Long Expanses Poems
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WordScape Triptych #1
Coming from the Underworld as a ghost, just sauntering out of the depths like you did;
With all the rest of us just watching and wondering what you were going to say;
Tell us young Beatrice what shavings you encountered in your intrepid sojourns;
Regale us with splendid tales, and grand dishes with squid meat and fried barnacles;
Intrigue us with your newly-learned dances taught by dead men beneath the grasses.
Manipulate us with your pouting grimaces when sad phrases turn inward the head screws;
Sweet Beatrice, there is no relief or recourse from these exacting heart exercises;
These time-stopping surrenders to the moist touches of absolute skin arousals.
Please lovely Dulcinea, guide us to the far-away stones piled atop the ancient green expanses;
Where screaming armies once pondered mortality amidst the spreading proliferating weeds;
Soothe us with your tender eye gazes which shoot through the airy spaces with calm affinities;
Made immaculate with silent prayers and lifted legs around the shoulders of the nobilities.
Create us for your strange mansions and your strange universes made of chalk, and fingering fears;
These soothing squanderings of doubting time, and the strange splashings of forgetful mercies,
Made manifest with the urgings of the stones, and the apex gods with the sharp plastic crowns;
Please Dulcinea, sing to us with your tenor gyrations made of pickled stardust and squid meat.
And proffer for us, sweet sweet Laura, your lilting songs celebrating the recurring exhalations;
From the lips of bearded nomads coming like leopards across the squared-faced, death vistas;
Expose to us your battle-scarred appendages where bleeding arrows found the stringed lattices;
Reveal to us your arched spinal bridges which flatten and turn with the seeking wind shears;
Gather us, lovely Laura, to your immense home hidden in the spiral ferns for tea and secret games;
Teach us how to be present and aware of the artifices, as rendered woodenly by the blind gropers;
Yes, sweet sweet Laura, we are at your service, but finally, kill us, destroy and annihilate us,
With your slithering clandestine movements behind dripping tombstones in the snoring graveyards.
Perplexed by riddles and betrayed by Time,
The lonely spirit travels far adrift
On the horizon’s dim and distant line,
In search of other souls, both strong and swift.
From the eternal temple of the gods
Come roiling forth three dark and ruthless birds,
Which carry in their beaks three magic rods
Upon whose sight the dread of men is stirred.
The golden rods are dread, despair and death,
Which haunt all men throughout their mortal lives,
And whose dark curse is borne with every breath
By these three harpies rising from their hives.
Descending from the heavens they converge
While circling round and round the mountain top,
Where in the dwindling light the senses merge
And even Time itself comes to a stop.
The vast expanses of the earth divide
And, with loud thunder, fiery lava gushes out
While mountains and the seas are torn aside,
Allowing clouds of sulphur smoke to spout.
The birds of prey unchain the lightning storm
Onto the mighty mountain’s snowy side,
While from the depths of Hades there takes form
A demiurge of human shape and stride.
Emboldened by his grip on death and fear,
He rises tall, walks forth and calls to fight
The ghastly legions of the deep, who cheer
As mankind contemplates the growing night.
Olympus watches from above, unseen,
But worries not, for humans are no match,
And Jove’s revenge against all men has been
A treasured scheme which, finally, can hatch.
The helpless crowd is beaten and dispersed
While darkness and despair engulf the scene
And servants of the ruthless lord become well versed
In hunting men for whom fair Hope is queen.
The world is turned into an endless maze
Where men are lost and wander all alone
While braving hunger, thirst and heavy haze
In search of hidden tunnels leading home.
They search in vain for what cannot be found,
Encouraged by false hope and blinding thought.
They rush away, bewildered and unbound
Along dim paths where rummage comes to naught.
Such was the day when man became a slave
To petty strife, to agony and death,
The day Olympus sentenced to the grave
All those on earth who labor and draw breath.
Find my poems and published poetry volumes at www.eton-langford.com
Written: April 09, 2025,
*************
I will be faithful and reveal to you the facts,
You are mine in life and as soul, subtract.
Because when I die, all fables will be seen,
Your aesthetic gaze will murder my spleen!
If every star dims away or expires,
I should start to gaze at a blazing fire.
And accept the complete dark sublime,
However, this may require a bit of time.
Your love transcends my ability to repay,
I wish you abundant happiness, I pray.
So, while we're living, let's pursue love,
Then, even posthumously, life may shove.
A silk ladder is extending across the vine,
That one dangles precariously over the line.
The tragic blend of your entrance and exit,
Love you in a holistic manner, with no limit.
She walks as beautifully as the night,
With pristine expanses and twinkling skies.
