Long Imagined Poems
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I've lain beneath this sugar maple before.
In fact, I know it quite well.
And it's seen me and watched me throughout the seasons.
And it has its own stories to tell.
In Spring, it would hear about all my wild dreams
for the months and the year still ahead.
And I'd watch its new leaves unfurl and spread out
for a canopy over my head.
I'd lay there for hours and hours on end
reciting verses 'neath a wet springtime sky.
And sometimes I'd lay there for no other reason
but to ask the Universe "why?"
The maple, of course, would stand silent and still
just listening to my thoughts and my words.
It must have imagined "Just who is this soul
whose passions and dreams I have heard?"
In Summer, I'd lay on an old cotton blanket
and gaze up at the now deep green leaves.
"How beautiful you are," I would say to the tree
and bask in the summertime breeze.
Its shade would protect me on a hot July day
and guard me from the bright August sun.
Butterflies and bees and birds would swoon past me
like a parade put on specially for one.
All about, the clover would bloom and bloom
in a carpet of purple and then white.
And I would lay on my blanket 'til the sun would set
deep into a long summer night.
In Autumn, the maple would be changing again
from its green mantle to that of orange and gold.
And I'd find myself sitting 'neath it in the shortening days
whose warmth turned to darkness and cold.
I pondered on those days beneath that old tree
lingering in the quick fading light.
Its quivering leaves in the brisk Autumn air
seemed to shiver through the frosty Autumn night.
The gold maple leaves would fall by the score
into delicate piles and mounds.
And I'd shuffle through the leaves and they'd rustle and scatter,
then sit 'neath the tree on the cold ground.
In Winter, the maple would stand there exposed,
with limbs and branches all bare.
It seemed all alone, but somehow I knew
that it knew that I would always be there.
It stood in the storms, it stood in the rain
and it stood against the bitter and snow.
I'd look up at it swaying in the hard Winter wind
from the snowdrifts where I stood down below.
Yes, I know it quite well, this sugar maple tree
for it and I grew closer o'er the years.
And come nearer to Spring, the men would come tap
my tree for its sweet syrup tears.
copyright © 2019 Gregory Firlotte
"melliflous birds are still cooing in the forest of my amber dreams " (by poet)
a gift from my father - on the first day of college,
"Golden Treasury"...A book of poetry...
the first poem I read... "She Walks In Beauty".
I carried that book throughout my life, even when I stopped reading poems...
even when poetry wasn't the priority any more,
Instead I looked at recipe-books - how to improve my culinary skills,
and became almost a champion chef in a few months.
Wordsworth and Browning were far away from my thoughts,
Coleridge? Oh No! Porphyria's Lover, and Ancient Mariner...
did not exist in my world of reality!
how many glorious summers went by ~ how many frosty winters ~
Delicious food, excellent company,
chasing after active children, stressing about job-opportunities,
exotic travels, grandiose entertainment ...
had time for every little trivial thing in the world...but no time for
the book my father imagined his daughter would embrace the most!
then one miraculous day...when even my father gradually forgot
the girl who used to blossom in the world of words, and poetry....
I found my precious friend collecting dust,
neglected, discarded, in the corner of a shelf.. couldn't believe it was waiting for me with a beating heart ~
each and every page came alive with a magical touch ~
still my name clearly visible, handwritten with my father's calligraphic dexterity !
almost shaking to spot my long-lost treasure, I cried!
overwhelmed with emotions, tears fell!
as if a candle burnt and melted.
every drop of tears brought back the lavender memories ~
of an exhilarating past... my passions, my yearnings,
tender dreams of lilac hues never attained, the abandoned path I was supposed to tread ...
a path strewn with lyrics and verses, ballads and
sonnets like blazing auburn leaves of autumn ~
now shockingly empty and despairingly barren.
the forgotten aspirations and never-met goals...the tremendous sense of loss,
of crushing heart-break, of torturous frustration,
all flooded in!
many lonely years have gone by!
melliflous birds are still cooing in the forest of my amber dreams
ultimately my first love has returned !
