Long Monarchs Poems
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A south wind carries magnolia petals
and butterfly wings, wafting through thoughts at dawn.
I share sweet expectations, peace
in mellow morning dew, holding fast to the hush like a treasure
of rediscovery in bright monarchs from
Mexico that flit all around, landing only to beautify my views.
A new day’s light, one of harmony, asks
to dance with this longing wanderer. I am reminded to calm
the clamor in my mind during these times if only
to sway with west marshes and willows in midday as I collect
memorable moments meandering on
my majestic path pebbled with scattered seeds of many travelers
who have sought their own illumination. Each one
calls to me from just ahead in spirited vespers, and I follow
with lightest steps in a vibrant season
preserved in verdant greens and cool blues. If summer is
warmth of a lazy river, then I will float
ever peacefully downstream on crystal waters that selflessly trace
the sparkling course in front of me. A wide ocean
will swell in my sight to meet the valiance of tomorrow’s rosy horizon.
A sunrise created before me will bring brilliant
yet familiar light, a glistening of generous gems across tropical waves
flowing to lands beyond my mind’s eye and into eternity.
The winding courses I trod will always be shared with whispering wings
of butterflies on the breeze. Whether the wind blows
with or against me, I will orbit slowly in the bold glory of sunlight.
Apollo, in his fiery chariot, shines down on my path.
If my travels be smooth, I will bless my steps, the lush grass to rest
upon, and helpful hands along the way.
If my travels be harsh with sinking feet in marsh, I will bless the life
around me, the orchids hanging with the moss
from branches, and the love awaiting as soft dusk turns to darkness.
These are the joyous rambles of a wandering mind
as I fly to distant dreams in ancient worlds. Some of which I fantasize,
I may or may not find, but glorious are visions
on my journey to every someplace I imagine as I sing golden songs with
the breath of ancestors on wings. The warmth of
their hearth waits to welcome me, and I welcome tranquil winds
of an unknown world.
Written 7/6/20
Contest - Butterflies and Marshes Mellow
Sponsor - Kai Michael Neumann
This responds to “Operation Raise the Colours,” where some have painted the St. George’s Cross across streets, roundabouts, and takeaway shops. Claimed as patriotism, these acts are vandalism and an attempt to erase community spaces and stirring division.
Red bleeds across zebra lines,
slick on high street asphalt,
smearing over takeaway shutters,
stretched across roundabouts, stubborn as lead.
Rollers scrape and flake,
pigment cheap, sunlight shakes it loose,
drips into puddles,
history seeping through plaster,
like damp under primer that never hides the past.
The streets run red and white,
paint claimed by hands insistent on marking stone, brick, asphalt—
silence made loud in streaks and drips.
Roundabouts stand proud under fresh layers.
Slash Dulux over despair—
coverage meant to hide, but failing.
Paint bleeds over more than tarmac—
onto takeaway windowpanes, footpaths, shop signs—
a mural of identity, impulse, defiance.
Undercoat logic tries to cover the past,
but no sealant ever lasts.
Brushstroke patriots,
emotion disciples,
armed with rollers like substitute rifles.
The painting’s wrap is hollow,
decorating decline as if it were fate.
Every slogan,
a stencil sprayed on the breeze.
Pigment flakes with ease,
truth showing through the layers.
Heritage red becomes eviction scarlet,
brilliant white papered over target.
Crowns drip Crown paint onto stone,
monarchs in tester pots,
empires reduced to monochrome.
Borders cut by shaky hands,
masking tape straining against the straight line of intention.
Private bleeding edges,
lines never straight.
Revolutions run off into puddles of hate,
mirroring the sky distorted,
clouds stretched, colors torn thin.
Tins are stirred, paint slapped on the ground.
Every revolution circles round,
because property cannot be glossed,
despair cannot be mapped.
Whitewashed roundabouts cannot hide the cracks.
Paint peels, drips, bleeds into puddles,
but the fissures of history remain—
veins in stone, stories in asphalt,
layers no roller can erase.
Crowns, crosses, streaks of red and white
twirl and fall like the last dance
over streets that remember,
over walls that refuse to forget.
