Long Marigolds Poems
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I let your eyes to visualise a garden on a loom;
Bluebells and marigolds in sway and lavender in bloom;
And there to play in a luscious green two kittens wrestling;
Up high in chirping swallow's play are feathered friends a-singing.
A figure of a handsome man is settled on a chair;
And by his side a beauty pure strokes lovingly his hair;
The Witch, or so the story plays, is set to work a-stitching;
For everyday she works to lay the groundwork for her witching.
The "Loom of Dunkele" is dark and glistens as if new;
That which it forges is by spelling set to render true;
This vessel handed down through time where Witches are sure wed;
Commutes it powers to the offsprings through that marriage bed.
At 35 she must be bride and to a handsome beau;
For Dunkele demands that beauty seeps through row to row;
The Witch beholden to this pact must honour this or else;
The Dunkele will take her beauty for its very self.
Dunkele demands a beauty in it's natural mould;
The Witch must weave the magic seams without her vêtements;
As pure as a newborn should she display her nakedness;
For Dunkele gave a perfect body not to be redressed:
No blemish, painting, marking, piercing for her skin to bear;
No jewellery should adorn her parts no braids within her hair;
Should she ignore these rulings and would set about to loom;
The magic would reverse all workings never to resume.
Above the loom, portraits in rows, of Witches one and all;
Each face a picture of a beauty unimaginable;
Throughout all time the loom has served and must forever more;
Or else a terrible curse be laid upon each maiden's door:
Indeed, to pander verily to a Dragon's carnal needs;
The Witch must feed on blood and guts and do as Dragon pleads;
Forever trapped in a darkened lair, no view of sun or sea;
The Witch would disappear from sight, no trace or history.
For 20 years this loom she spins as was the bargain made;
And in this time her beauty shone, success and wealth her aid;
Now in an hour the carpet loomed but for a patch to fill;
A slip of hair should she prepare to weave into the mill.
Then once complete the spell to speak releasing her shalom;
To lead her to that wondrous place where there awaits Handsome;
This rite of passage like forebears would guarantee the Witch;
Leaves on the blood line of her ilk a rich continuous stitch.
To All Who Gave Their Lives
Far across the seas, they went, to keep this great land ….safe and free.
I was just a wee bit of a girl, decades ago.I was born the week of the Anschluss.
Hitler, mad with power, many Americans, volunteered to serve, many gave
up their happy lives and many never came back
But I tell you what, nobody ran around hating our fellow Americans!
We had parades and were a God fearing people. We never heard of a New World Order. Today…the entire planet in disorder.
I remember the blackouts. All lights had to be turned off. We had to sit in the dark. It was a drill, if ever the enemy were to come here.
I’d take my teddy bear with me. We would sit in the air raid shelter. I could only see the stars winking at me.
Hitler was planning on doing America in, also.
Luckily our nation’s brave soldiers, and that of our Allies ended that.
When evil men, anywhere, try to destroy our rights and Constitutional freedoms, we must fight back.
Now, things are far worse. We have a number of world powers trying to do us in. I rarely see gratitude for living here…the media seems to have learned from Hitler…just lie!
In the last two years, we now have weaponized government against all and raided homes., and break our rights.
Censorship was Hitler’s specialty. And is going on today. Good people are illegally jailed.
Criminals are not only freed but made into gods and saints!
I did not grow up in an America being told it is hateful.
Nor was I told God’s laws are cancelled. But they are in every way.
Life was so different when I was young….it was sane!
There is only one flag of the United States for all of us, no matter our ethnicities!
Otherwise, all those who died for us, did die in vain.
It’s up to us, to see that they did not.
Speak up when you see evil.
The government was created for your freedom long ago. You are not their property,
Nor your children.
The rise of anti-Semitism is growing. And lately, attacks on Catholic Churches.
A beautiful statue of Father Junipero Serra has been destroyed! These are hate crimes and should be treated as such.
Don’t be silent in your poetry. Marigolds and rainbows will not save this country..and if lunatics run it…then it’s on our bac!
In memory of all who served and died for you, poet.
Panagiota Romios
5/29/2023
Oh captcha squares, oh captcha squares
What are these objects in your frames?
Oh captcha squares, oh captcha squares
Why must they gotta be the same?
Cars and busses, traffic lights
Bicycles and motor bikes
Crosswalks, signs, and steps and stairs
Fire hydrants everywhere
Boats, planes and parking meters
Tickets, fines, misdemeanors
Why are you so fond of these?
Why are palms the only trees?
