Long Feathers Poems
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Tom's Cat Tom
by Joan Donnelly Ellis (intended as a picture story book for children)
Some cats are really ugly and others are really cute, like mine, Bart. Bart can be bad though. He is sometimes up to no good. One day he ate my dad's goldfish. Bart likes goldfish. They don't like him back.
Wanna know something funny? My friend, Tom Murphy has a Tom Cat that he named Tom after himself. Tom gets bored a lot and so does his lazy cat, Tom. He just lies on the couch all day. At least that is what I first thought., that the cat was lazy, you know. Then I started to observe him more closely. After a week or so I realized the feline just pretends to be sleeping but he really doesn't close his eyes all the way shut. I think he is not as lazy as he makes out to be. Often it seems that the cat Tom is engaged in serious contemplation. He might be planning some mischief. Yes, Tom has something up his sleeve I decided and as soon as he's left alone in the house BAM! He'll be off getting into trouble . Last time he was left alone the Murphy's and I believe Tom terrorized San Quentin, the Parrot. We found a mess of Quent's feathers in his cage and on the floor below. Not only that but whenever the cat Tom was near Quent would make frightening noises. I told Tom, my friend , not his cat, that we ought to get those fellows from Forensic Files to do an investigation. Tom didn't like the idea much. Said he didn't think ruffling a few feathers was a serious crime.
I glanced at Quent who was curled up on the window seat and I swear he had a "Nice Try" smirk on his face as he glared back at me . In response, I
walked to the kitchen, and lifted Quent's Temptation Treats from the counter.
He jumped off the window seat and hurried to the kitchen. As he gazed lovingly at me with his bright green eyes, I stepped on the peddle of the trash can. When the lid opened I dumped the treats in and closed the lid. Some kids are really ugly and others are really cute. Since I'm a bird lover, I don't give a hoot.
Form:
Part 3
9th Delerium: Emptyness
Water wheels in wastelands... turning,
drowning relics in the slum
Rumpled rags of fashioned burlap... burning,
lit by bandits blind and dumb
Pastured prisons, ponies bridled ... yearning,
forest fairies under thumb
Sounds inside of cauldrons coughing... churning,
blaring bugles, tattooed drum
10th Delirium: Alienation
Rain unravelling, wistfully weeping... falling,
treacle trickling, fickle sky
Mushrooms sprinkled, visions sprouting... sprawling,
seagulls drowning, dolphins die
Rabble gasping, spirits broken... crawling,
lonely lonesome swallows cry
Babbling brooks and breakers ebbing... bawling
puppies paddle, puppets sigh
People passing ripple past me... calling,
rainbow colours, collars high
Chaos seething, lepers looting... stalling,
stealing stallions on the sly
Pencils pausing, scholars scrambling... scrawling,
scratching scribbles, asking why
11th Delirium: Jetsam
Silver sails sway pallid pirates... prowling,
Jolly Rogers, wind and sound
Parrots perching, tattered feathers... fouling,
tethered talons, tied and bound
Shipwrecked foghorns, trumpets stranded... howling,
spiral springs of time unwound
Magic moonlight, shimmers shaking... scowling,
burnt out matchsticks washed aground
Prairie wolfs, coyotes calling... yowling,
witching hours, midnight hounds
Tightrope walkers, grizzlies grunting... growling,
seeking islands, lost and found
12th Delirium: Relief
Slumber shattered, vapours captive... haunting,
chained in mirrors, breaking free
Scarlet skylines, daylight dawning... daunting,
rivers rushing to the sea
Silence softens, sandmen whisper... wanting,
piercing rafters, turning keys
Shadows shudder, notions fluster... flaunting,
moonbeam bullets meant for me
Mind in migraine, meadows trembling... taunting,
sparrows speak in harmony
REAWAKENING
Pitter patter, teardrops paling... pearling,
salting scarves in secret drawers
Mist amongst us, smoke rings rising... curling,
climbing from the ocean floors
See-saw circles, senses swerving... swirling,
swept away with silver oars
Courtyard jesters, sceptres twisting... twirling,
push the past to foreign shores
Passing pangs of passions heaving... hurling,
burning bridges, closing doors
Roses wither, icons waning... whirling,
time decays and time restores
End
narcissistic negativity in higher learning.
nods of forget-me-nots, knots in shyness
satisfying unconfidence - look at me,
don’t look at me, pass by, stop...please.
brat in me left for a funeral, fuming dissonance;
meanwhile friends thought I was dead, falling
off the precipice of this world, woe is me;
shame...I should feel shame at sharp turn
from reality - negativity my play.
the dead fell into me, he was condemned
to die an untimely death from pot, “they say.”
poor lot of the dead, drudgery of debt —
undefiled, dallying not with love nor hate.
i hated the solo seat next to this strange, pudgy boy -
he was only a boy, a barbizon actor - parting was such sweet sorrow,
he left the Globe Theater.
my bland diet of diurnal tides, wicked flow
of upset and woe, dictated by me -
for eternity i think not;
the shredmonster to grind the grandiose
conjecture of a silly girl’s thoughts,
thoughtless and lost.
