Long Look out over Poems
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Here at this place, this overlook
where I've come throughout the years,
I look out over the valley
and reflect as the coming dusk nears.
It is here at this majestic overlook
where I've expressed time and time again
The scenic changes amidst the years
through the lines which flow from my pen.
A breeze blows gently upon my face
and this is as it should be.
A changing of seasons at this place
as the last signs of winter slowly flee.
But no matter the varied things I see
at this place from time to time,
Lord, You're the one constant ever with me
as I set these words to rhyme.
Douglas L.Ace
Somewhere on the ocean waves in the year of sixty six
The ocean wind and rain joined forces, a deadly dangerous mix
We were on our way from the Mediterranean, where we were deployed
Amphibious operations and some ports that we enjoyed
It was mid July, the sea was calm on a warm and sunny morning
We were heading into inclement weather, a violent hurricane warning
Later that day the seas picked up much higher than the norm
Word was passed that we were heading into the eye of the storm
We sailed against the wind fighting hard to stay on course
We had never before encountered a storm with such driving force
Waves the size of mountains came crashing across the bow
Dorothy was magnificent, queen of the seas for now
She never moved toward the mainland and had a very short history
She moved northward in the Atlantic and finally died at sea
We returned to Norfolk where our journey had begun
Check the superstructure and assess the damage that was done
Dorothy was a nightmare the way she howled and screamed
Dorothy was more beautiful than anything we dreamed
Sometimes I look out over the ocean thinking way back then
And Dorothy in her Glory, I’d love to see her once again.
Hurricane Dorothy in 1966 was a short lived hurricane
that died out in the North Atlantic never reaching the mainland.
I was at sea in the eye of the storm. Awesome.
I just keep seeing them, the hooves pounding those old rain-soaked cobblestones, somewhere in the back of my mind. I feel the creeping fog against someone else’s skin, not mine.
An old iron lamp post and that old lamplighter, impressions are burned into my third eye. I knew him in another lifetime. I’ve traversed so much time, so many centuries in brief seconds.
All of my senses succumb to the lamp’s flame as it burns the oil and the scent of that old pipe that he smokes, this lamplighter.
Who is the woman in lace whose body, in which I am? From whose eyes do I look out over this emerald landscape from bluestone walls? She does not know the lamplighter in that other place. She lived four centuries before him, yet she is inside my head...my body.
Past lives reside in the soul’s backpack. We carry them through numerous incarnations and occasionally a memory escapes to speak, when we need it the most.
2-20-2023
Deja vu Poetry Contest
Unseeking Seeker
Ancient Greek and Roman Epigrams
Stranger, rest your weary legs beneath the elms;
hear how coolly the breeze murmurs through their branches;
then take a bracing draught from the mountain-fed fountain;
for this is welcome shade from the burning sun.
—Anyte, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Here I stand, Hermes, in the crossroads
by the windswept elms near the breezy beach,
providing rest to sunburned travelers,
and cold and brisk is my fountain’s abundance.
—Anyte, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Sit here, quietly shaded by the luxuriant foliage,
and drink cool water from the sprightly spring,
so that your weary breast, panting with summer’s labors,
may take rest from the blazing sun.
—Anyte, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
This is the grove of Cypris,
for it is fair for her to look out over the land to the bright deep,
that she may make the sailors’ voyages happy,
as the sea trembles, observing her brilliant image.
—Anyte, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
There is nothing sweeter than love.
All other delights are secondary.
Thus, I spit out even honey.
This is what Gnossis says:
Whom Aphrodite does not love,
Is bereft of her roses.
—Nossis, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Most revered Hera, the oft-descending from heaven,
behold your Lacinian shrine fragrant with incense
and receive the linen robe your noble child Nossis,
daughter of Theophilis and Cleocha, has woven for you.
—Nossis, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Stranger, if you sail to Mitylene, my homeland of beautiful dances,
to indulge in the most exquisite graces of Sappho,
remember I also was loved by the Muses, who bore me and reared me there.
