Long Rolling along Poems
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“And all the lives we ever lived and all the lives to be are full of trees and changing leaves.” - Virginia Woolf
Crisp October passes into November,
Risking the silence that seems to be promising…
A whisper of peace, secret comfort, like faith
Erasing all the nights when moonlight washed away…
The still, cool reflections of glistening stars,
Peppered with joy and dipped in pure wonder,
Collecting on the gentlest kisses of dewy pleasures,
Stirred by the affections of a blessedness,
Preparing the senses for the music of yesterday
Building shadows in the peaks of those cerulean ridges,
Where beautiful seems tested by the heart who hears
Second chances in the laughter of a sun-drenched afternoon,
November tears rolling along the hills, promising that light,
Hushed as the dawn, will erase all the darkness,
Sing hope into the calm and bring crunching leaves,
Lying in their graves on the lawn, a piece of the miracles
Who travel with the knowing that love lives in the stillness,
Filled with honesty and peace, stacked with love who believes,
Beyond the autumn into the fierceness of winter’s soul…
Comes a feeling that makes tenderness appear beneath the lost,
Frees the sinner’s doubts to become the biggest trust
In the One who created the sun, moon and stars, the very One
Who made the light in the soul, the beauty in the fall,
The wonder of a love that believes what we all must know…
Beyond the seasons and the reasons, there is a believing
That brings the still sound of harmony being teased…
From the lingering autumn who gives grace that frees.
I.
I’ve lost my sense of silence…
I’ve lost my self
So now I hate everything
I want nothing to do with anything
Does this make you sad?
It makes me sad, sure,
And even as I curse even that sadness
I cant not rip it off
I wish to burn my angel wings
The game to me is cruel and dumb now
There is no merriment where there is no place to re-fuel
Buried in the thickets of eyes and ears as I am
Let me be
Retreat and I will learn some other trick
And never ever tell you about it
I will show you, like I do my own tears,
To me in the mirror
But just as my tears that I keep hidden from you
I will never tell you my reason for living
My own intents of love
This I will burn in my own memory
I am tired now…
Of you, world…
I wish not death or darkness
But light and warmth, out of ear shot from all savages.
II.
I was pulling strings of beads--
They were dancing!
I lumbered to a lull,
The lighted eyes raying into me--I shot upwards!
A rebounding blue casket flash,
I slip onto wet pavement as Wendell
Dropped salt spit from his brow,
Patting me tender.
Wendell lived alone.
With the many fresh faces rolling along the lawns
Pattering and clopping against the silent realm of wood,
Piercing my silvering sounds
With shuttering glimpses of the Great Blue and White
There was always a party with Wendell.
Woven in nature’s diagonal rings, as they appear against the sun,
There is some irate lust for human companionship,
Like mad scientists a-muck about the land,
All on differing timetables, differing desires,
Thoug with a thirst for air like me.
On this blessed shore,
every gate opens wide around sunset and dawn,
and the foreigners flow in...like waves rolling along;
all movements and images sketched
in linear prospective as if reality didn't exist,
permitting subsistence not to evade
from the sublunary harbor draped in aqua suede.
Many explorers from the Old Word
paid her a visit on slow vessels loaded with necessities,
in the hope of finding precious stones and gold;
and Columbus succeeded in his quest,
and all of these he brought back...
a new frontier was discovered and millions
flocked to these friendly shores with empty pockets,
but with dreams that would have made that young nation great.
On this blessed shore,
all are welcome if their character is good,
and the desire to get wealthy, with persistent sacrifice,
is reflected in their undisputed honesty and endurance;
Emma Lazarus wrote of these immigrants in her immortal sonnet,
which the wretched, the impoverished and the persecuted cannot ignore...
Read it again, doesn't it ask your libertarian souls to devour it more?
On this blessed shore,
peace dwells at a tremendous cost,
soldiers have gone to foreign lands to fight,
so that it may never lose its God-given right...
to spread it beyond its bounderies for all nations to admire;
and the proud citizens sing their national anthem to enhance its worth...
how can a Nation, guided and protected by God, not rejoice in its freedom?
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci
this day is partly cloudy
like her mind
she can feel the waves
rolling along
like emotions
flowing strong
its salty spray
lingering
on half pursed lips
where passionate kisses
once did
a flower
tossed aside
on the edges
of sand
just beyond
water’s reach
a makeshift sun
within its golden hues
catches her eyes
she’s not picking it up
to play he loves me
he loves me not
she already knows
the answer
so she plucks
memories
instead
beside it
a cross
neatly placed
by a haphazard
breath of sea
she wonders
as she wanders
without shadow
towards the vast unknown
if it’s a promise
of better days
to come
new memories
to behold
a story
still untold
starting to unfold
a smile breaks
with the clouds
as she glows
somewhat brighter
now
11/7/2025
They have been wandering for decades
Journeying to the land that was promised by their forefathers
A land that would seal the faith of future generations.
