Long Down under Poems

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Premium Member Soul’s Cry

Another lost noon, 
engraved as unforgettable 
memoirs within my mind, 
I’m rethinking of rewriting
and rewinding revoked 
reflections of a love rekindled. 
My eager heart
is now hanging in the void,
yearning to swirl 
through desert dunes  
to exhale one more 
dandelion dream 
in the same air as you,
where quill and paper
were no longer needed.
For times that I 
was inking 
meaningless phrases,
were buried 
deep down under,
as you were softly 
scribbling dewy verses
of desires upon 
my desolated skin,
rescuing darkness 
with starving sincerity, 
illuminating and hydrating
my urges with 
prolific praising, 
moulding every 
imperfection of mine
into an abstract art,
naming them 
with prismatic gems
on the night of confession, 
beneath a sky full of stars
that were burning.

I’m now left with no 
adjectives to alliterate, 
how this sunflower 
soul’s cry bloomed
within your 
healing embrace, 
where hailing
emotions were eased;
I knew then,
that’s where 
I’ve for so long
wanted to belong. 

The whirling gusts of 
greedy gardenias
  may say 
roses  aren’t fragrant, 
but why am I yearning 
to be the Juliet rose
in your graceful garden, 
where petals glow
like rainbow-hued stardust, 

I’m on a virtual venture, 
wishing I had 
Aladdin’s vintage lamp;
to grant me my 
dose of you and I. 
If only I could ride 
above Arabian valleys;
on an amethyst 
magic carpet,
stitched with 
crystalline crescent sequins. 

If only you could feel,
I’ve been dreaming 
of daisy meadows
and dahlia lawns, 
where memories 
are fatal,
pushing me into a 
labyrinth of 
mourning magnolias,
searching for 
balanced brightness,
although you 
still wander
through a
foreign land~
faraway from “us”.

I hear your wings
adorned with
orchestric ornaments
ascending into
   the celestial fields,
leaving me in an
astral connection,
 with a jar of memories,
where I still keep 
falling for you,
time and time again,
as you are my 
beginning and ending,
the amorous poet 
that wouldn’t 
take love for granted~
like the pirates of 
this heart-shaped odyssey. 

And I shall forever be reliving
the fabulous February, 
spent in your golden presence;
although, days together
were somewhat short
and nights were long,
we will rephrase this romance
relentlessly
into an everlasting love story.


Premium Member Warning Sorry a Bit Sexual

It is a sun splashed day; the air is silent with the sound of waves 
from an ocean moving to the rhythm of crying gulls. 
The sand underneath my feet is warm and soothing. 
The crashing waters from a wind sculpted waterfall swims 
into the arms of its mother sea.

It is a private beach at a spot in the world 
were the Caribbean Sea and The Atlantic Ocean hug. 
It is a strange sensation of hot then cold, that tease the senses.

The young woman with me is my lover of four years.
 The golden rays of light from the bright morning star 
lives in the flow of her platinum blond hair. 
In her eyes I can see the bright clear blue ocean, warm, 
but with a piercing love glare that sends shivers up my spine.

We are young, in love and safe 
inside a perfect glossy postcard background.
 Her red lips and light drenched skin glows 
with the beauty of this perfect Jamaican day.

Without a thought I grab the back of her head, 
jerking my lover's whole body towards me 
locking her in the strength of my grasp 
inviting her to quench my desire.

I bite her lips before engaging in a deep passionate kiss 
and remove a barely there bikini from her statuesque figure.

She embraces me as I lift her in my arms 
naked for all the Gods to observe.
 I set her down under the refreshing flow of the rushing waterfall. 
She attempts to pull at me, but I deny her.

I hold back both her arms and use my mouth 
to suckle her all the time absorbing the beating waters 
that kneads my flesh, like so much dough.

Suddenly I set my angel free. She pounces on me, 
like a lioness in heat famished for the taste of flesh.

The world disappears and I find myself willingly trapped in a void. 
Nature's voice conducts an orchestra of emotion. 
We writhe in the ecstasy of touch. 
With the strokes of a divinity fingers paint a portrait of rapture. 
We dance now to the precise notes 
of an escape into the arms of serenity.

In one fluid movement, our bodies become one.
There is no end to the divine flavors we share. 
Cooling waters flame our sins. 
We explode like a building 
imploding gracefully to the roar of infinite sound.

