Long Pomegranates Poems
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Oh Syrinx, by the lake where you await, blossom anew!
Proud of murmurs that speak of goddesses, in a reverent hue.
Unleash the waists of shadows, in my tales they live and breathe,
As I imbibe the brightness of the grape, dispelling sorrow.
Laughing, I raise the emptied glass beneath the summer sky,
Breathing into luminous skins, yearning until evening nears.
Oh nymphs, let us rise again, with joyful memories,
My eyes piercing through reeds, striking each immortal form I see,
Submerged in waters under the forest's tumultuous sky,
With cries of anger and splendor, swiftly passing by.
Glorious strands of hair slipping, adorned with jewels of the brightest hues,
I hasten forth, to this bank of roses in the gentle sunlight.
All fragrances wasted, as our revelry dissipates in the shade,
Where our merriment should linger, like a day long past.
I adore you, wrathful virgins, delicate and shy,
The secret fears of flesh, from heartless foot to timid thigh.
Happy to conquer these fears, my crime is but to partake
In the gods' mingled kisses, a passion from within.
As I conceal a laugh within one, the other burns brightly,
Yet this quarry forever flees, showing no pity in its flight.
No matter! Others lead me to joy, with tangled locks,
And ripe pomegranates buzzing with bees' sounds.
At this hour, amid gold and ashes, the forest stirs,
A banquet amid extinguished leaves.
On Etna's slopes, where Venus walks with effortless grace,
Sad slumber rumbles where the flames leave their trace.
I hold the queen, in an embrace of certain punishment,
No words, as my soul and heavy body yield to silence's embrace.
Forgetting blasphemy, I surrender to noon's proud silence,
Lying on the thirsty sand, embracing the true rush of wine.
Farewell to both of you: I depart to witness the shadows you've become.
:: 04.20.2024 ::
A Passing of Pomegranates
Outside the city where the pomegranates grow,
he sits with his beads and chants - quiet drone
lost in the history of so long ago
bathed in the scent of trees red crusted dome.
Walks the same paths his ancestors trod
wanders beneath the trees they once planted
wonders what happened to nations – and Gods
longs for her hand and the wishes joy granted.
Stops for a moment to challenge the sky
curses its depth – its foreverdeep cold
longs to discover the tears yet to cry
outside the city where the pomegranates grow.
4/5/2016
submitted to – A First Line Prompt – Poetry Contest
sponsor – Julia Ward
A Spanish Farmer Goes to Fetch Water
The limestone, thought Gonzalo, was a sponge.
So soft, the raindrops pocked it. It absorbed
it all, and slowly bled it back. He looked
along the path, to where the outcrop rose
out of the greens and browns of fecund earth,
its face all cracked and fissured. Morning sun
lay on the soil, like a considerate
young lover. But the limestone prominence
cast cool foreboding shadows on the land,
a cloak devoid of color. To his left,
Gonzalo saw Ramon, the blind white mule,
flicking his ears. A carrot was expected.
Below, Gonzalo's "parcel" drank the sun,
the lion-colored corn close to mature.
His barn was bursting. Almonds, olives, pulses,
pomegranates, figs. "Thank you, Fuente,"
slipped from his lips, unbidden. Off he set,
his wooden bucket swinging, for the crag.
He loved the ritual of his morning trip.
Orpheus' long, slow, crawl out of Hell
Has left him nothing -- not even himself!
Long had he traveled, sorrowing, with his bride,
and many terrors endured, and now
Unslings his lyre, and looks at her too soon!*
He rushes back... she meets him... calm... forbidding...
"Eurydice, My Love, so sad, your gaze...
Come quickly, ere the shadows form, and take you... No!
Your form dissolves, before the morning's rays!"
She fades without embrace into the caverns of Hell...
The Tears he sheds, that kiss his lanklorn cheeks
Leave bitter runnels, trails as deep as scars,
Just fruits for shadow-journey, pomegranates...
Forgive poor Orpheus, O Wind! O, Stars!
The Tumblers have rolled back into their slots,
And Orpheus, the Lover who fought Death,
Is lonely now, and the Ravens cast their lots.
*according to the Greek Myth of Orpheus and Eurydice, Hades, the God of the Underworld, agreed to release Orpheus' dead lover, Eurydice, from the Underworld, with one condition: Orpheus could not look back at her, until she emerged from the Underworld. Once he emerged, he thought she had followed him, turned joyfully around! But she was not yet out of Hell, and consequently, Hades required her to return to the realm of Death.
Fruit vendor John was polishing his pomegranates
The green piece of clean poplin was kissing warmly
He once rubbed the pinkish crust with the soft cloth
Would then look at it with a mild pomegranate-care
Is he looking himself into a mirror, I was wondering
Dissatisfied he would now collect a piece of muslin
That too as I saw got into a purple stimulant dance
Now pleased the vendor put it with its other siblings
He was treating every fruit almost in the same way
A floating bridge of friendship in the scented breeze
Above photo, I took yesterday early in the morning
At around five in the evening, I revisited his stall
Found him sitting with his chin held with his palms
Blank eyes face down focused at the flat pavement
What might have happened meanwhile, I wondered
Lips tight he moved his eyes to the empty grey kiosk
All the fruits have left me, Sir, leaving me all alone
No angel in the air, a hollow world in the bouquet
John lived just two houses away from my apartment
Around twelve in the night a sobbing sound alerted me
I stole a look through a window at the revolting scene
He was beating a pretty woman seemingly his wife
This morning I heard a mendicant passing by the road
Singing a folk song of Bengal current through ages
You have no idea my heart you have no knowledge
How many persons live inside you, you have no hunch
August 23, 2019
Wow Me Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Nina Parmenter
Skirting church on Puig de Missa,
then down the slope towards the river,
St Eularia's Rui, with path that winds on to the sea.
