Long Meadowlarks Poems
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So bashful my soon to be wife
She places her fingers into my
hand as I help her down from the
surrey
Her eyes firmly fixed to mine
she smiles
and curtsies
Arm in arm
I lead my petite princess to an arbor
adorned with flowering vines
and a bevy of meadowlarks
Resting on my knee
I ask for her hand
my lips kiss her soft fingers
and I speak in romantic verse
I ask forever to share life
and her moist kisses at night
Magically my bashful little flower
my timid princess spoke with jest
to shift the fright
and down her soft cheeks
tears crystalline
from her brown eyes fell
With gesticulation
and her hair flowing
whilst she gracefully danced
I heard
"yesss"
Wintry days were turning mild.
After the harsh stormy days.
Still not a sound could be heard
Except the hammering of posts
As I prepared the bird feeders.
Surely it was time for their return.
Yet not a sound could I detect that evening.
So I filled the feeders with delicious seed
And went for my usual long night sleep.
But with dawn I was wide awake
For then the garden began to fill with song.
Two male scarlet tanagers settled on an oak
On the other side of the street.
I was thrilled even though
Their song sounded a bit hoarse.
Bluebirds sang a lively tune
As they fed on worms.
But what pleased me most
Was to see two meadowlarks,
The male feeding the female
As she sat on an old nest.
This spring was full of promise.
A bird’s paradise.
20 February 2021
Spring Birds Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
POTD
Placed 1
~
In the silence of my dreams
there is not a sound I hear
Not excited happy screams
nor a whisper in my ear
Slumbering in comfort warm
walking through a sheltered mist
Images of softness form
stardust glistened skin now kissed
Gardens breathe in velvet hues
swirling light on winds adrift
Golden strands of silken views
azure gazes sweetly sift
Meadowlarks on amber wing
past a window sill to peer
Daisy chains and dew drops swing
on a rainbow crystal clear
Mystic sights above me play
promising my weary heart
Images in grand display
as this evening does depart
For these visions in my mind
‘neath a moon of quiet beams
Is your beauty that I find
in the silence of my dreams
~
Alone on the prairie, time will gently slip,
‘til minutes and hours start to lose their grip.
Can’t measure the day by a clock’s turning hand,
but by the sun, the stars, the clouds, and the land.
By how long it takes for a bee to float by,
or a hawk to soar across the open sky.
A black thunderstorm to roll over the plain,
or a groundhog to pop up after a rain.
By watchin’ a deer as it bounces away,
or seeing two eagles in the sky at play.
A bison to graze, or an elk take a drink,
seems the prairie can change as quick as a wink.
But you'll soon realize the land didn’t change,
still a sea of green 'cross a wide open range.
Speckled with wildflowers that dance with the breeze,
to the tune of wind blowing through Aspen leaves.
Yeah, on the prairie you can lose track of time,
but the Pronghorn and Sage Grouse don't seem to mind.
Robins and meadowlarks will sing you their tune,
while you watch as the sun turns into the moon.
~
A lilac endeavor
of promised importance
came strolling along
on a path in the sun
Its fragrance unfurling
this side of September
when springtime was singing
for winter was done
With meadowlarks chatting
in off color language
while watching the roses
now bloom by the wall
She fancied a smile
in lace covered cotton
with hair gold and windy,
the belle of the ball
I stood there a’ staring,
my eyes hardly leaving
the shape of her world
filled with raspberry dreams
Along an old footpath
with grass patches growing
and banks touching lilies,
all lining the streams
My heart felt a tremor,
like mountaintops falling
in piles of pebbles
and granite like things
Her beauty a fashion,
none other was wearing,
a fine velvet cloth stitched
in apricot strings
She looks my direction
with eyes colored passion
and lips made of honey
as sweet as the bees
Now watching her fingers
collecting the samples
of Ginkgo leaves floating
the back of the breeze
She laughed in the open,
a bright sun was shining
midst butterflies tinting
their wings greenish blue
I followed her northward,
my hand in my pocket,
then pulled out a poem
said, “This is for you”
An unfolded whisper
‘tween petals of daisies
now telling a story
of love or of not
Her glance towards the paper
was finding her grinning,
her painted toes tingled,
her breath just forgot
I melted like butter
on sidewalks in August
when feeling her smile
pressed tightly to mine
I guess in the verses
with lines penned in rhythm
she knew of my joy,
I had told her in rhyme
So now we just wander
directions that beckon
when autumn is sleeping
and summer awakes
Picking up branches,
like sculpting a sunset
or bridging a pasture,
whatever it takes
With overall blue jeans
and knees wet and muddy,
we tend to the gardens
the earth it does claim
While sharing our wine
with a cat and a moon bean,
enjoying each other,
now who could complain
Despite the large orange flowering flame tree
That shaded my veranda, the summer heat was intense.