Until eventually we pass out naked 
locked in each others arms. 
We find ourselves lying on the warmth 
of the fine white sand beach when we awaken, 
tattooed in the telling shades of a Jamaican suntan.
Form: Prose

A Cautionary Tail

Herr Heinrich Schneider and his spouse
Felt the need to wander,
And for once to leave their house
For a land that lay far yonder.

Japan at cherry-blossom time!
No better place than this
Enthralled the German couple’s mind.
The chance they would not miss.

"But what of Spezi", Heidi cried,
"We can’t leave him behind."
"Ach! unser Spezi," Heinrich sighed.
"There’s a way we’ll find."

They gave him anti-rabies shots
And medicines galore.
All that red tape, and lots and lots
Of paper-mountains more.

Off to the orient they flew
With hopeful joy and glee.
Oh what wonders bright and new
Would soon enthral all three?

Imperial palaces they saw 
And Fuji’s snow-capped summit,
Ornate gardens stirring awe.
You name it, they had done it.

Immersed in culture and in art
They sensed a certain lack.
And so it was that they took heart
To leave the beaten track.

They hired a car and off they went
To some far-distant by-way.
And many a pleasant hour they spent
Till the dying light of day.

They found a cosy place to rest.
On the price they made a deal.
At last a chance to have a "Fest".
The time came for a meal.

The menu was in Japanese,
As well one might expect.
The waiter clearly meant to please
And bowed with great respect.

Of English, German and of French
He had no scrap of knowledge.
He gave each ear a nervous clench.
No, he’d never been to college.

Herr Schneider felt like sauerkraut
And Heidi felt like veal,
Food of this kind they’d do without
Until another meal.

But Spezi’s hunger would not wait.
Herr Schneider eyed the waiter.
"Wuff, Wuff, our Spezi wants a plate.
For dogs one has to cater."

While they sat there, a full hour passed. 
Then the waiter brought some dishes.
The Schneiders ate their strange repast,
Which fell short of their wishes.

It was now time to pay the bill,
Which ran to many a yen.
Both were feeling somewhat ill.
and hardly spoke a word, but then -

Heidi cried "Is Spezi back yet?"
"Wuff wuff" did Heinrich bark.
"Please, waiter, tell us, where’s our pet?
In the kitchen? In the park?

A piece of fur the waiter brought.
Then Heidi’s face went pale.
She had a grim and horrid thought
On seeing Spezi’s tail. 

What is the moral of this tale?
Down under be a dingo.
Where e’er you roam you should not fail
To understand the lingo.
Form: Didactic

Bullet Wounds In My Heart of Golden Revenge Chapter 3 and 4

Bullet Wounds in My Heart of Golden Revenge Chapter 3

Bite down on the bullet…bite the bullet – you’re in emotional debt and you groan
Bite down on the bullet…bite the bullet – Taste the venom…don’t spit me out like GUM
Bite down on the bullet…bite the bullet – Feel the words that move you in the negative zone…you’re a useless, dry bone
Bite down on the bullet…bite the bullet – Numbness prevails over me…brainwashed like SOME

And, now – you expect me to be this strong boy
That’s tainted with saliva and spit like a toddler’s toy 
You ruined me…you wrecked me with your plastic glory
Where shall I flee? I’m a bird, ensnared in your ribcage of melancholy
Bite down on the bullet…bite the bullet – you’re in emotional debt and you groan
Bite down on the bullet…bite the bullet – Taste the venom…don’t spit me out like GUM
Bite down on the bullet…bite the bullet – Feel the words that move you in the negative zone…you’re a useless, dry bone
Bite down on the bullet…bite the bullet – Numbness prevails over me…brainwashed like SOME


Bullet Wounds in My Heart of Golden Revenge Chapter 4


Desolate in the place I once called My Home Sweet Home – what’s left of it?
Now, What Have I Become to You? I’m the one lost in your twisted, wicked paradise
Heartbroken by your fickle, outlandish ways… You have a frivolous spirit…
Your heart i-is the embers a-and ashes down under…don’t seek me – I-I am not wise
You have a frivolous spirit… Heartbroken by your fickle, outlandish ways
I’m the one lost in your twisted, wicked paradise; Now, What Have I Become to You?
What’s left of me? What am I left with? Nothing…and now, I rot, I rot, I rot on my own…but I am not alone…I roam in God’s Gracious Grassland of Gratitude

