Long Overgrown Poems
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With purpose her steps project pearlescent elegance
Finely cut fabric falls from her waist, embellishes
Weightless momentum, legs timed as ballroom
bustle musical march beside busy suburban thrum
Range Rover overgrown zebras meander, hands free
Inhabit hair salon adjacent spots, to emerge panthers
Claws comb plumb neat pelt on gym angular shoulders
Watched white teeth greet crimped cappuccino domes
From rotting fence, cluttered sunroom mottled streets
Feral hedges blend shed dilapidation with neighbours
Pearl recalls the rural run-down houses, howling low hope
Chimneys emitting messages to status never received
Mauve smoke drifts to city monotonous nonchalance
Eleventh level sky view squares share trove of eventide
Tang in coveted ticket operas from atop lavish lifestyle
High rise residents' glinted sun sets show mirrors only
20th March 2021
Written for Contest : Eight Word Bard
Sponsor : John Hamilton
Words of necessary inclusion are:
pearlescent, thrum, plumb, crimped,
feral, howling, eventide, tang
This young pawn was homeless and exhausted.
Sleeping in an overgrown city lot.
A flat piece of cardboard for a bed.
Cattail and wildflowers for walls.
A ceiling of bluish gray.
Slow roasting over a fiery dream.
This Pawn turned into a whispering rose.
Right there on that cardboard bed...
But only when the restless mind
gave away its soul to sleep and time.
Afterthought:
***** thing, this king of circumstance.
With crown of mist and robes of black.
Comedic cascade of karmic darts.
That morph into Queen Anne's lace and metal meadowlark.
Time will never turn its bow to yesterday,
but will spin the stars into the murky miracle of decay.
This Pawn cleansed the soul of self.
Whisked away the briar.
Left its humble drool upon
the toothless mouth of yesterday....
and wore the crown if only for a day.
There I was walking down memory lane
taking a trip back to old Kilmarnock town
stepping back to routes of the past
where I was brought up makes one astound
So many changes since I have left
the place is not anything like the same
took the route I walked on Saturday nights
60 minute trek every week after the game
Passed by my old primary school
now closed down all a rumbled heap
the playground left with grass overgrown
memories of that place go way down deep
The wall still stands goalposts and all
paint lasted well for all these years
there saved penalty from Johnny Hub
ex-soccer star but still had all his gears
Followed the road past the school
down to the river at Templeton Burn
stood there letting mind float back
many times past think where to turn
Life has gone many ways since then
some for the worse but some been good
it’s good to look back to remember
thankful to God His purpose I’ve understood
(Just some thoughts from walking back to my route I walked every saturday night coming home from my favourite soccer team's match in Scotland, I went back this route a few weeks ago for the first time for over 30 years.)
Although I greatly loved socializing, I really enjoyed being alone,
Like ebony evenings of magic, with no ringing of the telephone.
Since my young childhood, I had been, an introverted extrovert,
Like one with eyes to azure skies, for solitary sun's extra burst!
I loved my work as a museum tour guide, as blossoms love rain,
And offish Mars loves twirling alone, in the red days of his fame.
Yet, in leisure hours I was often alone, like a full, alienated moon,
Or stunning, vibrant rainbows, that won't be amassing very soon.
Friends oft invited me to parties, and sometimes I would accept,
As sun is seen coaxing roses, from the beds where winter's slept.
I lived in the house of quiet starlight, each of them roving alone,
Like solitary, jade grasshoppers, when green grass is overgrown.
My nearest neighbor was my best friend, and we were like family,
Ofttimes together, laughing steadily, in the days of golden vanity.
Pleasant summer was in high spirits, with a whistling in the trees,
And a continuous, merry humming, from hives of the honeybees.
One day, I labored in my garden, while marigold blooms sang sun;
And I saw a lone woodpecker tapping, getting his own work done.
It was not the first time I'd seen one, and they were always solo,
Like a total eclipse of the glorious sun, making of him a no-show.
Then I saw a pink hummingbird, flying backward, and upside down,
Reveling in aloof, open air dining, out on the quaint sunshiny town.
This brought to mind adorable koalas, living out serene lives alone,
Like a dramatic, lone shooting star, heading out to zones unknown.
Later I saw a pretty emerald butterfly, more solitary than the birds,
They live and usually migrate alone, past the city's outlying suburbs.
Then there is reclusive, giant panda, active at night and by twilight,
When hued skies remember and review, the golden day's highlights.
Thinking of complex nature's solo acts, I did gain valuable insights,
For being alone is only natural, circumstances defining what's right.
I am no longer feeling guilty, but am accepting myself just as I am.
As the sun accepts taking over, when heavy storms are on the lam.
I still laugh it up at joyous parties, like fireworks and confetti stars,
Yet, I require long intervals of silence, like silky nights of no chaos!
In the quiet moments, I sit and trace
The lines of time etched on a familiar face,
Once unburdened, with dreams like the sky,
Now shadows of worries are creeping nearby.
Days roll like rivers, swift currents abide,
Carrying laughter and love as they glide,
A playground of childhood now overgrown,
Where echoes of innocence softly intone.
Old photographs dusted, the colors have faded,
Yet memories linger—both joyous and jaded.
The swing set that creaked, the treehouse so tall,
Now sits as a ghost, where the wild things would call.
I walk through the hallways of my own shifting mind,
Retracing the steps, the lost and the blind,
Friendships that blossomed, then withered like leaves,
Some stayed for the summer, while others just leave.
Time molds us in silence, yet speaks without voice,
It whispers of change, like a heart's whispered choice.
We grow and we falter, we rise and we break,
But every sweet moment, there's something at stake.
The town that I knew, with its small bustling streets,
Has grown into something—new rhythms, new beats.