Oh captcha squares, oh captcha squares
The pictures trapped inside of there
Oh captcha squares, oh captcha squares
Depict a world so bleak and bare
Arid, bland, unaesthetic
Barren, drab, unpoetic
Sterile, cold, antiseptic
Unconcerned, apathetic
Somber, sad, and desolate
Woeful, bland, pedestrian
Weary, grim, dreary, hopeless
Grainy, gray, out of focus
It doesn’t need to be this way…
Many things could fill your squares
Why not fill these things in there?
Tambourines and castanets
Bass trombones and clarinets
English horns and piccolos
Harpsichords and xylophones
Fiddles high and Irish whistles
Jingle bells and finger cymbals
5-string banjos, mandolins
Saxophones, accordions
Desmond Tutu and Mandela
Cassius Clay, Cinderella
Charlemagne and Genghis Kahn
George and Ringo, Paul, and John
Twain and Edgar Allan Poe
Wayne and Brando and Monroe
Ida Wells, Frida Kahlo
Steinem, Parks, and Ferraro
River Thames and stormy seas
Winter wrens and bumble bees
Cyprus, ash, oak, fir, and pine
Sassafras, willow, and lime
Daffodils and magnolias
Marigolds and begonias
Cabbage, beets, and potatoes
Carrots, beans, and tomatoes
Oh Captcha Squares, Oh Captcha Squares
If your pictures must remain
Oh Captcha Squares, Oh Captcha Squares
How aboutcha change the frames?
Captcha circles, captcha suns
All the captcha olygons
Wiggly captcha twiggly lines
Twisty captcha twiny vines
Captcha diamonds, captcha hearts
Captcha clovers, moons, and stars
Captcha ribbons, Captcha lace
Captcha colored string bouquets
Oh Captcha Squares, Oh Captcha Squares
We understand you're here to stay.
Oh Captcha Squares, Oh Captcha Squares
Just be more creative, OK?
These are the times
I sit and ponder at the beauty of it all,
amazed at the bounty of my blessings
Overburdened with foolish reminiscing
For the time has come for the present...
...life's never ending event
I admire the lovely wetness
of unexpected rain
Walnuts that look like human brains
Trees that sprout out of elk heads
to battle others for honor and for mates
I marvel at the convenience
of the kangaroo's curious pouch
The patience of eagles lying in wait
Chameleons (that rainbow reptilian)
shifting colors at a glance,
occasionally russet (at times van Gogh)
The industry of ants,
single file,
row
by row,
by row,
(not one little rebel)
The diamond skin of a pineapple,
amber juices aburst with sweetness
(and even the librarians in their neatness)
...not one little thing is worthy of omitting
For this bird bath of a planet
is positively brimming
with secrets to behold
Like the fangs of fire foxes
that tear into flesh
(but the story doesn't end there,
lest we forget)
For the pricks of a porcupine
are there to remind you,
regardless of strength or size
In the dark every creature
has the same set
of glowing eyes
The sunniest of marigolds
that brings the promise of summer fun
Just as much as the paper I like to fold
Cranes perched on the windowsill
(longing to fly just like the real ones)
There is magic everywhere you go,
no need to reinvent or fantasize
about some hidden secret or treasure trove
I can see the Pacific in your eyes
The Milky Way in a nautilus shell
(you can see it if you're looking,
you can hear it if you're blind)
Just sit a spell and listen
to the eternal song
of the infinite mind
Or catch a glimpse of April fireflies
(the misfit stars that got left behind)
So keep your gold, Leprechauns
Mermaids of old with your siren songs
serenade some other hapless chap
to the edge of the sea (and never look back)
And Genie of the Lamp, keep the other two,
for here's my first and only wish:
I want the earth, and everything that's in it...
...just as it is
PS. Inspired by the poetry of Suzanne Delaney and Carol Mays in their wonderful book, Poems of Nature, Enchantment and Mystery.
Placed Second in :
Sanctuary, Soft, Stir, Surreal Words Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Constance La France
"Remember, the entrance door to the sanctuary is inside you.” Rumi
Sanctuary
In the depth of my inner self
Lies a small secret sanctuary
Carpeted with a greenish lawn,
Bordered with lilacs and roses,
Sprinkled with saffron marigolds
And berthed with leafy mango trees;
It is a secret sanctuary
Where colourful birds of my dream
Filled with joy, hop from branch to branch
And scan the blue sky as a team,
Singing sizzling songs in a trance
To vie with the whispering winds.
I retire to the sanctuary
To sow the seeds of mindfulness,
Water the shoots and rising buds
That will soon give birth to flowers
To embellish the sanctuary
And perfuse it with their perfume.
I retire to the sanctuary
To meet with zeal my longing muse,
To beseech her inspiring light
That I may carve some divine hymns
And offer them at the Lord`s shrine
As a humble token of mine.
I retire to the sanctuary
To retrieve hymns aligned on shelves,
Brush out the tangled spiders` webs
Endow them with gems of beauty
And breathe freshened air unto them
That they may soar in time and space.