Bite down on the bullet…bite the bullet – you’re in emotional debt and you groan
Bite down on the bullet…bite the bullet – Taste the venom…don’t spit me out like GUM
Bite down on the bullet…bite the bullet – Feel the words that move you in the negative zone…you’re a useless, dry bone
Bite down on the bullet…bite the bullet – Numbness prevails over me…brainwashed like SOME

Where shall I flee? I’m a bird, ensnared in your ribcage of melancholy 
You ruined me…you wrecked me with your plastic glory
That’s tainted with saliva and spit like a toddler’s toy 
And, now – you expect me to be this strong boy

Nine of Hearts

the black word at the top
"Confuses"
probably not just me
but what does it me
on this card all about satiation of a puzzle piece of Freudian slips
of the ego maniac dealing me a hand
of a two sided card

The Blue "Spirits" written on the bottom upside down
I do no know the right side up
and the "masks is there on the side

just one card professor
just one card
the nine of hearts
a piece of the puzzle
a piece of the chapter
a legacy of five hearts upright
showing me there is more love than what may be topsy turvy
four hearts upside down under the top five

and when i flip this card over what do i find
on the other side
the six of clubs
a card of success
Blue on top a word that speaks "Alone"

Down at the bottom and upside down
an omen written "within"
and on the side i have "expressive"

My deck of 26 cards with two sides
and these are just a few of my favorite things

the puzzle of Freudian slips
the word game
spirits within
confuses expressive masks
alone

I'll never know

on card with two tails heads and tails
would you like a reading after you read the fairytale?
would you like to know more more than the yes or no to your answer and what 
you found here to the question you didn't t know to ask

and what have you found in this moment you are made up
besides the greed and arrogance you pine and hide away?
did you cry
did anyone come to intervene
did the destroyer change your ways from those who could wipe
this place clean
and is time ticking tick tock ticking away
to reflect within the mirrors
around you echoing your souls
as we all cry
and cry like teddy bears
banshee teddy bears
is time still ticking away?

success of being satiated 
cursed by being alone within and expressing it
to confuse your spirits and mask it all
such a poetic piece of art

my nine
my nine my valentine six of clubs nine of hearts
trump taking trick winning mastermind trump
hand winning card of the game fortunetellers jaw drop right now
because they are also god given
when they see the mirror magic of alphabets and words reflected in my living 
room surrounded by tick tock ticking
clocks

and i cry every night 
like a banshee
wanting to rewind the tapes see what i would have missed if i didn't take it all on 
and what is left for me
 are my hands gonna be clean?


Premium Member Beer

This is the best beer I've ever had. 
Yes, The best beer I've ever had. 
No beer is really bad, but 
This is the best beer I’ve ever had. 
 
Beer’s invention was accidental I’m told. 
Something about stored grain and mold. 
Before the Sphinx, beer was made and sold; 
And at times, more valuable than gold. 
 
Drank my first beer while serving Uncle Sam.
Got drunk on ‘33' in Saigon, Vietnam. 
By 19, I was a soldier becoming a man; 
So, I drank ‘til I didn’t give a damn. 
 
Since then, I’ve travelled the world all around; 
And tasted each brew that I’ve found. 
Most are named for people, animals or towns; 
And are glorious shades of gold, red or brown. 

There are pilsners, lagers and ales
Swilled from bottles, cans, mugs…even pails.
If you want to get drunk, you can’t fail.
Drink too much, you may end up in jail.
 
Drank Stegmaier in old Scranton town. 
Folks bragged it was the "best around“. 
I tried their Golden, their Porter, their Brown; 
And I must say, their judgement is sound. 

In Ireland, the Guinness is Stout. 
‘Tis a brew those Micks can’t live without. 
In the pubs, they all sing and shout; 
Until, eventually, they're all drunken louts.

In old Germany, there are too many to choose. 
Every Berg and Stein make their own brews. 
I tried each one on the Rhine river cruise. 
So many to taste.  How could I lose? 

I enjoyed Sapporo in Tokyo, Japan;
Served by a Geisha at the wave of my hand.
The Singh Hai in Bangkok was grand,
As was the Ninkasi in ancient Tehran.

Tried a lager called Foster’s down under. 
Drank too many.  My head pounded like thunder. 
They say Foster's once laid Dundee asunder; 
But they love it… though you may wonder. 
 
