Long Ores Poems
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It was a woodcut in our high school history text, Unit 4 Beginnings of the
Modern World, that so disturbed,
from the Nuremburg Chronicles depicting the burning of the Jews, flat
perspective,
faces of the victims among flames, in no particular agony, not especially
Jewish,
during the Black Death 1/3 of Europe died 1347-1351 alone. Although
you die together you die alone.
Earlier that week, I had attended our 6th grade's performance of Fiddler on
the Roof, thinking
Coltrane should have recorded Matchmaker as a bookend to My
Favorite Things
but as the play darkened
with the town's absorption into the diaspora, democracy
yet unthought of and rule of law a fig leaf for authority
Jasper, who played Zero Mostel, delivered his line well to the effect
you're just doing your jobs while wrecking our lives.
Anyway, nothing like that is happening here, is it?
The gardener planting tomatoes, the gravedigger finding skulls,
there is so much life a little death won't matter.
Jasper
was a beautiful ham,
big as Zero.
A friend posed
this question: must all states be melting pots like the United States?
I said yes
not because they should but since
it's inevitable. Let labor flow like capital!
America was the last word of the play and brought a tear of pride to my
eye.
Immigration, exasperating argument re the Other.
How many's more than enough? 9 billion, a rational,
real number that exceeds or
we're convinced
is within the carrying capacity of the planet.
Climate change is the new Black Death.
I like the Amerindian body type and face mixed in with the European,
African.
The irrepressible economy rolls out reams of logs, ores of elements, bags
of ice, fields of rice.
Embargo. The moon stares, bare, full of interstellar space.
Better a cold shoulder than a visit from our military.
The crazy Nazis must have felt themselves extraordinarily compassionate
toward the mother, earth, the goddess, history, or some such
abstraction and, thus, acted on a fraction of all they did not know.
Selfless soldiers just doing their jobs guarding the border or,
on the other hand, collecting fagots for the burning of the Jews.
. for public domain
Wind has long formed ripples,
pebbles too, upon a shallow river bed,
a hand agrasp a wooden oar,
fingers dangling in play,
skipping rounded stones,
a gentle breath exhaled,
a sound so soft and brief,
a water bug lept off a fallen leaf,
rumbling hooves upon the ground,
an earthquake miles away,
a sonic boom high in the sky,
a blast of thunder from a storm,
a raindrop, a teardrop, a dewdrop,
a letter torn to pieces tossed upon the waves,
a sealed bottle with hope in a message,
a piece of litter thrown thoughtlessly,
bows of gliding canoes and great ships,
muscular arms chopping in competition,
cannon balls and falling masts in war,
sailors who stepped off the plank,
melted ores from raging craters,
and kites and balloons with broken string.
In every ripple a partial record of a history,
some great, some small,
much forgotten, but not all. That's all. That's all.
11/11/16
"Water"
On land and in the water
Ores such as copper
The M.V. P. of the entire roster
Back in the day they use to call me Harry Potter
Show me a lady that can cook like Betty Crocker
I'll appreciate every meal especially the peach Cobbler
Showing her respect and honor
And treating her proper
My mind continuing to wander
What opportunity lies over yonder?
Something I could find out or just continue to ponder
No it's not ever cool to be a bank robber
Or suicide bomber
Of every rhyme I post, I am the author
In school was only a mediocre scholar
Objects assembled with screws and washers
Certains days shorter or longer
Depending on the season the weather getting colder or hotter
Nearby in these waters exists otters
Where people fish in fresh and saltwater
For many things, like trout, crab ,salmon and lobster
Trees grown from seeds, with much more than hard work and a water dropper
No good in remaining to be somber
Got to prosper
By showing and proving what I got to offer
I love playing sports, even soccer
I'm a fan of any well made lager
And I've always had an interest in owning a dog that is a boxer
Fascinations in all species not just nightcrawlers
Never was the biggest talker
Just trying to become wiser and stronger
One day I just may own a chair that is a rocker
By: Dalton Ogletree
When Squirrel And Molten Iron Meet
Iron melts releasing angry ores
Molten *liquifications flow blood red below
Disgruntled veins twist beneath the Earth
Deranged rivers on volcanic burst
Squirrel jumps at this opportunity
Mimics strange metallic sounds
Melting squeaks cannot be heard above the tumult
Wire haired creature sweats, filled with fear
By the banks of hell and heat before retreating
Smart enough to leave such dangerous elements
There are no acorns to be found along the lava flow
Trees burn and so do living things in irons agony alone
Note: (* I invented the word liquification for your reading pleasure and entertainment.)
