Long Mangroves Poems
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The cool water wraps around my skin,
A world unknown about to begin.
I pull my mask and snorkel tight,
And step into the crystal light.
The mangroves tangle thick and high,
Where roots meet sea and meet the sky.
Below their fringe, the clear depths fade
To secrets hidden in the shade.
With slow and steady flipper kicks,
I drift where calm and quiet mix,
Gliding across the peaceful cove,
Through shallow halls of the turquoise grove.
A sudden glint catches my eye,
I pause....suspended....drifting by.
Just inside the mangrove's gloom,
Where heavy shadows quietly loom,
A barracuda, grand and still,
With silver coat and spotted thrill,
Hangs suspended, dark and bright,
Watching through the filtered light.
I gently float and keep my space,
Passing softly without a trace.
Further on, a vibrant sight,
A dance of vivid, sudden light.
Two parrotfish in ocean grace,
Belonging to this secret place.
The male twirls round the female's nest,
In brilliant hues, he shows his best,
A flash of neon, green, and blue,
Where life begins and starts anew.
No fish had ever come so near,
Through glassy waters, calm and clear;
Their colors rich, their silver bright,
A glimpse of pure, divine delight.
Creation’s wonder, deep and still,
Reflecting such a quiet skill.
And as I leave the sea behind,
This magic stays within my mind,
Etched deep within my mind and heart
Is a living vision, set apart.
Pure Magic
Rain laden storm clouds nurture mangroves
Inside man or beast live symbiotic microbes
Deceptions entraps the devout and fanatical
Believers defy agnostics depose the rational
Invisible waves illuminate dark cosmic space
Migrating essences and agelessness embrace
Life harboring galaxies astoundingly hypnotic
The universe is a manifestation of pure magic
Penned: 11/11/13
3:43 a.m.
Aboard cruise ship: Splendour Of the Seas
Tonight, as I Bid Goodnight
And switch off the Light
I get a vision of your Sight
The night is so Bright
With the twinkling Starlight
I enjoy the wind on my Face
It feels as good as Lace
Silently, I remove my Clothes
And walk out to the Mangroves
There, where we used to Burn
My tears fill up the Urn
The hard way is the way I Learn
That my Fate is to Yearn
Till the time is Right
For us to be so Tight
Rolling with all our Might
On your bed, my darling Knight!
Was Adam and Eve in the Wrong?
Is it a sacriledge to sing a Song?
A song of Admiration,
For your Companion
The trees smell Crudely
Of your perfume so Manly
The flowers cry along with Me
Without you I am so Lonely!
I can't even hear the Wolf
It howls usually, so Ferociously,
Yet, tonight it is Aloof
Just like my Symphony!
Shall the night End
Without you showing me that you do Tend
To care for my Stand?
My tears are Dry,
Even if I have no Ally
I will Hope,
And I will try to Cope
To live by your Scope!
From the rising sun in the east
To casted shadows after dark in the west,
Our tribal marked faces show,
A timeless story, aglow.
Seasons come and go,
Hiding shades and dimmed sparks.
Beneath the sprawling swamps,
Cornering meandered mangroves,
Our roots run deep,
Anchored in attires of legacy.
Our heads see without light,
Guided by old wisdom unspoken.
Truth and strength wrap us,
Like leaves hiding the stem,
This binding keeps us to mother earth,
Fatherland, and to each other.
The river Nun whispers
Future tales of our past,
Her ebb and flow carry songs of joy,
Of resilience, of hope.
Wells oiled to bustle with life,
Echoing voices of a southern people united,
Crafting stories with each fishing net,
With each catch and harvest,
With each chant that shakes the air.
We stand with one another,
As trees in a forest,
Strong and steadfast,
Each branch reaching,
Each leaf singing,
Together in harmony,
Brothers and sisters fit to guide,
The new call of the river Nun.
An exuberant falcon she is, isn’t she?
Being the aviator of my flight of thoughts.
