Long Doves Poems
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The voice is mine and yet not,
I have nurtured it, both goaded,
and placated it,
until its tongue is as liquid as molten
silver.
It is not human, never was.
It came to me as a stray dog would,
though it is more a bird than canine,
for it will fly up into my throat.
without any help from my mind.
Perhaps it is that fabled muse,
yet it is also,
a hag and a crone,
sometimes a sweet-faced harlot.
I cannot count its many faces.
It is a male wolf, a stag in the wilderness,
its call is a summons for my ghost to speak,
to feast upon the vapor
of a blood script.
Gentled am I, made meek and mild,
A mute angel roams my earth,
it hunts for white doves.
The captured birds are taught
to mark scratches upon a plasmid velum,
symbols that utter the un-utterable.
I have this strange-strangers voice,
I have a hollow stem
that rises up to pierce a deep inward sky,
what it will say next, what it has now said,
and what I am now,
only the voice knows.
The Ash has died, bare-branched
Throughout this summer.
Odin's gallows, Dreamin' Tree,
Died back like every other.
Though autumn leaves begin their fall
Bare Ash stands like a Christmas tree
Embraced, entwined, adorned
With greening from another.
Wisteria's bine has jumped the gap
Between the gardens at the back
To cover Ash tree to its top
To all the world alive, but not.
Half way up this dreamin' tree
A pigeon mounts his mate
A fourth or fifth time in this day
Though autumn's love is late
And well before the Spring.
Corvid's watching blue-winged Jay
Sits low upon his gallow branch,
Planning how to rob their nest
To scalp its precious fledgling squabs
Before they're raised as offspring.
These clatter doves with life long
Mates make glimpse of love's display
But all of God's creation groans
Awaiting when that final day
Finds freedom from frustration
With birth pangs of a better way
And longed for last redemption.
Mornings are made for paper and pens
In the hands of a would-be scribe,
At each day’s awakening between sun and shade
And silence is coming alive.
From out of the dark, the touch of a spark
Of light on the distant shore,
This time of day has always been made
For would-be scribes for sure.
When the mourning doves and whippoorwills
Begin their ritual songs of life
Of cooing, wooing and renewing
Everything in sound or sight.
And the would-be scribe tries not to hide
His or her thoughts too deep,
But let them all rise like dew in the sky
And eagles to snowy mountain peaks.
Let the words come forth
Like cool water from a riverbed,
Bringing thoughtfulness, kindness and ponderings
Wherever hearts and minds are led.
Let no one cease this ancient peace
Of writing in early hours,
The writer’s way of flying away
Turning tragedy and tears into wildflowers.
Let their words be heard and hearts be stirred
In the twilight of the day,
Excelsior to the would-be scribes
And all they have to say.
© Terrell Martin, 01/25/2025
I.
In Oropos, a lone warrior rode
On horseback in search of a place to rest.
He had been on a long and weary quest,
So, he pulled on the reins and his horse slowed.
Up in the trees, the afternoon sun showed
Two doves huddled together in their nest.
He stopped his horse, and thought it would be best
To reach into his pouches to unload.
He walked to the center of the woodland,
And kept watching the doves in their repose.
He found some shade and stopped, just as he planned—
As the doves took flight, he picked up a rose.
He ate berries from a bush with his hand,
And then prepared a spot where he might doze.
II.
Through the thick leaves, Cupid's arrow did fly,
Dropping the strong warrior on his back.
And with no warning sign of the attack,
The wounded warrior let out a cry.
The very source of every lover’s sigh
Had now made his vision a world of black.
The arrow in his armor left a crack
Over his heart from the archer so sly.
The doves that were circling overhead
Softly landed near his fallen torso.
In the warrior’s current state of dread,
He yelled for help with his physical woe.
As more of his blood continued to shed,
He heard the distant screeching of a crow.
© 2021
This day to celebrate the supreme sacrifice
of the ancient prophet Abraham
This day to ponder and reminisce
that divine substitution of Ismail for a ram!
This Quranic and biblical factual story
shall never diminish in its age-old glory
That superb reliance on and compliance with the will of God
eternally for man to learn from and applaud.
Upon his awesome trust in the unseen, let his kind marvel
and of submission, devotion to God bestow him a laurel
And now for the sake of mutual unity and festivity
first let all of humanity
release their doves of peace
and let them fly freely, unprovoked, unrestrained
with olive branches in their beaks
such that when angels who predicted
forever feuding humans
look down they see instead
6 billion or more two fingers up
in a huge mass of humanity
signalling for and meaning to keep the peace!
But mind you, world peace is to be everybody's goal
so let no one leave space for any loop-hole.
EID GREETINGS everybody.
Enchanted Forest
Dedicated To Ms. Jersey
Enchanted Forest telling a beautiful story to me,
as I was walking Ms. Jersey there.
My, what a grand gesture,
they were telling, too!
The leaves flowing slightly in harmony,
with the winds.
Each one of them, giggling as I stepped further.
Mother Nature gave a kiss,
of sweet cooing,
from the morning doves.
The trees saying hey; don't forget about me,
as I walked past; touching each, while we,
continuing along our walk.
