Long Greying Poems
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After scary Halloween and its ghoulish pranks
November dawns with all-saint’s and all soul’s day
Carrying a pious note in the balmy wind
Along with the haunting memories of our dear departed
November parades herself in a riot of colors
The trees get dressed in robes of gold
The earth flames in scintillating autumnal glaze
Unique is the season with no other to rival
But brief is the tantalizing beauty of the land
On misty mornings, the aureate leaves burdened with settling dew,
Shiver in the wind n' cold and tumble down
As they fall one by one, I hear a silent melancholy note
The pain of parting connections from their mother trees
November is also the season of a plentiful harvest
The granaries are filled with stored corn and maize
People thus enjoy the fruits of their labor
The hard-earned dividend of their yearlong sweat
Children and adults go for apple picking
And come back home with baskets full
On trees hang the opulence of golden pears
Nesting sweetness beneath their crunchy rind
To far off places, fly the feathered folks
Beasts retire to their burrows and sheltered dens
Soon the sun will go on a long vacation
There will scarcely be a sunbeam brightening the land
And winter waits impatient for its icy cold embrace
Thus, November is a month of transition-
From the feast of colors to the monochrome of white
From the bright sunny days to the greying cloudy sky
From vibrant enterprise to the torpor of inactivity
From death and decay to the hopes of resurrection
November.6.2022
~ Placed Eight~
November Poetry Contest
Sponsor- Regina McIntosh
Go into the greying dark night looking at the stars in the sky.
Stars glisten like a chandelier. Full of diamonds twinkling.
Almost like crisp dry snow sparkles on the ground .
As it thaws to blue and makes the grass a sweet green.
Birds land in the dawn gathering worms before a storm.
Wispy clouds like pure white skin. Start to have darkness muscle in.
How the sun gives joy to many worshipers of sin .
As a boy. I enjoyed the rain.
When there was a time when most had roofs of tin.
And like a drum the sound of the downpour echoed within.
Those are the times I miss the most.
That and an open fire with burnt toast.
The heat and flames from the coal.
Drying wet hair which frizzled at the ends.
Then rushing off to meet potential girlfriends.
I knew some who were down to earth and nice.
Some who had wealthy parents.
wouldn't look at you twice.
Its funny seeing them later in life.
They try now to be sugar not spice.
But there's nothing to forgive they lived at a time.
When their parents taught them not to be nice.
Living life made them mature and understanding.
Now they are surviving not just wanting.
And me well I am what I am nothing will change.
I will always expect the best out of people.
Just like what I always try to be but that's me
Not what's on the outside but what is within.
A good heart a real soul, how to treat someone right.
From morning to everlasting night.
To the day we awaken from this harsh reality.
That only loves money or material wealth.
I will always be the one who prefers health.
But those day are wearing thin.
Soon my resurrection will commence.
When I get closer to the chandelier glistening in the stars.
When others will attend my rest and say goodbyes.
But that will be my shell.
I will already be gone.
Away on adventures new.
Maybe we will never meet again.
But it was fun both good and bad.
I will never be sad.
Just hopefully glad to be happy anew.
And remember the words we place here.
Will keep us alive forever in the ether.
THE PICTURE ON THE WALL
At first I didn’t notice it hanging there
Just at the edge of my vision, I declare
Then the significance dawned, I swear
It was so clearly a future portrait of me
An image of how I would prove to be
Of course, the years had taken their toll
The pale wrinkled skin and greying hair
Made it all the more real, as I’m aware
But its odd look is more than I can bear
It almost reflects some alternate identity
With a strange expression for all to see
My eyes staring back deep into my soul
Young and old images, a contrasted pair
The one on the wall was holding its stare
As if it had some crucial insight to share
Yet cold and lacking any hint of intimacy
Was this a real connection or just fantasy
I turned as I saw those eyes begin to roll
"One word frees us of all the weight and pain of life. The word is love.”
Sophocles, Greek Poet
When love meets your silhouette at twilight,
heart unfurls chamomile flowers so bright,
flickering sunset hues in eloquence,
to veil greying grief in rose elegance..
Life when harmonized with bronze strings of bliss;
the charming cadence of soul's ardent kiss,
paints a picturesque sea of lilac sky,
where mauve threads mirror day-dreams, soaring high.
So let this sonorous pilgrim embrace,
silence that serenades in moon-wrapped grace.
This musical devotion shared so dear,
shall unchain the flaming fears tangled near.
I'm weaving hope from syllables of peace~
and crippled thoughts, bleeding ink does release.
“Some stars are frozen within the shades of shifting seasons, yet the grief of love, etched in acrylic gold, whirls through the sunlight, dressed in grim mists, echoing endless memories of a timeless romance” Quote By Poet
I feel the frozen sigh of an aching sunset,
as the warm mustard dews of moving mists~
softly stroke the sapphire fringes of
silent seas, singing somber songs
into the rain-kissed skyline,
heavy with onyx tears of angst,
like a withering black rose,
mourning within a mahogany casket,
locked away with sorrowful memories,
embalmed in hues of hurling hailstorms.
Perhaps somewhere between splitting gusts
and gales of grief, sullen sunflowers remain trapped,
as souvenirs dusted with greying greens of a broken September.
For every autumn holds a narrative,
lost between the dusky views of drizzling leaves,
and I will forever bloom from an opaque mirage,
listening to the fading forests~
whisper woeful odes to the wistful wind.
She has a tumbledown deck, a creaky rocker.
Dandelion seeds carry memories
from one neglected garden patch to another.
She’s not old, but her wine has mulled,
the sun has scoured her face into a tracery
of twilit paths.
There were children once. They play
now upon her mind as fairies would
each one lightly sprinkled with a moonshine
made in a tin shelter deep in the rickety scrub
of backwoods memories.
