Long Knee deep Poems
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Behold the busy bumblebee
Gathering pollen and nectar, his treasure.
He transports it home
To be stored in a comb
For his queen to dine on at her leisure.
How doth the humble bumblebee
Manage all that he does without stumbling?
He toils night and day,
Earning minimum pay,
Her commands he'll obey without grumbling.
Wherefore's he called a "bumble bee"?
Throughout all that rough and rowdy tumbling
Industriousness is no quirk,
There's no task he will shirk,
So, don't smirk, he is anything but "bumbling".
In a thriving hive of buzzin' bees
Will reside several dozen cousin bees,
All of whom are humble bees,
And very busy bumblebees,
Knee-deep in bees' activities
And apian proclivities
That show their main necessity
If just to bee or not to bee.
I am really missing you today Mommy, I am melancholy,
So I took the bus for that long, long journey;
It took me most of the day to get to the cemetery,
All the headstones were buried in the white.
But I knew the path to you.
I trudged in the knee deep snow to that place of tears,
The wind blowing wispy filigree snow in my face;
And I fell to my knees in front of your tomb, your grave,
I placed a blood red rose in the white snow.
And I wept for what I have lost.
Long I stayed there with my tears frozen on my cheek,
And my raven hair lost in the north winds;
Then I got up and I knew that my quest had no purpose,
For you are not in this cold place of tombs.
You are safe in my heart forever.
" And I will treasure your arms last embrace,
until this heart stops beating . . . . "
__________________________
March 15, 2014
Poetry/Verse/Safe In My Heart Forever
Copyright Protected, ID 03-549-494-15
All Rights Reserved, 2014, Constance La France
Written for the contest, Poems for Mommy,
sponsor Leonora Galinta, Judged 03/2014
First Place
Bright days of autumn have arrived
Leaving the unforgotten summer sunshine behind
Sneaking in shorter days with less time to play
Early nightfall chill under breath warm peaceful sleep
Suspended gray hue fog between sky and earth
Clouds weep cold rain yet eyes grasp
As autumn succeeds a breeze with ease
Deciduous trees start undressing their love of joy
Turning them from green to, yellow, scarlet, or both
Waltzing round and round like a flicker of flame falling to the bottom
Among the others becoming one with the earthly carpet knee deep
Hopes for harvest affliction reap
The rising sun and the darkest night of dreams
As winter makes his entrance as snow-flakes fall
Arising tall to cold winter frost, ice flowers on window panes
Glistening ice crystals on vegetation have withered and hanging limp
Unwelcoming blizzard stirs, lifting feathery snow with surprising sweep
Adults and children glide and spin effortlessly as their ice skate blades slice through the ice surface
Enjoying nature at its finest, skating on a frozen lake
8/28/2016
An ancient unknown city in the west somewhere
Under the road it had a pipeline maze for water
How old the city people didn’t remember.
During a remote sweltering summer time
Before the start of debate on climate change
The temperature rose to an unrecorded high.
The antique pipeline cracked at the seams
Spurting out from under the fissured road
Water cold as subterranean spring in desert
Filled up soon a wide ditch dug for road repair.
The news spread like flood water
In the desiccated neighborhood
Drew the children of all ages to the pool
Clad in swimming gears they jumped
In the knee-deep water not so much to swim
But to beat the heat of scorching summer day
With the cold water flowing for fun.
The parents looked on as amused guards
Wished they could go back for awhile
To the long lost childhood days
And take the plunge at the cool fun.
If the undated summer children could now see
The snapshot of water splashed summer noon
Through bifocals on their failing nostalgic eyes
They would reminisce how the times changed
In their lifetime the ancient became modern.
August 24, 2017.
A humid day,
mosquito clouds swarm along
a red dirt road to the farm.
There are grimy rows of pig pens,
hazed dark by humming hordes
of black fly.
Bob (an old friend), chuckles.
“Man, you picked the wrong time of year
to come visit.”
The hogs grunt and squeal.
He waves,
“be with you soon.”
It’s slop-time - the air is turgid
with the many notes of a stale miasma,
everywhere there is the splatter
of slime and muck.
He carries smeared green buckets;
a deleterious, partly consumed gunk
that reeks of that semi-solid swill
hogs grow fat upon.
On the low walls
there are slick stains, layers of grime;
a smeared feculence
corrugated into noxious layers.
Even behind the stalls
there are a heaps
of sludge and slurry.
Bob flushes surfaces down
with his long hosepipe.
He bends to his tasks whistling happily
while I explain to my new wife
that he used to work for the C.I.A.
I can see she’s surprised,
maybe impressed.