And all that is finest in dark and bright,
Connected to her appearance and eyes;
Such squashed by the gentle light,
Which paradise to lavish day denies.
I'll enumerate the forms I love you,
I love you to the depths, scope, and view.
When I feel adrift, my spirit can cope,
For the sake of being an ideal scope.
Concealed from all, love is a hidden flame,
A delicate but piercing wound frame.
an inherently wretched state of happiness,
a raging pain that does not induce savviness.
This is the eremite's never-ending wanderlust,
Yours is the April-to-April love, modernist.
I began to twirl long after you had gone,
Your excited fingers point me to the drawn.
The shimmering, one vast claiming heart,
Esquire, who is both charming and smart.
I am reliable; I will express to you what I mean,
In both life and after death, you're my queen.
Since all the truth will be unveiled once I die,
Then, your two exquisite eyes will make me sigh.
Nothing in this broad cosmos is single,
In a shared spirit, all us gather and mingle.
Love confines me and teaches me to care;
You are the culprit, and you allow me to share.
Helping me cope, you offer me hope,
my dreams and aspirations began to slope.
Life fills each season without a reason.
a hollow life migrates with every season.
Spain in Rain Falls
There’s something different
About the rain in Spain
And being an English man
And well versed in rainfall
I should know a thing or two
About rain
It still falls horizontal
Occasionally with a side to side wiggle
But it seems to land with a different splatter
And the ringlet pools in puddles
Seem to matter
More
The thrumping, drumming trickles and rivers
Have an alternate way
Of running down the road side gutters
And there is a coastal tinkle
In expanses formed by the space of sea
So close to the sky grey
People do not rush in the rain
They understand this brief refreshment
And draw it in through sun-baked pores
Drink it in on dry parched throats
Many weeks may pass before its cool embellishment
Returns to break the dusty heat
Its almost as if you can hear the dry ground soaking
Drinking, shlurping, on the straws of greedy roots
And every leaf is a green extended tongue
With closed eyes savours the feel of water
As it plinkers and splotters
Leaping in sprays off their wet leafy diving boards
And the mood seems slowed, patient, waiting
And every where you go there is a warm glow of unspoken appreciating
Smiling; the clouds do not feel heavy
And the sky still reflects its blue
And the rain is there just reminding you
Of the long days of desiccant sun yet to come
The all is basking, washing under arm nooks and niches
Where the dusty days have gathered
Everything is stretching revitalized as if from a weary sleep
Shaking and rattling with incessant drips and drops
Sounds like laughter echoed from a thousand swimming pools
Repeated by every blade of grass
Even ones eyes are relieved from straining
The blanket droplet laden cotton sky
Hangs a shade of diffuse balm on ones retina
Instead of squinting in sunglass bright glaring
Can see the deeper hues of dampened colour
Crisp, clean pervades
With a slow unencumbered sense of peace
Yes, there is something different
In the rain, in Spain
Something expansive, more spiritually deliberative
And being an Englishman hailing from that bleak raining land
Am well versed in all the aspects of water-fall
I should know a thing or two
About rain
I stand alone and gaze upon the field full of crosses,
In silence, with an empty soul, I think of the days that have passed,
My pockets are full of sad thoughts, like faithful dogs,
I stand alone and listen to the rustling of bones, the echo of the past, of vivid memories.
The wind blows gently, like a caress of wings, over the wax bell of my thoughts,
It resonates in my soul like a call, an untold story, a melody of silence,
But at the first crossroads, at the corner of the first street, someone might appear,
Wrapped in a rain of light, with eyes shining like stars in the night sky.
And then, in an instant, I will feel captured by his divine charm,
He will have to cover me with his cloak, to shield me from the morning chill,
For a gentle rain or snowfall might come, as a gift of fate,
To envelop us in its tenderness, to embrace our souls and bodies, gracefully.
With him will also come a cursed sleet, people would say it's just cold weather,
But in our hearts, it will find fertile ground, it will freeze even the warm thoughts,
So, while the light surrounds our memories, we will remain here,
With bones freshly washed by all the tears and experiences, with souls open to life.
While the begging pigeons fly above me, in endless circles,
Philanthropists have put bread crumbs on balconies, but I think of something else,
In my heart, a millstone weighs heavily, a symbol of pain and renunciation,
But now, determined, I have chosen to leave, to start a new journey, another path.
I imagine that I start from a barn drowned in steam and twilight,
Traveling through dense forests, crossing endless expanses of greenery,
Until I reach a grove, a bush, where Sister Well awaits me,
I will lay my thoughts on the damp grass, I will lean against her old trunk.
