Long Shrouding Poems
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A Sitka Sunset
Mute wind chimes on the Totem Trail
Ring through purple mists in
Platinum testimony to evergreens adorned in dusk
And leftovers from raindrops splashing from totem beaks,
Cedar poles rise from dense fogs
Of myths and warriors and family lore
Shrouding thunderbirds in legends as day retreats.
Life cycles carved in family crests on tribal poles,
Guardians of the lodge with ancient ancestry
In pounding drums of blue-violet
Borrowed from aurora’s glistening breath -
Neon rose from realms of the faithful midnight sun.
Wide eyed, the trickster’s face looks
Upon long violet hours of summer nightfall,
A borealis golden glow on still waters
Recalls the carvers awl and plane
Tools that capture crystal enchantment
Like newborn waves from Orca’s fluke.
Eagle, bear and beaver, with sentient eyes,
Bathed in fragile rose of a waxing strawberry moon,
Follow long sunbeams wending through forest trails
In twilight colored prisms
For silent storytellers,
Prophetic voices chant through days of midnight
And frail twilights
On the Totem’s Trail as sunset rises.
5-24-23
Contest: Sitka Alaska Sunset
Sponsor: Craig Cornish
In Alaskan folktales the Raven is the trickster
Thunderbirds, bears, orcas, beavers, eagles are prominent on totem poles made of cedar.
In Sitka there is a park displaying totem poles.
Life, light and burden-less, like lightest breeze;
Guilt, grief, tension and turmoil still at ease...!
Alarm-less by darkness shrouding my path;
Light torches of love and calm evil's wrath...!
Soothed by walking and talking with nature;
In each, finding divine legislature...!
Guilelessly, like a child, I smile and laugh;
Virtues versus vices fight, my behalf...!
Creative artist in me is alive;
AS tool of God, toward newness, I strive...!
Like a warrior, challenges I bravely face;
Fear and cravenness from my heart i chase...!
For sun and moon and stars I wait each day;
Each creature of nature shows me new way...!
The God in whom I trust, Keeps me secure;
I awake each day with greater vigor...!
23 July 2022
JOY Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Regina McIntosh
The sky danced a glimmer of setted sun blue
Softly through into the night
Like rafters keeping us safe on our path under heaven
Trees wove themselves over us
Breathing light from coals washed the five gathered faces
Flickered in their eyes and over their bodies
In the quiet I saw
In the south like the waves from beneath the sea
One spirit shone with a shimmering breath
And another in the west settled on the rafters there
With a sighing light barely seen and hardly felt
Amid the rafters of the north one other spirit swayed
There too an ethereal visitor echoed in the east
In the quiet I saw
Faces bright, strong and painted with a wash of . . .
Contentment, save two, both fallen of crest
And still under the watchful eyes of Nokomis high in the skies
One rose to smile holding a light before him closely
But woe fell across the other for being there within already
As if unable to escape for eyes unseeing
In the quiet I saw
I watched a struggle between three spirit cousins
Over and all around they fought where he had fallen
So vicious this fight, it cast a shrouding over everything of him
For these two beasts snarled and slashed for dominance
While the third sat quietly as if waiting or perhaps just watching
With great patience for one to fall and it too was evil
In the quiet I saw
The sky shone softly in the ambient light of stars unglimpsed
For Nokomis with her watching eyes held us
As only grandmothers do for having loved and loved her child’s children too
All through the night she held us as we sailed without a sound
Across and over the blue of setted sun somewhere next to here
With the warmth of coals burning nowhere save inside
In the quiet I saw
In the quiet I saw five souls glimmering
In the quiet I saw a war cross one red road
In the quiet I saw the spirits of four ancestors
In the quiet I saw everything, nothing all that I needed
In the darkness of the madodoswun it is dark as pitch
And still, and yet . . .
Before the door whispered to open
I saw in the quiet still
An anchor through restless waves and reckless wind
a sail who kept us adrift and safe through storm spins
a guiding light whose love shone through darkness blind
an exemplar of kind consoling ways, when I’d step out of line,
If I couldn’t concentrate, he’d light his cigar,
in a deep mellow reverie, pick up his guitar
he'd sigh, smoke billowing from his mouth
shrouding our faces in a gray-white fog
He'd speak in a comforting melodious purr
wrapping his arm around his hija’s shoulder,
"My precious jolla, there is no reason, you’re smart
for you to be so downcast, you're breaking my hear"t
My wise Papi…
taught me to be one who gets the truth out
reporting issues of division and to journey about
undecided choices needed to explore
not to shun away from what dangers implore
Express what’s needed to say
words you trust along the way
to make what’s important aware
for those with no voice and in despair
We’re all a part of this world from all over every border
God is good, He wants you to know justice is order
My loving Papi…
a girly-girl of a soft disposition natured
still rides along within, now matured
I have too much respect for papi
to call out bittersweet verses, not me
it's not going to change anything or anyone
We are who we are bar none,
understanding the universe, comes first
No time to disparage the worst
when making a split decision
when it’s obvious surrealism,
there is no more discussing what is
special, sincere, sealed with me
Mi Papi un héroe…
is not better just unique,
if it's prowess words that you seek
It’s nice to know eventually we’ll real speak,
we cannot hit the ball out of the park every time
yet it all may be rendered sublime
we cannot alter our voices,
this covers all mistakes and our choices
You’ll find dads who well articulate
though meanings may particulate
Every father is special to somebody
Including mine
In loves harbor moored in the dock of regression
and anchored in the quicksand of incontinence
as briny waves of inconstancy wash over my jaded bough
scouring my white-washed deck over and over
leaving the silty residue of bartered romances
tarnishing the fibers of my brigand hull
peeling back the glossy facade that coated my proud vessel
the drift wood of jilted lovers floats all around
shrouding my leased yacht with the residual chaff
of once fertile fronds that bloomed with romance
then were blighted by the cankering disease of insincerity
tides bring in the brackish seaweed of of salty flings
that never rooted my wandering eye or planted my wavering feet
which were tossed to and fro by a truant wind
constantly moving in a listless, uncharted direction
bandied about by the restless currents of change
barges of opprobrium clamor about in my choppy waters
tugging at my corroded conscience pushing the dross
of my intemperate, impulsive dalliances into my feckless psyche
Boisterous clouds are churning, roiling air-mass in warm updraft
Declaring on callous inhabitants of earth, a dark ferocious war
Manifesting malevolent force, imposing anger on spatial norms,
Conspiring with anguished winds to invigorate violent storms.