First Place
May 15, 2021
Inspired by “ He gave her a book” contest
Sponsor: Mystic Rose Rose
I came home one evening after a hard day at work,
To find a surprise waiting for me.
I ran to the table, my heart filled of glee.
I imagined him sneaking in with a sexy little smirk.
It was a wooden box, beside it a mask of snowy white
I opened it up and found a note.
Written on it was a cute quote:
“We will dance until the clock strikes midnight”
I followed the rose pedals sprinkled on the floor,
They led me to my bedroom.
My heart went boom, boom, boom,
As I opened the door.
I could not believe what I found,
For it was the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.
An elegant white with a beads of green.
On my bed was a gorgeous gown.
There was another letter,
This one written out in pedals all across the bed.
The message read:
“There is a hole in my heart, and seeing you tonight will make it all better”
I put on the dress and looked in the mirror.
And I found another remark.
“Get all dressed up and come to the old park,
Our moment together draws nearer and nearer.”
I rushed down the stairs,
Grabbed the mask on the way out.
Ran down the street, my mind clear of all doubt,
For this man was the answer to my prayers.
I got to the park and saw him waiting,
And I discovered I was not the only one to wear a mask.
He told me that I had one more task.
He said “Close your eyes and think back to when we started dating”
Obeying him, I closed my eyes,
And without me knowing, he got down on one knee.
Everything fell silent, then I heard “Desiree will you marry me?”
That’s when my heart burst into a million fireflies.
I opened my eyes, stuck in a trance
As I was not expecting this thrill.
I flung my arms around him and replied “Oh Stephen of course I will!”
Just then he grabbed me and we began to dance.
Just like his note said,
We danced until the clock struck midnight,
Holding me close with all his might,
Right on his shoulder is where I placed my head.
The rain began to pour,
So we ran hand in hand.
He said “This is not how I planned”
Then we reached my door.
We entered my house,
Where it was all cozy and dry.
Once again my heart began to fly,
As I stared into the eyes of my soon to be spouse.
All he said was “I Love You”
That was all I wanted to hear,
For me to wipe away all fear.
Knowing he loved me, I replied “I Love You Too”
*Not a true story, just a sort of fanatasy I suppose*
My new husband was a farm boy
who didn't like to roam.
It always took a lot of nagging
to get him to leave home.
But we were newly married,
I hadn't learned all of his dislikes.
I imagined us as travelers
who'd be going on big hikes.
So I was unaware of his sacrifice,
when he asked if I'd like to go
to the Exposition in Vancouver.
He probably hoped I would say no.
But I was more than willing
to go on a short vacation,
and it was more appealing since
we'd be in another nation.
We left early Saturday morning
to drive the one hundred miles.
When I thought of all the fun to come,
I could not hold back the smiles.
The closer we got to Vancouver
and our final destination,
my husband got more nervous
about the thick traffic congestion.
He drove right to the fairgrounds,
and didn't stop at our hotel.
I thought he did it to please me
and perhaps it was just as well.
There were so many great attractions,
we didn't know what to visit first,
and we ate so many exotic foods
I thought we would truly burst.
In the late part of the afternoon,
I said, "If you don't mind,
I'd like to go to our hotel now."
"You're right," my man opined.
They'll probably be filling soon.
we better go and lasso one."
I knew he must be joshing me,
just trying to have some fun.
He kept driving by the nice hotels
with signs "No Vacancy".
He drove on and on and on until
it really frightened me.
"You didn't make a reservation?
I can't believe that's really true.
We'll have no bed to sleep in.
What ever will we do?"
He kept on driving quietly.
Motel rooms had all been filled.
Although it had been a hot day,
I now was feeling chilled.
We were in a dingy part of the city
and were starting to turn around
when he saw a sign that promised
a vacancy would be found.
The registration desk was manned
by a man in an undershirt.
"Money first", he said before showing the room.
I felt like a piece of dirt.
"I think it's a flop house," my husband said.
I didn't like that term.
I though of rats and bed bugs and
it really made me squirm.
There was no way I'd get in that bed.
I chose a big leather chair.
With little to say, my husband laid down.
