Long Moats Poems
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A culture steeped in retribution
becomes blind to freedom's contributions
accessed best through healing restorations,
trust,
virtual stuff
for democracies most resilient.
A society resisting love's innovative brilliance
comic and jazzy improvising resonance
healing ecosystemic egos dissonant
from aquatic wombs of patient advent,
Adventuring winter's iceflows of stark stuckness,
as impatient as a tongueless mess
stuck to a frozen metallic national goalpost
just as bells and climate whistles end recess
sound a new tune of chaotic harvest.
National prison lobbies
would lock up tongues and time
arbitrarily confining unconverted inmates lying
behind naked bars of self-isolation
and electric waves of competing institutions,
Walls against multiculturing opportunity,
defensive moats with hungry crocodiles,
black and white defenses against sinful lazy aliens,
and aggressive ballistic lobbyists
addicted to non-conversations
of fear and self-righteous anger,
marketing everyday all-white lies
of capital-hoarding omission.
Collective fears of punishing reparations
for sins against past and future poor regenerations
expands like melting ice-slow crystals
freezing fear escapes so many freedom wronged,
confined by greed against imprisoned selves
against relentlessly orthodox "Other."
Multihappy revolutions of 2020 vision,
listening to prison's sad social addictions
powering over
to rediscover yin-power with prisoners
together decriminalizing
desecularizing
retenderizing
pardoning humane nature
for past angry RedState patriarchal crimes
against Earth's cooperative matriarchal freedom
green inspiring Spirit.
All of which causal root to reflective branches came,
then took off again,
to show
One WhiteHouse addiction
to a HillHell of competing prison power
is another's enchantment
and/or disenchantment.
In the land of Teeny-Brites,
skies are never dark at night
and castles high with moats afloat,
are filled with itty-bitty boats.
Skies of pink and turquoise blue,
reflecting upon waters, true
are filled with cotton candy clouds,
that would make any baker proud.
The trees, alive with curly-cues,
look musical in many-colored hues.
Swinging bridges cross the lands,
yes, Teeny-Brites builders, did well plan.
Doom dare not, befall this place,
for Teeny-Brites, are quick of pace;
These tiny faeries are swift to flee,
anything that disturbs their peace.
Being faeries, they cast dark spells,
upon invasive, ne’er-do-wells.
You may find you’ve two or three,
perhaps even ninety, knobby knees.
The Teeny-Brites, are loyal friends,
to kind souls who venture in.
And you may find yourself their size,
when you leave, your height will rise.
If one time, you’re blessed to see,
this wondrous land, oh so carefree;
you’ll be elated, I surmise,
for it is truly, a surprise.
my finest moments are littered
with broken pieces of twilight,
and Crucifixion silenced
my hall of soul and light
but as the first moment
after the chaos of a storm,
light returned to filigree
and bewitch me every morn
my illumination came
with skeins of pain and pride,
and yonder on the windowsill
my hide is tanned and dyed
Ive wandered off the path
and traveled terrain for goats,
I waded through the mud
and around a castles moats
my walkabouts have taken me
to places far and wide,
but deep within my being
each cell is wattle lined
my ills and pains are eased
when I look just out the door,
and gum trees stay a swaying
and leaves do dance the floor
and endeavoring to fill
the hole that scars in part,
I bend and pick up red dust
its the essence of my heart
Here by these shores
The angels wait;
Beyond mere fate,
Man glimpses more.
Here by these times
The secrets ply;
Beyond mere sighs,
Man seeks new rhymes.
Here by these moats
The gaps now flood;
Beyond mere blood,
Man rocks the boat.
Here by these grounds
The fears scream loud;
Beyond the clout,
Man knows things sound.
Here by these fields
The green grass grows;
Beyond vile flow,
Man knows vain yields.
Here by these walls
The harsh and wild;
Beyond lost child,
Man feels what stalls.
Here by these plains
The trance of dreams;
Beyond lost schemes,
Man looks in vain.
Leon Enriquez
21 October 2014
Singapore
Circa Holy Roman Empire
between ninth
and thirteenth century
after common era
(approximately 800 AD and 1200 AD)
benchmark year 780 bracketed
Benedictine monks
Of Corbie Abbey
devised cheeky guttural lingual rapartee
vis a vis European
calligraphic standard script inked lined
writ via extant Irish and English monastic
members nsync
strong influence of Irish literati
eased communication
popular Latin cognoscenti
common lingua franca
spawned Carolingian Renaissance
Codices, pagan and Christian text
plus educational material
written viz Carolingian minuscule
Emperor Charlemagne issued prescription
(hence named Carolingian)
boosted unified modus operandi
he advocated learning,
though somewhat illiterate
recognized value of education
predicated on singular
codified regional alphabet,
the then webbed wide world
linkedin, sans uniform symbolic shapes
uncontested salient advantage
offered up ease to master
clear distinct explicit letter formation
simple logic boosted
rapidly transmitted standardization,
especially with exceptional legible
readable characteristic
adequate spaces between words
Merovingian "chancery hand"
reserved to draft traditional charters
Gothic and Anglo Saxon
favored traditional local script
as opposed to Latin
learning latter involved less tricked out
embellished flourishes
or interconnected strokes
drawn by a scribe
allowing, enabling, and providing
greater popularity to teach masses,
latent etymological nuances apparent
centuries following implementation
quasi initial Carolingian letters
steadfast, where Carolingian
influence moats strong
adopted local stylistic signature flavor
divergence woke since proliferation
stoking diffuse prospects
decreeing entrenched footing,
where auspices boded prescient
until groundswell didst surcease
sub limb mated into modern patois.
