Long Nettle Poems
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{Poet’s Note : Fifth Poem of Set of 5 SPOKEN WORD poems written in SAPPHIC VERSE }
PLACED 6th : Premier Contest :
Sponsor: Brian Strand : Feb 26
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I am I have I am blissfully awake
left right up down back front allows cosmos to be
thought cannot tolerate presence observe new
spirit lingers, present
Evening primroses and fatty fish tasted
continue to pursue waves of Consciousness
times of waiting when interior redesigned
no turning back to mew
Decipher instances of living, mint blooms
prophesy Self in act of deciphering looms
alfalfa and nettle blow in windy fields
mirror kindly yields
Not to be dominated by demons in head
awake to within more orchestral notes stead
new worlds birth moments become playing deeds
paths cross daisy beams
What is exile but to find lasting pure peace ?
Sisters ~ today and everyday give springs hush
the Now makes us rich with lushness of love
life precious priceless
Pure is destiny, goals with peony passion
not seeking anything, imperfections ration
see wondrous wild white stallions at calling sea
Sisters ! Run like them, BE !
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A flower shoots up through the gravel in the back yard
Enthused by persuasion of spreading seeds for dear life
Red petals applaud a scented splash of dissident colour
Among yellow clover converging in strides of plentitude
The poppy marches on nevertheless
Like a thorn in conformist selection of dominant hues
She settles as a beacon of tolerance and loving exuberance
Unperturbed by fragrance of domination she tells her story
‘You are who you are’ she whispers and sways in the wind
A nettle confers with butterflies and bees
They say that to encourage pollination of liberal thought
Migrants must be welcome to propagate tolerant views
Add kindness and a measures of love to wavering fields
‘Do not steal from the locals but give free tender touches’
Inbreeding calls for a spot of difference
The blackberry hedge doesn’t mind who are her neighbours
As long as dead leaves and blossoms enrich sweet fertile soil
And the poet looks on in awe and appreciation of contrast
Words find place and time for a soul needs medley’s melange
The fountain pen springs shades of shelter
Dandelion pleads for embracing peace for all sentient beings
‘I am not a weed’ she suggest and ‘I like a bit of bright crimson’
‘It enhances my beauty for we stand united in life’s bouquet’
Earthworms of all nations plough shares instead of cold swords
Poppy is grateful for the joy she brings to the party
19th March 2020
High up, in her downy nest beside her, the drying eggshell rest,
Far away the warblers seek the worms. Far away looms the summer storms,
Like letters send news the newly born. The soldier happy midst nettle thorn,
Reads the letter from peaceful ways. Far from the clatter and din, close affray—
The thickets smeared in a brothers blood sworn to survive the war aflood;
Yet life renews in the quiet wood where sings a sparrow 'neath a leafy hood.
Where rain rivulets dripped from pouring skies, raining down like meteors upon the dragon flies,
The overlapping ringlets atop the welling mere, lessen as the skies grow ever clear,
Letting verging parents search for food, 'neath the fallen leaves and bramble-wood:
Will their eyes delight as home they alight? The stars shudder o’er war as envelopes night,
Silent the moon drifts upon the waving tide. Streaking silver light that truth divide.
What cause can make right the drear of war. The chick, her beak agape, wanting more—
The sparrow regurgitates from some endless core. The dying soldier promises his love evermore;
He clasp the letter, wishes things were better. Rolls peals of thunder from inclement weather—
The grove hides away father, mother, and child. The slake of war wanders forth ever wild.
Nature howls with thunder when she cries. War sees not her tearing eyes—
The saying is:
I think,
therefore I am.
So,
if I don't think,
then therefore I am not.
Does this apply,
to the corpse I see,
laid in that casket.
Her hands, tight round nettles,
that carry no flowers or buds,
and make her hands burn and hiss.
But she is not thinking,
so she doesn't feel the pain.
Rather, the flesh,
begins to rot,
off her, and her dress,
is stained with blood.
That dress. The one,
her loved ones picked out
for her.
I'm sure it's a lovely thing,
probably fashioned from a bolt of silk,
and stitched together with care.
But now it is stained,
and no one removed the nettle,
from her hands.
So maybe you should think before you leap,
but don't think to hard,
or else,
before you are even put to rest
the entire thing
has rotted away.
Soft heart can tell the silent dark sky's heat,
Red eyes might grow tough to handle mettle...
That Is how small the mind could be to beat.
Finger might flip up hints to pure deceit,
Somewhat so close to Cain's stunt on Abel;
Soft heart can tell the silent dark sky's heat.
Alcohol could have actualised such treat,
Upon rage within, ever unsettle...
That Is how small the mind could be to beat.
Lust to blood; love to ruin, brace up stunt's cheat-
Cain focused off change, hope cares to settle...
Soft heart can tell the silent dark sky's heat.
Now, regret locks up an endless defeat...