He was too tired to care.
I knew not what occurred in other rooms,
I heard footsteps and showers.
But you won't be surprised I know to hear,
nothing at all would happen in ours.
The idea of a living constitution
has the same forensic indeterminacy
as a committed dream.
I am content to trust this dream to the end
to have it fill my cup of hope all day and night.
I am content to receive its order
to hasten to obey without a pause.
But, the old voice sounds
unrelentingly in the chamber: Do not
compromise. Punish.
Crucify him.
The infirm musing of a perpetual dreamer
rising up with eyes wild for relief.
I am content with the terror and anticipation that
keeps turns by watching me:
Justice, once imagined, cannot be undone.
I have been left to think along these lines
to look for the abandonment of arcane unfairness
months after months.
The months
burn up as a fading lantern
homage to the majesty of the absurd:
A muse easy to bear, Camusian laughter to
suffering’s exalted well —
what single rule might break the dry spell?
Sometimes the unforeseen, the unpredictable
springs in the heart of justice
bending its way upward
again and yet again
towards a distant point
all unaccountably, into the strengthening clasp
of fresh now-born idea,
nearer to binding faith
than wild dismembering injustice.
When the far-distant element
of suffering humanity
looms out more clear;
the faint, far, complex notes of hope
its head moves near
and new flicks of justice’s well
unfolds beyond the known.
Is there any new depth to this well?
Say, what is its true nature?
Quietly nature covers over
the dying bird and the dead rover.
If justice’s dead, it is as though
a robin died beneath the snow
tucked away neatly, whose bright eyes
once stared with impudent surprise
at every tit-bit flung to her.
Now every season we must bear
to live without its whistled air,
for law lives beneath the Spring,
like a sequestered paradise
exiled from the steady hammer of faith,
a trackless rice field
ever trudging through groves of
crouching, unconquered territories.
Oh enchanted universe
conqueror of earth’s stadium
in your wild, singing glory
the faults you committed live.
Come hear my sharpened cries
surely, you can hear my note of crisis.
Ceaselessly I raise my cry.
My cry ascends and floats away
scattered by whirling winds afar.
* “Endure what you suffer as being a father’s punishment.” (Heb. 12:5b-7)
Author's note: written on the anniversary of Harvard's abuse of my human rights
I worked towards this dream my whole lifetime
But it always seemed just out of my reach
The harder I tried to achieve it,
the further away it seemed to become
I was always told growing up
That I could be whatever I wanted to be
As long as I worked hard for it,
And kept my eye on the ball
No one tells you
No one prepares you for
what happens when you fail
The feeling of defeat, and loss.
That feeling of hopelessness
that seems to envelope you
Mind, body and soul.
I have fought so hard over the years
Tried and failed, just to pick myself up and try again.
Only to realize failure once more
How long do you ride this never ending Carousel?
constantly and consistently
Round and round,
only to end up in the same place you started.
Back to square one, over and over
When is enough, enough?
A day, a week, a month, a year?
When does one decide that
it is no longer feasible
To continue on this path?
To continue the ups and downs
on this roller-coaster of life?
You may even momentarily feel
that you actually are in control,
only to be holding on for dear life
within the next moment,
hoping and praying that you won’t
be ejected and thrown from
the false security of the car that is
barely being held upon the track.
One after the other,
time and time again
Failure after failure,
try after try
As I sit here once more,
after being thrown from
the proverbial horse
Trying to decide if
I should continue this
seemingly never-ending
spiral of failure.
I look back at all of
my attempts to succeed
that ended in failure
Never realizing the pattern
that was before me all along
I see those who have
supported me and had been
brought into my life at the
precise moment they were needed.
I see the places these attempts
took me and how each one
changed me in such a way that
I have become a better person
than I could’ve ever imagined.
I realize how each failure
caused me to become more
determined and more courageous
than I ever would have been
had I not experienced that failure.
So I guess it cannot be perceived
as a failure due to the good that
each experience has created.
I may not have reached
the goal that I have dreamed of
all of my life but what I got instead
is something greater,
something that goes beyond
all of my wildest dreams.