I will lose myself in her deep gaze, in the clear and silent waters,
I will let all the sadness and unrest drain away, lost in the depths,
For in her presence, in her cold arms, I will find rest and comfort,
And the field full of crosses will become a place of peace, and my suffering will be conquered by love.
In the quietness of dusk, when shadows stretch long over the fields of memory,
Memories rise like reflected ghosts, wandering through the labyrinth of thoughts,
Taking me back to the times of childhood, when backyards were boundless realms
That embraced my young soul, offering a stage for the great symphony of the earth,
The seasons playing in their fullness, like an orchestra under the baton of destiny.
Expanses of grass spread wide, calling bare feet to explore,
Tall trees, green sentinels, their branches forming secret forts,
Old sheds whispered stories of bygone years, with their timeworn tools and dusty relics,
Woven into the fabric of history, echoes of times long past.
In the corners of the garden, bathed in filtered light, nature’s treasures opened up—
Ripened tomatoes under a benevolent sky, corn standing with modest pride,
Clusters of grapes growing cool under the arching vines, their sweet darkness
Bursting in the mouth of an eager child, nectar trickling down sticky cheeks.
The velvety skin of apricots and peaches, nectar flowing deliciously,
Fresh eggs discovered early in the morning by wandering hens,
These backyards, sanctuaries of innocence, absorbed the pains of childhood like blotting paper,
Offering solace and escape, transforming into theaters of fantasy.
Sheriffs patrolling dusty towns, princesses in golden towers,
Summer days baptized by the arching spray of sprinklers,
An icy challenge for small feet, water games and genuine laughter.
But, like all enchanted realms, this too faded,
As the borders of backyards shrank,
And the call of distant lands became irresistible,
Restless spirits ventured further, leaving behind their Eden,
Breaking the delicate spell of beginnings, to chase destinies beyond the garden gate.
Thus I grew with dreams and yearnings, living and learning, always seeking
That infinite sequence of perfect moments, where the soul longs to rest,
In the gardens of yesteryear, where every moment was imbued with magic,
And innocence bloomed in every shady corner, under the sun of eternity.
ANCESTORS
Lady Liberty
And the Lady cries:
"Bring me your lame, maime,
Your poor, your Refugees."
Came by the Mayflower
And others like her,
The first Settlers came
from near and far;
Men, women, children,
old and young.
Bellowing sails flapping
in tempestuous winds,
People courageously sailed,
Getting wet by the rough rolling
waves,
Going to America ahoy!
From these ones a great nation
arose
Hard work and toil, felling trees,
Planting crops, shearing sheep,
raising cattle,
On large expanses of land.
Now descendants benefit,
Flying a Star-spangled Banner.
Crying out with the Lady,
"God Bless America."
(Ellis Island is where the Statue of Liberty is. I was the harborr where persons disembarked from ships to pass through Customs before entering America.)
Land Of Six Peoples
"One People, one Nation with one Destiny";
The voices of six peoples ring out!
A heritage of great repute,
Customs, traditions and cultures so rich,
The Almighty allowed six peoples to evolve!
Six peoples evolved from a
Mixture of cultures enmeshing
The diverse traditions from the diaspora,
Across many seas.
Passed down from the hands of
The Spanish, French, Dutch and British,
The country's heritage is compacted
With lusty multi-ethnic views!
Put together over time, we get -
Art, craft, dance, music sculpting, basket
-weaving and more.
When meshed, these are all showy displays
Of inner passions, interwoven by an
ancestral mix.
Food umbrellas the crave for eating -
Aloo, buns, cassava bread, curry, dahl,
Dumplng, fishcake, foo foo, greens
(vegetables),
Garlic pork,homemade bread, kanki,
Methai, roti, sweetbread, souse,
Black and white pudding.
Music itself is a fanfare for creative artistry,
In dance, theatrical shows, lyrics
and composing songs.
These echo on mountains, bellow in valleys,
and cause feet to stamp
From the Pakarimas to the Rorrhimas.
(These are the mountain ranges of Guyana. The Palarimas is where the longest One Drop Falls the world can be found.)
