Long Dwellers Poems
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Dust descends and day is done,
Darkness lays a restive spread;
Evening ushers new puns,
Hear the night owl in the glades.
This starry nocturne reveals
A cast of night time charades;
Deep dark propels a strange feel,
Cicadas and frogs spark trade.
Outside our window a burst:
Fireflies in aerial flirting;
Somnolent hours spawn a thirst:
Night creatures prowl dark settings.
This countryside escapade
Feeds trends that illuminate;
Fatigue finds rest here instead
Of city dwellers debate!
A weekend away from home:
A country cottage retreat;
To seek and find yet not roam
Too far from civilised streets.
Time for thoughts and surge of rhymes,
Feel the rhythm and the urge;
Ink the wonder in fond chimes,
Pen pleasant surprise and merge.
Let the rustic charms echo
Imagery that tells why
Our modern lives seem hollow
In afterglows and sad sighs.
Words ooze with easy feelings,
Jerky yet smooth in plain pitch;
Thoughts that crowd meandering,
To scratch and soothe the sore itch.
Shadows dance in twilight moon,
Night citizens on the prowl;
Observe the bright midnight noon,
Listen to the preaching owl!
Soon sleepy moods must mingle
With dreams that come out to play;
Drowsy sensations tingle
As cold night winds breeze away.
Leon Enriquez
04 Mar 2014
Singapore
When I was young
For 25 years in my twenties, thirties and forties
I lived off grid up in the hills
And we hillbillies all thought ourselves
Superior to the valley dwellers.
Looking back now, I’m not exactly sure why,
But I think it had something to do
With having a better view and a harsher lifestyle.
Now I live in the valley
And I know it’s superior for a variety of reasons
Grid power, unlimited water and proximity to groceries
Being high on the list.
I see those hillbillies for what they are
Proud with their poverty and disadvantage
And inherent ignorance
Because I was one once,
And know what it’s like to have nothing else.
Somehow the world is easily reduced
To these two sides;
Hardship and comfort
And the pride which accompanies each.
(8/9/25)
I feel my ears pop,
As the light above me increases ...
Columns of purple sunshine shimmer and dance.
I swim up out of the cool, inky blackness of the depths,
And finally reach the surface, head bobbing like a balloon,
Frilly slits on my neck closing up and sealing, as I switch to breathing air.
I suck the thick oxygen atmosphere deep into my lungs, then exhale.
The detritus from my gills comes up with the first breath, and I spit it away,
(Small creatures that follow me, gobble it up hungrily ... nothing wasted).
I need not struggle swimming on the surface here -
The water's high saline level helps me float without effort,
So I lay back and stretch, relaxing my length, as if in a chaise lounge.
The bright purple sky dances with clouds, (and a couple of bright stars),
Two blood-red suns now low, nearing the horizon.
Though they never set, they do crimp the reach for many hours,
Before climbing again to make the sky near-blue.
Clouds are rarely white, (only when the suns are high),
But vary in shades from crimson to pink,
Again, depending on the time of day and moisture content.
I live above AND below the water here ...
My genetic alterations, (very expensive, thus),
Allow me to extract oxygen from air and water, easily transitioning.
I have long webbed toes and fingers to swim speedily,
Eyes that can detect ultraviolet and infrared,
And something similar to sonar, that I can search the depths with,
And also use to tap into the communication satellites,
As well as send personal messages to others here such as I,
Who have chosen the amphibious life of this purple planet.
I have a house back on the island, with all amenities,
But I rarely go there, choosing instead to spend most of my time
On or near the water, searching the depths for the edibles,
Or sleeping on the beach under the stars,
Composing music and poetry during the day, or visiting friends.
I send my work out onto the inter-world web,
It earns me enough to remain comfortable ... and happy.
But what I love the most, are the other intelligent creatures here ...
Most are "sea" dwellers, but all are non-aggressive.
Learning the language of each will take a lifetime,
But it is a labor of love, with joyous reward ...
Friendship!
Our modern society is very deft
at exposing our bodies to emfs.
Wifi at the office.
Wifi in our homes,
and of course those emfs on our cell phones..
We live in the time of instant connections but
whose looking out for our bodies protection?
Electric companies replaced augmented meters
to eliminate the cost of meter readers.
Apartment and condo dwellers absorb the cost
in their bodies cell damage and cellular loss..
Whomever thought that smart meters were smart
when they cause cancers and impact the heart?
Companies now marketing shielding products
but they often appear unworldly, and some what robotic.
I guess I'm too old for this wifi wave so I'm off to
the hills to look for my cave.
Water shortage
In the deepest valley where the winter is short
summers long, sheep come home for safety
of bears and wolves, he bought an old house.
From a two hundred years house, a cane roof sprung
splendid isolation he lived the seasons fair.
Unknow to him and other dwellers of this Paradise
plans afoot to make the valley into a water reservoir
filling it with water to serve the city far away.
This ancient village, built stone by stone, drowned.
No, the dam didn’t burst lack of rain made it dry.
It was an eerie sight to see his home again
reminds him of a Paradise lost to development.
Early morning delivers birdsong joys,
as the darkness is swept away by God.
Undulations for my ears, sonorous
and dear, over and over - I ponder
small bodies with feathers, noteworthy songs.
Why does their cadence console us each day
as the sunrise breaks forth with cheeriness?
How awfully sad that the night dwellers sleep!
They douse their ears with flammable liquid.