Colossal is their expanse that threatens the rise of new dawn
Offering a preview of what face of death would encompass
When enraged nature punishes humans for irresponsible acts:
Burning dirty fossil fuels, and decapitating vast forest lands.
Atmospheric inferno defies galactic harmony of equilibrium
Suppressing sun’s orange glow striving to uplift amber horizon,
Shrouding advent of nascent day to teach humanity a lesson
Collaborating with mighty oceans, stirring hurricanes and cyclones.
Overshadowed by the reckless commotion of ghastly gray,
Emerging marigold expression of ascendant tangerine daybreak
Grieves for the lost vegetation and deserted parched terrains,
Thundering a warning to foretell why the birds have already left.
March 28, 2020
Placed 1st: Gif #2 contest by William Kekaula
When i died, hush bequeathed the Scrabble Board
The once weighty tomes floated off cramped shelves
Whilst married letters argued midst themselves
Phonics quivered sans the vowel adored
O' warm vowel with the prominent dot
Disarrayed lost words bowed their heads and cried
On that sonant solemn day when i died
Shrouding the dot with a forget-me-not
Ill-fated, O' How could i bear such strain
Replaced without heart in a scrabble game
From die to dye, opponents scored higher
Of y's bold encroachment on i's domain
And when i died in Craig, one must exclaim
Replaced by a y, does it create Ire?
Date: 11/04/23
I died poetry contest
Sponsor: Craig Cornish
the towers burned -
billows roiling and twisting
into azure
an oily, angry monster to
thrash the morn
consuming two flowers of steel
raping a world of its
innocence ...
the petals fell -
colors fluttering
in the balmy breath of
late summer …
precious petals, rich with
limbs and lives and
loves, that plunged the sunny
splendor, screaming
turning earth to
crimson ...
the heavens wept -
poisoned tears
of mad malice, careless caliphates
crying ashen sin from
a foreign sky -
shrouding a free world,
brought to its knees … where it
found its greatest
strength.
~ POETRY AGAINST POVERTY ~
( photographic art borrowed copyright-free by the author from public domain files at FreePik / Picasa )
Sanity Slipping
by Odin Roark
For today,
There is but a subliminal haze.
Soon…
They’ll realize spring as summer,
An impatient today
Rapidly becoming tomorrow’s scorched yesterday.
They’ll remind themselves
Of gardens once blooming,
Now dust bowls of wind-driven regret,
Shrouding what’s left
Behind nature’s pawn shop windows.
Then…
They’ll send afloat their final thoughts
As ghostwriters waiting,
Strike their polished keyboards,
Creating another tome,
Perpetuating another unswerving pattern of failure.
They’ll ponder the dark collecting quickly,
As their rising flotsam of denial
Hitches up with commerce trade winds aplenty,
Eager to satisfy more covetous progress
Waiting amongst the many heads-in-clouds.
They’ll spend their final hours
Watching their neighboring countries
Bloviate established ritual chameleon-greed
As power’s gluttony exhausts
The remaining rations for survival.
Finally
Beneath ashen density,
Remaining embers will radiate
What’s left of fate’s losing battle,
Revealing demonic faces parading angelic wings,
Readying their blind eyes
For the final act of
Sanity slipping.
In the mist shrouding mystically
the journey’s penultimate mile
at the fringe of the fading pasture
of the un-blossomed future obscure
in the twilight hour transient
the sunset swansong resonates
for the forlorn life silently spent
and becoming silhouetted still
against the shrinking skyline of lost luster
seeing the last sparkle of the dying day.
The twirling threads of turmoil
entwined in seamless motif
with the passing clouds of passion
surging through the sensuous storm
to the unwary horizon dark
halcyon once with splendorous hues
tinting the chameleon transformation
on the convoluted yearning canvas ablaze
as from its burning rememrance remnant
the abandoned ashes fly away.
The shards of the splintered hope
in the swirling squall of relentless agony
afloat on the melancholic waves
of melted fervor flowing in the stream of tears
the remaining rays of sanguinity
survive still in the final flashes
of the sinking sun not yet morbid
fabricating the last lattice latent
of the tapestry of dream
swathing the panorama of the promising life.