Long Eave Poems
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My thoughts wander as I wonder what I'm running for.
It's like I'm hunted cos I'm wanted for the chalk under juggernauts.
Now I ponder what I'm running from.
I took shelter against an atomic bomb.
I put distance between us like boggy swamps.
And worked resistance against urges when the horror taunts.
I grip the side of todays and tomorrows wants.
And let the world burn away when on fire watch.
I turn to gaze at the stars in the night sky and look away with desire in my bright eyes.
I stay aligned and balanced like earths globe.
With the moon and the planets with the sun burning slow
I come with passion for the past do I desert home
Do I deserve a future or do I turn rogue.
There's no sorrow for tomorrow when you watch it pass.
Forgot today in search of yesterday in the past.
My future looks like an image of a bleak scene.
I emerged from the sea still picturing a deep me.
My heart goes out to all the people that are never found.
Too much going on and feeling under pressure now.
It aint easy when surviving on this deadly ground either.
As we breath the air choking thank god we found sleepers.
Only demons there to keep us here keep us scared they're sincere.
Still considering my thoughts where I re compare.
Nightmares and dream scapes as I lie here this heat wave leaves me right here going crazy to see the change.
Trapped seeing these angles.
The tangled chap man of perception in chains where they dangle.
The manacled mans hands on pulse when he strangles throats.
Facing these battles I stand alone like a stranded ghost.
I move faster alone quick grab the rope slick catch an go.
All in the same boat now the ships mast broke.
No sails for gale winds that blow on the high seas tired trying hit that coast.
Thats my goal.
Deep in defiance when I fling that stone as reply to some social science you show signs that ya lean that low.
Ya best answer when I ring that phone. That's right man ya hear me bring that tone.
When I bring back soul ya knees flop like a bean bag dolls.
Man ya eave drop like a clique of crack hoes.
Like a dog tare the meat from the bone of bone idol spineless blokes if they fit that role.
Can't seem to get ahead
Sometimes I don't want to even get out of my bed.
Hard surviving these days
Promising to change my ways
Slowly making my way from here to there
Do I even care
I don't even know
Where it is I'm supposed to go
Which way I should be going
No way of knowing
There are no signs pointing my way
No person that will say
That is the way to your tomorrow
Their opinion I did not even borrow
Searching for this land of no sorrow
Always pointing me in the wrong way
Sometimes unsure, so in place I stay
Trying to rise above the average normalcy
That is everywhere I see
Whom amongst us are truly free
From promises of a better future for all
Build that wall
Stacking broken words that are bound to fall
Just eave me alone
My heart's not made of stone
Just speak to us clear
Don't get us lost in fear
I need to be shown
My heart is homegrown
Clear my way
To a better day
Clear my path from the confusion
Left in a delusion
That all of this is okay
Are we better off today
Have we lost our way.
What does that even mean
That remains unseen
Words meant to confuse
Makes it hard to choose
What is wrong what is right
Lost to the night
As our world comes crashing down
In hate it seems to drown
Their hate pulls into the lead
Making the world bleed
Lead or get out of the way
Who is here to stay
Where are we going
Is anyone even in the knowing
The pressure is growing
Step back
Hate is on the attack
The cork is about to blow
I have no wish to see that show
Lost our way
Are we here to stay
Hope not
Cause here we may rot
To the point of no return
Is this the future that we did earn
Dim as night
This can't be right
Is there even a cure
For a tomorrow that is so unsure
Close my eyes
Only time flies
Step into the unknown
Faith has shown
Stand tall
Don't become part of the wall
Sooner or later it will fall
Close your eyes
Forget the lies
Let your heart lead your way
Pride
Lied
To yourself be true
Is the sky really blue
Guess that is up to you
World Comes Alive Spring Is In The Air
Pleasure in the Spring it springs in the air.
Whiff scent of nature's breath upon my cheeks
while buds unfurl into artistry flare.
Grace upon agents to pass golden streaks.
