Long Reincarnated Poems
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There you go,
back, far back into the woods once more.
I wish you knew the names of all these tree.
They are distant aunts, and old soldiers,
warriors of coincidental conflicts.
Blood soaked relations of relative ghosts
seen now only as points of departure
where tombs have been riven by lightning
or whole forests burnt to the ground
to a more fertile ash.
Names unknown but named in a book
rivers and reeds write
for later roots to unravel.
Fathers as old as the first horse.
Mothers who breast fed the slow dreams
of a humankind destined to plant her flag
upon a million fields of creation.
Yet more await, are nursed as new seeds
that glimmer in a shinning nebular.
Now I watch one lone child
pass through gorse, thickets, and briar,
travelling through its own forest
to be born into a family
that has yet to be named or branched.
Life lives and returns to find out why
again and again.
Reincarnated crucifixions
dot a new landscape each era,
vacations in Ohio last until
death stamps a later passport.
Sweat and blood in Thailand,
transforms into poetry.
A blind man digging his way through a city
mining for a treasure he was born with.
Back we will come
arriving from anywhere
and anyone.
Each deliverance a blessing
we had to uncover and acknowledge
as our own woodland mystery.
A place between sacred mountains and molehills
where the trees have yet to be labeled
or cutdown, and green growing offspring
with their little axes
getting duller and heavier each year
until the woods and all disappear
to follow the night-train
to where they will arrive at,
whatever platform we have
cobbled together or erected with prescient hands.
Then we claim our Kingdoms,
our many mansions, the many branches of us all.
As the cycle turn and spiral
again to return carrying a new child
as a gift of the light.
Cat on a hot tin roof, and I am not kidding. I am really not!
This black cat is lying in wait. I am not fibbing. The roof is his cot!
I saw him up there in the heat of a hot summery Arizona day.
I yelled, Hey, bummery of a cat, are you up there to stay?
He was lying on his back, scratching the tile with his boobly-doo.
I knew he was enjoying himself. Did not think he’d ever be through.
He was lying in the sun, soaking it up like, well, a warm black cat.
I decided to climb up there, and see what I could do about that.
When I got closer, he opened one eye and said “Just give it a try.”
So I flung myself down and looked up into the pretty blue sky.
This was so much nicer than anything I had done the entire week.
I decided to stay up here, and rest. My breathing became weak.
“You like it don’t you?” the black cat asked, in a most peculiar way.
I realized he was my grandfather, reincarnated, on that Tuesday.
No one could get me off the roof with supper or promise of a bed.
I lay back and relaxed, and did not care if I was ever fed.
When I awoke my grandpa was gone but the stars were out so bright.
I knew I had been gifted another peek of him that every night.
I had not seen my favorite grandpa since November 13th of 1964.
I will never forget this day with my grandfather, it was enough and more.
Why is this human body
enshrouded in so much shame
Who decided we must cover up
and play this crazy game
It seems to be the greatest hang up
entrenched deeply in our psyche
Do we each have physicality different from the rest?