I stopped to look back at them all; they each,
waving by leaf.
Mother Nature has her mind, and it's well-accepted,
in my heart.
As Ms. Jersey and I; "Danced in the Forest of Enchantment."
Oh sweet, sweet anonymity
Through the pressing crowds you’re calling me
Along the streets in city parks
Your presence waits by day or dark.
Just as the judge is passing law
As in so many times before
On parking offence or minor crime
On occasion a case that makes a national headline
The same hand takes the tea maid’s cup
Or swings a club on the Sunday golf match
As famous singers walk the stage
Of what matter is its matter made?
Plywood sheet or glass laminate
The "greatest moments" are a blip
On lifetimes stage where fortune sits
As greater life is lived unsung
Of no recorded note or age
A bar to life’s great tearing pace.
Yes,, somewhere waits for you and me
That sweet sweet anonymity.
A girl with hair like golden down
Is smiling in a country town
Her eyes are soft, her spirit strong
She knows truth, love and easy songs.
She makes up a house where people meet
And lives are crossed so bitter sweet
From kindergarten to university
She sees continuity
And containment of the life she loves
White picket fence and a cote of turtle doves.
© Joe Maverick 26-07-2010
THE SOLID TRUTH
On the day I was born.
Everyone put me on a petal stool.
The Angel's played a trumpet horn.
While everyone called me a ~precious jewel.
Harps played!
Doves flew!
That's how my birth was displayed.
As I got older ~ As I grew!
My heart of gold started to fade.
Sinking down in to the blues.
I hide my thoughts under the shade.
Wondering how one screw got lose.
I removed the pin from my own grenade.
Like TNT~ I lit my own fuse.
Blowing myself away from your masquerade.
My life has no buttons to defused..
My heart is twisted with barbwire as a barricade.
I live this rotten life, no reason to hit the snooze.
Sweating and letting the thoughts of revenge cascade.
A level of rage and hate is my only muse.
You camouflaged into a blonde beast with the eyes of jade.
The truth has come out, with an unacceptable excuse.
The solid truth, is like solid waste.
A force of mean, turning a heart cold.
Here's the truth do you want my new sour taste.
Forget when I was sweet, when I was bold.
I enjoy this new feeling of being out of place.
The truth was told..
In your face.
I laughed at the way it was all unfold.
Walking with a smile~ one day you will die,
and pay for what is owed.
While I sleep at night with Glory..
You'll wake up everyday to my untold story.
With the solid truth that lies have no end.
Guilt will have everyone crying at my funeral.
Wondering what happened to their "precious jewel.
by;p.d.
I embrace you … you hold me tight,
sounds of swift ivory doves cry out-
fleeting into the ebon night; for our love loses not insight,
never cursed or full of deep blight;
a million fairytales tremble at us,
they know how our love does outshine with flickering light . . .
black ravens plague this existence,
saturated in loneliness were you-
yet, you stayed with me, longing for my hopelessness to cease,
descending onto my grateful knees;
I sense your essence in the breeze,
I know the pain of loss and despair you carried with ease . . .
as the tempest rages in warm rains,
the winds blows, and gusts prevail-
emerging from the dust I was found,
weeping in the forsaken land of my desolated heart’s remains
your genuine adoration still sustains
intense obscurity of calamity I faced before you attains . . .
sweetheart, you are my perpetual connection,
for I am a woman craving to be near you for all of eternity-
bound by love and affection
my alleviation found in perfection
and I shall feel this pure affection for you, my beloved eternally
and . . .
oh . . . my beloved darling I have tried so hard,
to go on without you in my life -
but you call my name each night over and over and over, you call me;
so, I stand with a dagger at your eternal tomb,
ready to thrust it- into my broken heart . . .
_________________________
September 8, 2019
Poetry/Verse/Shattered Love
Copyright Protected, ID 19-1179-372-02
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
For the contest, Lu's Poem Switcher Roo
sponsor, Lu Loo
Second Place
Soiled dove.
I don’t know where u have been but I know where u can be.
I see the hurt beyond that carelessness.
The pain in ur words .
Where u been I don’t know.
But where u are u don’t deserve to be.
What great trial did you encounter?
To think urself unworthy.
Soiled dove.
Your beauty is priceless.
Ur eyes should be a glow of divine favour.
No great trial should rob u of your freedom.
No great man should use you as an instrument.
Soiled dove.
What great men took ur innocence and threw it to the wolves.
Who told you that you could never recover?
Don’t let ur hurt grow into a block of ice.
Soiled dove.
Your soul should be a musk of strength and courage.
Not a soul of hatred and ignorance.
What greater trial did u encounter to appear so lost?
What duchess told you, you are unworthy?
Soiled dove.
How many great doves have rose from their doom.?
Who cut ur wings and crippled ur soul.
What do you think the wings are for?
You purity should overcome all hate.
Your peacefulness should be the barrier of strength.
Soiled dove.
Wipe those tears from ur eyes.
Dnt let them soil ur beauty
Dnt let them break ur stride.
Soiled dove.
Open your eyes and see the beautiful person in the mirror.