10/26/17
"
Either was us or them
Was poor way back when
Mess up and wind up with a bad batch of corn bread
Or a horse head in bed
A sign on the store said
"Another day closer toward the end
Next thing you know you're dead"
A storm ahead
At times the sky above the shores red
Countries and people involved in war again
She told me she wanted to be more than friends
Deposits of ores, worked on then locked behind glass doors as gems
Experienced scorn and dread
Brand new shoes or soles with worn treads
Another lifeform torn to shreds
All across the floor it bled
4/1/17
Go ahead and press your luck
There was and always will be more stuff
Happening after or before us
And for now, this is just a warm-up
As lightning during another storm struck
A sycamore trunk
Then burned and roared toward brush
Before it was put out by a fire crew that arrived in four trucks
Some have or haven't gone to war once
Still I've got to learn much, being poor is tough
But I'm still after ores across any shores and bluffs
Inside a shack, there was improperly stored junk
Tools neglected, and worn with rust
All on the floor dust
None of the drawers shut
And the door is stuck
Far away in a field all that remained was boar guts
Nearby there was a tourbus
Stopping temporarily for lunch
By: Dalton Ogletree
I believe in beautiful mornings,
Lapis lazuli skies,
Cotton ball clouds,
Waking up slowly,
Feeling the lovely warmth,
More ardent than a trillion suns,
Emanating from the person beside you,
As you can’t help it
But embrace the small of their back.
I believe in dusk,
Sunsets of roses and tulips,
Red, pink, orange, purple.
I believe in star shine,
Coal-black nights,
Pierced by billions of stars,
Precious sparkling ores and gems,
Surrounding a crescent moon,
Like a smile amid the darkness,
But still finding it not as wonderful
As the way they smile
When you gingerly caress their face.
I believe in beauty,
The beauty of nature,
The beauty of the world.
But it isn’t nearly as wonderful
As when you have someone
To share it with.
In her words I find ore
Of grace through which I shore
And as the mix is deep, it gives ores
On which we ride our desire as horse
To make deposit bless her fish's roe
Making me feel better being her only hero
And as well; my heart: forever hers
Leaving no chance in gap per luck to others
Peeping at my heart afar through my hose
Unknown to them who I've planned to give rose
Whom shall make onlookers watch like foes
When at the end my world owned all to her
Reading her eyes to light moments so blur
After the night is free of the morning sore
And every flaw we permanently restore
Then, no one would ask-- "who is she?"
Each will shut h/her lips for no one will say sh!
The one who has always be in my own shoe
Of a truth without explanation shall definitely be shew.
Crying pitiful face of Earth
Wailing beneath the darkened skies
Bubbling tears pouring down her saddened eyes
Yearning to be freed from troll's cries
Still in learning she is, to be debarred from lies!
Dark and desolate is her centre
Gloomy and dull is her lather
Yet, tolerant and adamant is her temper
For her call is to be a loving and a doting mother
Such a fate she accepted from a tray, Oh so Silver!
Enduring the devilish nature of her common kin
She bears selflessly with them even if they bask in sin
And does her best to give them a life devoid of sores
Without reproach, she fulfils her chores
Never expecting anything in return for her lost ores!
Delightful she was at the time of Creation
Distressful she will be at the time of Destruction
Graceful she shall be at the time of Rejuvenation
Forgiveness she will grant to those enjoyers!
For a tender heart she has acquired throughout the years!
Crying pitiful face of Earth
I pray, have Patience with all Its Worth
So that Eternal Life shall flow in Your Soul
And dazed shall we all be in Your enthrall
Even if Your tender heart with iron is now mold!
FURUHI, A LAMENT
(Based on a poem by a Japanese poet of the seventh century, Yamanoe Okura)
What in all the world is most desired?
The precious ores, the seven precious stones?
Yet what are these to one
whom Heaven gave its fairest pearl,
that gem love brought forth to day,
our son Furuhi, our little son?
O why did Heaven lend to us
its fairest jewel?
When the star of evening shone,
he wakened us, laughing, jumping,
and when the star of evening shone,
he lay between us, there to be
a lily cupped by two green leaves.
But like that short-lived flower,
his freshness faded, wilted, paled,
as he grew weak and sick upon his bed
until like bird of night death came
to snatch its prey.
O Lord of sky and earth, tell why
you, possessor of both realms,
took from this scant store our gem,
our most loved only flower.
And Lord of dark shades of night,
to whose realm of nothing falls
all the realms of being owned,
why did you seize with such unseemly haste
what in full time was yours with better grace?
What cause had you to deny
a little season's bliss?
O Lord of dreams and visions, why
did you, as though consoling, promise
to return to us our pearl
and let us see him smile again,
and let us hear his laughter as before,
at our waking, till cold reason
with vial of gall poisoned the cup of dawn
that we felt his death not once,
but again with each returning day?
O Lord whose name we do not know,
lead him gently and with parent's care,
or call us soon that as before
our shoulders bear him high.