Past the smelly goats, where poking little
fingers get nibbled, and goat-dribbled
through the fence.
Billy stands high on outcast fridge and
watches babies butt their silly billy heads.
Then past the scraggy peacock, beneath the
orange tree, with oranges bunched and
bright-framed in darkest green among their leaves.
Then walk beside the cleft and craggy wall,
where lizards still unseen await more warming sun.
Past the preening cockerel and his shining
feather suit, strutting proud between each
grounded peck, while hammock lies still,
stretched between winter's barren trees,
waiting for that day with warmer breeze,
for May or June to come.
Then water's edge where winter's rain still
trickles over fall, and replenished pool below
is home to ducks, where ducks and cats are
fed, regardless of what town notice said.
Then past overhanging pomegranates,
three branched all in a row, the top one
pecked by tiny bird, and beneath those rosy
balls, a ball of baby mullet, soft sucking and
disturbing water's idle glassy flow.
Then lazy walk beyond the bridge where
river's wider mouth has more silty sandy
edge, where out towards horizon a mackerel
sky meets night-stilled sea, and sun's soft
and bright reflected rise holds promise of a
perfect day.
But in between, a secret quest, where
grandad wanders from the path all through
the damp and dewy grass, bright spotted
with Spring's yellow flowers.
And so the lemon tree is reached, and five fat
lemons quickly picked, avoiding branches
nasty pricks.
And grandad tucks them safe away.
For this is grandad's secret lemon tree,
with plenty left, and so for sure we'll come
again. We'll come again at least once more.
We'll come again another day.
“I drink poetry like champagne in Timelessness, purifying me, strengthening me, calming me…” Poet
Fear not to seed dismantling of Time
as fairies jingle to eternal rhyme
relay questions to angelic billies
surrender thorned horn as muted chime
Delightful drum rolls voice verses frilly
listen lingering to lyrics silly
fingering silky hair, smooth tulip neck
frequency of name will be moon's tilly ~
Fear not to transmute hot tears that wreck
soothing away of niggly grains of speck
tinkle brass keys in freedom's pearly waves
gliding Spirit’s sanguine undying beck
Hail now, splendid maids with cute sterling knaves
let poems bring sleep in dream cosy caves
ache not for peeps or smooth ebony cheeks
drink pomegranates' nectar, leaving raves !
______———_______________________
Standard Contest : A Beautiful Rubaiyat
Sponsor : Constance la France
Feb. 26 : 2nd Placement
____________________________
Is life not more precious
Than to shoot up a school
Trying to figure it out
Yet what is the exception to the rule
Those are someone's children
That you shot
Just because you were
Feeling less than not
This doesn't give you the right
To take someone else's child
This leaves so many hurt and beguiled
Why put a bullet in someone
Else's head
Why leave innocent children slain
And dead
All of these school shootings
Who will protect our young
Please excuse me if
I don't hold my tongue
This is a topic that really
Needs discussion
Because it has become
A monumental interruption
Why would I write about the
Moon, stars and the planet's
When children's blood
Is being spilled like pomegranates
So much lost
But at what cost
Outside the ancient city
where the pomegranates grow,
one walks into another world
on distant shores from long ago;
a grave of stone and marble...
monuments that stand
to guard the saddened ghosts
of ancient souls on broken land.
These great artistic wonders,
seen in scattered disarray,
of columns standing tall,
but others toppled, lay
so scattered on the fields
on which they proudly stood.
The works of Persian, Greek
and Roman empires should
in clear view proudly lie
for all to honor and behold...
the history of centuries
that here for all unfolds.
Outside, now fairly modern,
the Turkish city of Izmir...
the old historic Pergamon...
lies bare to see, revere,
besides its world bygone
that here existed long ago,
outside the ancient city
where the pomegranates grow.
Sandra M. Haight
~6th Place
Contest: On Distant Shores
Sponsor: Robert Haigh
Judged: 07/22/2018
~Honorable Mention~
Premiere Contest: A First Line Prompt
Sponsor: Julia Ward
Judged: 05/03/2016
Izmir is noted for farming and selling pomegranates
Since my visit there twenty-three years ago, I learned that
many of the ruins have been restored.
There are moments when I wish to give up, frozen by fear.
As I sit here next to you my dear.
But it took me forever find you, for now you are near.
I do love you, and want you to stay here.
I can't let it all go down the drain.
With time, I have much more to gain.
Honestly, no one has ever done so much for me.
I have to trust God, for my future I cannot see.
At times I feel isolated, forgotten, rejected.
By a lover, not perfected.
Yes, it's true, life can be cruel.
Tell me who was the winner of this unnecessary duel?
My eyes are as red as pomegranates.
No longer do I want to hold pain within my heart.
But to heal, when will we start?
For different we are, sometimes as dark as night, and bright as day.
Nobody knows how much I've sacrificed to stay here by your side.
All this time, having nothing more to hide.
No matter if I was wrong or right.
I know that everything will turn out to be, all right.