A sea of tales:
calms and gales,
sardines and whales –
fishy with scales,
children with pails;
shell-homes of snails;
pirates, and barrels of
ales – a young boy's
imagination...
Incoming wave, flooding
village moats – drenching
all: Save the women!~
cats, dogs, pet rats; then the preachers
and teachers – Save the Popsicle skiffs!
The handkerchief sails on driftwood
tall-ships....
Could it be Columbus
started this way? Perhaps
Captain Hook? Stevenson's
popular book? Anderson,
thinking that a little boy's
finger could save a village,
perhaps point to a better
way – one tiny small hand
with just as small feet. His
royal-seal, a cigar-band –
learning of powerful tides,
beach...and of hourglass-sand –
No sounds are made, her world is hushed
She dances in darkness to music not heard
Imagines things that to us would be absurd
Lives in tranquility, where nothing is rushed
Through Braille she lives with fingers as guide
She weaves through valleys, mountains high
She'll never have to witness a loved one die
No evil to see or hear, no lies she will hide
No sorrow do I feel for her lack of the gifts
we take for granted, ones we abuse; misuse
She's better off not seeing life's colorful hues
or the black and white of men who cause rifts
She builds her castles without moats of fear
Soars in the clouds upon gold and silver wings
In mumbled but beautiful voice, she sings
She makes me aware that angels are here
O great people in a great forest land
From the land of the Igodomigodo to the kukuruku
I know you and the tragedy of your heroic tale
You are the pulse of a great nation
The heartbeat of many tribes, cultures, and beliefs
Seated in their midst from east, west, south, and north.
Oba gha to kpe e, the great conqueror
With you, no kingdom matched your wealth and domain
From the east, west, south, and north
Your reign is like the eagle over the sky
And like a mother hen, sheltering her chicks
With walls, moats, forest, and war cries.
Great land, your artistry is beyond compare
Woman, your beauty and history are adorned in bronze
The Portuguese came to spy on your beauty
The British came with a false romance
And they ravaged her
Even the forest land, the northern men assault
Against her will, her culture, and belief.
And my love lay wasted and abandoned
O great people in a great forest land
Arise as we put our past behind us
Today we have healed our wounds
By our diligence and resoluteness
Binis, Esan, Afemai, all who dwell in the land
Let us together build a great land
And be the heartbeat of a great nation!
Feeling entitled to self-pardoning Grace
Elitist tendencies
within democracy
competitively arise
as cooperative trusting gratitude
fades away
from anti-colonizing
post-traumatic revolutionary space.
Patriarchal problems
seek matriarchal resolutions.
Republic governance structures,
raising up legislative and executive representatives
to judiciously restore healing
where social and economic and environmental wounds
become public cooperative power
to redeem pathologies
by inviting transparently trusted remediations.
Republics must justify control
of too liberally inclusive love,
and have anthro-supremacist issues
deteriorating into bipolar anger
and polycultural fear
of rabidly overpopulated xenophobia
slowly hatching boundary enhancement schemes,
nationalistic entitlement competitions
replacing humane polypathic hope and faith
in international ecological cooperations
for multicultural health-wealth
2020 revolutions
furthering downstream PositivEnergy Democracy.
We are not wrong
to democratically hope
European Union trust
is a more resilient political ecology
and resonant social theology
than pre-millennial wars
and internecine creedal crusades
and building moats
around castle embattled walls
for hoarding up nutritional treasures
against predative invaders
and polyculturing ideas.
Social and
personal and
economic and
ecological and
theological political integrity
invite democratic gratitude
for republic non-violent bilateral communicating leaders,
green legislators speaking and listening,
and deep learning judicious ecotherapeutic executives
facilitating balance between
LeftBrain deductive unity
and RightBrain sacred inductive diversity,
Secular with Sacred Integrity,
in-between universal ego-health resilience
and unitarian eco-wealthy resonance,
Yang breathing in
Yin bleeding gratitude
ego/eco-redemptively out.
Up the shore the rhythmic tide strides.
Twice a day, the army marches in succumbing.
Then retreats, tail between its legs, discharging
Its grip and flooding embrace, releasing, disengaging,
It's ebb and flow, a never-ending sleep-breath sigh.
The tide's hidden master and conductor is the moon.
A general seldom seen leading the troops on the battlefield
Rending the tide as irresponsible, willful and unaccountable.
A creature wail-fully uncaring, inconsiderate, wayward in consequence.
In the woe betide comes, seeping into the castle moats and holes dug by kids
Flushing away the fun of seashore frolics,
dampening the joy and the shrill of beach laughter
reminding us that there has to be a morning after,
After the coming,
someone, not me
has to
clean up
the
mess
and ebb
to bed.