Long Shadowing Poems
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What’s In The Urn
Strangers offered me to join them in a drink
I met them on a mountain edge while skiing
They seemed like friendly normal people then
So what could happen in a simple cabin?
Finding that which is not there or vanquished
What is there that cannot be perceived?
Placed upon the mantel piece are ashes in the cabin
Brass vase, a receptacle for lost souls sits in repose
A death vase to glare at over cognac
By the sober flames cast by
A fire place glow observed in action
Liquid spirits pour out their poison
In the cozy living room inside the cabin
Drinks alone cannot remove this feeling of distraction
The urn is piercing through my soul
People belong in cemeteries you know
With all due respect for the dead
Scatter them at sea when they‘re deceased
Not paraded around in gloom to cause unease
Or as a center piece for living rooms
I’m not relieved to find it is a lizard on the shelf
To be exact, an exotic iguana family friend entombed
And to assume that fact makes this matter optimal
I beg to differ on that point and voice my opinion later
There must be a plot of ground outside
Or toilet somewhere to flush it down
But better left unsaid, as they are bereaved about the death
And I am their invited guest
Iguana tried consuming the family’s cat
Another favorite pet I guess
It is surmised, that’s how it met its end
Wound up expired inside the urn
The receptacle was there and going nowhere on its own
I swear it follows me from room to room
By embers glow and ash, shadowing my every move
A brass smile casting off the urn, leaving me concerned
I could not take my leave
The container followed me
So I waited, fixated on the thing
Is it coming back to life to eat more bugs or me?
Finding that which is not there
Is easier in the dark
Rising to the occasion of the day that breaks
I must escape the premises to continue skiing
Into the frozen world outside I fly
With no discernible signs or paths to lead or learn
I get away, no time to say good-byes or find my way
Never again will I say; what’s in the urn
Like dewdrops
Moisten the leaf
Tears sting as they fall
Filling me with relief
I cling to the silence
Surrounding me
With hues of sadness
Inspiration lights
My heart
My hope
My faith
With grace and peace
Music within the dream
Of a new dawn
A new day
A new way
Like the flickering
Starlight
Falling across the night
Shadowing the heart
In halos of warmth
Your kindness whispers
Tenderly, a caress
Breathed across my life
Imagination grows
Inside
Where it rides
The flowing in my veins
Love that dances
Through my mornings
Dawning happiness
With a still, small voice
My choice of a lemony
Sunshine roar
From the sky
Like the ocean
Hurling waves of melancholy
Through my thoughts
Blessing me with breathtaking
Roars of mystery, growing
Wise with the tide
I delight in the water’s edge
Where I find seashells
To hoard with hope
For the day when I will know
God’s hand in mine
Coloring my heart in light
Music on a clear, cool night
Delight enlightens my sight
Inside, I glow
Because I know
I am His
And He is mine
The silent wind... a mere chill
The leaves were swaying back and forth
The inactive time is simply unreal
Yet mysteries abound be intimate to solve
The blackness promises to be blind
A darkness where lights were a fade
A glimmer perhaps if hope shall find
Yet too early may in turn be too late
So much like a dream
A familiarity needless to convey
The vanishing ghost shall mean
Yet wandering invisibly to never show the way
Wondering once too often
Illusions appear and disappear altogether
Speed were dissolving moments
As will sound be resounding forever
Once more, once again, once remain
The sway of the night shadowing the light
Mysteries unbound yet became
That of time where the ghost in us hide
FEELINGS
a
very
reflective time
unfolding
a strong
sense
of
being
cherished
nerves
raw
&
exposed
&
yet
sympathetico
co
to
intellectual
development
patient
desires
in
culturally
frank
innocence
&accomplished
receiving
chimed
rising
tides
on forgotten
times
CHALLENGES
a touchstone
so
familiar
its
beauty
falling
shadowing
the ego
a natural
rarity
in
a
perfect
range
of moods
sombre
to facile
to
illustrate
complling
connotation
of the
unconscious
sonorous
&imposing
a
cascading
momentum
in
exact
equivalence
NOTE:THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE using spaces&breaks without grammatical symbols ,the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and responds thus making this enigmatic form a two way interplay & interpretatIon unique to the moment& changing according to mood is inherently variable.
Copyright © Brian Strand
What Lies Beneath The Lies
What lies beneath the Lies?
Sometimes to hide offence,
Sometimes acts simple malice.
What lies beneath the Lies?
Sometimes to take revenge,
Sometimes just shadowing cries.
What lies beneath the Lies?
Sometimes to protect self,
Sometimes to guard distressed guys.
What lies beneath the Lies?
Sometimes to blame other,
Sometimes just to pretend nice.
What lies beneath Lies?
Sometimes greed encloses,
Sometimes morality dies.
What lies beneath the Lies?
Several causes play.
Every time to analyze.