Strangely, the world – strange
Has transformed from graceful,
With stardust laughing across the plains,
Sunlight silences the darkness, the night
Falling beneath the shadows of light…
As I lift my eyes to see the alterations,
Changes that speak to my spirit,
Stirring up the silence, lifting the ability
To reach out in anticipation, for the wonders
The amazing – bravely coloring the earth
In spectacular shades of joy so worthy
Fluctuating between silence and sound,
The inspirations imagine a softness, gentling
Hearts, trembling through the spirit in waves
Passing through the seas of memory, the past
Warms my faith and reminds me to listen
To the abiding truth, the ancient – forgotten
Among the memories of my youth, my life…
Before the new – before I knew paved roads,
Skyscrapers – cars who break through my dreams,
Singing of places I’d never imagined or believed
I might see – because in my past, where I lived when
There were horses everywhere, dusty roads,
Fighting with swords and fists, never expecting
The police to carry away the problems in shackles
Yonder, where there once stood a barn – a fence
A cow and a sheep, the horses in the pasture…
There stands a building, a sidewalk or some car
And, everywhere I look… there are people checking
The little boxes they’re carrying, taking chances
Never looking beyond their hands where the mysterious
Little boxes appear to be the reasons for their attentions
To be drawn away from others, into the mightier lands…
The lands of mobile dreams, ideas that seem to bleed
Through the impossible cells where they believe
Others can read all their feelings, their thoughts, their
Opinions… alive inside the little boxes they carry everywhere,
Revealing the wonders of the future that has come to us,
The ones who once knew freedom in living with the natural world
And, finally, discovered – here in the present, a life that will
Silence the past with its slow moving theories, lighting today
With the stars, twinkling in a sky that still has not changed
Despite the transformation of the entire earth, - the natural
World erases every doubt, each cloud, that dims the candle
Lighting up the past’s memoirs of what once was so normal
Shakespeare in 2023 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Anoucheka Gangabissoon
January 12, 2023
I see it now
flying low
over silver-spumed waves.
I am a watcher
I can enlarge the picture
zoom in
look into bright midnight eyes
as if it were I
that propelled it.
Spreading bright foils
catching the billowing blows,
a clean swell-rigged clipper
sky-sailing sailor
tacking to gypsy winds.
Within its avian breast a magnetic compass
on a pivoting gimbal,
soon to make a terrible landfall.
For a ship came upon it
a craft arrayed in the guise of a cruel crocodile,
snagged from the air it snared the voyager.
A ship blighted by its own wake,
a very flowering of evil.
A wandering navigator brutishly used,
deckhands bundling broken wings
bound it as if a flopping fish,
gaffed its body open
to a hollow of hope.
I also recall a monstrous time
inside a crocodiles smile,
a time when poetry
was cut from my lips.
Yet here I am flying
in an airplane looking down
upon England,
following an albatross
only I can see.
Few crocodilians in London
yet more perilous reptiles there,
I shall have to take more care,
plot a fairy-tale revenge
with Peter Pan’s time-frozen statue.
At last to Paris
a windborne glide tracking a dream
of slow rowing wings,
there to dine with a restless ghost
who knows well enough
how dangerous monsters
can be
on land and sea.
There to restore myself
with Baudelaire.
to remake over
an imagined albatross of a life,
return it to humanity,
should it ever want to be
that flightless.
~~~~~
“Often to pass the time on board, the crew
will catch an albatross, one of those big birds
which nonchalantly chaperone a ship
across the bitter fathoms of the sea.
Tied to the deck, this sovereign of space,
as if embarrassed by its clumsiness,
pitiably lets its great white wings
drag at its sides like a pair of unshipped oars.
How weak and awkward, even comical
this traveler but lately so adroit -
one deckhand sticks a pipestem in its beak,
another mocks the cripple that once flew!
The Poet is like this monarch of the clouds
riding the storm above the marksman's range;
exiled on the ground, hooted and jeered,
he cannot walk because of his great wings.”