The cracks take the floor,
silent but insistent,
and they will not be painted over.
written on time’s page
with finite syllables of dust
he spelled my heritage
from earth to sky
along an umbilical line of faith
we fluttered from the lips of fingers
fully form for purpose
written on an invisible calculus
that bring monarchs where birth mark lingers
and salmons somersaulting sluice and streams
turtles, penguins, and herons white wings
netted in design with nested tabula rasa mind
I have an argument
against the beginning begotten from a bang
before atom or element
I have an argument against force and natural laws
at work without mass or embodiment
for embryonic gravity or forces weak or strong
I have an argument
that the singularity could not become more than fragment
of energy again if a single atom explode
its forces flocking away from fusion
for energy fission to explode
a theory
flimsy as spiders web
dethroning my majesty gulped
in primeval slime unlinked history from love
minimizing the particular time of our becoming on ships
that met the stagnant eyes of swampy thoughts … shuddering
in vain
the whip cracks louder than pain -
and on our black blistered backs … crumbling
soils in desertification threw some syllables skywards for mercy
starvation winds with sickle clouds of rain
they lie again ... leaving us without inheritance
for all our labors, lost, and grievance
what bang can buck the strain
and bring us broken souls to glory again?
I’m freedom’s beckoning call light as air, an elemental being
Set adrift beyond the universal light beam, a speeding
Bullet shifting, suspended by my own spiritual uplifts
Bending in the stratosphere by raw forces
Gravitational pull.
A streaming particle of matter flowing in the
Mystical elemental current of my own existence,
Untethered I’ve cut the silvery threads of the
Timeless, a creature of thoughts abandonment.
A unique butterfly of distinction, flying amongst
The light waves of illusion spreading my wings
Of clarity, touching the stars in gentle graces
Movement.
In flights liberation climbing levels of enchantment,
A swaying anomaly tossed, passed between earth
And sky, a castaways silhouette lingering afloat the
Breeze of sensuality, with the heightened senses
Of pleasure ultimate recklessness, I’m at liberties
Jurisdiction beyond the touch of man.
I’ve joined the flocks of the enlightened ones,
Moths drawn to the dreaming flame, that burns
With fuel of inspirational grace.
Rippling wings transcending, behold the marvel
Of lunar beings, evolving, rising beyond the
Embankment of physical resistance,
Translucent fluttering monarchs brushing
Against the gates of God’s kingdom on high.
Flying insects of humanity, buzzing in a whispering
Chorus ushering in lyrical verses praise,
Announcing the arrival of these ascended.
Reaching through the vaulted grates of heaven,
The lord’s angel reaches out to touch these mortal
Wings of inspiration, and harken to listen, as
The Soft music loaf’s upwards, flooding the floors
Of this golden divide.
At twilights intrinsic hour of contemplation these
Dreaming beings of enlightenment drift as floating
Confetti ever lightly descending, cascading into
Their mortal fleshes vessels beneath, leaving the
Realm behind, but oh what visions of inspiration
Have these butterflies of remembrance relate,
In poetic excellence, cannot be captured
Within the nets of mankind.
I’m freedom’s beckoning call light as air, an elemental being
Set adrift beyond the universal light beam, a speeding
Bullet shifting, suspended by my own spiritual uplifts
Bending in the stratosphere by raw forces
Gravitational pull.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
I’m freedom’s beckoning call light as air, an elemental being
Set adrift beyond the universal light beam, a speeding
Bullet shifting, suspended by my own spiritual uplifts
Bending in the stratosphere by raw forces
Gravitational pull.
A streaming particle of matter flowing in the
Mystical elemental current of my own existence,
Untethered I’ve cut the silvery threads of the
Timeless, a creature of thoughts abandonment.
A unique butterfly of distinction, flying amongst
The light waves of illusion spreading my wings
Of clarity, touching the stars in gentle graces
Movement.
In flights liberation climbing levels of enchantment,
A swaying anomaly tossed, passed between earth
And sky, a castaways silhouette lingering afloat the
Breeze of sensuality, with the heightened senses
Of pleasure ultimate recklessness, I’m at liberties
Jurisdiction beyond the touch of man.