apart from gender difference seems we're all alike
The saddest of it all is what I term
the Hollywood commercial sex sale image
Suspenders, stockings, g-strings, bras
designed to show a bit of cleavage
There was a man so shy, when he was partly naked
one day I really scared my Dad, I almost saw his bum
From that day on I often wondered
was he ever completely naked, in front of my Mum
Some days ago my wife forgot to wish me all the best
for my seventy seventh commemorative hoot
I tried succinctly to remind her
by sitting in the sun, in just my birthday suit
If I could choose a place to be, when I am reincarnated
A first nation naked man in Arnhem land would be highly celebrated
Footnote: Arnhem land a sacred reserve for the original inhabitants , the Dreamtime
People, in the Northern, Australia
Coiled up for winter slumber it had rested the budding pledge
Soil still moist the promise is waiting for blossoms and sedge
To give host to migrating birds returning from busy regeneration
A miracle planted by knowing creation and heartwarming sensation
Swallows circle over hedges filled with daffodils and berry shoots
Below the wild brush with spring in its steps an abundance of roots
Sketch channels of promise faith and nature from deep undercover
As if a cave dwelling hermit is reunited once more with his lover
The vernal seasons blossoms on polychrome canvas and realign
Meaning in the eye of change with perpetual motion designed
To pause for thought reflection silent prayer and humble appraisal
Meanwhile spiders wed on their cobwebs spun from witch hazel
An owl proposes to her mate and sends a call into rustling breeze
Which embraces in gentle caress the unperturbed colony of bees
‘Honey’ they shout ‘its time to leave the hive once more for food’
Jelly Royal for breakfast and wild herbs to improve on our mood
Meanwhile gelatinous creatures awaken on shore lines and beaches
Unaware that we are hankering for freshness and gathering peaches
The serpent claims it is about apples and dates for paradise earth
Gaia watches over an abundance of kindness and reincarnated birth
Soon it will be summer and fields will harvest unless the grim reapers
Call to join crosses and tombstones overgrowing with climbing creepers
The equinox reminds us that we are impermanent and life is quite finite
And that with star dust and good fortune the moment beats hindsight
Past future and present are really synonymous expressions of being
Blindfolds and double vision mistake the moment for the illusion of seeing
Here and now the circle of life spins our short insignificant vital span
Inflated by greed and possessions when in truth there is a different plan
02nd May 2020
Written for contest Spring Rhyme Poetry
Sponsored by Emile Pinet
There are no truly blue flowers.
No, not one.
Hydrangeas or tulips can be green,
an odd color for flowers, I think.
Brown ones are dead.
Brown and green are the colors of human eyes though,
and blue too, but that’s rare as eye color goes.
Almost everyone has two eyes, or at least one.
There are those whose eyes don’t work correctly,
and some unfortunate souls who have none at all.
Every pirate ever known had just one eye.
Yep, just one eye and a black patch.
(I may be wrong about this.)
There are cave creatures,
salamanders and roaches and fish,
that have no eyes at all, and live in total darkness;
evolution has done away with their eyes.
Why would they need eyes if there is no light,
not even that spectacular light from the sun
in fluorescent (which means “shining through”) ribbons
between clouds on stormy days?
There are other eyes too, on potatoes, certain fabrics, needles
(Each needle has one; there are no two-eyed needles that I know of.).
Personally, I have two eyes, both blue,
which see correctly only with assistance.
I often wish I had the third eye in the center of my forehead,
the one that symbolizes a state of
enlightenment, clairvoyance, out-of-body experiences.
However, I’m almost certain I won’t have one in this existence.
Perhaps I will in the next, assuming I’m not reincarnated as
a snake or, even worse, a dung beetle.
But then, I’ve been decent and reasonable most of this life,
so maybe I will have that third eye the next time around.
It’s worth thinking about.
I sit under the trees
Later
My neighbor said
“I enjoyed watching you pray.”
“What do you mean?”
“You sat there so still
Head tilted up for a very long time.”
“I suppose so
But actually I was entranced
By the crowns of the Oaks sweeping the sky
And that Cooper’s Hawk nest along for the ride
Swaying basket beneath a parachute
“A Fledgling teetering on the edge
“Doesn’t fly at first
Thinks
Then falls head first
“Batting tree trunks
Talons raking the bark
Crushing the branches in a humiliating commotion
Leaves ripped away
“Tumbling upside down
Wings hoisted half way to the planet
Then like magic
The bird fastens
To something close to the harness of an orbit
“Latches upright to a branch
Shakes its head
Furrows its brow
Eyes narrow to stirrings on the green mezzanine
Below
“Just like that
A Hawk reincarnated by hunger.”
“But I saw your hands clasped.” She says.
“Instincts, I guess.”