The law took them, and the grinding years
brewed more lonely coffee, while cans
filled with cigarette butts.
No-good lovers still practice
their shoddy dance steps in her housecoat pockets
while lost children braid her greying hair.
Few things were fair in her life,
few choice well made, most withered,
yet in the soft evenings, she still waters
unkempt floral corners
where hope hangs on, she still pulls together
enough threads of herself
to brave the shadows
that creep into the spooked cubbyholes
of her ramshackle nights.
Waking up before the sun kisses
Chirping of birds becomes brushed aside
Putting glasses to see better
With unpolished shoes I ride over
With an old beg of mine
Keeping some old books inside
The rusted passage let me in
I walk through a road edged with topiary
as if golden hedges welcome me
The old corridor embraces my stomping footsteps
Holding a chalk to create and defend
I march into battle ground cum temple of knowledge
Keeping all agonies behind the doorway
A warrior devotes to serve the future
An oath to fire up extinguishing lamps
And to nourish the saplings till they grow
Time rushes with greying hairs and vivid memories
But the grown up trees reminds me to keep going
December came with Christmas beckoning at the door
He saw every house bright with many a lamp
And the whole streets illumined with colorful lights and star
But his tiny hut looked dismal n’ dark like a prison camp
One evening, on a leisurely walk from school
The boy saw a man selling colorful balloons
With the little penny tucked safely in his jacket of wool
He bought a balloon and headed straight to the lagoons
There as he sat on the sprawling silver sands
A strange idea had come upon his little head
Send a letter to God seeking help from his generous hands
Hoping Jesus would listen, he too being born as a poor kid
On a white paper he carefully scribbled these lines:
“Merciful God, look upon us, this unfortunate seven
Here, we die of hunger leading miserable lives
On this Christmas, send us a little cheer up from heaven”
He folded the paper and fastened it to the balloon
Nevertheless, he didn’t forget to put his full address
When the wind was strong, he let it fly over the lagoon
And watched it soar high with his earnest plea for redress
Days went by and the awaited Christmas Eve arrived
While the world splurged in all gaiety and merriment
The poor hut remained dull with all pleasures deprived
The helpless parents were lost in grim bafflement
Abruptly, there halted before their hut a Ferrari
A man, old and greying with a graceful smile
Alighted from the car and stood looking all cheery
Searching the boy, he had travelled many a mile
It was during one of his daily strolls around the lagoon
That the gentleman saw a balloon tangled on a willow tree
The white paper tied to it, he unfastened from the balloon
Unfolding it, he saw an innocent child’s earnest plea
The man so rich and kind was moved at heart,
He from his wealth decided to donate a large sum,
To support that family of seven so severely distraught,
And give them the merriest Christmas to be no more glum.
The little boy believed Jesus has answered his prayer,
Coming in the guise of a man, he has never before seen.
With rising delight, he beheld in the sky a luminous star.
It shone right over his head with a brilliant sheen.
It was on the eve of Sunday, November 2nd, 1834
The day grew dark and gloomy like it never had before
Island sounds in diminish, a hush befalls my ears
The community of Amhuinnsuidhe was about to enter fear
A Princess known as Raven who died in years gone by
Foretold before her death beware when Ravens fly
For out there in the Minch a mist will waft it's way
Azure skies will fade and turn a graphite grey
Periodic clouds of jet will shadow in drifts of gloom
The underbellies of the Ravens show, soon they'll share their doom
And on the tor she'll stand silently looking over her lands
Dressed in black, in her now greying ebony strands
As she turns to face the village, her Ravens circle overhead
Whilst the mist now starts to settle revealing the islands dead
Ancient burial stones now rise from their overgrown sacred grounds
Shadows from a forgotten past arise in ghostly abound
Cloaked darkened shapes slowly drift on their mists of time
Silent in their approach to Amhuinnsuidhe they'll undermine
Carnage will be their cater to avenge their Princesses death
To cast out all the living to leave this community reft
The above I read to you, are the memories of who survived
My ancestors escaped this day, and I'm thankful they never died
As I look out on the Minch, at grey clouds looming in the skies
My mind recalls words earlier read, beware when Ravens fly
This is James Fraser's entry into Constance's 'Among the Dead' contest
in the evening light of an Ugandan town,
welcome breeze in a large thatched canopy,
in a gathering of strangers and friends,
a nepali chef’s exquisite indian cuisine,
aroma of food swarms the candle-lit lobby,
a lone singer in blue jeans strums his guitar,
“ wise men say, only fools rush in,
but I can’t help falling in love with you”!*
tinkle of wine glasses and bottles
beauteous ebony soft skin reflect the candle glow,
colourful scarfs drape elegant hair,
the warmth of the day is long gone,
but radiant are the primal senses,
a greying drummer taps his feet,
the gathering, swings slowly to the UB40 beat,
in African suburb, king Elvis is reborn,
“ shall I stay? would it be a sin?
but I can’t help falling in love with you!”
i feel a soft cheek leaning on my shoulder,
eyes looking in to my eyes,
her hand rubbing my forearm seeking love,
instinctively my hand reach around her long slim waist,
as we gently kiss, lips sensing the warmth of desire!
“take my hand, take my whole life too,
i can’t help falling in love with you”
two strangers in close embrace,
evening, late night, wine and incense,
no introductions, no names
just passion and desire.
In that Ugandan town,
two strangers sought love
under a canopy, voice of a lone singer,
Elvis’ popular song to UB40 beat!
“ like a river flows surely to the sea,
darling so it goes,
somethings are meant to be”
1st Placement
Written 28/07/2020
Sponsor Beth Evans
Same old song poetry contest
* “can’t help falling in love with you“ Elvis Song performed by UB40