A fresh pink sky lights up the dawn
Heavenly grace soaring across the mountains
Brilliant whisper of silence caressing the pines
Silhouettes of branches dancing on green grass
Romance and wonders falling on flickers of morn
Shadows are lifted from the tallest sycamores
Releasing showers of dewdrops on the marigolds
Wistful mists rushing toward the cerulean skies
Baptizing the earth in flowing waves of hope
Reminding hearts to listen to the roaring quiet
Sanctity comes alive, thriving on the light
Blessings both gentle and bright, sacred prayers
Coloring the whispery daybreak in rays of grace
Penetrating joy through the pores of a naked soul
Abiding on the inside in hues of serenity and love
Birthing these moments in purity and praise
Falling inspirations on the spirit of our thanks
Alive with thundering anticipation of charms
Not lost on the lonely thoughts of those who know
This is the wonder of days when God exalts
Publishing the generous words of one who gives
From the soul, the faith, love that lives and amazes
With its honesty and honor, its ability to conquer
Filling lives with innocence and inspiration
All that is good of the sweetest imaginations
Kindness pours joy and promise into the life
Lighting a fire of desire for loving thoughts
Breathed on lips who kiss with sincerity
Melting away all animosity, sorrow or darkness
Radiating the thoughts in music of pure passion
Stars and moon twinkle in the heavens, sparkles
Enchanting, inviting, directing the heart towards
Phenomenal pleasures, a sense of God’s blessings
Broken into the place where we can feel prayers
Sighed through the soul, lingering on the credence
Like a love that sings through the affections
Binding all thought of anger or resentment
This peace comes down from above, God’s gift
To us weary pilgrims who yearn for respite
Lifting us up to the heights of elation so thrilling
In the song of this life, God inspires such insight
Into the vibrant feelings, the music of giving
From a heart who loves without any conditions
And listens to the murmur of kindness weeping
Tears flowing, knowing that God abides in the spirit!
A warm sultry summers night, a silver crystal formed in
the corner of an eye. Trickled and rolled a gentle cheek,
fell to earth where all was dry. Whence it touched the
ground did speak, an Orchid bloomed of vibrant hues,
reds and whites, the palest blues. The Tear catcher dabbed
the bluest eye, a smile pursued a gentle sigh. The catcher
kissed is favourite friend, his purses full to the night did
blend..
Eerk, eerk the frog he croaked, help us Flora the pool is
choked, eerk, eerk and off he hopped, Flora followed
her duties swapped. By the pool, eyes in moonbeams
danced, their love of Flora is well romanced. Flora, Flora
help us please, the pool is choked by a blue disease. The
fish gasped and gulped for air, wildfowl preened their
feathers fair, otters, voles in a sticky mass, frogs and
toads could not pass. The sedge, the reed, heads did fall,
marigolds and lily's, threatened by this seedy sprawl.
With her hands she ceased the breeze, asked for quiet
from the trees. Beckoned all the spiders to the waters
edge, north to south along the sedge. Said to the spiders
cross your legs, spin, spin with all your might, those
silver threads strong and tight. To the Water Boatmen
she said pull, pull, until your net is full. Water Beatles
heaved and toiled, with insect life the water broiled.
Dragonflies with smaller nets collected dregs, Toads
and Frogs flipped with longer legs. The Newts and
Fowl came to assist, where once was dark the moon
it kissed. Across the pool the Voles and Otters pulled
away, most did work but some did play. To the sticky
web the Algae clings, behind a bright blue water sings.
The silver net was dragged well clear, all had helped
from far and near.
Flora asked the breeze to bring the clouds, left a message
for the sun to hide his head, but to keep her friends warm
in the shade. For without the rays the Algae would die,
and all would be peace and beauty before the eye. Dawn
was close, time for Flora to pat, stroke and kiss her pals
goodbye. She must return to the safety of the glade and
to the shade of the magic willow, her bed of moss and
Lavender for a pillow.
Form:
The blood and lapis daylight sets
in ether. How the mind resets
brutality of winter chill
with February's codicil;
what gossamer a dream begets.
I hear the crickets in the dark,
their clicking takes up where the lark
has been. The flagrant marigolds
have huddled into twilight's folds,
on sanguine nightfall to embark.
The eastern zephyrs fall and rise
with rapid movement of my eyes
and echo whispers midnight makes
of blood white trails on moonlit lakes.
In silhouette I recognize
a dogwood, though can only sense
its glowing coral consequence.
The blossoms tell me they comprise
sweet spawn of sun rays in disguise
and capture all my heartbeats hence.
Now honeysuckle is entwined
on crisscrossed pathways of my mind
with jasmine in a potpourri
to conjure shamrock reverie
that leaves the pewter scape behind.
