Long Eastward Poems
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On this peaceful land where we live comfortably
with the neighboring villagers sharing the sun and moon,
stars and clouds, winds and waters, rains and snows;
we sow the seeds on the field, wander in the wilderness
to spot the games to hunt in the changing colors of the flowers
in the time of bloom and fruit and revolving seasons
One day, from the east, crossing over the great sea,
the white feathered gluttonous bird flew into this peaceful land
and took our land by force; the bird cruelly pecked us with his avaricious beak, cold-heartedly tore us with his sharp talons, kept pushing and shoving us eastward, and this vicious cycle drove us into tribal wars and at last, Illini
to extinct.
And this moaning butte throwing its shadow on the water
atop of encircling cliffs is the Starved Rock, the site where
the great tragedy took place, all Illini tribesmen lost their lives.
The water of the Illinois River mixed with the tears of the people
who lost everything in the east via this legion for further west,
now moans to ease the spirit of Illini wandering around
the Staved Rock, which is still hungry, in the evening glow
as a soundless requiem.
The water flows embracing sorrowful Rock where:
the mother jumped into the water holding her beloved child,
the village elders who collapsed while upholding tribal pride
followed by the war cry of the warriors who grabbed tomahawk and fought but, alas, fell to enemy’s hand, now is telling the story of their last day
it becomes whirlpool in the very middle of the water.
When the streams small and large come together the following paths
meet and form a pool on the top of this lonely butte on the other side of the river, and dashes into the basin of the waterfall;
some of them fall rapidly into the steep ravine with heartrending cries
some of them drift like slow moving time in deep sorrow
some of them descend to the rocks of level stratum one by one
singing a funeral dirge.
The spirit of Illini drifting along the river
carrying so many sad stories touches the tourists’
heart; stepping on the site of the tragedy
makes tears stand to casual sightseers;
the grief-stricken stories raise the ripples in the river
and leaves a lingering imagery in the eyes and ears of the travelers
On one night,
is it because of a bewitched full moon?
while driving my rusty shaking junk car
I became Don Quixote de la Mancha
mounted on Rozinante holding a lance under the arm aslant,
and with a full gallop, dashing into the battle field, through the street where
the full moon was hanging thirty degree above the sky between forests eastward.
The trees standing both sides on the street
dyed by reddish-yellowish gray moonbeam in silhouette
were the windmill sails whirling their gigantic arms in air to assail me.
The red and green one-eyed giants
often met on the way eastward were the fat and ugly
demon-possessed skins of red wine that must have slain.
Flourishing lance to the right and left
while giving spurs to Rozinante again and again
to advance rapidly, I found myself in the middle
of enemy territory before becoming aware of it,
detouring annoying barricades, I was running through
the path between ramparts while ducking a shower of arrows,
came to the endless water front where disabled Rozinante fell.
When raging waves come and hit the breakwater
for the water cannot advance any further or is able to return,
the waves break up the hundreds and thousands of beads and
return to the bottomless water while flushing its silvery blue scales.
And when sprays of water that dived into the deepest sea
gush out from its bottom belching fire, it rises to the sky
and becomes a gigantic dragon and swallows the moon.
In the darkness where the dragon gathering dark clouds
after swallowing the moon the rain falls, the torrential rain
hits Mambrino’s helmet mercilessly.
Then, Don Quixote kneels to make the sign of the cross
while patting a breathless Rozinante lying on this desolated waterfront.
The cross he made falls on the sands,
the cross he made mourns while washing away in the water.
[Someday,
some may sing Don Quixote with the finest lute in hand.
Praise the gentleman Don Quixote de la Mancha
with silvery voice in one accord, with unforgettably kind remarks:
the one who lived true life of knight is
Don Quixote de la Mancha
the knight of knights, the hero of heroes.]
