Long Fireflies Poems
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This moving poem is inspired by a friend whose mum is struggling with MS. It's a terrible disease that affects the whole family. May we make great strides in healing all autoimmune diseases. With love and light.
Together one day in Heaven
By Michelle Morris
12/05/2023
I know you don't see me
You're stuck in a frozen time
A moment in your memory
Where life was pure and fine
I am here with you
Whether you see me now or never
Even if you can't remember
I'll be here for you with love from Heaven
Our happiness is something fleeting
We have to hold on to the love and hope
Even if it seems like elusive fireflies
That disappear into their forest home
I know that deep down inside you know
You can feel the love and light of my soul
All the emotions within my heart
All the secrets that only God knows
For I hold darkness at bay (each day)
And I sometimes feel like I'm losing faith
Because all I ever wanted for you
Was joy and a life filled with peace
But I thank God for the time we've had
For the wisdom and experience I've gained
I am a better husband and father
And a man who overcame great pain
I know that your time is counting down
It saddens me, yet gives me relief
For you deserve so much better
Than a life lived from a wheelchair
Even though you've not been healed
The miracle of life and love has been our blessing
I am grateful for you every day, mum
We'll be pain free together one day in Heaven
© Michelle Morris, 2023
In the garment factory
bloom the
delicate young women.
I live in a rented house.
When the bear-dance
comes to an end,
drawing
zeros
again and again,
I must return
from the school
of the bees.
Rivers
brush their teeth
with neem twigs
deep within
their waters,
there is
a secret
world:
horses and fireflies,
and a rain-wet
shiuli tree,
a vast
fragment
of stone,
all alone,
beneath
the vastness of space.
The jellyfish boats
are returning home.
Beyond the rooftop
of the three-storeyed house,
a pine tree
stands,
in its own mood,
the monsoon clouds.
Having dived
deep into
the depths
of my own being,
near the burnt-out
stub of a cigarette,
I find myself
wondering:
Should I
write anew
Goanna and Twilight?
Its my birthday every day just because I awoke to see another day
a new breath an extra hour beneath my belt, I am God's living ray
Defying all odds I am still here stumping the experts with my drill
dancing in the sunlight like a dervish mendicant ascetic, no pills;
I remember being six and blowing out the candles on my frosty cake
mamma asked me sweetly to make a wish before the first snowflake
I wished to live forever so I could find the secret of a well lit firefly
and summer after summer I watched them as they lit up the sky
It is my birthday today, every hour succinct to the next I like it this way
twirling like a wild baton in a parade I bang my drum and I sing all day
A new breath an extra hour beneath my belt, I am God's special girl
a Mystic soul that refuses to lay down and die, while the stars unfurl
I'll lay on the freshly mowed lawn and watch the stars shine from on high,
while I recall mamma's birthday cake and the fireflies that once lit up the sky.
Date: April 22, 2021
Sponsor Name: Charlotte Puddifoot
Contest Name: Open Poetry 3
Squirrels darting, dead of night.
Vivid velvet curtains of mist indistinguishable from city fog adorned, a courageous jogger, Addison.
Marsh light mirage appeared to beckon to canvass of the mind
“I’ll find myself deep within one day or precisely one night.”
Addison, was a jogger who could be imagined by the most colourful imaginations.
A person who ran, jogged, sprinted with crystalline clear visions.
“Ironic, I must connect somehow in every environment.”
Her slim svelte surging figure aptly attired for a wetland plagued by a city scape of habitats.
Just on the fringe of a sizeable town entering a 2025 empowerment.
Yet she seemed ostracized for whatever
reason quaintly excluded.
“My issue seems that I have been evaluating all around me.”
Addison tribe, circles, connects were many.
Yet the dimensions of personal constellation etc would taunt a canvass painter.
Her sister, an accomplished painter appeared to be intimidated by her feisty sister’s midnight trekking or solo runs.
A ballooning complexity didn’t interfere with her job as a new age clairvoyant.
Allied to her other aura surrounding healing skills.
“But here I am channeling for everyone bar myself.”
This angel glow mystery of a runner
Her images reflect in mud spume pools.
The micro burn of fireflies, the crickets clucking incessantly.
Sinister birds perched on trees a watch tower.
“One thing can’t does is paint
Leave that to my twin sister.”
Addison did a swerve, a torsion but fortunately avoided any injury or strain
“Goodness, a black eagle winked at me.”
Addison to her said.
A ghostly gothic gust of wind with a shrill high pitch appears.
Like background music
A grey splattered sweat from Addison’s brow was wiped by her as continuum.
It was so therapeutic for Addison this weekly fly by night.
Damp, sprays, squelching, soggy patches prevailed.
“I can have it both ways.
I seem at home here.”
Addison wondering aloud.
What exactly were the somersaults in her mind?
The ecosystem seemed like an imprint.
Yet I dream of this incongruous dash.”
