Long Flamingoes Poems
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INDIAN PIPE
(The Corpse Plant)
in the shadows
in the shadows
teardrop eyes
Like bagpipes they play, somber tunes of fear,
as doves do weep, as flamingoes bow down.
A ghost plant dirge, doth tremble dusty clouds.
The bells, they ring, intensely sing, slow-deep.
in the shadows
in the shadows
teardrop eyes
Like wax, their silhouettes a frozen mask.
A countenance, thus drained of chlorophyll.
The vampiric cold parasite craves night -
A leech, among the beech, with lovers scars.
in the shadows
in the shadows
teardrop eyes
A cold and clammy touch, doth turn a corpse
an inky black. A translucent pale ghost -
don’t touch, nor handle plant, nor creep too near
its eerie soil, nor step, upon its grave.
in the shadows
in the shadows
teardrop eyes
Original date : 5/11/2017
YOUR CHOICE FLOWER VERSE,any form ,any theme Poetry Contest
Brian Strand: Sponsor 6/23/2019
May is warm,
energetic, enticing and embracing
singing rhythmic rhyme, melancholic melodies of spring;
in a change of weather flowing on the wispy neck of winds
fall the rain drops, cold and heavy in their spin,
petals loosen and release down to the earth below
a hundred buds open wide to the chilling flow.
The rain dance waltzes and sweeps its playful tango ballet
in the spread of flowerings on the edges end displayed
of cultivated hedges in a damp dove gray sky
revealing the fall of colors in the garden on the fly;
perfumed lilac lavenders and magnolias scent each breath of air
roses bud gently, tenderly exposed, well loved and well cared;
pinks peek out, deep, dark, delicate, intense flamingoes,
reds bleed crimson burgundy, in spicy velvet, tomato throws;
lacey pale orchids hold steady in cherry blossom rush and blush
beneath a stage of starlight dust, faded white pale ivory tusks;
colors of the rainbow slow dance,
a mix of colors given to whim and chance;
blue, green, yellow, orange and red
stretched in a row along the edges of the garden bed;
scarlet claret burgundies, touch the light rays of the sun and shade
with canary yellow saffron burning in amber mellow lemonade;
the hybrids rise taller, gangly stretching up overall in time
where olive cucumber mint, blends pine grass green, lemon and lime;
and the colors fade like distant aerial gavottes
grateful to the sun and rains for what the season caught.
It's the rain dancing in the end of May
nothing keeps the garden more happy and gay.
Come with a smile,
come with a wink.
Come to the land
of pink, pink, pink.
Imagine
yourself
as a pale pink fairy,
wearing an earring
that's a pink clip-on,
and real pastel pink petals
held in your pinkie,
pointing to the pink chink
glow upon the horizon
at dawn.
The garden's dye this July
is floral pink blossoms.
And at times I do
have such pinkish dreams,
where everything is hued
in pink ice-creams.
Where I own a fine
posh pink cadillac,
parked in a pink chateau
festooned
with fallen pink lilac.
That,
overlooking
a pink sea
ebbing on pink pebbles,
where a pink moon
looks like big bubbles.
In pink colors,
if I could customize
'n'
personalize
my world:
so pink cushions all about,
and pink curtains unfurled!
My birthdays always wish
for pink balloons.
Oh, I love to decorate
and celebrate
with pink festoons.
And nature lovers could watch
salmon pink flamingoes
who stand upon one leg,
hiding
half their pink toes.
Or even bunny rabbit eyes
in bright pink glows.
Ah, pink's so feminine.
Think of pink hair pins,
pink lips 'neath two pink
blush cheeks,
right above cute
chinny chins,
or as buds in a rosebush
take pinkish peeks.
I see as well baby pink
frocks
and frilled pink socks,
and pink pom-pom caps
upon golden locks,
their pink sashes behind
them upon the walks.
Ah, I've always believed,
and still I think,
that pinkish is girlish and
girlish is pink.
Not Every Day is Perfect
I took my pad to the park today.
I wanted to find an idea for a book.
I was blocked…you know… stuck.
I walked outside, and looked up into the sky.
The clouds threatened rain.
I had no umbrella, but a man in a clown suit presented me one…
immediately.
I took it, and walked on.
Down the brick paved golden street,
and turned just to the right, the bus stop on ahead.
The shuttle to Mars left five minute ago, so I hopped the train to Texas.
We arrived early for lunch with the king.
As I sat with his highness, I whipped out my pad intently...
No!
Still no ideas.
I left from there as the flamingoes were dancing and getting out of hand.
I decided to take a stagecoach to the florist shop as it would help my mood.
The soup was chicken, with small white rice, shapes of animals and crackers.
Still nothing to write about.
The day was getting late. I had to go back home.
A roller skate, a rickshaw and two hot air balloons…
The darkness came early, on my sunshine day,
But I am very happy, as my package arrived.
I have new pencils, from far away.