I’ve joined the flocks of the enlightened ones,
Moths drawn to the dreaming flame, that burns
With fuel of inspirational grace.
Rippling wings transcending, behold the marvel
Of lunar beings, evolving, rising beyond the
Embankment of physical resistance,
Translucent fluttering monarchs brushing
Against the gates of God’s kingdom on high.
Flying insects of humanity, buzzing in a whispering
Chorus ushering in lyrical verses praise,
Announcing the arrival of these ascended.
Reaching through the vaulted grates of heaven,
The lord’s angel reaches out to touch these mortal
Wings of inspiration, and harken to listen, as
The Soft music loaf’s upwards, flooding the floors
Of this golden divide.
At twilights intrinsic hour of contemplation these
Dreaming beings of enlightenment drift as floating
Confetti ever lightly descending, cascading into
Their mortal fleshes vessels beneath, leaving the
Realm behind, but oh what visions of inspiration
Have these butterflies of remembrance relate,
In poetic excellence, cannot be captured
Within the nets of mankind.
I’m freedom’s beckoning call light as air, an elemental being
Set adrift beyond the universal light beam, a speeding
Bullet shifting, suspended by my own spiritual uplifts
Bending in the stratosphere by raw forces
Gravitational pull.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
"Point of no Return"
**************************************************************
Death is a "Point of no Return"
Labouring with his flagging wings to fly,
Like lame lark he soars above cotton clouds
During the day and night to reach the sky
As with invisible wings he`s endowed;
It`s his soul quitting his bodily frame
That lying abed for some woeful weeks
With sustained stretch of stinging pains aflame
Now to part away is yearning to seek;
Afflicted to very core with heart ailment
Rescue has reached a point of no return,
With his closest of kin torn with lament
And his spouse expressing deepest concern;
Half alive half dead, gazing at he sky
He appears living in another world,
Silent and speechless with no sigh, his eyes
Dipped in some distant dreams are nearly curled.
Death is implacable and knows no bound,
When knells for us our final divine bell
Like yellow autumn leaves we kiss the ground
And to smoothen its will no tale to tell.
Simple folks or monarchs, vassals or lords
At their journeys` end kneel before its shrine
And to cajole it just cannot afford
Nor to sidestep its smashing sizzling shine
Death, indeed, is a point of no return
It respects neither caste nor creed nor rank
And allows not to make any U- turn
Nor does it permit any playful pranks.
A Shining Flower Vase
~ ~ ~
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
\\ I I //
\\ I I //
\\ I I //
\ /
I I hold the I
I loveliest I
I flowering I
/ blooms of \
/ the spring \
/ seasons and I \
/ ignite the rooms \
/ of all fervent lovers, \
/of monarchs and kings \
/ of lords, barons, nobles \
/ as of the commonest men. \
/ I adorn the shrines of temples,\
/ chapels, churches and pagodas. \
/ Whether carved in glass, in bronze, \
I in copper, in silver or in gold, I shine I
I reflecting light to illuminate the lives I
I of all laudable onlookers of beauty. I
\----------------------------------------/
\-------------------------------------/
Violet, a lovely lady, kin to Purple, can be a contradiction.
Between her fellows Red and Blue (yet more inclined to Blue),
she lies with a calm passion! Unique and unconventional is she!
A symbol of humility, through the ages she has listened to confessions
as she draped the shoulders of Roman Catholic priests.
Yet often in society, she’s been seen as extravagant and vain!
Just for having embellished the rooms and the attire
of monarchs, emperors, and princes,
and just because Violet is flattering to the yellow found in gold,
should she then be punished for her wealth of beauty?
Should her shades with other lovely names such as
Lilac, Lavender, Amethyst, and Mauve
be seen in any other way as simply gorgeous?
Perhaps for her ambiguity as she shifts to deeper reddish hues
then back to cool blue, she is perceived in western culture
as uncertain and ambivalent, for she is not popular with the masses.
Van Gogh, however, understood her,
painting her as irises and showing her in swirls of stars!
And in the oriental world, where she is extolled,
she radiates the sublime harmony of the universe,
as the melding of the yin and yang of red and blue.