Form: Stanza of Three lines. Syllable Count 6-6-7
First and Third line rhyming
02/14/17
What Lies Beneath Lies Contest by John Lawless
it has been written
in one of the books of nikki…
if you look into a mirror
you’ll see a beautiful creature
looking back at you…
it is assumed
that in the reality
of nature there are both
beauty and ugliness
and that both
are at the interpretation
of the eyes of the beholder…
behold—beneath the epidemic
shadowing—the risen sun
brightly spreading its grandeur
over the graveyard silence
of terrestrial beings…
broken only by the piercing echoes
of a flying flock of birds
overhead in rhythmic v-formation
thus shattering the otherwise anechoic
atmosphere that the imposed ensconcing
has placed upon all of nature’s humanity…
unlike nature’s storms—tornados, hurricanes,
tsunamis—& quaking earth, the present
enormity of pandemic devastation is not physical
seen or heard—only felt in the daily rise
in our human death toll…rising to its apex curving…
yet…through verandah blinds…can be seen
happy wasp building their nest…red-breasted
birds hop-scotching the greening grass
through which scurrying squirrels dash
as they eagerly elevator themselves
from tree to tree…blinking waving smiles…
in the midst of the ugliness
that loneliness and fear can bring
in the shadow of death
nature has her way of infusing serene
beauty impregnating thanksgiving prayers
of another day of being perpendicular
to her cosmic presence…generating
shaded memory of the mourning
at the crucifixion...transforming
into exuberant joy and exhilaration
of the resurrection…
proving that this tormenting time too…
shall soon passover…
leaving blood-stained memories
of overcoming—returning
to the remaining struggle
for justice…equality…peace…love…
One day the moon is another place, a mid flotsam
nightmare of titanic is another passion of a haunting
ho?.
When I imagine something it worries me much, whether
the moon is prone or vulnerable like a science or car's
or like cat or dog that sometimes walk west or north
or raise or groom them?.
One day the moon is hither or thither or gal glassing
and then something is shadowing or clattering like atom
let say in Mars?- and still the fact that sometimes
my country is like the moon worries me so?, for who
will pass a leaning on somehow Monrovia shard or
anyhow draw?, or a sort of cell low?, or hunting tonight?.
One day the moon intermingling tell us why and what is
trespassing- our words like sacredness - truth - dream -
justice - power - politics - are no longer holding or
brotherly, lest shatter or wither or weather - hauntingly?.
Human Nature
Swift swans are swimming fast in quiet stream.
Little ripples awaken in still water
follow the flock side by side
Couple One watches swans putting beaks into mud- cream.
Jubilant pair started boat ride.
Swans quack, lovers chatter.
Couple enjoyed and sank in exciting enchanting dream.
Ripe apples are hanging from tree in winter season.
Flying bird pecked at the stalk with care.
Detached fruit fell right on the ground.
Scientist One Isaac Newton searched for the reason.
‘Apple neither flied, nor was bound
to go up, or could not stand still in air.'
Gravity was discovered to explain the easy scene.
Birds fly free in sky and glide to venture.
They are light and spread wings to flap wings at ease
being expert to propel on chosen direction.
Polymath One Leonard, engineer and painter
observed, analysed and the scientist’s attention
followed the technique of flight perfect and precise.
Great architect designed the first helicopter.
Night is flooded with soft light as Full moon was majestic.
Floating clouds are moving fast shadowing Moon off and on.
Stars are twinkling, glittering as if glued on sky.
Poet One is silent to watch beauty of night becoming lunatic.
The deep feelings, pain and pleasure, joy and cry
dreams and emotions, passion and perception
will be revealed through a verse rhythmic and romantic.
01/24/16
Human Nature 4 Stanza - 7 lines Contest
Sponsor Marugu Mo
Sage Saga Of A Home On A Hill
Having drank from the sun at meridian,
The moon drunk with the light
Of reflection, always dissipated dreaded darkness
Seeking to veil the Hill—Raised bump
Of nature’s glowing face;
This swollen womb of nature nourishing beginnings
Of generations plodding centuries wounded
With trials and tribulations—Grand Canyon invisible walls
Mocking the abyss of Middle Passage ocean depths
Carpeted with ivory bone trees rattled by circadian waves
Splashing stilled sandy sea shore stones sunken in time.
Beginnings begin with the eruption of sunlight;
Rays flowing lava-like to chloroplast genes
Of generations of quantum leaping Greens
Synthesizing seminal spirits spewing
Audacious faith—audacious faith blooming
Mushroom cloud determination rising
As a risen national family tree;
Branches thrusting tentacles forever upward.
Streaming through, flows a river Brazos
Whose residents often crawled, netted and hooked
Their way to the Hill—accepting all aching
To give or receive freely—nourishment.
A gumbo gathering of love supreme;
Charged sable soul soars—sailing
Pillow puffed verandah skies;
Stoking old horizons—searching
Mountain top promise land dreams.
Where I have been I have just begun to go;
Returning to the beginning—
To tap the toasted roots anchoring the journey’s
Design—etched beneath the shade of limbs
Of an ancient Chinaberry tree
Looking out over the Hill—
Shadowing shelled street that oysters built.
The senior poem now resonate an ebony perspective:
“…It’s sweet to dream of Venice…It’s great to think of Rome…
But when it comes to living…There’s no place like home…
So it’s home again and home again for me…”
My Hill—My home…My family tree. Here I grew; here I be.
Moon glistens through the lace of boughs
Embracing earth with a kind hand
This touch of love was always planned
Stars stream a song to dance and rouse
Sparking a tune that sighs desire
Sweet music singing like a choir
Dreams are born amid the soft vows
Amber light filling up the night
Pure nocturnal blessings so right
Dusk arrests the heart in a drowse
Shadowing the soul with true love
Whispers of comfort from above
Ebony dark moves cryptic bows
Curves in the atmosphere reflects
Passions so intense and complex
Moon glistens through the lace of boughs
Stars stream a song to dance and rouse
Dreams are born amid the soft vows
Dusk arrests the heart in a drowse
Ebony dark moves cryptic bows
Constanza - Old Or New Poems Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Joseph May
July 31, 2020