Long Scampers Poems
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Birds have started chirping
Sun is just about to set
Squirrel is squeaking as it scampers on branches of flame tree
Bees are buzzing
Crows can be heard saying caw, caw
Eagle flies with a screeching sound
Oriental magpie robins can be seen on flame tree chattering.
They sit on a branch, walk towards flowers, drink nectar, fly to another branch, do the same.
They want to finish eating before sunset
Squawk, squawk, parrots screech as they fly together.
It seems they are going to some place to sleep
A flock of sparrows can be seen on flame tree.
They pluck a petal from flame tree, munch it.
Stomach full, they start chirping.
Red-vented bulbul whistle melodiously
Red whiskered bulbul whistles cheerily
Tuk, tuk, tuk sings coppersmith barbet
Koyal sings mellifluous music with its koo, koo, koo
Suddenly warmth of sun is gone.
Cool breeze blows
Red sun goes down the mountain to other side
Chirping of birds stops
No noise can be heard.
Absolute silence and peace permeate the surrounds
11.05.2021
Contest Name :The Audience Falls Silent
Sponsor : Kai Michael Neumann
Premier contest winner 7th position
Note: Inspired by Malabika Ray Choudhury's poem "There Was Silence"
Click on this link to see above mentioned birds-
https://www.cntraveller.in/story/mumbai-birding-balcony-11-birds-spot-colaba-pali-hill-andheri-dadar-coronavirus-quarantine/
As I sit here on this guardrail,
on this first day of the year where
a jacket is not what you need to keep you warm,
watching the same breeze that breathes
across my cheek and whispers into my ear
stir the waters before my eyes;
as I hear the soft, ephemeral guitar and heartfelt voice
of music for the spirit,
I give the world a simple, true smile,
and ponder this concept we dub happiness.
It's not something one should search for,
despite what you may hear;
stop seeking serenity.
It scampers to and fro, out of our fumbling reach,
like a squirrel or rabbit darting speedily away -
and like those, if a capture is ever managed,
you won't know what to do with the prize.
There is no way to guarantee its arrival at your door,
no way to ensure you'll ever find it at all;
but the chances can be increased.
Ironically, my answer is to do nothing,
nothing regarding it, whatsoever;
live your life, how and why you choose -
leave happiness to its own fey games,
and maybe, one day,
there it will be.
In the dream you've toiled at,
finally close to realization;
in the friendships you've nurtured,
bearing harmony beyond your former knowledge -
there it is.
When one you used to love, the giver of a broken heart,
becomes, once again, your friend;
when you forgive and forget the pain that went before,
and enjoy simple companionship once more -
there it is.
In the work you've done,
finally meaning something;
in just honestly being who you really are;
in a father's proud word -
there it is.
In the stars and the moon,
peeking out for a celestial salute;
in the sun, blazing bright and orange,
settling on a placid lake,
in a deeply soulful song -
truly, there it is.
This world's got one hell of a lot to offer,
if only we'd remember sometimes to look at it.
Awakened by the kiss of dawn
the softness of her morning light
gently nudges the night away
The dew drops twinkle on the lawn
a bird sings sweetly his delight,
his trilling, courteous and gay
The garden flowers seem to spring
amidst the green they gently sway
floral fragrance floats on the breeze
The bayou softly murmuring
wavering shadows still at play,
lost in the depths of cypress trees
A squirrel scampers to the ground
and across the yard he rushes
buries acorns without a sound
In the distance a baying hound
eager to hunt in the bushes
until fox or raccoon is found
A horse gallops over a hill
enjoying freedom and the sun,
he stops, grazing in grassy fields
I follow nature and be still
watching as the day has begun
and early morning beauty yields
© 07/29/2019
Tri-Con Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Emile Pinet
one with the music
a vestibule for magic
love fills the night air
Let my aura deep red spill onto the page,
I an instrument in the name of poetic rage,
L
O
V
EVOL...VES
Into a voice deep and vibrating,
with words feathered and lulling.
We are love...
Love!,
nothing and everything.
With you in the serenity of nothing
that my love is everything.
scampers a bright moon
gifts liquid life a lit view
watch them rendezvous
i wrote you a star covered night
built you a sun with a dimmer light
i turned it down warm and low
called it a moon, made it glow
i rhymed you an early morning hush
so quiet you could hear a person blush
i sketched a fully carpeted globe
dressed it in a thick soft robe
i painted it in greens, blues and a palette full
your own flower garden with no weeds to pull
i sung some words, some harmonized notes
strummed you a new world, one that floats
...a pyramid each and every word, romance...
I
do know
my true love
it will make you
light headed but free.
Space is that way, you know
but you'll adjust. A small price
to pay these days for liberty.
A chance to live in a world of ours,
just us together and lives of all kinds.
Maurice Yvonne
I like to go into the forest this time of year
and hear the murmur of the silence around me.
There my thoughts are crystal clear and this helps
me to reflect on who I am.
The blinding white snow cover the rocks and
leaves as well as my past actions.
the pine and maple trees branches now bow
to the winter wind knowing ’tis the season’.
The gray sky above shines like polish silver for
the clouds are pregnant with snow that will cover,
at least temporary, the way I live my life in the city.
Thinking of just myself and forgetting those in need.
I see a squirrel standing on his hind legs eyeing me with
questionable black eyes. After a while he seems
to know I mean it no harm and it scampers up
a tree. Perhaps he knows he has to seek shelter.