NOTE: The Golf Road runs from east to west on north suburb of Chicago, and east (ends or starts) at Lake Michigan.
my chair was in the path of totality
a thin ribbon about seventy miles wide
moving West to East
it does this because of at the equator
Moon's shadow moves eastward
at a greater velocity than Earth's
rotational velocity causing travel
from East to West across the surface
the moon fully covers the sun
surrounding me on the beach
were scientists and New Agers
gravity bending light was discovered
in 1919 proving Einstein was on target
Isaac Newton discovered gravity
which philosophers and scientists
had been ruminating on for centuries
science was here to witness and confirm
my confirmation as the moon's shadow
raced ashore and the birds at sea
turned suddenly inland, that was amazing
the New Agers were hoping to witness
a promise, the Dawning of the Age of Aquarius
where Harmony, Understanding, No Lies
Mystic Cristal Relations, Golden Days of Living
the Minds Total Liberation
and as the light and sun disappeared
one on mushrooms declared
she had seen the face of God
confirming black and a woman
my wry comment brought glaring looks
does she look annoyed, perchance piqued
they would not miss my observations
a few days passed before all left
i had my beach and pueblo back
the mercado had toilet paper
i had breakfast in peace at last
Conchita's taco stand normal
men discussing fishing, politics
children at play purchasing churros
here it is 32 Years later
and the Age of Aquarius
is pretty much the same old crap
humans are cute and predictable
to be avoided, why i so relate
to Ferdinand the Bull, loved that cartoon
i am watching a movie
Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy are walking a lane
once they were upon opposite shores
they have finally come to terms on marriage
this is a mystery to me
why did God so love us
he blessed us with the ability to love
why it is the greatest of them all
why it does not require mushrooms
to see God, if one cares to look
only the Blind in the Heart cannot see
He is the metronome dancing in the trees
only those Deaf in Spirit
cannot hear Him speak in the wind
wandering thru the meadow
and in all of the senses
love is the sweetest taste of all
OKC 8/12
get in the mood at Youtube:
The 5th Dimension Age of Aquarius 1969
Carefree in leisure time, one blasé tourist,
almost happy, I once had collected a complicated stone;
after the sunny hours had ended and last opportunity
for keepsakes began.
In my hand the stone had kept all of its mouths sewn shut,
holding its amalgamated story, and likewise in the car,
on the plane, through US Customs where it was not
in the least suspected.
A thumbnail identity I now should guess at, marking an old date,
and fixing it to, with reasonable estimate, a map location:
Plot No. 243, East end of the island, slave sugar plantation,
the stone from the corner of a ruined windmill stair—
broken free by my criminal hand, having liberated a vine.
The stone looked like a bleached out mini-monolith, square-rectangular,
able to be stood on end, leaning back and swollen at its center
like a pulled cork.
What could have moved this sequestered world to opening?
That was not for me to discover, except what came on Christmas Day,
two days after my returning.
Slave watercourses, the sight of innumerable Dutch ships,
ballasted with human flesh and hewn rock for sugar works buildings.
The drop at arms swish of the Driver’s bullwhip.
Flecks of spirit splayed on vegetation.
A mongrel dog barked beyond the windless wall of sugarcane
in centipede and mosquito heat.
Seaside, beautiful seaside impressions;
distant coral light shadows, etched deep azure;
snowy colored breakers that pencil-marked the sea.
The staid, vibrant, mocking power
of visual symphony backdrop.
So little of aid for the slaves, but for those dangerous secrets,
unhoused in the fallen coolness of the night:
demonstratively crystalline heaven of stars;
a ragged moon, clouds scudding eastward toward Africa
before freshwater rainsqualls came. And there
Orion’s Belt, mid-sky, illustrious bright, with its three
centering star points in rational line, as if
Hope could have flung such a rope anchor onto Life
engendering sanctified resistance.
Christmas morning, 5 a.m.
I had awakened from a stuck place, shapeless and dark,
half in dreaming and half in knowing I was in no dream.
I was sobbing, yet strangely, because there were no tears.
I had only put the stone inside my pajama top onto my heart.
In the beginning, God created the heaven and the earth and the earth was without form and void darkness was upon the face of the deep And the Spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters and God said let there be light right and there was light so now let us concentrate on the man God made man the Lord God formed man of the dust of the ground and breathed into his nostril the breathe of life and man became a living soul and the Lord God planted a garden
eastward in Eden and there he put man whom he had formed and out of the ground made the Lord God to grow every tree that is pleasant to the sight and good for food. The tree of life also in the midst of the garden and the tree of knowledge of good and evil and a river and he named the rivers and the Lord commanded the man saying of every tree of the garden thou may freely eat but but the tree of knowledge of good and evil thou shall not eat it for in the day that thou eatest it thereof thou shall surely die And the Lord God said It is not good that man should be alone I will make him an help meet for him
And out of the ground the Lord God formed every beast of the field and every fowl of the air and brought them to Adam and whatsoever Adam called every living creature that was the name thereof and Adam gave names to all cattle and to the fowl of the air and to every beast of the field. But But for Adam there were not found an help meet for him So and the Lord God cause a deep sleep to fall upon Adam and he slept and he took one of his ribs and closed up the flesh instead thereof and the rib which the Lord God had taken from male made he a Woman and brought her unto the man and this is what Adam said This is now bone of my bones and flesh of my flesh and she shall be called woman because she was taken out of man therefore shall man leave his father and leave his mother and shall cleave unto his wife and they shall be one flesh and they were both naked the man and his wife and were not ashamed! and naked we came into this world and naked shall we all be! Amen
Already noticeably marked
increase in daylight
yours truly courtesy affected
qua heliotropic phenomenon
finds me noggin gently being tugged
upward and westward ho toward sun
after dark mine talking head
rests downward and eastward.