Enjoyed Red Stripe on Jamaican shores 
And each one tasted like more. 
A local beauty I was hoping to score; 
But next morning, my head was so sore. 
 
Henry Hudson’s serves Budweiser Light.
It’s weak, so you can drink it all night.
Yes, it takes quite a bit to get “tight”;
But it’s cheap and that makes it alright.   

Yes, beer is a beverage so grand, 
One of God's greatest gifts to man. 
When life gets too tough to stand,  
Just open a chilled bottle or can. 

This is the best beer I’ve ever had. 
When I arrived I was down and quite sad; 
After just two or three, life isn't so bad. 
This is the best beer I’ve ever had. 
 
Yes, the best beer I've ever had.
Form: Rhyme

Premium Member Gratitude

Birthdays come but once a year
A day we celebrate, a day to cheer
We all know the day we're born and our age
For birthdays bring us joy or change of stage

The day I celebrated my fourty-ninth year
On the other side of the world fear
Horror for a young girl named Heather
Who was swimming in ocean waters from boat tethered

Swimming around the ocean deep 
Working up an appetitate for something to eat
Was a great white shark fourteen feet, whopper
Jaws powerful enough to bite through copper

At home I thought I had turned fifty
I figured this year would be very nifty
My father who was in his nineties
Reminded me that I was only fourty-ninty

In a land way down yonder
A girl named Heather was pulled under
Great white figured she was good meat
Nice and tender a very tasty treat

A girl named Heather was saved
That very day lived to be one to praise
People who worked to keep her alive
She praised God who lives in hearts and on high

Sara lived many years
Saw her grandsons through tears
She was the strength and glue
Who saw her family's problems through

Just in recent years in a land down under
A fourteen foot great white shark did blunder
Caught in a fisherman's net
He'll probably live this mistake regret

No, the fisherman cuts the lines
Frees his catch and shark from bind
Now the shark he named Cindy
Follows him around even when windy

Follows him everywhere he goes
Let's him pet her on her nose
Rub her belly and dorsal fin
She even grunts and tries to grin

Which of these do you think is the most grateful
Heather who is now disable
The shark who was spared his life
Or Sara the mother, grandmother, and wife


(The story about Heather is true. The shark circled and bit her right leg.  Then circled and 
grabbed her left leg.  The people on the boat were hitting the shark and try to pull her into 
the boat and the shark took her whole left leg off.  She was only attended by a nurse who 
was on the boat and radioed a doctor on shore as to what to do.  She was 20 hours away 
from the nearest doctor.  She was lifeflighted to a hospital in California where she had to 
have multiple surgeries and now has an artificial leg.     The story about the shark caught in 
a fisherman's net was really not true.  The grandmother here was a true story.)
Form: Narrative

Premium Member Christmas Down Under

Now Christmas in July seems crazy - I’m sure I hear you say
That has got to be plain silly - but this is the Aussie way
Christmas is in December you insist it’s a well-known fact
But in this land way ‘Down Under’ our seasons are ‘out of whack’

July is Aussie winter while in December it's scorching hot
Those Three Wise Men may know the reason but then again maybe not!
A time for relaxing with family and friends spreading the good cheer
Sip a glass of Lilly Pilli wine or toast with a VB beer

Frosty Christmas in December - for some it seems so right
Tinsel and baubles festooned - Oh what a delightful sight
Presents around the Christmas tree decked with lights and holly
Cheery little Santa’s look so happy and so jolly

In December air-cons turned cold mimicking our winter in July
When Santa rode his sleigh down south to Oz coming from the land up high
With a Ho Ho Ho he now powers his jet ski - riding mighty waves
He coasts straight onto our golden sands joining parting people and raves

Remember my friends it is a time filled with Peace and Joy
To commemorate the Special Birth of a Baby Boy

Worry not friends we don’t miss out on all that wintry good cheer
For you see folks here in OZ - Christmas always comes twice a year

Author’s Note:
'Christmas in July', which is also known as Yulefest or Yuletide in Australia. July is generally the coldest month of winter, so celebrations emulate the atmosphere of the northern hemisphere winter. So that means hearty food like roasts, and warm drinks in front of fireplaces and bonfires. Don’t be alarmed folks! – Just for the record, here in Oz we have a second helping and do celebrate Christmas on 25th December with the rest of the world.