A tinge of mauve designed by autumn’s glow
upon her leaves, coated in frosty dyes
glorious their sways, draped in misty yellow,
iridescent like tassels of fireflies.
I roam to catch ridged curls in revelry
and seek them through air, blowing a wish
to wonder at leaves’ palette from ornate tree,
their ribs tenderly coiled by fall’s varnish.
A landscape gleaming through brushed mosaic
where dew trickles on their velveteen sheaths,
from backdrop of night’s frame to lamplight’s wick
upturned by breath of winds when hours bequeath
and know that their radiance will crack in time
if I should gather them in my hands to keep.
This enchantment is never to be mine,
I fling autumn leaves to skies, half asleep.
Contest: Autumn's Breath of Gail Doyle
Lanterns on a black canvas.
Fireflies dance, prance like ponies on a carousel.
Ricocheting cricket-squeaks,
Bounce among the frog-croaked airwaves;
Bouncing from one wet tip to another.
Spectral trees in the distance
Dance their ancestral dance to this music;
The heartbeat of the waves, keeping time;
natures’ metronome.
One hones the spirit to perfection here;
In the bosom of Mother Natures’ womb.
Touching life’s essence.
Feeding the soul on the nourishment of Gods’ artwork.
We never really leave the womb, you see.
We only re-position ourselves and dream yet, another dream.
No, we never really leave the womb.
Ten Lines from Ten Poems 12/26/24
Poems used 1)Most Beautiful Christmas Poem 2)Who Am I?; 3)Keeper of the Flame; 4)Dreams within Dreams; 5)Love's Sonnet; 6)Moonlight on Meadows; 7)Yellow; 8)Gracious Grace; 9)Summer Quatrains; 10)At One With
Inspiration
Through the breathless comma of anticipation
I search for words that yearn to walk
A smokeless incense of inspiration arises
Pulled back from fleshless graveyards of bleak
Pale dawn stumbles from midnight to forget,
Splashing auroras of platinum mist
Breathing fireflies into tombs of musky indigos -
Endless effervescence of grace.
Silk ribbons of ice melt into wellsprings
Present tense of the divine dawn.
Come, Summer, please! Come fill me with your light.
Come heap upon me precious memories -
like when I chased bright fireflies in the night.
The joy I felt at last when I could seize
that fairy-bug and hold it in my hand!
Come, Summer, bring again the glee of when
I walked bare-footed on a beach’s sand,
our picnics and the waves we jumped back then!
Late August’s passion may I too recall -
more memorable than my joy in June.
A love that lingered well into the fall.
Oh, Summer, bring again your lovers’ moon.
Alas, fall always comes; then comes the cold.
Come, Summer, please – before I grow too old.
For Brian Strand's 'COMPLETELY YOUR CHOICE (5)any form any theme' Poetry Contest
The Majestic Banyan
Standing alone in the village outskirts
With branches protruding to the other end
Always makes me feel from two discrete lenses
The exhausted cattle rest under it ruminating and shooing
The shouts of merry boys while playing with marbles,
Climbing, swinging and running around
How nice the day is!
But nothing finds close at hand when dark diffuses gradually
The mighty banyan appears as a dilapidated fort
And frightens me on a full moon night
Its silhouette comes off as
A strutting demon with hair torn off on a no moon night
The hanging roots like serpents swinging upside down
The sprawling and intertwined roots like matted hair of a yogi
When there is a gale, it sways forward
And it resembles a python with stretched jaws to swallow the village
Scary silence pervades around at times
A busy den for the nocturnal world!
The spying owl with its locked eyes
The thrumming camp of flying foxes
Pecks of a distressed bird
Chirps of crickets and beetles
Croaks and hoarse voices as macabre music
Unsettling leaves as elephant’s ears producing susurration sounds
The swarming fireflies around like lights of spirits
The hiss of a snake
And the crackling when it crawls on the dried leaves
Some mysterious chants
And the glowing blood red fire in its enclosed space
Perhaps, the diabolic acts of a sorcerer
For evoking spirits and ghosts hidden in the tree
The raising smoke out from it as a subtle body
Registered as a gruesome tree in my childhood cognitive domain
She surrenders her all oranges and apples
To his crimson basket of throbbing warmth
To let her caves dance in a downpour
And cloak her snowflakes in wools of love
They are like two entwined trees
Against an embroidered slice of love-wall
Let me fission in scarlet grains
She said amidst the scented rains
The hands that hold you are writing poetry
All my fireflies in a blossoming spree
My cheeks soaking up the vapors of your red cells
My eyes are closed to retain the kisses
The blue green and white flowers
From your breath on my pulsating red hair
Gustav Klimt once made us immortal
In his deathless The Kiss
Such gladioli of love rarely bloomed
Very few rooms enjoyed such collapse
Such gold leaf glitter seldom shone
To shape out the lip-locked lovers
4 December, 2017
For Klimt - Poetry Contest sponsored by
Anthony Slausen