Cares less she to heed, whenever in adoration, I
Do call her for a chat - she is a mischievous trickster.
Every time she dawdles, I give her a gentle prod;
For then, she arrives in ripples of reasoning,
Gleaming in reflections of my own contemplations.
Hues of insights kindle my mind’s spectrum as
I follow her to the unexplored layers of landscape - a
Journey for the moment - as we drift across the
Kaleidoscope of nature, when through seamless
Loops of thoughts, I crochet and disperse my ink
Meandering over dreamy mangroves of my mind.
Now she’s disappeared, but where’s she gone?
Oh, she can vanish in a flash like a lightning! - a
Playful penguin - it’s hard to grab her attention; the
Quick-witted queen of my boundless imagi-Nation, who
Refills my thought pot and sows fresh seeds of fancy.
Sometimes with her capricious flaps, she glides away
To coax her to stay back more is beyond my ability.
Upon the labyrinth of life, we travel together.
Voices of many a mind, whispering and rumbling,
We hear as we ponder on the vast sea of life. My
Xanadu of inspiration, when she appears out of nowhere.
Yes, she feeds my brief reveries with pearls of perception - a
Zealous advocate, she is, of my passionate ink.
"We can't ever fathom,
when the ceasing flicker of hope
flutters away,
and
escapes to an
endless forest;
the only charm in this
spellbound life is,
to chase that
scarred saffron second
and hue it with our own
enchanting light..."
As the fiddling
crescent basks
in this reborn moonrise,
I slowly blanket
my soul with
shivering sighs
of frozen stars,
as they trickle
down my lungs
and echo a
scentless spring,
where oceans
yearn to feel
the kiss of
floral zephyrs,
tickling their
turquoise sirens.
Perhaps,
I was once a
lifeless snowdrop,
a stygian silhouette
of midnight which
wrapped those
neon skies,
as black ice
melted in cores,
when pain became
my melancholic
soulmate and no
philosopher's stone
could turn this
solemn melody,
into sapphire ruins
of remedy.
Since my spirit
has hibernated
in this crystal castle -
I've been waltzing
in a wondering,
did my eyes
loose their dazzle
and become mere
colourless dots
of an oil pastel
portrait, as
this quill turned
vengeful for
its own spirit?
Did I break
my own heart,
by watering the
macabre of miracles?
Fading in
marigold mangroves
that whisper to
my delicate muse,
I feel the breaths
of mirthful wingbeats,
ricocheting and
making me swoon
over a pedestal of
pure sunrays.
Have I always
been this alive,
where these pulses,
reverberating
in my chestnut skin,
could wake me up
from the crestfallen
slumber?
Now, as these
topaz horizons
unfold their
golden carpet,
embroidered with
velvet peonies
and silk carnations,
I slowly bloom,
with a princess-cloak
of fluffy feathered
petals, resting
upon the crown of
emerald leaves,
bathed in chic
chocolaty lakes, as,
~ an empyrean lotus.
So, reminisce me
evermore, as an
imperfect lyric
of a dusky
peach pixie,
leaving footprints
of faith in a
muddy reverie,
for, on the
bluebell crest
of lush earth,
reigns this
rosy Cleopatra,
rhyming with
jeweled perfumes
of tomorrow.
As the day broke,
the sun shone bright,
surely, whoever was in charge of sunlight
was working overtime.
The morning found us at work,
our hands moving from propagules
to seedlings,
from preparation to planting,
each mangrove finding its place
in the soil that would one day hold a forest.
Dick, Tom and Harry were all excited,
not merely planting trees,
but restoring a forest
one seedling at a time.
With every propagule we prepared,
and every seedling we planted,
the island taught us something,
that mangroves were more than trees,
that their roots held more than soil,
and that their silence spoke
for an environment worth protecting.
But as the days folded into one another,
the work we had come for
slowly approached its end.
And as the old saying goes,
all work and no play
makes Jack a dull boy.
So when the afternoon sun softened,
we traded our tools for the sea.
