Long Icon Poems
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Welcome to our City midst Nature’s beauty
Absolutely the Summer Capital of this country
We consider as blessed by the Almighty
Carved along rich cultural history.
Settled inside the Philippine Cordillera Region
Buttressed by mountains as fortress-icon
Our City reigns upon hilly summit’s dominion
Thriving around pine trees and sunflowers’ beacon.
Midst tropical climate, yet smiting humid temperature
Our City serves as haven from fiery weather-pressure
Offering breezy freedom around fresh coolness pasture
Along sweet blooms’ pleasure and serene view-leisure.
Named among Southeast Asian cities that are cleanest
Our City is marked by garbage-free roads with good smell’s zest
While parks and malls invite along their comforting rest
Devoid of attacking wastes’ odor and infesting pest.
Tourist attractions of various city-facets glow
Include paradise exhibits midst botanical show
With steadfast man-made edifices withstanding calamity-blow
As well as tenacious stone walls where light beams flow.
Our City’s festive celebrations are indeed vibrant
Exposing harvests, abundant; and thanksgiving, so radiant
With tribal floats’ parade along colorful motorcades, jubilant
Expressing rejoicing residents --- persistently triumphant.
*2 Corinthians 2:14 Now thanks be unto God, which always causeth us to triumph in Christ, and maketh manifest the savour of his knowledge by us in every place.
April 14, 2026
4th place, "Your City" Poetry Writing Premiere Contest
Sponsored by Christopher Delegans; judged on 4/23/2026.
She sings the song,
Seven notes,
Seven churches of Revelation of John,
This front girl,
From musical group "CHVRCHES" from Scotland,
I love,
Stage violet in the first Ephesus church, the gold of olive oil,
Blue scene in Smyrna, silver tuning fork,
Blue sky in Pergamum, bell in bronze,
Green number four, iron work,
Flax light yellow,
Embroidery like icon in orange,
Red wool,
Concert tour over the world,
From Jerusalem to Moscow,
After Rome,
Bon,
New York or maybe London,
Addis Ababa in Ethiopia,
And Tokyo,
Peace chord,
"No one could learn that song except the 144,000 who follow wherever He goes..."
"And they sing the song of Moses, the servant of God, and the song of the Lamb...",
"When the natural bow is in the clouds, I will see it and I will stop
the tribulation in soul and body...",
"And if those days had not been cut short,
no human being would be saved. But for the sake of the elect, those days will be cut short..."
Live in October,
For all children of Noah,
Choice of precursor knight Ivanhoe,
The rib voice
of one crying out in the wilderness: Make straight the way of the Lord Love, together Lamb and Lion,
Say the Dove over,
Brass sound humble with celestial Power
Of manna flake of White Snow.
My early morning post relates to the powerful emotions icons emit, when they leave us, forever in the physical sense.
Did the passing of an icon leave an impression on you?
Salute.
Title:
The Fan
(An old voice whispers)
The rivers flowed that day
Volatile and wild
They drowned and rocked
All in that came within their way
Each drop
Saturated and overflowing
With such emotions
Like a catastrophic consuming ever swirling ocean
We all cried that fateful dark day
The Day we learned
Icons had passed away
Superstars of such revered depths
A reason why we all wept
It was February 3
1959
A tragic plane crash some
Time after nine
Peggie Sue
Donna
And Big Bopper
Had fallen from the sky
And become a cropper
That was the dark day
The music died
I still remember it
Like yesterday
The wind
The snow
My heroes
On tour
Oh how we wept
Rivers of tears
I can even feel those drops
Even after all these years
The Winter Dance Party
Turned into the party from hell
Things were never the same
What's his name
Don McLean
Wrote a song
Not long after
In 71
Such tribute
It hit number one
For four weeks
Straight
Well memories still
Sometimes seep
Out of us all
Echoes of distant places and faces
Rivers or streams
Pin drops or silvery trails
Mine returns
When I hear
Chantilly Lace
Donna
Or
That’ll Be the Day
And the wild rivers return
And reclaims my face
Copyright John Duffy
(Dedication: To the memory of a great woman
and poet Maya Angelou whose life story was poetry
in motion, and whose poetry spoke to our collective
humanity. We will cherish your lovely words and your
inspirational courage.)