Long pause…
watching Bob wade knee deep
into his labor of love.
“Yea”, I sighed,
“he got real tired of all that."
```````````````
an edit
Walk through nature taking in the air.
The scent of flowers and not a care.
The sun sends energy for the day.
That we might work and collect pay.
Now at noon we must have a meal.
A few minutes to just sit and kill.
Then back to the earning of more gold.
That we might have some when we are old.
The sun sinks low as we head for home.
To be greeted by the garden gnome.
Then when comes the moons shimmering shine.
Lovers come out to drink of its wine.
They're getting to know each others soul.
As they shuffle to their rock and roll.
The game is rigged that no one can win.
And they will end up knee-deep in sin.
The mystery called life in this place.
Tells the story of the human race.
A being of the divine design.
Caught in the middle of space and time.
date:12/24/21
Are we like the mythical Adam and Eve?
(A lone voice whispers to his true love as Mother Moon, watches)
My Sophia
Are we are like the mythical
Adam and Eve
Walking upon the grey shores
Of a lost planet
Hidden in the deepest of space
Our true love holding us
Knee-deep in make believe
As if buried alive
Where we will witness
The birth of nebula's
Stars
And rediscovered Old Gods
A new Atlantis
Filled with wild pagan beasts and jealous old women and men
Where we will stride beyond the reach of the
Masters of the Masonic Temples
Erecting their secretive
Light barriers
So we can part the soft pink pages
In our own Books of Exquisite Pleasure
To be then perused and used
At our inquisition and leisure
As we watch the fall of the new AI-driven human
With the rise of the
Cosmic Red Serpent
Laying upon the yellow sands and shorelines
As the new time of crucifixions begins again
To see the visceral sights and smells
As new spellbound disciples yell
Palaces and institutions
May burn and be
Aflame before us
A new vision of a world consumed with
Corruption and sin
For as we watch, we will know
We are lone riders of
The Great Red Dragon once foretold
We are some of the mythical poets and writers
World and Empire
Watchers
Who never grow old
We
Me and you
My Sophia
My queen
Who collects the Universes many hidden stories
For in time
To be simply retold
We
Just reborn as poets today
No longer
Citizens of any known countries
Just sent again
From The Great In-Between
To release new thoughts and words like red balloons to float
To encourage and nourish inquisitive minds
Which are perpetually hungry
For enchanting new stories
To rebel in this glory
Contained and captured in this
Our everlasting promissory note
Released like celebration balloons
Into new readers minds
To forever
Settle or float
Copyright John Duffy
Bermudiana
In spring, I would romp about untethered
Across the expanse, knee-deep in blue-eyed grass
Like a filly in the field with spirit
Among the purple Bermudiana.
Longtails and cahows would swoop o’er the waves
Of the majestic Atlantic briny air intake,
And I would run on the pink sands of Horseshoe Bay
And wear the skin off my feet on so gorgeous a day.
And from the hills where cedar and palmettos bend,
I’d hear vireos singing to their hearts’ content.
On the islands of Bermuda, where Bermudiana flourish,
From the Royal Naval Dockyard to Fort St. Catherine.
***
Note:
The Bermudiana (Sisyrinchium bermudiana) is a perennial spring bloomer endemic to Bermuda and is the country’s national flower.
Submission leads to sustenance?
In what world is this?
Death, dynamite, dominance!
Blowing Doom a kiss!
High cliff force in summer late?
Staggers in the gait.
O ye gods above, strife? Sate.
Too much on thy plate...
Drums played by the war gods?
Poets, by Fate required.
Nuclear my temper-rods!
Mercenaries hired!
Tyrant of tomorrow, time!
Knee deep in the slime!
Sullen silence slight sublime!
Wind, blow well each chime...
Mime, form well thy boxes.
Prisoner, poison pen.
Where the golden phlox is?
O dragon, from thy den!
Then again, old vampire:
Is succor still a curse?
Pinnacle, apex and spire!
Son, you could do worse!
Versed in rite and ritual?
Flickering fine and free?
Sing within me, brazen bull!
Fire fancifully...
How can one hold such fondness for a spot?
Yet, here I fish, knee-deep in my best friend ...
We share our quiet meals of food for thought,
And leave the day concerned with its own end.
We charge not, he or I, those weighty loads,
Our mundane cares left to their worldly pace,
So when we've traveled all our earthly roads,
We'll wind them here, together ... in this place.
Written and submitted on May 11, 2019
For the "Free Verse Or Rhyme" Poetry Contest
Eve Roper, Judge & Sponsor.
* I used photograph number three. *