We swam,
played along the beach,
laughed until the day's labour
felt like a distant memory.
Then came Pastor Kagoto,
our local captain,
whose boat seemed to carry
more than passengers.
Some of us would quietly follow,
one by one,
as though joining a secret expedition.
But this was no ordinary voyage.
The boat became our stage,
folk songs filling the air,
poems crossing the waves,
and sudden stops along the channel
turning strangers into dancers.
And somewhere between the songs
and the laughter,
Pastor Kagoto would introduce
some of his new friends
to the local brewery,
where freshly harvested mnazi
waited to tell its own story.
By day,
we restored the island.
By afternoon,
the island restored us.
And somewhere between
the mangroves, the music,
the saltwater and the laughter,
we began to realise-
our time on the island
was running out.
Imagine if seeds of trees hatched to Tree-lings.
Seedlings with two trunk legs and root feet
Bodies like humans covered in bark
Arm branches with finger shoots and leaves
Head with eyes, nose, ears and mouth
Like those cut into tree trunks eons ago.
Meet the Ents, pre-tree creatures,
Half-man, half-tree, destined to mature into trees.
When they are about two-score rings old and more
Their tired trunks grow roots
And Ents lose their human-like features and become just trees.
Ents can walk to establish new Ent colonies.
Ent armies can mobilize and fight against loggers
Who want to hack down their grand parents the trees.
You can stroll with an Ent on long walks through the forest
To hear their wonderful stories and legends.
Ents can talk and sing their arbor songs.
They also have ears and can hear what you say to them.
So you can talk to the trees, give them a hug
And say how much you love them.
But watch out, as Ents can be very argumentative,
Especially about how the forests are being cleared and
Roads cut through their midst, and even global warming.
Ents are too big and messy with leaf drop to invite into your home.
But they love a picnic in the open.
They hate smoke, which they fear, and so barbecues are out.
They love going to the beach where they can dip their toes and trunks.
The mangroves taught them how to swim and they love to bathe and swim about,
In the cool seawater and play with the seaweed and kelp.
They float well, and love to jump in a river and get carried downstream in the current.
They love a game of ring-around-rosy and even a maypole game.
Ents are are also very good and gentle with kids.
They love to have kids climb and play in their branches.
They are avid experts at swinging and swirling kids around their trunks.
So next time you wander through a forest
Call out "Ent, Ents can You Hear Me?"
Gently tap on trunks as you go
And don't be surprised if you hear the leaves rustle
Or hear a grumble, and see Ent eyes pop open in slits in the bark.
Ents love a chat and hug and a cuddle, and a scratch in their bark
Even when they get lazy and get rooted to the ground.
The Ents are there, you just need to believe in them and find them.
Salty teeth gushing into a cantaloupe
pirouetting around banana heliotropes ~
Outshining in a sadness so tightly concealed
leaving no sunbursty-sickness to be revealed ~
Beachy days filled with pivoting mangroves
kissing me into a tropical lust of serenity ~
Wrinkling my verses in its sandy paradise,
praising my pearled pen in an oceanic sacrifice ~
A mango muse dancing in an aquamarine lush,
piñacoladas pampered lovingly with blush!
Parakeets squeak me wanderlust stares,
sunburn roasting my cheeks into a fiery flair
Does it bother me? not at all, not a care
I am here, in the now, gyrating above...
into a homesick sweetness of summerness love ~
There were some mysterious maps
I found lying down unfolded on the deck
of an ancient secluded mailboat
in the middle of the shallow water banks
As I took a glance at these maps
I was unable to find my way home
I saw no traces of any islands, cays,
blueholes, pristine seashores,
pineyards, coppice forests
banana holes nor mangroves insight
to plot on these unusual slice of poster papers
as they were all distant memories
which faded from the surface of the Earth
all I saw was nothing but blank maps
crammed with endless layers
of oceans, banks, bights and sounds
without any given names charted on every end
as if my homeland was evaporated away
into the depths of the Bermuda Triangle