I will take them for a walk, instead of my pen.
Tomorrow I will try again.
I woke up to my mother-in-law’s snoring noises loud and clear.
Come! I said to my husband. I swear that your mother is near.
Outside on our front lawn we saw a parked Airstream with windows wide.
I knew for sure exactly whose big mama was sleeping loudly inside.
She had built a little fence and put out two plastic flamingoes, pink.
I was so consternated and confused, my mind would not let me think.
“Mommy! Mommy! Mommy!” my husband yelled, knocking on her door.
She did not wake at first, continuing with her horribly loud ugly snore.
The kids got up and began yelling “Grandma!” glad to see….
What had sort of kind of actually irritated me
Pink birdies! They yelled, thrilled with this woman from Ioway.
My only concern was, how long did she intend to stay?
Meet me on the corner,
I will sing a song for you,
pick me from the garden,
as a beautiful flower.
Listen to every beat of my heart,
you'll find love after destiny.
Drink from the waters of a full
river that has no end.
Watch the flamingoes
looking at their feet dancing.
Look at the winter
coming from the other side.
Meet me when you cross the road,
or the river, maybe the whole ocean.
Just listen to my dedicated song entirely,
from the bottom of my soul to you,
then you will know what the different corner means to us,
when we met for the first time.
A place in the sun...bright and shining from early morn.
Ebony tones everywhere..colorful garments
lend an air of festivity....hustle and bustle everywhere.
Streets...bands of steel meander through the city
tall buildings ...cast grotesque shadows along the roads
as trees bow in homage to the new day.
People rushing by...insects trapped in an invisible jar
laughing, singing....white teeth flashing.
Aromatic scents of herbs and spices
emanate from side walk cafes to
tease the senses.
Side walk hawkers...fried fish, fried chicken, fried cassava
tittilate the senses... tempt the taste buds.
Taxis rush at a mad pace oblivious to potholes all the way.
Wildlife a-plenty ....... from lions to giraffes
a colorful scene ....a feast to the eyes.
Flamingoes on the lake.. fiery pink compete with brilliant sunsets,
a world seen behind rose tinted shades.
Even the soil.....red as ochre, black as coal, white as the beaches
a variety of colors throughout the land.
Tea and coffee plantations..a delightful view
in a beautiful land , I once knew
where suffering, hardship, joy and laughter
embrace each other,
Pending next droplet, drip mirror spherical
Rolls speedily down leaf spine, drops sluggish
Earth splatter tsunami sends ants hysterical
Stunned dusk undergrowth inherits lush nourish
Urge pink ibis mini flamingoes fossick forage
Monstera nod, almond gaps dim heliotrope
Panther threads trunks, slinky seeker of prey
Teeming technicolor butterfly kaleidoscope
Ulysses sheen self propelled pages paraded
Overtly elated to give and receive nil sage
Umbrella edges bend, rotund umbra worms
Squirm in church of curving purple steeples
Polished olive flags flap, dancefloor foliage
Rune scribes in immaculate symbiotic terms
Accord overlaps then parts, calm sequence
Your forest of frolic pays hedonism homage
Excused from the mantra of hot fate frighten
Rain redeems rotted logs in soft moss christen
Scintillating hinterland halcyon happy village
Twenty Second of October
Two Sides to every Story
Mona Lisa’s crooked smile
on a half-crushed Campbell’s Soup can
Joe Dimaggio reciting his pronouns uneasily
then lowering his batting hand
into a scalding hot cup
of ‘Mr. Coffee’
Where have you gone, Mrs. Robinson?
Where else? to the bathroom
~ Hemorrhoids again
Barney Fife whittling Andy’s image to
sawdust with a rusty pocket-knife
-- contracting tetanus in the process
Andy Warhol grinning madly as the
word ‘culture’ is finally eliminated
from America’s lexicon
~ All hail to pink, plastic flamingoes! ~
The Desolated Greatness
ABAB
The brooding copse of archaic place,
where many stories lived and died,
rapturous and dismal both interlace,
to charm all, as in thousand hearts it resides.
Where peacock fawn, to win the mate,
and nightingale sing surmised
and where brown-recluse spider wait,
and search its life disguised.
The echoed heaven, with multitude
of songs and cries,
of birds in solitude
or in group as they flies.
The squirrels jump and pop around,
and enjoy the april scene,
as all of them ecstatic found,
with all hearts eager, all eyes keen.
The fragrance was in the air
of full blown flowers and old
which drops here and there
cries, hopes and become cold.
The winnowing winds of adjacent field,
ruffles the hairs of indolent calves
which nothing now can yield,
but deplete the fodder to halves.
Pinkish flamingoes grace the lake
which dips and uplifts
its beak in serene water, and take
the required and drifts.
The trodden path midst this greatness
reminds us of its splendid past
and also of nature's creativeness,
which is only left at last.
-:AKASH SANGWAN