Oh, give us a taste of pleasure flowers;
you bloom pretty on fruit trees to bear fruit,
when the spent sun throws up its ray showers
some laborer of life from hidden root.
A spring garden spears scarlet red tulips.
Which plants short or small leaf and which is bloom?
Angel's trumpet as you hang off eave lips.
Oh, give colour bouquet of sweet perfume.
The world comes alive, Spring is in the air.
A new dress it wears. In awe life does stare.
3/2/2018
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Poetry Contest: Spring Is In The Air
Sponsored by: Emile Pinet
A handy dandy family thing, I did not know from Adam
Monstrous disembodied giant hairy hand...
reached out thru Macbook Pro
Lenovo external screen
"no way can this be real,"
I muttered to no one in particular.
Bug eyed, slack jawed, yours truly froze
petrified as an insidious wrist took rat -
manifested arm - matured
into huge fingered palm meadowed beast,
reached out thru cyberspace,
the likes of which garden variety club
roguish poor trait pal mystery,
aye never saw before since
which can easily cast spell.
Immobilized with fear
hypnotic trance
rendered me immobile
nsync king fast into
an hub bomb bin hubble
likeness of very same entity.
Entire body electric (mine)
courtesy dark shadows
suddenly rendered me into
phantasmagorical multi dimensional
gruesome garden variety golem,
no longer cowardly (lion of course)
bear with me, and play along,
and also bull eave tigers
live in Tony neighborhoods.
Actually spookiness made
avast improvement upon
mine former physiognomy,
this flickr ring quick
assessment surmised courtesy
hesitantly exploring, qua tactile
alien features comprising faux paws
linkedin to Neanderthal being
over laying inferior features (mine)
plus pluperfect poetic opportunity
without rhyme nor reason
(ugh questionable place
the word palimpsest fits).
Thus Spake Zarathustra
yawping, plucking,
engendering... binary rhythm -
imagine dragons chiming
2001 a space odyssey theme
and protohuman (actually disguised actor)
appearing within opening scene.
Chewbacca look alike
or his doppelganger,
(albeit pint size version
standing seventy inches),
nonetheless stark improvement
versus geeky, nerdy, ugly...
born this way poker face chap
emboldened to frighten
bully wannabe and/or their ilk.
Damn, another daydream
proved "FAKE" thus
dashing hoop dreams
and condemning one lone
deplorable basket case schlemazel
to experience nightmarish gallery
courtesy outer limits of twilight zone.
Way back before this baby boomer waz astute
countless decades before aye became long in the tooth,
and also prior tomb ma sporting dentures to boot
fond memories rush more than so far back
envisioning illusory wind blown steppes
(wait...this visage belongs to thine
long since deceased maternal grandfather
hub hill eave didst hail from Kiev,
or some place thereabouts) within the mind
of this prevaricating aging
"FAKE" barnstorming ole coot
preserved records (those times b'fore cds or dvds)
and now rewinds tape when family of origin
celebrated Xmas secular Harris
house style rendition of Magic Flute,
though genealogy steeped in Judaism
recollections abound of boyhood mirth
devoid of rubric asper orthodox and/or reformed
Judeo-Christian religion,
which essentially means,
I did not give or take a hoot
nonetheless cherish fond memories,
when ma late mum
relished making a hoo ha,
and got tickled and pickled pink
rousing a hullabaloo wrapping presents
and jamming three knee high stockings
with healthy goodies such as fruit
cuz, as a devotee of Carleton Fredericks,
she frowned on giving out sweets
particularly to three children she begat,
and iced hill easily recall her poker faced
feigning complete ignorance and surprise
sheep played “dumb” as did father
convincingly not giving a hoot
puzzled asper neatly wrapped and
stacked gifts under decorated tree
while distorted reflections of stockings
fractal shimmers from metallic gewgaws
in tandem of nostalgic magic
worth mo' than any amount of loot,
perhaps Christmas festivities a flash point,
when some jolly codger (papa)
dressed up, sans Santa Claus suit
and petsmart dogs doubled up as reindeer,
whose canine barking, cavorting, and dashing
haphazardly set them on a direct route
to pandemonium as crashing trimmed tree
cacophony elicited laughter, punctuated
with irrepressible escaped bursts of flatulence
(ah wont mention hoof from)
that emulated a toot.
