Long Meandered Poems
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My thoughts let go of a thousand memories,
like dates, times, places and faces;
yet, I can easily recall each and every detail,
on the day of your funeral.
In the middle of a snow storm I followed,
the wind blowing back my long hair;
we meandered down a winding cold path,
the wind pausing in the trees.
Snowflakes fell on me from the tangled branches,
falling like weeping tears cascading down;
I am lost in this forever, ever memory-
today, the snow drifts in the cemetery.
and a headstone is buried deep in the pure white,
with one engraved word revealed;
in this pristine lonely winter wonderland,
only one word can be seen- Mother.
_________________________________
September 24, 2014
Poetry/Verse/Just One Word
Copyright Protected, ID 14-1224-532-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Submitted to the contest, Strand Select J
sponsor, Brian Strand
First Place
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.
I look back at the dusty landscape of memory,
in the reflecting time of the twilight hour,
see in the pediment of the distant blue hills,
cascading down from the hazy horizon,
the young scarlet sun bursting to spread
the surreal splendor on the landscape latticed
with the carvings of meandered streams,
verdant meadows, transparent ponds,
thriving thickets and emerald vales.
My mind embedded in naïvety of juvenile exuberance,
fluttered on the wings of soaring songbirds,
scaling the cerulean sky like my multicolored kites,
flying free at the fringe of the fleeting cloud,
made enigmatic shadows adrift on the landscape,
sculpting my fantasy into nebulous shapes,
so expressive in the shifting intricate play
of the opposites, light and shade,
like the pattern slanting sunbeams created
on the far flung foliage of the thicket
where I ventured to chase the butterflies.
The infantile motifs engraved in the young mind
lie buried now under the sands of time,
blowing in the memory vale of the uprooted life.
Walking the last mile at the edge of twilight
I now trace back the faint footprint trail
to the fading denuded plateau of the past,
sweep the piled up dust, trying to retrieve
the scattered pieces of my youth,
shrouded by the mist of obscurity
in the eroded landscape of life.
________________
September 15, 2021
Contest : "L" Contest, New Or Old
Sponsor : Constance La France
Across the wandering life’s dynamic domain,
I traversed following the footprints of destiny.
The tortuous pathway in the undulating topography
meandered for me, tracking the trail of the racing time
to the formless future, I saw take the ordained shape,
I toiled and tried to take life wherever I wanted,
but couldn’t reach the goal for the bridges got burnt,
the flood of uncertainty washed away the road.
The reasons of wreckage I couldn’t reckon at all.
That’s when I heard the sound of fate’s footfall.
With the weary wings of the beleaguered bird of fate,
I flew aimless in the turbulent air of discontent,
across the fading hues of the sunset horizon,
where I got caught in the confining clutch
of the storm clouds of providence as a captive.
Many skies of turmoil I then soared with passion
across the sequential waves of somber squalls.
With the buds of nascent hope held close to heart
I chased butterflies in the valley of flowers,
with dreams flying through the rainbow arch.
The sun now sinks at the edge of the twilight zone,
marked by the fading kaleidoscope of fulfillment.
Walking the last mile, I’ve reached the point of no return;
the weary footsteps can no longer take me back,
for I’m a hostage to fortune.
He cries
Yes sometimes
The memory burnt in
Hot iron press into his weak mind
He saw the flowers yet again
Some bustling with life
Half drooping and dying diligently
And he saw
Theres something sinister in the mind
When you realize you near the end of a chapter
All you can do is read on until it ends
...
Well what if you dont want it to end
Stopping reading would be stopping everything
And reading is your life
Escaping or reality of the mind
He knew he was nearing the end of that chapter
All he wanted was to hold on
Read a little bit slower
So mabye
Just mabye
He could enjoy his comfort for a little bit longer
See he is plagued
Not with a disease no
But with foresight
He knew again it was ending
And it ended
And it broke him
All he could see were the flowers
Tears meandered the regular path on his dry cheek
He could still see it
As he slowly forgot her face
The flowers
Sitting atop the dresser
In the darkening room I stood:
tears welling in my eyes:
by the windowed-wall, looking out,
my small chest full of sighs.