Around the lambent dogwood tree
alone upon that verdant lea
buds can prosper, bees will hum.
As though seduced by opium
I greet a vista I can't see,
at least not quite. I know it's there
and feel the dogwood everywhere,
behind me, flanking left and right,
an omnipresence in the night,
like answers to unconscious prayer.
Now high upon a clovered scarp
the tree is standing clear and sharp.
In silence I see restless blooms
play music that my ear assumes
is chiming dulcet as a harp.
Such Efflorescent star bursts splay
like windmills on a gusty day
that in ebullience do portend
a vibrance that will never end
and all my reticence allay.
In waking to a winter storm
that's February's gelid norm
I long still for my fulgid tree,
resplendence that surrounded me,
but only meet a turbid swarm.
I rise and pull back hermit drapes
to see the torrid flurries traipse,
yet through the chaos can discern
the leafless frame for which I yearn
beyond the window storming scrapes.
The dogwood stands just as before
unclad upon the icy moor
with nascent berries undeterred
as though through humble verse and word
like daylight through an unclosed door.
2/23/18
Strength Thru Adversity
Gregory R. Barden
She removed the drops of perspiration from her forehead with the back of her garden glove, leaving nature’s makeup in its place, a small streak of brown soil. As I stared at her, she put her hand above her eyes in a salute to block the sun. With a quizzical look she said, “What?” I laughed out loud. “Nothing” I said, lowering my head and shaking it side to side. She extended her arm pointing to the bottom of the yard and proceeded to tell me her plans. I was too busy looking at her to hear the words. My eyes moved from her face tracing along her extended arm. In the sunlight, golden downy hairs glistened on her forearm. Small blue rivulets of vein flowed across the back of her hand, curving around tiny islands of age spots. At night she always used the latest cream, rubbing eagerly in hopes of erasing them. She never could read a map or she would have known, Landmarks define a territory. It is our familiarity with landmarks that make each place a home. At the tip of her outstretched finger I stopped, reluctant to continue, as my eyes would have to leave her. At her insistence, I forced myself. “You aren’t even looking.” she said impatiently. I responded with a half-truth, “I am looking.”
She taught me things I never knew about her garden. I never noticed her begonias remained in bloom into October. Her marigolds, in yellow spotted pots, were planted just for fun. Luxurious lupines leaned into squat hostas that hoarded space, bleeding hearts were all over the place. Beautiful tender crocuses were gone too soon. Pelted by early hail, stoned to death for their loveliness by angry, jealous gods. Vibrant coleus leaves, daisies, lilacs, and hollyhocks. Roses, pansies and morning glories, impatiens, all with different stories. Petunias, violets, and daffodils sharing space in flats or on hills. She introduced them to me one by one. I made a friend of each and when her the tour was done, I left her resting in the sun.
Like her flowers, she was looking toward Heaven, unaware that being with her I always felt as though I was already there.
it is one of those dinners
leaning in the doorway, she is working
to her, this is a simple one
spaghetti ala Carbonara
she explains it to me as she processes
pancetta is meat from pork belly
salt-cured in black pepper, other spices
made with egg, hard cheese
prefers to use the spaghetti noodles
altho other kinds of pasta are used
you may also use guanciale for pancetta
she fluctuates between Pecorino, Romano
for her hard cheese
before her, i also varied my cheeses
white and yellow American cheese
which soon disappeared in our marriage
leaning in the doorway
i am enthralled still as i watch her
years have only increased my ardor
and i do listen to her every word
upon the plate, it appears
garnishes with a grating of Parmigiano-Reggiano
topped with parsley
bread smothered in garlic, cheese liberally sprinkled
salad of spinach, kale, arugula, topped with
cherry tomatoes, black olives, her own dressing
sworn to silence about the dressing ingredients
at dinner, she explains the eggs
they feed the chickens marigolds to add yellow
the creamy is obtained by correctly emulsifying
eggs, cheese
using some of the water used for the pasta
i have heard every word
never taking my eyes off of her
now you may ask, hasn't she said this before
i will tell you, i heard every word
this is the woman
to whom i was reading poetry
on a park bench, a ritual in our lives
where love walked us to the aisle
praying Cupid would grant my wishes
unleash a quiver of arrows
suddenly streets were amok
full of beggars upon horses
she reached over and closed the book
then said, shut up and kiss me
my patience is at wit's end
love is mysterious in its ways
it is inside humor we share
over a plate of spaghetti ala Carbonara
outside the world dances in its din
the furnaces of stars churn away
and not once have the marigolds
at this table produced nostalgia
for my yellow American cheese
i have heard her every word
it has kept me on my toes
that life never presents her
at wit's end
3/5/19 Kismet