I weep for soused sufferers who miss out!
I spied the church steeple, with a “caw, caw.”
I bet those crows are there each day to greet
those seeking the inner doors of its peace.
Who notices but I, the poetess?
Who cares at all if crows speak well of us?
Image: Cloud Fantasy, by Susan Lawrence
On spring's green carpet I repose, revitalizing the soul
passing slow minutes pondering the sky
The lake whispers a morning meditation
as memories abound of cloud fantasies
a thousand ships of condensation dreams
Assorted sizes, shifting shapes
capriciously changing contours and colors
white, dun, pewter gray, dusky purple
magically mirroring my many moods
Fleecy, flitting, tiny, quiet, wispy cirrus all alone
like first day of school in a new town
Thunderheads colliding with cold fronts
hurling lightning in angry retribution
resolute battleships storming towards war
Stratus clouds, flat and unruffled
soothing, like grandma holding a cookie sheet
embracing landscapes like a comforting blanket
hugging hilltops in a friendly fog
Misting up at a feel good story
spilling tears on the gloomiest of days
A nimbostratus orchestra performing
a symphony of snow for mountain dwellers
a reverie of rain for desert denizens
Bouffant hairdo like a 60's prom queen
strutting across the sky adjusting her tiara
cotton ball cumulus, billowy like a verbose uncle
enhancing sunsets with colorful stories
.....
The soul of the sky is Sol-
our daylight and warmth, essence and marrow
The stars are sky's artists painting our stories-
archers, dippers, swans, seven sisters,
scorpions, lions, hunters, heroes
The heart of the sky is Luna-
a nightlight for sleepy children
a lamppost where lovers meet
a lantern for the darkest of trails
but clouds are the personality of the sky
written 24 May, 2022
//Inspired by the wonderful art of PS member Susan Lawrence, after viewing her landscape paintings at susanlawrence.net. Each landscape is framed by a different personality of cloud; I encourage all to pay a visit to her website to enjoy her portraits and abstracts as well as landscapes ~ John//
Wild were-women roaming in the hills, cliff dwellers around
Avoiding banshee ghost riders, sniffing for them in earthy ground.
Shushing there were-pups lest their hidden unnatural selves be found.
Banshee ghost riders suddenly shush, listening to a baby were-wolf sound.
Heading toward a large crevice, which leads to a cave way down underground,
Were-women seal it up quickly after each banshee rider had ridden way down.
An instant banshee ghost rider graveyard, and these riders are never again found.
The prediction of the night hawks to whom the were-women were forever bound.
Is that when it comes to banshee ghost riders, and were-women, the cagiest are easily found.
And if there are caverns and cliffs that are the least big scary in or near your mountain town,
You had better stay safe in your bed, with the blankets pulled up, safe, and cozy and sound.
As wild were-women are more devious and dangerous than were-wolves, and totally honor bound.
They can also throw their voices, many hundreds of kilometers, and imitate a baby were-wolf sound.
Which is how they tricked the ghostly banshee riders, who are now trying to breathe in vain, underground.
And if you do not believe me, or you think you will survive it, you are the bravest man in town.
But if you choose to hunt for this kind of trouble, stand ready to never ever be found.
There is a were-woman right now peeking in your window; you would do best to not make a sound.
For if she notices you, and comes through that window, you will soon be lying underground.
Emotions erupt in anger and hate.
Disputes can flame into war, even more.
Intelligence drought, no room for debate.
While a crisis exists from sky to shore
in Earth's struggles we quietly ignore.
We forget they're numbered: majestic trees,
captured by fires and a dry thunder's tease.
Our thoughts were gentled by edens we miss.
Minds became parched, like the greens, by degrees.
Where do thoughts rest in a whirlwind like this?
I thought of some words William Shatner said
~overcome with sadness when touching space,
because the beauty lies with us instead,
Earth is alone~ by light years that we chase.
moving through time with an uncommon grace.
If Shatner's words were but taken to heart--
replacing hate and fear with a fresh start:
kindness displayed by Earth dwellers to all
working together, not stretching apart
we'd save ourselves and this beautiful ball.
October 20, 2022
for "This or That, Vol. 14 Poetry Contest"
by Edward Ibeh
Dizain
howmanysyllables.com=10
A Second Place
PRINCE NAMOR THE SUB-MARINER
Namor Mckenzie an Atlantean
though your skin pink
ankle wings
the rest of your fellow Atlanteans
skin colors blue
Under water, under sea lives
the creatures who breathe in water
And though your father
Seaman Captain Leonard Mckenzie
Mother is Princess Fen
Some mortals and scientist consider him the first mutant
For most of his life Namor been fighting air/land breathers
Most of the land dwellers fear him
Only one female human he almost loved
A member of the Fantastic 4
Susan Richards the Invisible Girl
Now before her was Atlanteans Princess Lady Dorma
Namor fought New Yorker's even fought the Nazi's in World War two
In one of his fits of rages on the ice glaciers near Antartica
Namor throws a random ice cycle inside was hero frozen in suspended-
animation
Was hero Captain America
All this happen in the 1960's
This none aging Atlantean
What a watery super hero
Once an Invader, Defender on land, sea, or air
Namor Mckenzie an Atlantean
PRINCE NAMOR THE SUB-MARINER
11/21/17
written words by James Edward Lee Sr.
from "anthology Heroic Couplets of Marvel Comic by James E. Lee Sr. Vol 1."