Upon bloody sin, Cain-Abel nettle;
Soft heart can tell the silent dark sky's heat,
That Is how small the mind could be to beat.
There at once looms a lethal disease
Across the globe begins to breeze
Taking its toll on the old and young
Flings the whole world into unease
Danger impending, little chance to duck
Everyone ruffled, nervous, and in shock
Afraid of others, chary to mingle
Damning this pouring pestilent ill luck
Panicked public storm the stores
Grabbing disinfectants in scores
Masks are scarce, so is alcohol
Unmasked la-di-das behave like boors
Some authorities use all their might
To appease people’s pains and plight
Some tell big lies to their people
And are too dark to light the night
On the up-and-up, working nonstop
Medical staff always on the hop
Risking their lives, wasting their limbs
To save thousands in rescue op
It was the plague in the days of yore
That mercilessly killed of rich and poor
Now Covid 19 seems to reign supreme
In scaring man maybe even more
Yet this too shall pass thanks to the mettle
Of all the scientists who will not settle
Until they ascertain the proper cure
And take off man’s side, this biting nettle
But worries won’t cease. Only, they change
They’re so diverse and broad in range
Global, national, personal, or what?
Momentous, petty, or even strange!
Common Loon we love the most
Can be seen from coast to coast
Across this land gliding on lakes
All across Canada the route it takes
Nesting on islands surrounded by sea
This bird Canadian easy to see
Floats so easily dives for fish
Just as common our Friday dish
A hoot and yodel is its holler
Permanent mark Canadian dollar
Sleek pointed beak head black as kettle
Hardly seen amongst the nettle
Around its neck color green black
Extending wings or tucked in back
Whichever way Canadian beauty
Protecting this bird it is our duty
Reason why this national treasure
No other bird can even measure
Common Loon across this land
Without doubt a Canadian brand
Think Canadian anytime soon
Can't be done without the Loon
Maple leaf loved in a song
Common Loon Canadian strong
when my heart breaks for the morning, yet yearns for the starlit skies, I know that the music of summer is playing across my life ~ quote by poet
~~~
Summer covers the earth in gentle flowers,
elegant buds and blooms, sunlight’s kiss devours.
Summer rains glistening dew on each petal,
while the weeds are thriving with stinging nettle.
Summer, lush and lavish, requires silent prayers,
asked by oaks and pines, whose hope never despairs.
Summer inks the page with its rhythmic embrace,
washing life in joy that darkness can’t disgrace.
Summer lingers inside, where a song repeats,
endless dreams and hopeful smiles, in her heartbeats.
Summer breathes on the night with her starry gaze,
stirring summer skies which don’t fail to amaze.
Summer, cheerful as souls who simply believe,
light clings to those who know faith will not deceive.
Summer winds burn through the edges of twilight,
singing wonders that will bring blessings so bright.
Summer, with her stunning glimpse of laughter’s flow,
ponders the tones of hope in moon’s hearty glow.
Summer, with lavish hues, tangerine and gold,
soothe away fears with light we love to behold.
THE FAIRY TREE
Somewhere on the black mountain
Overlooking Belfast town
There’s a fairy tree with umbilical roots
Which go far beneath the ground
The local people fear its power
They pay it full respect
For they know that deep beneath the earth
There’s a powerful fairy sect
They live between the neverworld
And the world which we all know
Some folk have claimed to see them fly
With a fairy magic glow
Make sure you don’t get too close
Or you’ll feel the fairies wraith
And they’ll send the elves to put you
In a mucky nettle bath
The fairies have a job to do
In fact, it’s vital, you might say
They protect us from the evil trolls
And they keep the imps at bay
They look after all the honey bees
And they paint the butterflies
They keep our rivers running
And make rainbows in the skies
So when you’re outside walking
And you see a fairy tree
Just wave, smile and remember
They look after you and me
A Day by the River
Sailing the high sea on the river,
Sinking while staying afloat,
Think I’m in danger of drowning,
Where would I find me a boat?
Nice here down by the river,
Floods caused the bed to dry up.
Eat Treacle & Anchovy sandwich,
Drink tea, from a broken egg cup.
Urchins who live near the river,
Fish for Sea Bass, using a kettle.
They may have caught a young Cray,
To bake it with seaweed and nettle.
Fairies with wings by the river,
Nibble mushroom with Ginger beer.
This is not typical fairy behavior,
High spirited, they wish me good cheer.
Skim pebbles across the dry river,
Seagulls fire shots to my nose.
Call a Mute Swan, but get no answer,
Damn duck, pecked off my clothes.
Very dark now, here by the river,
The sunshine is hot, beating down.
I’m walking right into the water,
An inconvenient way back to town.
Time’s come, to leave here the river,
Attacked by a shark on the shore.
It came for the barbecue party,
But prefer my leg that it tore.
When I wake up, I’m not by the river,
My pyjamas are soaked toe to head.
It transpires, I’m not by the river,
But dreaming, and just wet the bed.