------------------------
Dialog of 2 poets:
----------------------------------------
1. Lonely Soul
-----------------------------------
Between heaven and earth,
between summer and winter,
Lonely Soul rushed,
rustling her wings.
Up to the stars,
again downward
from eave to eave,
from window to window
and again, she is in flight.
The fires burn somewhere;
somewhere music and laughter,
someone’s joyful days
dazzling success and good luck.
Lonely Soul
has lost the way between the stars
in her long searches, all wet with tears.
Again, she hurries,
there is neither a map nor way.
But she should SEARCH
and FIND, sometime!
Where? Who? And why?
She is my own soul,
which searches for my lost son.
Dina Televitskaya
2. Sing, Wounded Soul!
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
I cannot hold your cries,
they slip through my fingers.
I cannot take away your pain,
it lies so far beyond my reach.
I cannot dig out your sorrow,
its roots are too deep.
I cannot chase away your fears,
they hide and creep out later.
I can only tell you, you are loved.
So, sing, wounded soul,
your tears do not fall into emptiness.
James Dalton Byrd (American poet)
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
3.Yes, I will sing again!
-----------------------------------
Yes, I will sing again!
Thanks for your advice, O my Friend!
A song is a fine thing,
You’re right: it is not the end!
Hear? I already sing
about the kisses of a rain,
about green-eyed Spring,
which gives the lilacs hope again.
I sing about your kindness and
About force of friendship,
About meeting with you, my Friend
Sometime, on poetic ship.
---------------------------------------
Dina Televitskaya
I am a blue Swallow. I was born in the late summer, and
my parents taught me everything they could before leaving
me to fend for myself. I spent all autumn gathering food and
hiding it in a thousand places ... I have a good memory !
Oh, winter, winter all the time! Will, you ever end? Each day is
a struggle, so many days with snow falling, winds blowing and
freezing temperatures. I have grown dense and downy feathers
and can drop my body temperature. Shivering keeps me warm !
I like to cuddle and roost with my bird friends on a tree branch
being close keeps us warm and we like to pull up our feet, one
at a time, and I am good at finding warm places to sleep at night
like a tree cavity, any gap, nook or a house eave will do nicely !
I love how some nice humans put out feeders in the winter,
filling them with tasty seeds, and hanging suet from branches
even leaving warm water for washing, and even some leave
bird boxes where many of us set up a warm cozy winter home !
Oh, when will winter be leaving and spring coming please
I long for the sun to start melting the cold winter snow and ice
the trees will start to groan and creak as they come alive
and when I am sleeping ... I dream of beautiful things to come !
On a sunny branch I fluff up my feather and preen myself
I feel a change and I am gaily singing a song of happiness
for spring is here and it won't be long till all is lush green
I survived because I prevailed though I weigh only ounces !
_____________________
January 24, 2023
Poetry/Personification/A Swallow's Winter View
Copyright Protected, ID 01-1519-918-24
All Rights Reserved, 2023, Constance La France
Written for the Standard contest, Winter Is Not Forever
sponsor, BJ Legros Kelley, Judged 02/19/2023
Second Place
A - rresting beneath dancing fingered fronds palming zephyr's touch.
B - each building sand castles throughout dawning sunlight.
C - rumbling granules of fate in the noonday sun.
D - esigns creating a new look ashore.
E - diting newly fallen sands.
F - ace swells and thins between surges.
G - entle washing refreshens a former facial look.
H - eave water jams buildup.
I - nvigorating capturing look,
J - ubilance in its recapturing feel.