The radio controlled emotion of a steel framed explosion happens not once nor twice or three times. Several sharp impacts equals a scrambled surface. Where no glorification of swamp residue exists for it glows and glows and expands in luminesce essence and radiance akin to an ornate fish pond in a Japanese garden in a nightly display of colour. But no koi. And no little lovely bridge neither. Just a frosted glass vision then of a prettily tamed landscape. A finely tuned circumference spilling fragrance and delicate petunias prance. Petals versus petroleum in a bubbling froth surround. But no glaze on a traversing pollution playing field of great expanses of waters. Fish then none. No fish. They are all now pink. They are not going to be able to join in the festivities of the eta number of partying prawns whose efforts on beaches at sunbathing leave little structure to imagination and whose ignorance is cased and boxed in a tight spiralling shell. Oh well and move on to the cliff of decks. For decks are not daring darts nor decision drifting deficits. A queen in a tight fitting pumpkin suit is laughing acrimoniously at the ceremony of cement. And in the cave lies a raucous beast with a very big belly who is ticklish and giggles when the rocks touch his knees. News neither nurtures nor necessarily needs names. And a ship us arriving at eighteen minutes past eleven behind the seventh cloud in the kitchen. Or in the bathroom. It is never wise to stand more than two feet away from a mechanical mainstream managed man. And it is often wise to wave tiny scraps of paper at this point for at this point there is a ten foot drama from a little lemon in a skirt, a lorry lounging, a plunge pool falling asleep and a wheelbarrow filled with pigs, monkeys, pineapples, and zebras. Wow. Wonderful isnt it? Happen upon a cartwheeling biscuit today? No I thought not for only cattle cartwheel at the time of the tidal prance. Haha boxed up boxing buffoon building. Xxxxxpropellificationalismxxxxx
Form:
Ooh a triangular prism made out of eighteen purple sashed curtains. Wow. Movement. Vortex of a synopsis and a synchronised swirling pattern. When a pea jumps into a swimming pool and performs the backflip it is time for the potatoes to go proportionate. For portions are neither potions nor postures. And a pas a doublet is a particle of an easy iron. Jump then. Off and go. It is interesting to note that the sailing of a peel from a left over carrot can travel vast cubic measurements especially in sand storms. Storks staking stalks. And a wide angled visionary swamp singing in the woods. No do not stamp on a leaf from a mushroom or a rhododendron would chase you out of the clearing. And a pretty and capable doe bakes a nice tree sap cake for the herd. Who gather in a very large circle. Not a rectangle. Ok then. It is wiser to accept the pacifying notions from one single fish rather than a shoal. And coals are never the same twice if placed in a radioactive formation near a fireplace. Versions of the tunes created can be heard on the world wide open airwaves. And a singular plural can loop with an antonym at a stellular ball in linkage with the paragraphs. Shrink no ball of paper nor papyrus into a pot. And leap twenty-five times over a dish to create a heartwarming broth. Of stems. Of leaves. Of berries. Belly bouncing bustiers bring booming boogieing breaths. And a waltz with a fish is best performed in a yogurt container measuring exactly forty-two and a half centimetres. One two three tick tock. But no rock. One two three four. And here is a shore. Arriving to speak if truth and wisdom from across watery expanses. Seek no hill in a cave then. Hahahaha funny flimsy frameworks frolicking. Hahaha branches beaked beaming. Hahahaha and now eat 90 eggs, 10 toasts, and a slice of lentil. Yum. Fantastic. Wow. Xxxxx dragline drainage droppings. Xx,x, dele rational beings ***,, choo Choi xxxxx and a code cackling. Xxxxx beastiology q. P y q z.
Form:
Something created. Does the creator think ahead
or spill a storm. Rain happens. We supply the
reasons. Evaporation of water collecting over
huge expanses, condensed and pushed as clouds
over the land. We say it makes us sad or depressed.
We want to cry.
You describe the America you know and if you
are ashamed of yourself for what you see, you lie.
Or don't look. Loud noises of automobiles and
fumes. Today in Riverside Park, leaning on a rail,
the dead leaves and snow reminded me how far
from nature and life I am. The snow blew
in from the west. People passed in a smooth
slow line in front of me. Dogs trailing one
another. People hiding until crises bring them
out. Their dog smells another dog between the legs.
The master runs over to stop him. Maybe he
thinks they're going to fight. Doesn't want his
big German shepherd to hurt her dachshund.
Guy runs past in gray sweats on his tip-toes.
Glances at me. Another passes in blue sweats. Looks
longer. They think I'm a mugger. They are not
sexually attracted. I'm an opponent. I want something
they have. I look surly. Why aren't I out
running, disciplining myself, making myself healthy,
doing something. What brings you out here. You're not
doing anything but watching us and staring at the ground.
Walking down Broadway I realized I've never lived here and still don't. Two women window shopping is strange to me. They talk about the clothes. They are friends. I slow down, I don't feel so cold. Stroll, looking at people is like a sunny day and it's a carnival. Streets different in different weather. Rainy nights are good. Cold rainy nights. Bars filled and warm. Streets empty and cold. People pass and look as members of a fraternity. They need someone and don't hide it. They will try anyone out for one night. They have tea together. They go for a drink in some neutral place. They go straight to bed in the dark. They can't see the face.