Headlights bright white and tail lights red,
paired, meandered down the street,
yet the white headlights that I sought
seemed only to retreat.
Cold, calm, singular, tear drops fell,
soon reaching down turned lips;
as in the house across the street,
the living room was lit.
A Father held his baby high.
He hugged that toddler tight.
I wiped the corner of my eye,
and gazed into the night.
Above the darkened woodland near,
beneath a cobalt sky;
the highway brought their Fathers home.
alone again stood I.
Horns blared out in drives near by
sweet laughter filled the air,
and, in the drive across the street,
their Fathers did appear.
The children ran out slamming doors,
on small unshodden feet,
with tiny squeals, and upturned cheeks,
their Father they did greet.
Where was the father who I sought
our lives incomplete
a traveling man, my Father
did nothing but retreat.
*A memory from when I was 8.
The road was built by moccasins and hooves,
wagon wheels and oxen,
then came carriages & Model T’s.
A long abused track
that once pounded buckboards, and axils
winds and curves into an uncertain tomorrow.
Now the crumbling foundations
of an old-time gas station mark
where a paved road begins to end.
By chance I found its destination,
a shallow creek crosses where the track dwindles
you can see where wheels meandered on
only to bury themselves into ruts
too deep to climb out of.
I stood there peering forward,
scrub and brush obscuring my view.
It seemed like the beginning of nowhere
but it had to be pointing to somewhere
and so I walked on past where once
hope had died.
He sat captured in a surprised look,
Middle-aged, youthful and vibrant,
He was committed to his work and family,
An uncommon balance admired by his colleagues.
His story was that of grass to grace,
From humble beginnings,
He moved up the ladder,
He meandered and blossomed,
He was a shooting star in the night sky.
He took a wrong leap,
It was an anguish reap,
It pierced his soul and wrung his heart,
He couldn’t steer a middle course for long,
He plummeted into darkness,
He eased into the night at his prime.
A keepsake of him fading away gradually,
Slowly erased by time and clime,
Brought back to the light,
Awakened by technology.
September 19, 2024.
From ~ LARGE ~ to ~ small ~
K~Konstantin had travelled the world in unbeknown searching~g
A~Ariadne lost the plot and her thread a modern Sisyphus on the run~n
R~Raised in mathematical precision he questioned logic and Pi~i
M~Meandered streams of his mind with no delta or source without fill~l
A~Archimedes had drowned in the bathtub and produced wanton spill~l
C~Cartesian logic and Newton merely kindled heated debate full of lava~a
A~Acropolis Bergen Belsen Cairo Constantinople Calcutta a firm cul-de-sac~c
L~‘Leave cause and effect behind for a while on its quest for mens sana’~a
L~‘Life happens when you follow the flow squared circles teach no realm’~m
I ~In sight of the Ganges loin cloth in hand near naked emerges a star~r
N~Nirvana does not fall from the tree but intentions and actions feed Karma~a
G~‘Go resolve not hurt sentient beings and the world will be a little less sick’~k
27th April 2018
Piece by piece he began to fall apart,
Time wasn’t bringing what he needed,
Hope wasn’t opening any doors for him,
It was a carousel of unmet desires.
He reached out for help,
Excuses and disappointments towed the lines,
Held in his little corner,
He couldn’t launch out.
His mind wasn’t helping matters,
It was a sea of turbulence,
A road that undulated and meandered,
A room of recalcitrant nights.
Fighting incessant battles wearied him,
Monsters were often at his window,
He was living on the edge,
Tomorrow wasn’t an excitement.
He poured his sorrows into his writings,
He let them out of his chamber,
He wished they could fly to distant lands,
Probably tomorrow would bring sunshine.
April 12, 2024.