K - aleidoscopic of the whole breathtaking spectrum.
L - andscape of unequaled challenge beheld.
M - isshapen perfections quantified by redo.
N - ew prefaces the horizon offshore, an enigma.
O - ddity baffling amass guesswork pursues.
P - atterns of shapes, sizes, heights, and widths.
Q - uite illuminating factor as a timeline note the ever-increasing world.
R - esembling provocative changes and the required remedies
S - werving challenges the course 'twas laid.
T - ides are forever pushing the new breeds into towns.
U - ndulating wave actions stimulating factors of reawakening.
V - oluminous fills, and packs, until pressure buildup frees life.
W - aves of new life, seeking a better life, old-timers know-to-well.
X - enophiles - welcomed, no xenophobes on these beaches, just welcoming on land, inland, and to the other side.
Y - ielding prayers to our lord redeemer Jesus Christ.
Z - ones; all were notified that zones were a form of separation for easy processing, --that was all a fallacy. Families are to stay together, and friends are to stand nearby. Let the processing begin and for those who are waiting, you may take a number and go outside and truly enjoy our beaches. Aloha
sans to stand proud and tall
(all five and a half feet, but blunted maximum height
topped off just shy of seventy inches -
in reference to yours truly) against bullies
to this very day such emotional repercussions congeal
asper anxiety, obsessive compulsive disorder, panic...,
which physiological symptoms served psyche not to feel
and only of late (particularly with daily intake of about
a half doe zen pharmacological prescription medications
do check and induce schizoid personality disorder
(the diagnosis encompassing,
the gamut mental health issues) to heel
akin to a well trained service dog, which fractured
psychological state i.e. garrison to pitch and toss
upon the precarious tipping point i.e.
surpassing the tipping point,
where thy body electric doth keel,
which precarious state finds me socially awkward,
and off kilter, and maybe this chap
ought to take a page
from professional athletes facebook playbook,
and take a knee qua to kneel
hence this improvisational explanation
why yours truly felt discombobulated
to attend the recently held reunion,
now aye wanna axe something serious, and fur real,
which essentially constitutes whether
a current list of 1977 students,
who received their high school diploma
could be sent to me, whereby at least one alumni
could buffer end this contemplative, intuitive,
and pence eave guttersnipe wannabe with zeal.
hie haint gonna hold ma breath,
nor wait fir any religious chief such as allah
boot nothing ventured...blah...blah...blog...blog...
This is midnight, all slept indeed,
The factory bells do chime,
Ding-dong dong, thrice the sounds arise
From yonder darkling clime.
No one is there, two faint lamps glare,
Who rang the rusty bell?
It must be three, a shade does flee
In earshot of the knell.
Upon my eave the pigeons live,
One flutters tender wings,
It heard a whiz as soft as grease,
And to the wall it clings.
There is a grange, a mansion old,
Deserted since the yore,
Such creatures as with deep black fur,
Hold sway around its floor.
No iron melts on fire these days,
The blacksmiths all have left,
And all day long a thrush her song
Attunes to good effect.
She quavers in her leafy nest,
The pale shades pass again,
The rumbling sky does well deny
A sound sleep while she's lain.
Mine eyes are closed yet well awake,
The pattering distant rain
Revives the tendrils grown unsought,
An omen of the bane.
My windows smeared with mizzle mist,
That dreamy opaque layer,
Obtrudes my view with chilly dew,
A fancied world lays bare.
"Don't be afraid", a voice just said,
A whisper grim and grave,
As from a king or ancient sage,
Conquerer of the knave.
That moment my door shook its hinge,
Something had wrenched its knobs,
The bats beseech with a sudden screech,
And fill my home with sobs.
A pain of olden times deludes,
My grandsire died this day,
A tremor stirs after these years,
Benumbed and dozed I lay.
The dawn has worn her purple gown,
It's four, the chimes sojourn,
Her mellow light dissolves my night
Into a canny morn.
28th September, 2021