A wondering freezing wind finds it’s way inside
my jacket, I too must seek shelter; perhaps from
myself.
It lays helpless at the foot of the hill gasping for breath, while the shadows drifts slowly over the hardened earth and thickened skies. The scent of the gully birds kept meandering around strange daffodils with courageous scent filtering in the promiscuous skies.
I have learnt that starfish and clams are not the smartest creatures but when they bond together there is no breathing space for the clam to waiver. The bowerbird with its sugary nest scampers around the logs, watching the chipmunk tunneling through the hole while the squirrel kept swinging from door to door and the queen bee kept spewing honey on the wooden floor.
A loud noise echoed from across the horizon crashing through lofty mountain sending billows of smoke through the dented skies. The ashes travels for miles sand and dust mixed with the earth’s crust dancing to the alligator rhythm and the cicada kept its tune for the mass schedule at noon. The beaver stands next to the door watching the giant anteater walking on the shore, while the sea gulls kept asking for more.
I stood from a long distance watching the piranha drifting towards the shore and the gold fish swimming behind its tail with a blood spot on its veil, as the shadows of human encountered with the drill the piranhas plunges in the ocean plate and the mammoth come flying out of nowhere busting down the gate and the fish swam freely towards the shore and migrate into fresh clean waters.
It was a scene that I could never forget; it kept me static on the deck as the ships starts rolling in the voices began to sing and everyone caught on to that mystifying rhythm. I am Free.
A shape darts on half-melted snow,
low and hunched in the twilight dim,
I just barely catch glimpse of him,
fleet movements in ninja-like flow.
He somehow seems to know I watch
through French windows of aging glass;
jolts once and then he scampers fast
to the pile of landscape rocks.
Then off again, sprints for the shed,
a black blur in the gray of morn,
his movements furtive and forlorn,
as if seeing dark times ahead.
I wonder if he’ll sit and wait,
like Python’s critter, cruel and mean,
to ambush me amidst the sheen
of distant purple from day’s break.
But I don’t think he’s such a fool,
just looks the part from shadows’ play,
strange how the misty times of day
can even make rabbits look cool.
The earth moans the earth and blood is soaked into dirt, the beatitude stands still and the mountain goat is grazing patiently on the hill. The birds are conducting Sunday morning mass and the leaders are prostrating on the grass; woeful tears are streaming down their faces and sins of their youth are scattered in open ditches, running streams, sidewalks and fortified manholes. Bullets wriggling in their flesh and some of them lay face down gasping for breath.
The whippoorwill is flying about and cannery is flying with a knife stuck in its throat. The sun is barely peeping out and the new is flying around the town. Some too busy to listen to it and other are too scared to absorb it. Everything came to a standstill and the news is already waving in the sky. Anxious eyes scrambling for answer and their body temperature are getting hotter. I mute my lips and take a gigantic leap over the three hundred- and fifty-kilometers precipice , clouds beneath clouds, create a waving movement in the sky and clouds underneath clouds spreading inside out. Hundreds of bodies lie still at the altar, swimming in their own pool while the morning scampers along with the machine gun trembling in their hands; they are getting ready for another Sunday mass
The Priests are purifying the grounds and they are spilling the incense all around; a strange sensation burst through the atmosphere and mourners are lining the streets watching destiny as it completes its final round. The old flag is lowered and the new flag is raised to the tower.
Pine cone appears in the middle of the earth and covers the earth’s surface in an oblique manner. They roll from the top of the hill pitching a big tenth in the middle of nowhere, silver, brown and grey they all had something unique to say. It’s regeneration, its human enlightenment it is the rebirth of the life that I have never lived, it’s my childhood yearning my adolescence longing and my adult new life, I have always dream of someone like you but can you really make my adult dream come through, and what about all the people around you I will carve the message on the pumpkin skin and sign it with a daffodils. The lantern is lit, the fireplaces is warm so meet my for coffee or tea before the break of dawn and take the silver pine cone with you.
The golden leaves fall off
the cherry trees groping
on the steep cliff,
the tall marabous lament...diving
in dark, shallow waters
their racous cry announce
the arrival of winter on the reef...
while the poet dreams!
The lost kite has flown off
a kid's hand that waves to its friend,
shrikes wait on pines' brenches
for their prey to impal on thorns;
wagtails stand on rocks
being watchful and trustless of them,
living in danger is not staying alive...
while the poet dreams!
The jumping mouse scurrs
from scrub to scrub crushing their leaves,
as daylight haunts his footsteps;
food is scarce by the waterfront,
so he scampers back to the underground,
to return when everything turns dark
and finds no one endagering his search...
while the poets dreams!
The blind,white-haired man is led
by a retriever that's so attentive,
as he guides him to an empty bench;
he can't see or perceive a fall's sunset:
like other cheerful eyes bedazzled by light...
while the poet dreams!
A low sun that’s still fighting through the trees,
light wisps of vapor above dew-slicked grass,
hangs for a moment, the light cuts through fast,
so quick I wonder, did I even see?
Yes, there is still haze amongst quiet trees.
A small and scared rabbit scampers on past,
his peaceful breakfast was not meant to last,
my blunt approach made the cute critter flee.
There are few enough who are awake now,
it’s a silence that I’ve come to value,
only the high chirping of some bird sound,
the squeaking of chipmunks hugging the ground,
and chittering squirrels, far more than a few,
a short requiem only morning allows.