~‘out of whack’ - An Aussie term for ‘Out of Sync’~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Synopsis from the composer of the song and clip -
"The Aussie Christmas Song" by Batesy. Published on Dec 18, 2012

‘One Christmas eve I was singing carols about dashing through the snow & a white Christmas and thought "Aussies don't have snow at Christmas" and it was also 30 degrees outside, so The Aussie Christmas Song was born, it's about sun, sand, backyard cricket, pavlova, and a cold beer - Ah!! - Sing along!!!’
Form: Rhyme

Premium Member This Thing Called Love - POTD - With Winged Warrior

POTD 19 September 2017

Apprehensively I tramp with my lamp - through a path shrouded in gloom
Silvery shafts of light entwine and fight through foliage as they creep
Gnarled branches twist as I resist their sinister outstretched grabbing reach
With a hushed bated breath I move in stealth - to allow the restless spirits sleep

I have heard and have feared the ancient Mystical stories that are told
Of a fabled cave of age where these immortal spirits abide
A sacred and elated reverie this questing soul with them seeks
To allow ‘The Oracles’ now - to show where my elusive love hides

I have heard it expressed in a blessed rapturous appellation
This glowing love from above that eludes this restless yearning child
A bliss infused kiss that Celestial Beings have been heard to applaud
A connection of perfection that would make Heaven look down and smile

In my quest to find the nest of undying unconditional love
I search alone to find my throne in the mighty caverns of the sphere
May the spirits guide until I find my bride in barren breaths of cold
And now I see in this mystic cavity an apparition does appear

In a gentle voice I do rejoice and hold captive in their chambers
My son are you the one seeking lasting love in our golden grotto
I say yes and will you bless my jaded journey thus far I have made
We’re beings of infinity descending divinity as above so below

I fall to my knees as they say with ease - Feel the vibes of the stone
Before you embark look within your heart - Love explodes there and beyond
I shed a tear with a cavernous cheer and find where I have failed
My soul anew now I'm due for my love to be Spiritually spawned

Acknowledgement from Maria (Down Under) -

To my very dear friend and Poet Extraordinaire`-The illustrious (((Winged Warrior)), for producing this collaboration together with me. It is no surprise at the effortless speed of this production - virtually overnight (because of the time difference), and then another night with the sprucing up. It was good fun and we must do it again WW. 

POTD 19 September 2017
 
Music by Yakuro – ‘Through The Galaxy’ - Published on Mar 22, 2016

Copyright – Maria Williams and Winged Warrior – September 2017
Form: Rhyme

Atlas Slugged

An Atlas slugged hanging from his foot by a noose of his own makings                protocols of destruction these consider themselves elders faking				   copper smiths of there own design over their head in the swelling ford 		        just because they consider themselves little gods does not make them Lord	                    their report from iron mountain a disneying witch mountain					  enticed they lay in wait for the own blood a broken stagnant fountain                 	          War was a part of the economy the people expendable ammo		                 reasons stand if you tell a lie long enough it is still a lie bravo		              extraterrestrial the devil and demons cast out of heaven 				            waiting ever thousand years for there batman wedden					               dark eleventh knight their superman universal grey ghost 				               what ever to hide the truth from the majority of the host 					          by peace the anti-christ will destroy many policy twenty-one					       they are unhinged four atop in eight different languages but accord one	                look at their Georgia Guide stones their end justifies their means 				 heaped behind curtains of oz down under their wizardly machine        		               with their false commandments ten of their sorite cities where all 			              motors stopped but they cant get off stuck in their throat a voodoo doll                 drinking tainted blood of a Moravian dynasty of a Tiburtine Sibyl                                   reruns of a Orwellian Blavatsky’s snuff books of hidden uncivil			              they talk to their Seth's try to be gods without God oldest lie there is		        methodius of a pseudo Mithra's as Jezebel the false prophetess                           trampled of horse and rider ate by the dogs an unrecognizable burial vault                     cast in the field of iniquity like white dung a pillar of salt					         unknowingly predicts her own death not at the hands of her false gods stabbed 	          but by the True and Living God And thou shalt smite the house of Ahab 		        thy master,that I may avenge the blood of my servants the prophets, 	                        and the blood of all the servants of the LORD, at the hand of Jezebel.
© John Beam  Create an image from this poem.

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