My name, never forget it!, is Nossis. Now go!
—Nossis, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Pass me with ringing laughter, then award me
a friendly word: I am Rinthon, scion of Syracuse,
a small nightingale of the Muses; from their tragedies
I was able to pluck an ivy, unique, for my own use.
—Nossis, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Keywords: ancient, Greek, translation, epigram, epigrams, epitaph, epitaphs, lament, mourning, funeral, grave, death, death of a friend, dead, bereavement, eulogy, funeral, goodbye, loss
AN UNMOCKED ALLEGORY
(A Message In And For Each Day Of Ourstory)
Granny said that all things have a seed
and that every seed produces its own
thing to be reaped: good or bad:-
At the time, it was hers and the bible study
lesson to be taught and remembered; however,
at that time I didn’t get the full allegorical meaning
of what they were saying: good or bad:-
Now, at this time of grey hair and aged awareness,
I finally realize and know that we all scatter and sow
seeds—either to the flesh or to the spirit—and what
is reaped, is according to that which we freely sowed.
Now, as I look out over our urban fields, I
realize that many moons ago, syndrome-like
sowers of the flesh came like thieves in the night
and scattered their seeds of corruption everywhere.
Some fell onto the paved streets and were wheeled;
Some fell onto the sidewalks and were foot-crushed;
Some fell into the gutters and were washed away;
Some fell, however, into cracks and needled bushes:-
From these seeds we’ve reaped Black-on-Black crime
misery;
From these seeds we’ve reaped Black Families falling
apart;
From these seeds we’ve reaped Black apathy and its
depression;
From these seeds we’ve destroyed each other physically
and mentally;
From these seeds we’ve done the oppressors’ harvesting of
our demise.
Now is the time to re-plow our domestic fields with the
plow of the spirit;
Now is the time to rid our domestic fields of wind-blown
evil seeds;
Now is the time to take back the stolen they took from
our plowed rows;
Now is the time to rage defense against all forces that seek
to destroy us!
Come! Let us get ready Black people; the harvest season is
dawning;
Come! Let us get ready Black people; the harvest coming is
plentiful;
Come! Let us get ready Black people; time to take back the stolen
gift of freedom;
Come! Let us get ready Black people; freedom’s vision awaits its
due reality.
Come! Let us get ready Black people; reapers must be as equal as
is the harvest!
They noticed from the time when they were young…from before they all could speak…their father’s way of looking at the world was different…some would say…unique.
Every morning he’d open the front door…look out over the land and to the sky above…then he’d turn around and say… “Today…children…it looks a lot like love.”
Rain and shine, good and bad he believed this is the world as God designed it…
"But she also filled it up with love." He’d say, "And it’s up to us to find it!”
Which is why every day he was on the lookout for the love he constantly spoke of…
and every day, wherever he went, he would call attention to that love.
He’d point out a smile exchanged by strangers…watching anybody share…his children were amazed…how he’d find love anywhere.
He’d show them a mother comforting a crying baby…a family holding hands…and slowly the more love that he’d show them…they more they came to understand.
Once they learned this lesson…once they knew what they were looking for…they began to find love in places where they hadn’t noticed it before.
It showed up at family dinners, good night kisses in their rooms…it showed up in the rain that helped the flowers bloom.
It showed up in people helping other people…in a wave to someone they didn't know.
It showed up anywhere they happened to be…and anywhere they’d go
The more they began to see love in their life and in the world around them
the more they began to understand how love envelopes and surrounds them.
Thanks to their father’s teachings…and those seeds of love he’d sown..
they learned how love makes every little thing in life…glow…with a beauty all its own
Which is why their own children…from before they all could speak…
saw their parent’s way of looking at the world as different…some would say…unique.
When every morning they open their front door…
look out over the land and to the sky above…
then then turn around and say…
“Today…children…it looks a lot like love.”