now i know every life counts:
the drowned, the blood-ill, the poisoned
and the one-way erasure.
every moment counted - the countless counting
in math class, the superb poems i kissed or
absentmindedly missed, hysterical history
superciliously rendered to simple ears,
later pierced with inlaid gems — truth.
what is truth, asked by ages past - past my prime,
prim and proper squeezed through butt cheeks.
we must laugh, not just in the dark but in open places.
tear the pieces of my heart, the decor relentless
however i see through arbitrary glasses, classes
taught by God. i pray don’t break me. fragile glass,
shards sunken in — buried in the ocean sand.
my personality could split in half, in quarters —
behind the shed. negativity relishing, nodding.
positive i will not end up this way. my vocabulary
shan’t never be small, again i shall pour out
pages and pages of potential balm.
moisturizing at my age necessary — when you’re a child,
chilblains are myth. catharsis
chitter-chatters better with false teeth and assorted feathers.
12/5/2020
Contest: Catharis
Sponsor: Silent One
*Shakespeare
Awake to the celestial sea chant
Starry-eyed dark matter
of infinite space
Espied by countless eons
since original human race
Became cognizant of her/
his terrestrial place
Gilding the heavens with strings
of pearly hued lace
Closer to Earth charting
early skywatchers to notice moon face
Held captive via gravitational brace
While zodiac archer aims
cocked bow, where knocked feathers
sans arrow complete an awesome
fantastic bullseye ace.
complimenting - MOTHER NATURE’S
SUPREME DISPLAY
A strand of pearls clung to slender tree limbs
bejeweled woody flora prismatic orbs
tell tale sign recent cloudburst
cleft darkened heavens
rained watery life source liquid
downpour laced branched canopy
awash with molecular droplets
requisite to feed burlesque Vaudeville bluster
exquisite gala performance unrehearsed
unscripted ubiquitous theatrical performance
received limitless encores
toward Gaia screenwriter
whose infinite scope
(wrought upon natural landscape palette)
exceeds the finite abilities
of those bipedal dominatrix
human organisms imbued
whose dilettante debut
(dawned these last seconds
on the clock face of geologic history)
might witness curtain call
on their final act.
Like fireflies glimmering, glistening
Tempting the night with their intimate kisses,
Robins and wrens, breathless wings dancing
Waltzing in the wind, swaying and twirling
Erasing every doubt of falling through blue skies
Cloudless as the morning dawning hope,
Reminding hearts of the victories discovered
In the spirits of waving jays and finches,
All those winged reasons that whisper faith
To the believer and light to the dreamer
Like gentle bees, touching hearts and souls
With their buzzing hum, music to reveal,
Through the cloudless summer and autumn
Animated prayers, fulfilled by the One who created
All the kindness surviving the tests of time,
The pleading of the sparrows, promising to listen,
Still as the reflection of grace discovered in the lines
Shadows falling, flowing beneath the clever wings
Hummingbirds, free to show off their passions,
Breathless hungers in flaming scarlet and soothing
Azure, creams and gold – bold like the hopes
Filling the swallows and the bluebirds, the risk
Beyond the seas, across the mountains, silencing
History, and housing the beautiful of a thousand
feathers who show their brilliance, charming and lovely
Striking as the sun and moon – alive like the color purple
Joy falls through the life, the spirit – singing, thrilling
Intimate sighs, magnificent smiles, alive like the wings
Who enchant and foresee all the mystery in the presence
Yesterday’s breathless praises, soothing away the dark
Leaving the heart full and hopeful, rising to touch the wings
Haunting the stillness with flavors of peace – peace like no other,
Serenity in the nightingale’s beak, its harmony I seek…
Gun is fired
Friction-slick bullets heat the barrel shocking the shoulder finding a new place in its socket
Metal pellets rain like rain or hail
As opposed to paper pellets or those made of grain derivatives
How many glyphs exist?
Those recognized by some higher authority
And how many more are there that go unaccounted for?
I have a set of my own
It is smart to keep part of yourself unaccounted for
Keep it on pages buried in second-hand drawer chests
When does a spider's web become a cobweb?
How much dust has to fall?
How many days?
Can we quantify it?
Dusts rain like rain, not like hail
Or like bird feathers telling you something must've happened above
Something of note
I refuse to dust
To wipe away my calendar
Non-numerical calendar grids
Compress to fit into layers
Layers only distinguished by time of fall
Of rain
Of feather
Not by barrier, nor boundary, nor anything which can be marked
Only known
It is only known that upon waking from sleep or else what
That more dust is there
Or maybe that
The surface of my skin has changed
The fibers of my clothes are more worn
And gravity still complies with its law
Golden Eagle
Graceful strong as it soars among the shadows of the clouds
Taint the sunlight like a shroud
The Golden Eagle flies high in the azure skies from high above the mountain trees
Graceful movements as she soars in the breeze
For long periods without flapping her wings
Food to her young she brings
She hears the calling cries of her fledgling nestled safe in their nest
High on a cliffs crest
As the breeze envelopes her majestic beauty beams
With lustrous gold feathers gleam
Swooping down with powerful beak and talons with wings outstretched
Snatching her prey to her nest it be fetched
Over the canopy of trees the calling cries
Of her fledgling nestled safe in their nest arise
Out stretched feathered wings
Mouth opens pushing each other away to get the food she brings
10/8/2015
Contest Name: Golden Eagle
Sponsored By: Shadow Hamilton
The Wanderer, Part II
Awakening, the friendless man confronts the murky waves,
the seabirds bathing, broadening out their feathers,
the hoar-frost, harrowing hail & snow eternally falling…
Then his heart’s wounds seem all the heavier for the loss of his beloved lord.