They rove night and day guided by a single pillar of light
Looking for the land that was just minutes within sight
But faith had them wondering and pondering
Meandering up steep hills and giant rocks
Roaming around mountain and caves
Looking for that sacred spot.
But they could not find their way home
The road that leads home was covered with tall thick giant grass
Blade as wide as the palm of my hands overshadowed the path
And the visible eyes could not perceive it
Only the spirit of God could reveal it.
Suddenly a bulldozer appears,
And a little man holding the levers
Reversed it back and forth and leveled the dense path
That leads to a dead end spot in the middle of the town.
The bulldozer could not handled the thick mass of grass
That forms little mountains on that anguished path.
Determination kept the bulldozer rolling along.
It pushed and scraped until it leveled the towering grass
That connects the main road to an asphalted road.
Without warning the bulldozer blade broke off in a circular hole
And the little man came from behind the levers and peeped into
the hole and grumbled that he has strained his back.
All of a sudden two men with machetes appeared
And start copping around several mounds
Close to that very spot potato vine sprouted
With blossom forming an archive in the air
potatoes ready for reaping hangs from
vines that juxtapose with blossoms.
Be quiet!
The machete man exclaimed
Stop chopping!
He peered at vines and leaves above
And discovered that the abandoned path is guarded
By a gigantic wasp nest with thousands of wasps standing guards.
They hang from branches and form clusters
that appear as brown potatato blossom
Laying wait in silence to attack their preys
in the patch of bush that surround the mounds.
But they were exposed and dismantled
just before the break of dawn.
©2014 Christine Phillips
Clouds, do have their fun;
rolling along on waves of air,
how they love to present challenges.
A favorite game of cloud-charades,
made harder for us humans
by morphing hints.
Spirits love charades with clouds;
my late sister, an artist,
loves to paint angels in the clouds;
she waits for me to look upwards and
decipher her messages.
Cotton candy bears are never grumpy;
they happily morph,
into favorite pets or cartoon characters,
just to evoke a smile.
Working cloud-puzzles,
feeds the muse and heals writer’s block.
God created clouds,
to fuel imaginations.
Without clouds, what would initiate
the dreamers dreams?
Without dreamers…well…
thank Heaven for clouds.
An aura of ease I carry with me.
A river, I’m rolling, just rolling along.
I move with an adaptability.
An aura of ease I carry with me.
Close to the ground, yet with fluidity,
and my heart often swells with glad song.
An aura of ease I carry with me;
a river, I’m rolling, just rolling along.
I’ll move with that naturalness called ease
on the pathway to my final sea.
Should waves arise from an extra strong breeze;
I’ll move with that naturalness called ease!
When I see sky blaze a last time cerise
and feel eternity beckoning me,
I’ll move with that naturalness called ease
on the pathway to my final sea.
For Paula Swanson's Contest: "I Carry With Me"
It feels like today
is falling into place
when I determine your face
It is bright…
A touch of light
is shone
as glorious as the sun
Then I slip on my own face
What a fine day
I’m not ashamed to say it
It’s a perfect occasion to say it
I can’t believe it’s happening
so abruptly,
intruding a long,
fatigued day
I’m just rolling along
Beside the ocean
Behind the mountains
Lift up my lowly spirits
Laughing maniacally
like a freaky clown
This fine day…
Soon withers away
with murky clouds
turning my smile
into a frown
singing tenderly
a most calming rhythm
sending dismay
in my urbanized bones
Hiking…climbing
on vast mountains
caught in the tone
of my withering voice
and it’s about time I rejoice
better than earning a fortune
the way I sing that tune
will flip the day like a dime
revolving the night to day
echoing the same tune
like a lullaby
The time is coming soon
What a fine day
I’m not ashamed to say it
It’s a perfect occasion to say it
I can’t believe it’s happening,
but I must roam
home and sparkle
my duty
and fulfill
My fine day
no more dismay
a puff of steam
a drip of dew
a sip of water
an entire drink
a glass that's is full
can make a pool on the ground
add more water and there'd be a pond
let it rain and make a stream
joined with gravity and other streams
down to the creek the creek that flows
into a lake or a river who knows
old man river, old man river
must know something
but he don't say nuthin
he just keeps on rolling along
goin to the ocean to be with
tsunami's and tidal waves
sunsets and peacefull bays
all depends on the order of the day
splash, a small part of me
has landed in the sun
soon to be a puff of steam
another life begun
I sit with my feet touching the water
fascinated by a playful otter
near the river's edge, amid evergreens,
rolling along the sapphire surface sheens.
Swimming up and down propelling itself
enlightening up on a bare rock shelf.
Scattered green dwarf saplings I sit and spy
capricious. Once again and it's good-bye.
A breath, filled with, bluebells, lavender bell
blooms bright and lovely, I linger a spell.
Pink and white dance across, and hint of breeze
Plethora of weeds, brown moss grasps the trees.
I dream of pixies, and fairies behind
wild spray of tall dandelions, I'd find.
9/17/2023