Soon very indistinct
environmental intimations
regarding onomatopoeic
ubiquitous murmurings,
whereby old man winter
ever so faintly
relinquishes, loosens, forsakes...
Judas Priest iron maiden grip
upon emergent biosphere
suddenly awakened when
Mother Earth generates
invisible signals transmitted
across world wide web
analogous to conductor
standing on podium
with baton in her/his hand
orchestra playing on cue
perhaps choice selection
Rite of Spring
work by Russian composer Igor Stravinsky
or Flight of the Bumblebee
written by Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov.
Soon dormant species will exhibit rebirth
out their linkedin hibernation
flora and fauna tentatively
begin to issue forth out their slumbers
shoots poke thru across terra firma
insync with twittering tweeting creatures
hint viz verdant and/or fecund potential
ready to burst forth and proliferate
instinctively trumpeting joie de vivre.
Sensational show stopping, eye catching
breathtaking... parade of sights and sounds
await buzzfeeding eyes and ears
about six weeks hence,
within mine home box office
here at Highland Manor apartments
quite affordable rent
allows, enables and provides
radiant quiescence, preponderant observance,
nonresistant magnificence, jubilant innocence,
exuberant deliverance,
concurrent buoyant abundance.
Accordingly and allegedly other than
meteorologists plenti schooled
ascertaining onset of temperate air
more particularly otter den non humans
unassumingly (ferreted out), who bear
the tidings, when that season
of rebirth dawns with crystal clear
blue skies, and terrain where deer
and antelope eagerly play without despair
purportedly realized, reassured, recounted...drear
re: days vamoosed foretold by
Punxsutawney Phil on Groundhog Day
I don't know when these lines ran off my shouldering lips this morning...
but I guessed they are spirit and being,
home and forest, evil and sorrow.
I don't know that men are made of
two spirits & souls & bodies until
I saw a boy cast out from his clan.
his body remained in the Obi of his
forebearers whilst his spirit went & his
Soul sang a dirge and elegy among his kindred who watched amidst laughter whilst the other of his body, soul, and spirit went beyond.
I don't know why my blood sipped from his tears and flew down to the ground,
I don't know why culture made men insane like the mad masquerade that was bitten by a snake.
I don't know why we rejected our own in the name of caste system &traditions.
are we not same breathe from same god?
I don't know why we sang last night,
I don't know why we made the moon shine on others and cast it away from our brothers in the ditch to cry and die.
and we dragged their shadows to bury in the evil forest where the unseen gods live.
Let me see your palms and your eyes,
The stars are the easing thought there of,
Let me see your lips and hair,
are they not the same colour with that man sent out last night?
The name of every caste is in our mouth,
blood. Water. Spirit. Souls. Bodies.
The names of every Osu is a bosom of every river flowing eastward.
They are the images climbing the sign whilst the world was dancing to a lonely lullabies.
We made them see the stars descending with black roses & yelling & belching.
My mother was a victim,
my father was a victim,
and that piece of a broken boy was also a victim of this hiccupped mayhem.
Yesterday, the town crier said with a prelude light song that two bodies was found in the street & my people cared not but languised in wine &merriment.
This still remain our fate as my brother went visiting his head &was chased away by her father cos he is an Osu.
Yours Poetically,
©John Chizoba Vincent
I'm a trucker all day with long days ahead,
Working all through the night, while your asleep in your bed.
Before I can leave I inspect, check then go,
Everything seems good except my fluids seem low.
I hop in the cab, no time I can wait,
If deadlines are missed then there goes my freight and wage rate.
I stress about the road, my family and daily troubles,
While worried about my wife and all her daily struggles.