Violet, who sometimes spreads herself splendidly
across the twilight skies
and peeks out from rainbows,
is a beauty so rarely seen in nature
that the birds, stones and plants that she enchants
are not even too numerous to name.
Have you seen her purple pearl or coral in the sea?
Have you heard the song of African violet-backed starlings?
But oh! Violet loves flowers. . . Besides her small sweet namesake,
She colors crocuses, petunias, asters, geraniums and pansies.
Not many other things in nature does Violet cling to,
yet she adores the grape and plum,
and with a certain whimsy, she’s charmed purple cabbage,
the turnip, eggplant, and beets!
Rare lady in nature, Violet, my adored, why is it that you are not more loved?
As I cross a field of lavender and breathe you in, the answer to my question
eludes me.
Wistful ferns, mossy stumps, crumbling
Rotting away, hesitating…
Beneath the shadows of old oaks,
Weathered gray coats, skin
Wrinkled and archaic, ancient
Wise as the liquid voice of creeks
Sighing and breathing out
Echoes of peace, serenity, grace
Praising with the stream of inspiration
Flowing, whispering over smooth stones
Colored in earthy browns, coffee
Auburn like the leaves in the autumn
Playful monarchs loiter near wildflowers
Soundless, still songs dancing
Waltzes of wonderful, wonderous, wonder
Motioning to the silence, gesturing
In rhythms of brilliant wings, graceful
Murmuring blessings across the green carpet
Heartfelt joy painting the thoughts
In laughter from the peaceful winds
Alive like the words of a bullfrog
As it croaks its way across the edge of a pond
Bringing life to the summer, grumbling
Appreciation into the sunlight’s bold fervor
Kindling passion from the spirit
Roaring with imagination, fulfillment
Moonlight softens the night
Sharing its home with the twinkling stars
As they shimmer through the sky
Sparkling like glitter, glistening and promising
Hesitating across the heavens, tossing
Rays of affection to the darkness
Ebbing and flowing with nocturnal blessings
Nature’s personality, wild, welcoming
Brings the soul a sweetness
That is only grown from genuine nurturing
Nourishment of sun and rain, dew
Softly kissing petals on the morning after
Moonlight turns to a lemony sun
Erasing the dark with a heavy hope
Anticipation of the moment when spring
Turns to summer – summer to autumn,
Autumn to winter and winter to spring…
Awaiting the moment when the new
Bursts quietly, calmly, through the past
To change everything to fresh, original
Alert and energetic – promise of the future!
Listen to the breathes of praise…
Lifted on the tongue of nature’s gentle voice!
THE MONARCHS ENGAGED US
The monarchs engage us. We amazed them. We’ ‘the colorful butterfly people'' saw silent fluttering hovering overhead, their duty to the flowers n trees was now shared with us, eight colorful and vibrantly intoxicated them with our passion fruit. We amazed them, we the beautiful colorful, butterfly of people...saw silent fluttering, hovering overhead. Riding on our rhythms as we danced. They remembered us from millennium's ago. The butterflies thought we were amazing. The butterflies danced with us... We think they watched us watching them. And then joined in; they were riding on our rhythm, that music that we vibrated through the air, the lake was also keeping a beat with the chopping waves. As 8 black women celebrating life...out in the woods, suddenly bonded with the butterflies. Monarchs on a mission, swarmed on us like friendly bees dancing in formation;
We unknowingly extended an open invitation.
They danced over us excitedly to: rolling on the river…
Obviously, ‘the butterflies thought we were amazing''!
The monarchs engaged us... We amazed them... Their duty to the flowers n trees now shared with ''the colorful, people they saw. We saw them silently fluttering, and hovering overhead. Riding on our rhythms as we danced, they remembered us from millennium's ago with us... We think they watched us watching them. And then joined in, riding on our rhythm, music vibrated through the air, the lake was keeping a beat with the chopping waves...8 black women; ‘’dancing to our chosen selections, celebrating life...dancing out in the woods; butterflies converged on us like sky swans diving in formation then hovered. It was then we unknowingly extended an open invitation… obviously, ‘the audience of beautiful monarch butterflies thought we were amazing''!
As we danced and sang to the SUPREAMES.