Yiya was rest assured
a promising home, she had kept chary
hers a river teepee a breathing beast,
smoke flaps exhaling atop
warmed by fire burned low
hides of heliotrope hues aglow
animated painted horse and buffalo,
reincarnated shadowed figures
dancing to crackling embers
at start of every sundown
cooled in simmer summer
dry of sombrous rain runoff
trickling down a conical roof
her traditions evoked in ceremonials
coming of age, death, birth, Mother Earth
drum circles, collective heartbeats
sharing bean bread, three sisters, wild greens
connection, belonging
holding on ‘til the folding of time
torn from all she knew,
she is fused within tribes
pathfinder scorn to swamps
her moccasins worn thin by every hardship,
her spirit snagged through mud,
through icy terrain, through wilderness
stained by the weight of each step
bearing, carrying her forward
what had once been soft and whole
now bore the marks of survival,
proof the path had tried to break, yet failed
frailer, flailed beneath a strawberry moon,
frayed edges become less a sign,
ruinous of a quiet testament of endurance
seekers of unknown lowlands and lowly creatures
brutal summits, known as t h e
T
r
a
i
l
o
f
T
e
a
r
s
they fall with each turn each twist
of her bruised body
gash and fist, resist, resist
shed are fears,
resilient are broken dreams
salt sweat dripping,
rippling rivers of betrayals
tears of brooding beads frozen
Great Spirit hear her cries
through howling winds,
grueling are the spiky pines
nativized settlers ride along
an arduous journey,
‘escorts of prosecution’
starved crass riverbends
clogged with ice, shards
carved into bled hearts
her existence impermissible
bleak harling horizons
beyond unbaled wilderness
caws of carrion vultures swarm
calling the darkening sky
agony on the path of exile
the tour of trespassers
her nature and character
changed forevermore
her promises broken
in a distant land of the banished,
she had vanished
I want to be youthful and free,
Like the Gemini Sun and Moon conjunction person I am.
I was born, destined to be a soul reborn via New Moon phase.
I want to feel the right to be me,
Like a twelve-folding of all my natal astrology star signs.
I was born, destined to be another unique individuality.
I want to respect nature and animals,
Like the Taurus Sun and Moon conjunction soul I am.
I was born, destined to be an epileptic, Bohemian in spirit.
I want to hold steadfast in my faith,
Like a unifier of all religions; spiritualities; sciences.
I was born, destined to know how God lasts eternally.
I want to serve justice and liberation,
Like the Libra Sun and Moon conjunction spirit I am.
I was born, destined to be a true believer.
I want to embrace the world I'm born into,
Like holding a fondness for all countries.
I was born, destined to learn about the world as a whole.
I want to achieve my ideals and dreams,
Like holding a spirit of never giving up.
I was born, destined to realize not all is as seems -to me.
I want to know a lot about myself,
Like holding a candle in the darkness of unknowing everything.
I was born, destined to find out all of who I am in a life of mine.
I want to be myself in my own way,
Like a wise child wandering and silently learning things.
I am a soul reincarnated, born to be myself (who I am for now).
“ Reincarnated Angelic Soul “
This Soul is a Quadrillion Years Old,
It’s Not Like That Of A Younger Soul.
Facts Is That I Leave My Mark Every Where,
If You Ever Have My Loyalty, Respect and Heart
I Wouldn’t Let Go Of Them.
Because I Can Strip It All Away,
Just The Same As Giving It.
It is Your Choice Whether You Decide,
To Be Left Behind As A Lesson Or Progress As A Blessing!
" I Am Gabriel, It Is Time For Revival "
Written By: Kendall “Gabriel” Aaron Conrad
December 25, 2024
12:01 a.m.
Wheels of life dangle from delicate branches
Sway in the wind and embrace in quiet caress
I used to be an acorn
Now I am a tree
Seasons coloured in outside their softened contours
Green yellow orange and red waiting for indigo crowns
Roots' undergrowth found respite in terra firma
Yet loose soil and carbon compose the journey
The forest shadow speaks 'Give me strength'
'I will give you light in return for the favour'
A wild boar rattles the mossy trunk
Starlings weave in its canopy
Little saplings have flown their moderate nest
Replanted my meaning in miraculous flight
Wild winds blew hard rain
Strew reincarnated shelter
Where ferns sought refuge a union takes places
Made in a haven of nature's heavenly abode
And time meanders past back and beyond
For the poet tree in motion I wish to become
24th December 2019