I awaken to the lovely snorts of my sweet English bulldog,
Frankie sits up in my bed, legs out, looks sort of like a frog.
Toddling down the stairs assessing the light from the window,
We know whether the trip outside will be short or rather slow.
Terrified of thunderstorms, she’ll do her job with no delay,
But she’ll wander and sniff, taking her time on a sunny day.
While Frankie smells the grass and deposits her little gift,
I make a tea and look out over the river, it gives me a lift.
Blue Herron feeding and carp jump, the temperatures scorch,
Cardinals, Bluejays and yellow Finch fill the trees by the porch.
You breath in the fresh air and appreciate the nature present,
Peaceful and filled with hope, its a typical morning, no big event.
I refill the bird feeders to keep my feathered friends coming back,
Then Frankie and I go inside, mornings we’ve perfected the knack.
Written August 9, 2012
By Lee Ramage
For Francine Robert’s contest
“A couplet- morning”
You are the river running through
unfathomable greens
glassy yellows
down in the core of the river
flicker lightness on top
You increase me…swell me…impregnate without word or deed
push me to the fore till my sail fills with your carbon
a deep blue undertow …rip tidian
only moderate and full…like a plate of food...of vegetables …of fruit…of corn
You are the dark brown peat from which I absorb minerals
vitamins … steel ...magnesium…sulfate
the pillow of my essence’s rest in your name …hurricane
You fall on me
Wash off delusion
And I am a small green thing …a fine rooted thing
Small leaves of me stretch for your chloroformian shadows
My roots dig deep
hear your drum beat in the equatorial regions of the flaming core
I bend around the rocks …look under ever beetle’s shimmering skin
in all things you can be found
Amorous and craving …a magma surface of tension and sun
in tree tops …dark places
in the dark alleys
You are the blue jay…the cardinal but also the raven
the oak knows you too well…the west wind too and swells up in my skirts…my cottons
my downy …my linen …my lead
you stand … your hands on your hips
look out over the possibilities
hungry for returns
I echo
Light housing across ….a sound burst
a wave in a vast universe of waves ..so many
too many waves
but you will hear me
Master of my heart
lover of my flesh and bone…my fat ..my thinness…my crispness…my luxury
You will hear …what no one else will ever know
and call it home
Look out over a pond's banks
what do you see down there
a smooth unruffled surface
things lazily flying round
A frog pops up its head and
perches basking in the sun
newts swim languidly about
a flash of colour deep below
Yet all is not as it seems
poor tiny herbivores fight
for their very existence
they are on the lunch plate
Savage diving beetles
water boatmen, striders
ravenous mayfly larva
all wait to dine on them
Tadpoles swiftly dart about
they are on everyone's menu
newts lay in wait then feast
life in a pond's no picnic
Everything is on someone's list
life in a pond is about who lives
eat or be eaten is the savage truth
no mercy given or none expected
From the deck of our cabin nestled high in the trees is a great place I maintain
to ponder the meaning of life as you sit and watch the rain.
You see each raindrop gently falling…you hear the woosh of sound
and you realize not every raindrop makes it to the ground
You hear some raindrops hit the roof and from your unique point of view
you see the tree extend each leaf to catch a drop or two.
You look out over the railing…mesmerized at how the raindrops glide
to see some land on flowers in the garden with their blooms and petals open wide.
You see raindrops gather in the birdbath… and immediately you think
how the water will be waiting for the birds to swim in…or to drink.
If you listen very closely and through the trees you take a peek
you can hear and see some raindrops as they plop into the creek.
As you watch the rain continue….it’s inevitable…
a smile will cross your face
when you realize the rain’s only mission is to make the world a better place.
Yes, as raindrops feed the lakes and rivers…nourish each animal and plant
you understand they are sent to Earth to enhance…to nurture…to enchant.
And you begin to wonder why we were sent here…
perhaps it is easy to explain…
we are all here to live a life similar…to a single drop of rain.