- Charles Baudelaire
CINDERELLA WHAT NOW
I’ve often seen you zoom past Mars,
Blonde hair flowing and blowing
In the breeze of the milky way,
And its trillions of stars.
I so longed for you to be mine,
I imagined us sitting in the curve of the moon
As it slowly began to wane,
And we watched planet earth beneath us,
And the gods of the seas sending tides
Out, splashing foaming and dancing,
Raging, loving that God and the Moon,
Chose mother nature to run this chore,
By being bossy and certainly imposing!
Mystery girl what is your name,
Is it true you are called Cinderella,
You must be the fourth generation,
And according to the invitation
To the ball, your great grandparents were,
Prince Charming and Cinderella
The rich prince and the poor cinder girl
With whom Prince Charming fell in love.
And now you have all the wealth you need,
Choose me, tell your dad what you really want,
And take, a slight tumble,
Learn to become a little humble.
You have captivated my being,
Only of you do I dream.
I know you’re from Venus and hot,
Many suitors you have got,
From Jupiter, Mercury and Uranus,
And Saturn, which one of us
Will it be,
For I want to marry you,
I have no jewels
To offer like the others,
I am not poor, and will cherish you,
And give you a good life,
As my wife.
Only love and devotion,
From my heart with emotion.
Pretty lady all will be disclosed
At the Ball, at which your father
Will name the lucky man.
You are stunning,
But for whom are you gunning?
The night arrives, all the eligible
Young men invited from every planet,
Arrive in high tech space ships,
Engineered to impress,
Like your emerald studded green
Much admired ball gown, gems in excess,
Never in History has such a gown
Been seen before,
I’m on an emotional seesaw,
Your green eyes seem cold,
And your manner distant and bold.
The suitor finally named, Prince Zuma
From Jupiter and you will be
Wife number ten.
You must think long and hard
About this wedding,
You will be part of a harem,
I whisper in her ear,
I am leaving this pretentious scene
I’m afraid this match might
have a sad ending,
You, being the subject of this plight.,
Should you need me, contact details
In the hem of your pricey dress.
Think hard, your life has
Become quite a mess,
Money has become your master,
You are not thinking of forever after.
You’re not even.
You’re not the greatest dancer, but I would love to dance with you.
You’re not the greatest singer, but we are so in tune.
You’re not a model or designer, but I love your style.
You’re not the funniest, but you do make me smile.
You’re sometimes irritating, but I don’t mind.
You’re doing my head in! By always’ being so right.
You’re not what I expected, but you are a pleasant surprise.
You’re not what I had imagined, because I never aimed so high.
You’re expecting so much from me, that you inspire me to do more.
You’re crying again, but to me you have never looked more beautiful.
You’re worrying about everything, as you put my mind at ease.
You’re not even a ten out of ten, because you are an eleven to me.
You love some music I hate, but we love more of the same.
You’re the only one who can hurt me, but you cure all of my pain.
You’re not my usual type, but you are all that I need.
You’re mean sometimes, to other people, but never to me.
You’re putting me to shame, by taking the blame.
You’re an itch I cannot scratch, but I would never send you away.
You’re not the life of the party, but you fill up my life.
You’re laughing at something stupid I said,
But you make me happy, when I see your smile light up your eyes.
You’re not a writer or an artist, but you can see the real picture.
You’re not the woman I once know, because you made me forget her.
You’re taking over my life,
But I’ve been secure in your hands since the start.
You’re not the richest in the land, but you have a priceless heart.
You’re not wearing make-up,
Because you have a naturally beautiful face.
You leave me lost for words, with the funny things that you say.
You’re taking things to heart, but you keep me there with you happy;
You’re nothing like me, but who would want you to be?
You’re a hot rash that I shouldn’t touch, but I can’t leave you alone.
You’re a big bubble, but at least you know how to strike a pose.
You’re not an energy bunny, but I am happy to just chill with you.
You’re a moody blue, but still I love you.
You’re an annoyance, I can’t sleep without.
You’re so sexy! And you leave me without doubt.
You’re not my wife, but I hope you will be soon.
You’re not the first, maybe the last;
But you are the best…swoon…
(C)2016 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.