,
I feel your deep unhappiness;
the doubt and sadness in your life,
and because you have come to me- you are healed.
All you have faced is erased from this moment on,
go forth child, today is a new day and tomorrow is yours;
and I woke up from my dream.
I was in the old church sanctuary,
with dim flicking candles . . .
SOME TANKA
The mirror swallowed
my footprints on the shore
I couldn’t blame the waves
the geese kept flying over the head
the shadows kept moving afar
Professors beware
intellectual success
lies in inventing
lies to conceal common truths
and sound holier-than-thou
Little candles fail
to illumine the deity
or golden dome
in the valley darkness reigns
and god too awaits light
The mind creates
withdrawn to its own pleasures
a green thought
behind the banyan tree
behind the flickering lust
The drying trees
live my age:
autumn
warmth of new day
hot tea and singing birds
Plodding away at
season’s conspiracies
life has proved untrue
with God an empty word
and prayers helpless cries
On the roof top
she waits for her man with
moon cake and lantern:
a flash of silver showers
on the mist-shrouded figure
The god fire
in the soul forces back
my secret fall
I feel the retarding weight
in the fate’s deadly turn
Unknowable
the soul’s pursuits hidden
by its own works:
the spirit’s thirst, the strife
the restless silence, too much
Copyright: Ram Krishna Singh
In the cathedral of eternity, where time itself kneels in reverence,
Where stars are candles burning on the divine altar on high,
There Jesus, Savior and Sun-giver, makes His presence felt,
In the hearts of Christians - a living temple, an ark of salvation.
Their ocean of faith, a mirror without shores, unforeseen,
Upon its waves, only the Ark of Incarnation glides in peace,
For those who sail aside, compass-less, without Jesus to anchor the tale,
Navigate in false galleons, dreaming of a ray that embraces.
Here, in the palm of Jesus, souls gather like leaves in the wind,
Beneath the lofty dome, where the echo of grace is both melody and hymn,
He, the bread of life, the wine of salvation, shared on mine and your altar,
A sacred bond, transmuting the heart into an ark enshrined with mystery.
In Jesus, walls of the soul rise, surpassing imagination’s hold,
The living stones of His faith, an institution unshaken in purity,
Even in the howl of the tempest, Christians find shelter under reconciliation’s wing,
For they have The One, enrobed in the dawn of deathless love.
In the Gethsemane of other hearts, a prayer fades into whisper,
A shadow, seeking the light, in the maze of a vast doubt,
But Christians dine with God, they know Him by name,
He, their Shepherd, on the path to heaven, and in each shard of dream woven in name.
In their life, each step, a frame of iconostasis where God resides,
The ineffable made flesh, in Jesus, where heaven and earth in a dance are enjoined,
Their altars are hearts aflame, an eternal burning of the terrestrial angel,
In Jesus, the key to liberty, in a sacred chant - an everlasting mysterium.
Nothing like new polished shoes,
new dress, when restarting school,
up the bus in one and twos,
warm jacket, embroidered wool!
Cackle of sounds and laughter,
words without weighted wisdom,
atop a double decker,
relish of childhood freedom!
Lessons in school, miles away,
but the journey is more fun,
here is start of a school day,
open bus under warm Sun!
Hardly aged eight or nine,
but act adults on our own,
dormant hormones like red wine,
mature well with age when grown!
Little romances still abound,
amongst boys and girls in bus,
notice my heart throb around,
in pony tail and white dress!
Two rows in front to my right,
reading a book as she does,
wish could next to her alight,
to admire her pretty tress!
Bragging boys, made up tales,
to win a smile from the girls,
Shy faces with painted nails,
do at times, flash teeth like pearls!
In hours journey to school dome,
many fantasies are spun,
then dreams are ferried back home,
for the following day rerun!
Up and down familiar roads,
The bus embarks on its way,
Heavy satchels with book loads,
Slice of life, all in a day!
2nd placement
Written 04/Sept/2020
All in a dayl
Sponsor William Kekaula
DREAM ON
I dream on, from my dome to my chest
to my toes and to the tips of my palms.
We dream on, in the land of the free,
but where freedom comes at a cost and
sacrifice for others the achieve their dream.
I dream on, flying over an icy mountain top,
To the sweat taste of lemon drops,
To the cool relief of mist burning over a
desert black top as I brain storm lessoning
to heart beat of my favorite song.
We dream on, from the top of
lonely tropical island hill top
to the sit and the smell of a breath
taking Forrest and to a falling
sun afflicting a shining sea
that is the best part of the day
I rather spend ending enjoying with a beautiful
woman... the sit and the breeze.
Poetry by Keith K. Relf
Galaxy of Crystal
Reader of star stories – far flung destinies
Enclosed within a midnight crystal dome
Filled with flecks of leftover stardust
Cosmic plane of star-crossed constellations
And dust storms of the lost transcendent light -
Clearly sees through falling astral luminaries
And hopes tossed up for the first twilight star;
A gypsy crossing galaxies of interstellar legend –
A woman with starry vision clad in nebula silk
Woven from threads of spiraling chambers -
Knocks at a door with no handle
Star princess – celestial royalty – spends the night
Leaving bits of stray star clusters
To enchant the eyes of a dream child
At the stargate of the dusky etheral.
Thank you Line for your inspiration. I missed the contest but your theme set me spinning into a celestial wonderland!