Few hours have gone, things couldn't be more wrong,
On these days I know my day will be a long one.
Should have known those fluids were too low when I left the compound,
Now a techs on his way to fix my mess so I can continue eastward bound.
As he starts the semi he realizes we have an even bigger mess,
I forgot to release the drain-cock and now shes full of moisture and in distress.
When its all said and done and im back on track with my load,
Trying to catch up with speed on the cold windy road.
With my windows rolled down and music on five,
Making sure I stay awake to keep me alive.
The worst part of my day is not knowing whats next,
because when one thing goes wrong its like a domino effect.
I try to do my very best to make the most of my time away,
If I don't then I might as well be at home with a normal 9 to 5 work day.
So many days I'm gone for so long,
Those days I know I have to be strong.
Without a trucker there be no food in our tummies,
No houses or clothes, society would all become dummies.
I miss them more today then yesterday but not as much as tomorrow,
I know all the risks, so i count the days til this trip is over.
To the compound I go, my last load is finally done,
I can finally go home, life has finally begun.
Life of a trucker has many cons but some pros,
You lose sleep, meals and miss loved ones but your pay always grows.
I shed a tear when I see her standing there, waiting for me,
Realizing how much I missed her and the whole family.
Awakened naturally—no need to go
to the bathroom—I peeked through
the blinds of the bedroom window and
there it was; had I been dreaming or was
this all just a glorious morning awakening?
The tall thin tree branches with greening leaves
rhythmically swayed and dangled in the air—the
electric wires hanging and swinging lowly before
them—as if waves flowing towards some distant
shore; and eastward, were likewise leafless trees:-
Looking down and out onto the green
terrestrial shores can be seen bushy flora
dancing to a ska-raggae-like beat coming
from the rhythmic flowing wind spreading
an amazing scenic view of the time in space
between dying winter and the resurrection
of the spring’s coming joy and her coming
hopes—springing towards ascension:-
Gradually, an interlude of calmness
rolled in and a few rhythmic sky-tears began
to splash onto the outside bedroom window seal,
fogging the pane. I closed the blinds, rolled over
and closed my eyes; when I awoke again, I got up
and went out onto the wet patio where it all
became apparent that it was not a dream but
rather, a blessed beautiful beaming God sent day.
Suddenly, like falling shooting stars across the sky,
beautiful rain-like snowdrops began rhythmically
flowing down upon the terrestrial green canvas;
quickly disappearing, leaving dew-like reflections.
No, not hale nor snow, but lengthy white long
raindrops; white elongated raindrops sparkling
the green grass; but after only a few minutes,
these ceased to fall; gone were the wind and the
dark veiling clouds; liberating the brightness of
God’s raised sun.
Once again, how amazingly mind-blowing
is the seasonal timing between dying winter,
newborn spring, wet grass and another beautiful
sunshine day perpendicular to the earth with God.
REJOICED AND GLAD
Awakened naturally—no need to go
to the bathroom—I peeked through
the blinds of the bedroom window,
and there it was: had I been dreaming, or
was this all just a glorious morning awakening?
The tall, thin tree branches with greening leaves,
rhythmically swayed and dangled in the air—the
electric wires hanging and swinging lowly before
them—as if waves flowing toward some distant shore;
and eastward were likewise leafless trees:-
Looking down and out onto the green
terrestrial shores, can be seen bushy flora
dancing to a Ska-Raggae-like beat, coming
from the rhythmic flowing wind spreading
an amazing scenic view of the time in space
between dying winter and the resurrection
of the spring’s coming joy, and her coming
hopes—springing towards ascension:-
Gradually, an interlude of calmness
rolled in, and a few rhythmic sky tears began
to splash onto the outside bedroom window seal,
fogging the pane. I closed the blinds, rolled over
and closed my eyes; when I awoke again, I got up
and went out onto the wet patio where it all
became apparent that it was not a dream but
rather, a blessed, beautiful, beaming God sent day.
Suddenly, like falling shooting stars across the sky,
beautiful rain-like mist began rhythmically
flowing down upon the terrestrial green canvas;
quickly disappearing, leaving dew-like reflections
sparkling the green grass; but after only a few minutes,
these ceased to fall; gone were the wind and the
dark veiling clouds; liberating the brightness of
God’s raised sun.
Once again, how amazingly mind-blowing
is the seasonal timing between dying winter,
newborn spring, wet grass and another beautiful
sunshine day perpendicular to the earth with God.