Long Loamy Poems
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A bent knee ...
Cloaked in black nylon, a briny drop from
The smooth cheek, contingent baptism
For a closed hand, it's precious cargo,
Now consecrated by circumstance and
Fate, moments before this it was but
The root-stuff of weeds and worms,
Now the sacred repository for all words
Unsaid, all emotions unspeakable, all
Essences of parting. The earthy symbol
Of a concluded responsibility, elements
Of a soul displaced to the realm obliviate,
Gently fetched from the dark mound beside,
The loamy results of a somber chasm
Gouged from the grass like a war wound,
(Six feet deep). Hand trembling, the
Digits part and loose their dark cargo,
Meager clumps of rich soil tumble their
Way to the grave, bouncing into the
Somber cleft and clinking with little
Thumps on the polished wood vessel
Below, it's fine gold appointments glinting
Like sprites in the chill of mid-day brilliance.
A soft irregular drumming flows up from
The foramen as the soil reaches it's
Adamantine destination, like the sound
His fingers once made on the arm of
His favorite chair ... when impatience
Surged, or his twinkling eye anticipated
The regard of his beloved, her return
Gaze the reply to the soft cadence made,
Their furtive code to the corporeal
Reward to come. Countless such
Remembrances, now only JUST that.
This gentle thrumming made but sad
Sonance, a wordless requiem, final, the
Music of life and love shorn of it's sweet
Melody, divested and sacrificed to a
War half a world away, and a cause
And effort made as meaningless now
As the words just spoken, and the
Tear-stained hand, and the hallowed
Dirt set loose ...
To it's resting place.
She speaks in lingo
Like foreigners speak gringo
In all forks of the great America
Around and out of this awesome Africa
She comes online
Doing this shows she recline
On the dawn and night of her words
Designed to have faith of coming birds
That would chirp
Of grace that won't be usurp
For foes to run far from gathering bee
Walking out for daily bread in concord's decree
If the network roll
The ball off the hole
Yet right there stationed tee
Without a proportional appointee
It has actually let
You stay away from bet
Over the doubt here and there
Holding still the beet cut unaware
Learn to loose the belt
Rather than the wandering temper
Between cold and hot thoughts to melt
Yearning down lonely lane grieving distemper
Shall you willingly tint
Your face print of a hint
And leave me to clues up to nine
That quite look good as thoughts twine
That caught me in a net
She knits under my own tent
Without a threat of any sweat
Strategize to ferment my consent
Oh it was pretty cool
Naming the simple tool
Which harbours three in a box
Thoughtfully after it has flummox
The moment grows mum
Through a logic of no medium
Making the flashing lights go dim
Uncontrollably loving to grease and gym
Time don't tell when it's due
Of what momentums ensue
Rehearsing what future shall mime
Comfortably without been tagged a crime
Hope this won't die in mud
And waste away all the blood
Innocent of being a crook legally
But claimed to be one accidentally
Send it to delete the rig
And bother not the sweat that dig
Either unlawfully or lawfully, get rid
The electrons flowing endlessly through grid
Before it touches any fir
And leaves an everlasting slur
Which over time becomes so rigid
Loamy soil won't romance roots being frigid
Later it would
When in the wood
There is so much cold
To make system responses bold
Whenever I log in
And there she is not
I would rather use oil or gin
To make sure I draw getting hot
For my sake
Where truth lies awake
It never seems shaken but still
What a moveable regulatory hill!
She who perceived what dusky tones to lyric
visions and visitations drifting sea beats
her obsidian deep in bowels of rock
mermen watching neat
River spirit maidens ask freedom's turquoise
within midnight's black grimace God gleams white light
against rainfall sky her fair deploy was
Love's only employ
Sappho's obsidian dust incubating
on Earth ~ Aphrodite's coal its sound inert
no beetles can roam its aura's fast converts
implacable hurts —
Muse awaited no crown pharoah’s lips fleshy
in cosmic time concept will bell excell
grecian pudding spiced hot on cypress table
obsidian spell
Soft dew drops upon unbound black hair curling
sprinkling coloured leaves of body's flesh tree
jet night pale blossoms wrapping barefeet pitch
woman cracked stone itch …
Amidst obsidian leaking indigo
Sappho's loamy dream creating blackout moon
sleepy swoons across mossy floor encircle
legs entwine quirkle —
Hierophants composed illusion stories
she did not believe, dark related truth’s scout
as sure as fire heats every sunset closing
Sappho’s stone reigns clout ~
94.
My 21st Leaf
Picked thee from root stock
Like a mini rock
That's rough and dusty
Brown, pungeant, spicy
Wew! It's “ginger” leaf!
Peasant Garduque
No other than me
Planted by my hands
Arancillo lands
A crop squatter too
First day of last year
I planted it there
The last time I saw
Only few leaves grow
One Twenty-Six Twelve
Carved fish pond paddy
Western side levee
Inside a plant box
Black, loamy soil stocks
Weeds and dirt surround
It's first time to see
Leaves of crop by me
First time this year
Visit fish pond near
First time write so late!
-02/01/2012
(Dumarao)
*My Toladas Collection
Beneath a callused skin of light
the hunched and mustered
clap a prayer between a leaking sight.
It is the earth that mourns itself,
whether baldly thrown or loamy laid
the silent soil repaints its sullied shrouds
far beyond any atoning sorrow,
or cooling heart.
It is none but a laboring pity
to lay down the past
as deep as a weeping sky allows
or raise a hand only to tamp down
a new-turned mound.