The café replaced by a chain with no soul,
Yet deep in my heart, the old memories roll.
And as I peer closer, the mirrors reveal,
The echoes of youth, the passage we feel.
For though we may change, and the world may renew,
The essence of time shapes the me and the you.
So here’s to the seconds, both heavy and light,
To the laughter, the heartache, the dreams in the night.
For in every heartbeat, in every year’s flight,
We find that through time, we can shine even bright.
A little concrete house sat about 100 yards from the road.
It was here I fell in love with lightning bugs and toads.
It was a very lovely little place filled with love and joy.
I was born and lived there the first 17 years of my life.
To fight the heat, three trees surrounded this my gentle abode.
It was situated in a little delta village in Northern Mississippi.
I moved away in the sixties, but saw it last in the seventies.
I was saddened when told years later that it no longer exists.
The spot where it once stood is covered with crops of various
sorts. I dare say that it would have been covered with vines instead of fields of grain, had it not been such a fertile place.
No matter what covers it, I will always recognize its gentle trace.
Yes, it was indeed a fertile place, not only for crops of foods and clothing. This rich habitation grew life and laughter. It was a place where chickens lay their eggs and where mother taught us to pray.
O what a dear place, where we played, and none of us went astray.
Perhaps I shall again visit this place of my humble abode before my demise. Although I do not expect to see a trace of vines, I cannot
promise the absence of tears nor sounds of crying.
10062016 cj PS Contest, Overgrown With Vines, Broken Wings
In towns where Basic fantasy makes a frown
Nature has turned Completely upside down.
And day tours emigrate to the Cambrian shore
Onboard, the rivers boats from Windermere
moving between hills and trees, miles from home
where the boughs of orchard greens are overgrown.
From distance views are the dreams first caught,
But by wagon roads are the scenic marvels wrought.
Steep is the pass across from Eskdale to Hardknott.
The architect must create when the odds are Great.
And stand resolute by luck, for success, failure, or fate
Keep the faith Lyvennet flows alone to catch the bait.
In Crake valley the vision of dreams is made known
On Penrith curb they drove all the way back home.
from the distillation realm, everything looks foreign,
Solemn and determined, invoke quiet a snarling spell
Being the adventurer rage driving furiously out of hell,
With Lakeland Muse, ambush by cars on top of a hill.
Framed flaws lay beneath the religious camouflage
Shadows meandering when winding lanes diverge,
An envious world moonlight enriched into a mirage.
Out from the woods, alpacas and feral cats emerge.
Pale and pickled at the grunting grumbling core.
In lush Whitehaven vale oblivious of a full-scale war
Continued tours like silhouette building dunes
In embroidery gardens, beautiful flowers bloom.
Bumblebees, wasps, and flies have wooed and won,
The old man ‘Lakeland’, seated on its penitent throne
Crocked steam from Ulverston rises on the pond.
Another day meets the Crinkle Craggs of Lakeland.
~
Beyond the chipped paint and tarnished handle
of this old screen door once waited a garden,
a winding path of stone and dirt
I had walked many times in my life
that led to a place of wondrous beauty,
poetic blooms and intoxicating fragrances
Merely stepping beneath the Jasmine covered arbor
lifted spirits and illumined hope that all was right,
and the butterflies, oh the butterflies, winged effervescence in
sapphire, indigo, tangerine and lemon butter yellows
floated from flower to flower creating
the most wonderful dancing rainbow for the eye
I still smile when I hear those old rusted hinges squeak
and I feel that fresh air meet my face
For those memories linger in my mind,
as now I find the path overgrown, the arbor splintered and fallen,
the vibrant garden a mass of weed and vine
strangling the beauty that once flourished
And I understand, life changes…slowly,
each of us deteriorate within time’s grasp, returning
to where we began, covered in lawn and dew
beginning anew or to be forgotten…
an occasional thought that passes
down another path of another life
Now as I stand gazing at what once was,
a tear finds my cheek, meandering over these wrinkles
gathering in the corner of my mouth…salty
yet it is not the garden nor the whimsical path
that collects in my mind…it is the butterflies,
oh how I miss the butterflies…
~
An older piece but I figured since it seemed to be butterfly day around here, I’d post it. : )
Where does the green and grey path travel to
Laden with the hushed love and numbing pain
The dark sky descends to join the weird blue
Whispering in the ears of deep breath lane
Does it lead to the concealed yet green grace
Beneath headstones of the bones in silence
Can you listen my dear pale green Cypress
Can we look just once through your mystic lens
Stark lone tombstones surrounded by close vine
Rare footfalls with the boquets of love breath
For blue shades that once dwelt in now still mind
Now reduced to nothingness underneath
Rest in peace, when the leave bird will call me
Underneath the ivy I will join thee
______________________________________________________
3/10/2016
For the contest Overgrown with Vines
Sponsored by Broken Wings
When reading
and singing
and dancing poetry,
enspiriting Earth's choreography,
I need not check my LeftBrain dominance
at rhetoric's RightWing healing door,
But bring PatriCapitalist Him with me
at least once more
to heal and restore
What EarthMothers wisely preach
and indigenously practice
and adore
No severance
between Earth's natural systemic Truths
and Ego's spiritual reanimation
restoring healthy EarthyBeauty
thriving
resilient abundance
By letting go
of peevishly competitive
LeftBrain dominantly domesticated
satiated
uneducated
about regenerative systemic design
And, thereby RightWing overgrown
predative
desecrating
Former sacredly healthy green climates
now more pathological
by over-petted Anthros
over-self invested,
Earth infesting pests
With voracious AnthroDivine appetities
of LeftBrain dominant parasites
preying on RightBrain prominent
EarthMother feminists
Who now lament,
"Straight White PatriCapitalists:
can't resonantly love with'em,
can't resiliently live without'em."