No amount of ice-cold beer could quench my thirst.
A stone throw away was my lovely verdant wood.
It lured me towards a more shadowy place.
Iridescent hues filtered through high branches
Of dark oak trees and stately ashes.
I trod the path, dotted with dubious luminous toadstools.
Distracted I mistook my normal path.
A large hawthorn hedge seemed to block my way,
Till I found an opening, a dreamlike scenario.
There a rivulet twisted its way among the trees
Growing fast till it became a pool in front of a dark deep cave.
Blossoms evanescence fragrance of the wood supplanted
The scent of flowing waters adorned with lotus flowers.
Distant vibrant music echoed with euphonic refrains.
Dancing above the hazy pool was a sight never to be forgotten.
She was beauty in perfection, a palpable poetic water sprite.
Spying me on the bank, she beckoned me to join her.
Who could resist such a soft embrace as we danced
Above the lotus covered pool while meadowlarks
Accompanied us with their warbling tunes?
My heart was filled with radiant love,
Ethereal whispers warmed my yearning heart.
Her luscious lips suddenly brushed mine.
Her loving embrace charmed me into surreal ecstasy
Her alluring eyes sent loving messages
As somehow, I felt the pull of the upper skies,
A feeling of unforgettable emotional attainment
Riding the woolly cooling clouds.
I woke from my trancelike riddle
As I found myself back on my veranda.
I had to find her again, but the sun was setting.
I resigned myself to fate. Was all I saw unreal and imaginary?
I desperately longed for a new morn and a new encounter.
24 May 2021
Writing Prompt - Dreamlike - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
Suddenly over the sudden years
I have felt an encumbrance; I sense an albatross -
the weight of sundry uncharted days.
Times I chronicle today as if I were a wax cylinder
or a broken spool in a cassette tape.
A gray goose wing flight is my personal sky.
I must write 'personal sky’ ten times a day
so that the abated will not be forgotten,
yet how to keep a dull sky fresh
when the days are so metallically shiny and blue?
How to recall those monochrome stories
we once told our fully colored-in children,
for they have grown far beyond
such unchanging horizons.
I have so little time, yet must set down
the legend of little boy gray,
his story has almost passed away,
now eyes have no corners to see around,
I knew him well, alas the roads to that tale
are backhoed by cartoon rainbows.
The bygone calls me out into the dinge and drizzle
where a lineage of dog turds leads the nose
to a yesteryear. a knuckle end of time it was,
free from the wow and weight of newness.
We lived under our own cloud cover,
Poetic meadowlarks meant something once,
but now look at them, they strut like gawdy roosters
over our gray-worn journals.
Times past cannot be cured, they are far gone,
all is hump-backed like a speed bump.
Wordsworth and his damn sunny daffodils -
as if we did not know already.
A long moment ago history ran through open fingers
as ungainly as any grayling gosling.
A flint faced sky was abuzz with love, war
and a brawny heraldic Kevlar,
It was understood that the compassion
of the ordinary is to drain away
any hint of an uncertain tint or hue.