Thus his sorrow is renewed,
remembrance of his lost kinsmen troubles his mind,
& he greets their ghosts with exclamations of joy, but they merely swim away.
The floating ones never tarry.
Thus care is renewed for the one whose weary spirit rides the waves.
Therefore I cannot think why, surveying this world,
my mind should not contemplate its darkness.
When I consider the lives of earls & their retainers,
how at a stroke they departed their halls, those mood-proud thanes!,
then I see how this middle-earth fails & falls, day after day…
Therefore no man becomes wise without his share of winters.
A wise man must be patient,
not hot-hearted, nor over-eager to speak,
nor weak-willed in battles & yet not reckless,
not unwitting nor wanting in forethought,
nor too greedy for gold & goods,
nor too fearful, nor too cheerful,
nor too hot, nor too mild,
nor too eager to boast before he’s thought things through.
A wise man forbears boastmaking
until, stout-hearted, his mind sure & his will strong,
he can read the road where his travels & travails take him.
The wise man grasps how ghastly life will be
when all the world’s wealth becomes waste,
even as middle-earth already is, in so many places
where walls stand weather-beaten by the wind,
crusted with cold rime, ruined dwellings snowbound,
wine-halls crumbling, their dead lords deprived of joy,
the once-hale host all perished beyond the walls.
Some war took, carried them off from their courses;
a bird bore one across the salt sea;
another the gray wolf delivered to Death;
one a sallow-cheeked earl buried in a bleak barrow.
Thus mankind’s Maker laid waste to Middle Earth,
until the works of the giants stood idle,
all eerily silenced, the former joys of their halls.”
Keywords/Tags: Anglo-Saxon, translation, Old English, wanderer, winter, ice, snow, frost, sea, ocean, seabirds, heart, heartbreak, loss, loneliness, alienation, sorrow, death, ghosts, dark, darkness, wise, wisdom, war, bird, birds, wolf, giants
A loud squawk heralds a cry for help
Indicates something’s not quite right up there
A white seagull spirals down head first
Wings tucked to the side for safety
The impact signals something else
With a thud that meets the burning sand
The flight plan? Suicide? Friendly fire?
In silence the ocean waves over the expired
Giving blessings as best it can off shore
Clouds bulk up in cumulus nimbus numbers
In slumber the sun keeps social distancing
In gray the bay teaches crabs to dance
To stay back. Don’t walk on land.
Don’t talk to strangers.
Hawks, buzzards, circle the situation
Never far from home are troubles up above
Heaven recovers nature in an hour glass of sand
Mounds of sands are another term for dunes
Smoothed over by the hand of God
Still intact, winds lift a phantom wing
Animated feathers salute. Wave good-bye
From what we can surmise
From the bird demised
“Hawks, Owls and Kestrels”
No man is coming to save you.
This wisdom gathered uplifting
in the wings of Owls, Hawks and Kestrels
under the years that are cloaked
in passing Moons and Suns,
spoken close inside by those that raised them.
Peace is found within the Queen of the Night’s
own storms of flight, treasure held in knowledge
acquired from walking through the mud, and
rising up across an unforgettable ocean, Life,
the past washed backwards on the tides
dissolves, as ego must eventually;
each Isis drops the search for missing parts,
and in the shedding of this suffocating belief,
ruffles feathers to achieve
the spreading of their belief in much better worlds,
the carnal birthing and creating of all that truly matters -
small exists here - it is birthed larger in all other after-worlds,
no need for fear when no man comes calling to save you -
Mary in her robes of blue with halo shining bright,
still stands firmly on the lower realm’s tail, its artificial light,
its pitiful scaled and measured worthless blight,
strength is proven like belief in something
more powerful contained inside you - it is evolving;
"No man is coming to save you. I lead first", each Innana says,
"I gave birth to the original strength of faith,
that which walks on water at its greatest,
that which is inherited from me, I Am that I Am,
such a God arrives eventually
unveiled within the You of You,
its true face undressed before a mirror
holds out its hand and eventually, pulls you through,
it's the second coming for You, to such better worlds."
Hawks, Owls and Kestrels.
Their talons hold on fast -
they never give up on that true I Am that matters most;
they drop the unnecessary, to the underworld below, as worthless dung.
If not here, then in another life
in a much better world,
the Goddess in you is held as One
Candide Diderot. ‘25