Restless are the skewing worms
ever churning a blood-born mud,
eyeless they cover the once begotten,
cloak a hard pressed present and loss.
as the missing
deafly retreat beyond our ken.
Hear now the trilling birds,
how they far-fling their buoyant hymns,
see how they hop between their own bones.
How simply grand
it seems to be...
a Pearl-white,
garden Rose.
Her subtle-
fragrant essence,
does refine...
her beauty so.
With caressing petals
and plushy leaves--
that seem
to the wind, wave.
As if to praise
the morning dew--
that soothes her thirst--
with hurried haste.
How fiercely proud
and sure--the garden's
pearly-white, Rose sways.
Her stubborn roots
yearn growth--
therefore, plunge deep
into the loamy,
humus-soil below.
Will this subdue
the need, that she...
must daily face?
How simply grateful
and satisfied--the garden's
pearly-white, Rose stays.
She's opulent--
pure and simple.
Her stem's, slick and fit--
with diamond-like
precise thorns.
She's a bold--
yet gentle flower,
of imperial-perfect, poise.
How truly divine it's be
to shimmer as the garden's
pearly-white, Rose glows.
Her floral,
diverse sisters,
have all been
plucked or cut.
Some now accentuate
the sculptures,
throughout the mansion's
various halls.
It's truly magical and chic-
the way her floral sisters
elevate the morning strolls.
But how can she
avert such fate.
She'll simply...
have to pierce,
the envious Daffodils--
who now daringly,
encroach upon
her plinthy, regal place.
It's simply brave and cunning--
how the white Rose feuds, to
safeguard her top-soil, sacred space.
For if in her
glorious hours,
is then displayed,
she-just like all the others-
a mere, plain-old decor--
for the mantel,
of her master's sooty,
loose-brick, fireplace.
How tragically horrid,
the day will be--once we see
the Pearl-white, Rose decay.
[Poet’s Note : the fourth verse of this cinquain was written for ‘Scents of Autumn’ contest sponsored by JCB Brul, already posted on this pg.]
________________________________________
shiver
woollen scarf black
earth in cold dreamland sleeps
brooding we strengthen barriers
wild winds
awake !
yolk bursts a beak
faint gardenia sweet
freshly cut grass, lips open wide
buds sleek
bright blue
cool linen new
litchi ice-cream dripping down throat
sun laughs loud
hot lot
mellow
maturation
cinnamon floats woody
musky flesh loamy depths spice-wise
mushrooms
cycles
forever turn
seasons speak singularly
winter spring summer autumn rings
bring zings
fairy ring beckoned with fallen oaks the seat
she loosened blond hair for all elves to see
dancing in a circle around one rock deep
toadstools were there numerous with buzzing bees
owl hooted deep, arriving late afternoon
in distance farmhouse empty, sported balloons
spiders and grasshoppers smashed cymbals and drums
vineyard workers sleepily dreamily hummed
fat strawberries blood red on juicy offer
down she descended into a loamy hole
to examine nourishing cocoa coffers
then taste spiced cherry brandy alongside moles
her pink petalled dress became nastily soiled
she lost her wide crimson hat to earthworms coiled
tunnels were decorated with soft chestnuts
ladybugs slowly shopped for investment huts
below she found busy beetles, flora seeds
grey weevils digging into sour rotting leaves
roots of varying colours with buried beads
entangled were elf lovers like naughty thieves
teasingly were filled with the fruity brandy
many were heady drunk they became angry
she judiciously spotted coloured bangles
happily returned to own tree bespangled !
**
From Kisii's loamy terrain, I ascend,
Maroo's clasp, my rooted blend.
A Christian's essence, bathed in God's grace,
Sinner's visage, yearning His face.
They perceive a flawless meld,
Upon God's throne, destiny unveiled.
For poetry's allure, ardor resides,
Singing resonates from within, abides.
Daily toils, domestic strife,
Castoff epithets from bygone life.
They lacked discernment, their judgments piled,
In their assessments, I stood beguiled.
Now mature, I stand resolute and tall,
Prepared for life's summons, answering the call.
In pursuit of a partner, grace I beseech,
Understanding's warm clutch, within reach.
Kneeling humbly, I petition and implore,
Guide my path, dear Lord, forevermore.
For a domicile and sage to guide,
In steadfast patience, I'll abide.
Oh, Almighty, in this relentless quest,
Grant me the boon that suits me best.
A peerless maiden, I fervently pray,
To be my rib, come what may.
©Otieno Elvis Gikoi
?ArtFromHeart??
Mom and Dad passed on and crossed that mysterious veil.
The old farmstead and all they owned are now up for bid and sale.
Time to auction things accumulated o'er the years by Mom and Dad.
'Tis truly a most dreaded day leaving us very pensive and sad.
Folks came from near and far for this very special event.
The auctioneer starts his spiel in a lilting, sing-song chant.
Men in overalls, their women in bonnets and colorful calico;
Shrewd country-folk bidding for the least amount of dough.
First up for bid is Mom's china, her treasured joy and pride,
Her very special wedding gift when a young and blushing bride.
Multi-patterned quilts made long ago with fingers then so nimble,
Each stitch a token of love, deftly crafted with needle and thimble.
Next on the block are Dad's John Deere tractor and all his tools,
Poland China hogs, Jersey cows and a pair of cantankerous mules.
Dad took pride in his herds and tools and they really looked good.
He was a well-respected farmer in this his life-time neighborhood.
The final bid is offered for the farmstead with its rich, loamy soil,
Where for decades our parents nurtured us with love and honest toil.
So many things paraded before us today from the early dawn;
Each a treasured memory taken by final bid, now forever gone.
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
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