-----------------------------------------------------------
Tears for a voice lost, a timeless treasure;
Rest for the woman who loved and lived zest;
Icon of hope tossed who lived full measure;
Bearer of bold plans with words for life's quest;
Urgent voice touching our tribulations;
Truth poured in plain words in simple outbursts;
Empath whose writings stirred true compassion.
Touching and healing the pains of man's thirst;
Offering fond hope in a life well-lived.
A lovely woman and a fond teacher:
Poet living sure scope beyond pain to give;
Open to dare befriend and yet no preacher;
Embraced a full life, zeal sans self-pity;
Truly a grand jive for a life story.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Meet the face that smiles with lines deeply etched;
Always with a touch of sincere kindness;
Yielding a sure style in demeanor sketched;
Aptly highlights much in plain tenderness.
Appease our distress with words your soul sums;
Note our sufferings as "the caged bird sings" --
Glimpse and then confess the pain that strings psalms;
Eclipse harsh grieving beyond what life flings;
Linger in your words you bequeath to man;
Offers of true sight: tint, shade or hue paid;
Urgent message heard for love to attend.
Rest now in the light where rainbows are laid:
In-sync with a tune as poesy well-voiced;
Primal wild perfume that blesses sure choice.
Leon Enriquez
28 May 2014
Singapore
(Note: This poem is an Acrostic Sonnet.)
MATERIAL SQUIRREL
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
There once was an offbeat squirrel named *Madonna,
In sequins and sparkles, she fashioned herself a prima donna.
She shopped till she dropped,
Buying beads and clothes, nonstop
Saying “I’m a material squirrel in a material world, uh huh!”
In the forest, she performed most every night,
Dancing under the moon's luminescent light.
She sang, “I'm a material squirrel,”
Her voice loudly did unfurl.
“With acorns and bling, my life on stage is bright!"
Why gather just nuts?” she was heard to declare,
“When diamonds and gems are priceless, and rare!”
With a flick of her tail,
She forged a fashionable trail,
“I’m a diva squirrel with style beyond compare!
Note*“Madonna Louise Ciccone an American singer, songwriter, record producer, and actress. Referred to as the "Queen of Pop", she has been recognized for her continual reinvention and versatility in music production, songwriting, and visual presentation…Her popular song, "Material Girl," is a synth-pop song by Madonna from her 1984 album Like a Virgin. The song expresses her preference for material wealth over romance and became a pop culture icon.” (Source Wikipedia.com)
Wilderness edible forests,
to hungry mothers,
became wild undomesticated wastelands
to commodifying and taxing FatherLand patriarchs.
Wilderness matriarchs once Pledged Allegiance to the Sun,
and Gratitude to GrandMother Moon
for both interdependent fullness
and new womb emptiness,
grace-filled promise
of future healthy integrity,
pregnant with promising fertility.
We pledge allegiance and gratitude to our Sun,
One Icon of our First Native Nations and Wilderness Tribes,
reforesting and harvesting indivisibly synced
under and within SkyMother Earth
with liberty to not be unpatriotically bullied
to rescind each democratic individual's right
to equal liberty of mind and heart and body,
and forest wilderness ecojustice
for all GrandMother Moon's health planting
and wealth harvesting children,
Moon-matriotic matriarchs
and Sun-patriotic patriarchs.
Expressing grateful loyalty within
wilderness edible forests,
to and for hungry parents and grandparents,
becoming wildly domesticated fertile lands and waters
co-arising fire-lit atmospheric climates
to cooperatively commodify
and sacredly deify
and co-invest Mother EarthTribe
matriarchs rewombing
maturing matriarchs with patriarchs,
born equally of transubstantiating Sacred SunLight,
Love,
Grace
breeding and feeding
cooperatively owned Gratitude
of sun-drenched EarthTribes.
Could our polycultural history of sun worship
trump mere nationalistic supremacist flagships
for more sustainable healthcare
within patriot/matriot-balancing
multiculturing identity?
I felt like it was coming,
not through buds breaking open,
but through a softness in the air,
like a soft napkin
forgotten on the chest
of an old icon.