I unshoulder now this burden of tawdry things,
shed this molting, wingless, emblematic Auk,
and for one last page of time
record all the trappings
of the then and thereupon,
dumping them most irreverently
into a vividly golden
ash can.
I decide to take my dog to the park
on this beautiful warm sunny day,
and sit under one of the gazebo's
picnic table-benches
to enlighten some inspirational
true creative writing.
Sun beats down, bellowing clouds
at a standstill. Breeze weaves through
limbs making the leaves slightly wave.
Grass sparkles in the dapple shades
creating abstract scenes.
I embrace a deep breath to clean
fresh-air and watch my dog run.
Usually there is someone walking
or running on the walk path,
but not today.
Meadowlarks plunging into chatter
conversation midst tree’s canopy.
Rays of imagination sunshine young
children yearning for play; in a hurry
to finish eating their picnic lunch as their
mothers sit relaxing comfort under the gazebo.
Cheerful laughter star twinkles
and glow on their faces as they run
to the playground towards the jungle
gym, to climb and explore the slides,
and reaching meeting the sky on the swings.
An infectious smile melting my heart
just watching the children play rewards
me with memories of my own rambunctious
children when they were young.
My imagination gives way to the creation
of the moment movement, and feelings
to description of my surroundings.
7/4/2024
I want to be a writer
some way, someday, somehow.
I want to be a writer
Living in the eternal, ever-after now.
Alive as anyone can be
through words made thoughts alive.
I want to be a writer
Like meadowlarks sing and fly.
I only need some reason
To manipulate my pen.
Up, down and all around
To light my soul within.
Let me leave a trace behind
A letter, poem or phrase
That I was here and did my best
Before I reach that cold, dark grave.
No need to call me good or great
I know my faults run deep
Farther down than light and sound
Where soon my soul shall sleep.
Let me leave for you a message
In a bottle, floating 'round
Where the essence of my humanity
Might someday still be found.
Saying nothing more than "I was here"
And lived, loved and laughed
And nothing beats true love and friends
And sweet memories of one's past.
So let me be a writer now
If but only in a dream
God, let me have this one small gift
To know the ghost in me.
Line of inquiry:
“since thoughts speak in past tenses,
drop mind, rely on senses,
embracing and releasing,
pain pangs and pleasure pleasing”
My thoughts are swimming against the current,
seeking, ever searching for threads into the past
that will seamlessly stitch them with the present
as though they were sewn by the hand of God.
I laud my memories, fondly embracing each of them
as they illuminate the faces of loved ones.
I still hear their laughter, dry their tears of sorrow,
remembering when I turned their frowns into smiles.
But in reminiscing of the past, I cannot live.
I hope each tomorrow will make me more aware
of how to release pain to gain more pleasure in life.
It's like the shedding leaves of a Maple tree
in the days of Autumn, yet realizing there is worth
in its bare branched limbs, for as sure as sap flows
in Winter, thoughts in my mind and heart also
produce sugar sweet syrup as its just reward.
There's no chilly Winter when I am discontent.
No moment in Spring when I need to lament
Autumn leaves may fall, but it's Nature's intent
And Summer is the season of personal advent.
Balmy Summer ~ the season of warmer months,
a time when my senses are more closely in tune
and aligned with the setting of an amber sun
when I sit beneath the gently swaying arms
of a willow, clearing my mind of worrisome things.
It's the time of year when in darkness I appreciate
the soft silver glow of the full moon's shimmering light
as it offers me the impetus to write rhyming tercets
while watching millions of shining stars surround Luna
as if she were a ring, and they her diamond baguettes.
In those times, I clear my mind of all white noise
to enjoy the trilling calls of meadowlarks that sing
and watch the flight of tiny sparrows on the wing.
It's when I shed the harness that reins me in
and accept the freedom to merge and cojoin
every part of my being into one distinctive tenant.
One who dwells inside of me with perfect coalescence
of sweet and savory, components that blend
my past and present in a continuum of the here and now,
sewn together with solace, creating a serene soul.