No one announced it
not the wind,
not the birds,
not the old woman at the corner window,
threading her days together
with a broken needle.
This spring has no footsteps,
no voice,
only the faint scent of resin
and something holy
that’s already turned to ash.
I asked my mother
if God still has seasons.
She looked at me,
then at a flower in the window
that hasn’t bloomed in years.
“I think He lost them,” she said,
“or keeps them locked inside,
like letters
He can’t bring Himself to open.”
And I understood:
not all springs bring life.
Some arrive
only to teach us
how to stay alive
without shining,
how to die
without vanishing.
A blackbird watched me
with the eyes of a child
who once saw too much light
and now
fears the sun.
And I said nothing,
like a prophet without a mountain,
carrying a single line
pressed against my ribs:
It won’t be long
before the grass
learns how to sing
about us.
He lays me down
On a tablet of stone
As he sits powerfully
On his ancient throne
I have been made ready
By his servants of Hades
As i lie here awaiting
His touching cascade
This horned icon
From deep in the dark
I now feel his hands
For he will make his mark
I have been chosen
Brought in from the light
For his future and seed
To be from virgin white
For when his son is born
The darkness will rise
From the depths of Hades
You will see from your skies
What you will see
As your day turns to night
Between this change
Crimson red is your sight
For what you are seeing
Are the flames from his hell
And his vision of your blood
As he will rise and tell
To walk in his shadows
They are blacker than night
Revel in his darkness
And blot out your light
Follow his visions
For he can tell
If you are not on his path
He will dam you to hell
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/dark.php
Cryptic contours charade,
Rousing riverfront raid;
Young yonder years yielding,
Prosperous peace prancing;
Taunting tale telling trite,
Icon imprints invite,
Clever casting charm cites...
Minds merge mingling motives,
Embalm emergent edge;
Rising riches restive,
Lofty lion-maned ledge;
Instruct inbound inklings,
Outline obvious oozing,
Niche nice new nurturing...
Fancy fish-tail flings flair,
Age aligns apt affairs;
Sense survival seeking,
Hope's hasty hurts hurling;
Intent invents impasse,
Observe optimum ooze;
Now nimble nascent noose,
Salty sea spray surpass...
Sculpt seaward sea-bubble:
Taut tensile tendency,
Obscure odd odyssey,
Raise roomy revelry;
Years yield yarns you yodel...
See sensuous story stay,
Charm cleverly cheers clay;
Raise rousing ripe refrains,
Indulge instincts ingrained;
Prime plot puzzling playground,
Trailblazer touching town...
Move myopic mindset,
Yesterday yielding yet;
Tease trouble's trying threats,
Hoist happy hustling hat...
Leon Enriquez
01 November 2014
Singapore
A gift to our country from France, she
stands majestically in New York Harbor,
an icon of freedom and this country.
Her importance is not new,
yet our nation remains in awe of her.
She exists because long ago
men desired to give liberty a name.
Lady Liberty is a stately, proud beauty.
Every inch of her symbolizes
some big or small freedom.
Did I say "small freedom"? Forgive me.
Her loose, flowing robe envelops us.
Each fold represents shelter.
Her torch bears no real flame,
yet, it warms my soul and lifts my spirits.
Her crown is mine--and yours.
Yes, we are royalty.
This date, precious as it is,
is not the equal of the one cradled in
her left hand—July 4, 1776.
A broken chain lies at her feet,
symbolizing the end of an era, as slavery
was no longer legal. The message “Give
me your tired, your poor . . .” is now at the
center of heated controversy.
We gaze upon her and know she
represents a land of certainties and
uncertainties; successes and failures;
laughter and tears; justice and injustice;
feast and famine; weakness and strength.
She is unique, as is the United States of America.
The Statue of Liberty arrived from France in crates.
The “Give me your tired . . . “ message is inscribed on a plaque in the museum at the Statue’s base.
On Oct. 28, 1886, the Statue of Liberty was officially dedicated during a ceremony presided over by President Grover Cleveland. The celebration also included something that would eventually become a New York City tradition of its own: its first ticker-tape parade.
August 20, 2018, entered in Brahn Bailey's (Your) Country 'Tis of
Thee Contest